The complacent fool would be matter for pure mirth if he could live for himself alone; but unfortunately his worthless existence is as adequate as any for the promotion of disaster to others. Sir Felix is comparatively harmless, for his wreckage is reparable, but Algernon is made a _deus ex machina_, and lets his commission go by default. Those who trusted him learn that “He that sendeth a message by the hand of a fool cutteth off his own feet, and drinketh in damage.” Or, as his own author says:[370] “But, if it is permitted to the fool to create entanglements and set calamity in motion, to arrest its course is the last thing the Gods allow of his doing.” He is, however, a fool of quality in that he has a philosophy of life, and if he were pent up in his room, he could mitigate tedium by reverie. One may indulge in anticipations without possessing the faculty of foresight. His cousin “aspired to become Attorney-General of these realms,” but he had other views:[371] “Civilization had tried him and found him wanting; so he condemned it. Moreover, sitting now all day at a desk, he was civilization’s drudge. No wonder, then, that his dream was of prairies, and primeval forests, and Australian wilds. He believed in his heart that he would be a man new made over there, and always looked forward to a savage life as to a bath that would cleanse him, so that it did not much matter his being unclean for the present.” The present sorry scheme of things also suffers him to wander the streets in temporary bankruptcy:[372] “He continued strolling on, comparing the cramped misty London aspect of things with his visionary free dream of the glorious prairies, where his other life was: the forests, the mountains, the endless expanses; the horses, the flocks, the slipshod ease of language and attire; and the grog-shops. Aha! There could be no mistake about him as a gentleman and a scholar out there! Nor would Nature shut up her pocket and demand innumerable things of him, as civilization did. This he thought in the vengefulness of his outraged mind.” Meredith keeps on the trail of this luckless youth with something of the relentlessness with which Blifil, Reverend Collins, Mrs. Norris, and Mrs. Proudie are pursued; but he gives a good Meredithian reason for it. Twice he takes the trouble to explain him, both times on the grounds of realism:[373] “So long as the fool has his being in the world, he will be a part of every history, nor can I keep him from his place in a narrative that is made to revolve more or less upon its own wheels. * * * for the fool is, after his fashion, prudent, and will never, if he can help it, do himself thorough damage, that he may learn by it and be wiser.” Again, an incident is followed by comment. Algernon, being loggy after a dinner at the Club, fancies himself melancholy and profound:[374]