ty forbade it!' and in truth, Glendower, there was something very
plausible in this manner of putting the question."

"You might, in answering it," said Glendower, "have put the point in a
manner equally plausible and more true: was he to commit a great crime
against the millions connected by social order, for the sake of serving
a single family, and that his own?"

"Quite right," answered Crauford: "that was just the point of view
in which I did put it; but the man, who was something of a reasoner,
replied, 'Public law is instituted for public happiness. Now if mine and
my children's happiness is infinitely and immeasurably more served by
this comparatively petty fraud than my employer's is advanced by my
abstaining from, or injured by my committing it, why, the origin of
law itself allows me to do it.' What say you to that, Glendower? It is
something in your Utilitarian, or, as you term it, Epicurean [See the
article on Mr. Moore's "Epicurean" in the "Westminster Review." Though
the strictures on that work are harsh and unjust, yet the part relating
to the real philosophy of Epicurus is one of the most masterly things in
criticism.] principle; is it not?" and Crauford, shading his eyes, as
if from the light, watched narrowly Glendower's countenance, while he
concealed his own.

"Poor fool!" said Glendower; "the man was ignorant of the first lesson
in his moral primer. Did he not know that no rule is to be applied to
a peculiar instance, but extended to its most general bearings? Is it
necessary even to observe that the particular consequence of fraud
in this man might, it is true, be but the ridding his employer of
superfluities, scarcely missed, for the relief of most urgent want in
two or three individuals; but the general consequences of fraud and
treachery would be the disorganization of all society? Do not think,
therefore, that this man was a disciple of my, or of any, system of
morality."

"It is very just, very," said Mr. Crauford, with a benevolent sigh; "but
you will own that want seldom allows great nicety in moral distinctions,
and that when those whom you love most in the world are starving, you
may be pitied, if not forgiven, for losing sight of the after laws of
Nature and recurring to her first ordinance, self-preservation."

"We should be harsh, indeed," answered Glendower, "if we did not pity;
or, even while the law condemned, if the individual did not forgive."

"So I said, so I said," cried C