not having been uttered actually, but as clothing the sentiments of the mind of the Duke of Gandia. Viewing the affair from a human stand-point, ordinary men will regard Duke Don Francisco’s conduct as abhorrent, as heartless, as utterly brutal. It was. Granting the circumstances, he deliberately sacrificed the life of his wife. But his conduct was purely superhuman, purely supernatural. He was one of the many Roman Catholics of the Sixteenth Century—the Twentieth is less prolific—who really and truly believed _In The Life Of The World To Come_. His actions prove it. He knew that every man inevitably must submit to the hideous ordeal of surrendering to God’s enemy, Death, as the price of entrance to eternity. He judged that, the sooner this ordeal was over, the better it would be. Therefore, confident in the merits of his Saviour and his wife’s, the chance of translation being offered, he incontinently accepted on her behalf. It was the act of a truly Christian, of a cruelly unworldly man. “He wished to be rid of his wife!” He did wish. Is it wrong to accept the joy of heaven for one loved, suffering here on earth? “But his wish was selfish!” His wish was selfish. The Duke of Gandia gained by the death of his wife. He gained liberty to tear the flesh of his gracious body with thongs and scourges. He gained liberty to abdicate his duchy, his marquessate, his two principalities, his three counties; to strip himself of every farthing of his enormous wealth; to forsake his home, his children, his palaces, and his power; to starve on foul bread and fouler water; to wear odiously ugly clothes; to do menial service for his natural inferiors; to wheel manure in barrows; worst of all, to herd with vulgar men; to make himself disliked and scorned and hated, literally——: if it be selfish to desire these things, then the Duke of Gandia was a selfish man. “It is impossible to admire him!” People who say these silly things make the mistake, commit the injustice, are guilty of the absurd inconsistency, of judging the Duke of Gandia by comparing him to their own ideal. He must be regarded as he was; not as he might have been if he had imitated the ideal of some Twentieth Century plumber, haberdasher, or journalist. It is not necessary to admire him. He never courted admiration; nor imitation either. What he did was personal between himself and his God. He acted up to his lights. He obeyed the voice of his conscience. He took for his ideal, that of San Francesco d’Assisi, NUDUS NUDUM CHRISTUM SEQUENS, He had the right. The affair was his. And his deeds can be related only: for, to use them to teach a lesson or to point a moral would be like a vain beating of the air. Lessons in this department of knowledge are given by no human instructor; and they are given solely to the hearts of willing learners. The first hindrance was removed.