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amavit,—because he loved much—that he was regarded as
vulnerable by ‘serious men,’ ‘grave persons’ and ‘reasonable
people”; favorite locutions of our sad world where egotism
takes its word of command from pedantry. What was this
excess of love? It was a serene benevolence which overflowed
men, as we have already pointed out, and which, on occa-
sion, extended even to things. He lived without disdain. He
was indulgent towards God’s creation. Every man, even the
best, has within him a thoughtless harshness which he re-
serves for animals. The Bishop of D—— had none of that
harshness, which is peculiar to many priests, nevertheless.
He did not go as far as the Brahmin, but he seemed to have
weighed this saying of Ecclesiastes: ‘Who knoweth whither
the soul of the animal goeth?’ Hideousness of aspect, de-
formity of instinct, troubled him not, and did not arouse
his indignation. He was touched, almost softened by them.
It seemed as though he went thoughtfully away to seek be-
yond the bounds of life which is apparent, the cause, the
explanation, or the excuse for them. He seemed at times to
be asking God to commute these penalties. He examined
without wrath, and with the eye of a linguist who is deci-
phering a palimpsest, that portion of chaos which still exists
in nature. This revery sometimes caused him to utter odd
sayings. One morning he was in his garden, and thought
himself alone, but his sister was walking behind him, un-
seen by him: suddenly he paused and gazed at something on
the ground; it was a large, black, hairy, frightful spider. His
sister heard him say:—
‘Poor beast! It is not its fault!’