We seek to change souls all unripe for changes; We build upon a treacherous human soil Of moral quicksand, and the world avenges Its crime upon us, while we vainly toil. In the black coal-pit of the popular heart Rain falls, light kindles, but no flowers upstart. Know this! For men of ignoble affection, The social scheme that is, were better far Than the orbed sun's most exquisite perfection, Man needs not heaven till he revolves a star. Why seek to win the mad world from its strife? Grow perfect in the sanity of life."[2] [Footnote 2: 'The Great Republic: a Poem of the Sun.' By Thomas Lake Harris. New York and London: published by the "The Brotherhood of the New Life."] "Ah, my dear friend! how often, from my humble seat below the gangway, have I gazed upon the Treasury Bench, and wondered how it was that right hon. gentlemen, struggling to retain their dignity by sitting on each other's knees, did not perceive that the reason why great reforms perpetually fail is, not because they have not their root in some radical injustice--not because the despotisms against which they rise are in themselves right--but because those who attempt to inaugurate new and better conditions upon the surfaces of society are themselves, for the most part, desolate, darkened, and chaotic within! I am under the impression, therefore, that no reform-agitation will ever do good which is not preceded by an agitation, throughout the length and breadth of the land, in favour of the introduction, for the first time, of this old original moral code, not merely into the government of the country, but into the life of every individual. Unless that is done, and done speedily, those who are now morally stupefied will die in their torpor, and the rest who are harmless lunatics will become gibbering and shrieking demoniacs.-- Yours affectionately, "F. V." I had become so absorbed by the train of considerations into which I had been led, that I never thought of mentioning to Grandon the circumstances which attended my departure from Dickiefield. It was not until after I had posted my letter that it occurred to me how singular, considering the last words which passed between us, this silence would appear. If to be odd has its drawbacks, it also has its advantages; and I felt that Grandon would be as unable to draw any conclusions from my silence as from any other erratic act of my life. After all, what could I have said? It will be time, I thought, to venture upon that very delicate ground when I get his reply. But this I was destined never to receive, and the questions I had propounded are likely to remain unanswered, for on the very next day I received the following telegram from Lady Broadhem:-- "Your immediate presence here is absolutely necessary. Delay will be fatal. "MARY BROADHEM. "GROSVENOR SQUARE, _20th March_." [Illustration] PART III. SUICIDE. PICCADILLY, _April_.