of boiling up individuals into the species, I would draw a chalk circle round every individuality," is the essence of much of her mate's philosophy; but, in the following to Sterling, she somewhat bitterly protests against her own absorption: "In spite of the honestest efforts to annihilate my I---ity or merge it in what the world doubtless considers my better half, I still find myself a self-subsisting, and, alas, self-seeking me." The ever-restive consciousness of being submerged is one of the dominant notes of her journal, the other is the sense of being even within the circle unrecognised. "C. is a domestic wandering Jew.... When he is at work I hardly ever see his face from breakfast to dinner."... "Poor little wretch that I am, ... I feel as if I were already half-buried ... in some intermediate state between the living and the dead.... Oh, so lonely." These are among the _suspiria de profundis_ of a life which her husband compared to "a great joyless stoicism," writing to the brother, whom he had proposed as a third on their first home-coming:--"Solitude, indeed, is sad as Golgotha, but it is not mad like Bedlam; absence of delirium is possible only for me in solitude"; a sentiment almost literally acted on. In his offering of penitential cypress, referring to his wife's delight in the ultimate success of his work, he says, "She flickered round me like a perpetual radiance." But during their joint lives their numerous visits and journeys were made at separate times or apart. They crossed continually on the roads up and down, but when absent wrote to one another often the most affectionate letters. Their attraction increased, contrary to Newton's law, in the _direct_ ratio of the square of the distance, and when it was stretched beyond the stars the long-latent love of the survivor became a worship.