_Roaring after their prey, do seek their meat from God_! Is it not even of Him, who one kind over another All the works of His hand hath disposed in a wonderful order? Who hath made man, as the beasts, to live the one on the other, Who hath made man as Himself to know the law—and accept it! You will wonder at this, no doubt! I also wonder! But we must live and learn; we can’t know all things at twenty. List to a letter of Hobbes to Philip his friend at Balloch. All Cathedrals are Christian, all Christians are Cathedrals, Such is the Catholic doctrine; ’tis ours with a slight variation; Every woman is, or ought to be, a Cathedral, Built on the ancient plan, a Cathedral pure and perfect, Built by that only law, that Use be suggester of Beauty, Nothing concealed that is done, but all things done to adornment, Meanest utilities seized as occasions to grace and embellish.— So had I duly commenced in the spirit and style of my Philip, So had I formally opened the Treatise upon _the Laws of_ _Architectural Beauty in Application to Women_, So had I writ.—But my fancies are palsied by tidings they tell me. Tidings—ah me, can it be then? that I, the blasphemer accounted, Here am with reverent heed at the wondrous Analogy working, Pondering thy words and thy gestures, whilst thou, a prophet apostate, (How are the mighty fallen!) whilst thou, a shepherd travestie, (How are the mighty fallen!) with gun,—with pipe no longer, Teachest the woods to re-echo thy game-killing recantations, Teachest thy verse to exalt Amaryllis, a Countess’s daughter? What, thou forgettest, bewildered, my Master, that rightly considered Beauty must ever be useful, what truly is useful is graceful? She that is handy is handsome, good dairy-maids must be good-looking, If but the butter be nice, the tournure of the elbow is shapely, If the cream-cheeses be white, far whiter the hands that made them, If—but alas, is it true? while the pupil alone in the cottage Slowly elaborates here thy System of Feminine Graces, Thou in the palace, its author, art dining, small-talking and dancing, Dancing and pressing the fingers kid-gloved of a Lady Maria. These are the final words, that came to the Tutor from Balloch. I am conquered, it seems! you will meet me, I hope, in Oxford, Altered in manners and mind. I yield to the laws and arrangements, Yield to the ancient existent decrees: who am I to resist them? Yes, you will find me altered in mind, I think, as in manners, Anxious too to atone for six weeks’ loss of your Logic. So in the cottage with Adam, the pupils five together, Read, and bathed, and roamed, and thought not now of Philip, All in the joy of their life, and glory of shooting-jackets. VI _Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin._