eon he had
almost ceased to count, were stealing over his threshold. Such were the
troubles and misfortunes, the sorrows and disappointments, that wrapped
these lives round; and yet, as we look on this little group, standing
firm and silent in the midst of the feverish, intermittent glitter of
the rest, then do these four destinies seem truly beautiful to us, and
enviable. Through all their vicissitudes one common light shines
through them. The great soul of Fenelon illumines them all. Fenelon is
faithful to his loftiest thoughts of piety, meekness, wonder, justice,
and love; and the other three are faithful to him, who was their master
and friend. And what though the mystic ideas of Fenelon be no longer
shared by us: what though the ideas that we cling to ourselves, and
deem the profoundest and noblest--the ideas that live at the root of
our every conviction of life, that have served as the basis of all our
moral happiness--what though these should one day fall in ruins behind
us, and only arouse a smile among such as believe that they have found
other thoughts still, which to them seem more human, and final?
Thought, of itself, is possessed of no vital importance; it is the
feelings awakened within us by thought that ennoble and brighten our
life. Thought is our aim, perhaps; but it may be with this as with many
a journey we take--the place we are bound for may interest us less than
the journey itself, the people we meet on the road, the unforeseen that
may happen. Here, as everywhere, it is only the sincerity of human
feeling that abides. As for a thought, we know not, it may be
deceptive; but the love, wherewith we have loved it, will surely return
to our soul; nor can a single drop of its clearness or strength be
abstracted by error. Of that perfect ideal that each of us strives to
build up in himself, the sum total of all our thoughts will help only
to model the outline; but the elements that go to construct it, and
keep it alive, are the purified passion, unselfishness, loyalty,
wherein these thoughts have had being. The extent of our love for the
thing which we hold to be true is of greater importance than even the
truth itself. Does not love bring more goodness to us than thought can
ever convey? Loyally to love a great error may well be more helpful
than meanly to serve a great truth; for in doubt, no less than in
faith, are passion and love to be found. Some doubts are as generous
and passionate as the very no