even more tragic is that it was through a certain transparency of nature that this egotism became apparent to others.  He was a man who seemed bound to speak of all that was in his mind; that was a part of his rhetorical temperament.  But if he could have held his tongue, if he could have kept his own weakness of spirit concealed, he might have achieved the very successes which he desired, and, indeed, deserved.  The result is that a richly endowed character achieves no conspicuous greatness, either as a teacher, a speaker, a writer, or even as a man.

The moral of these two books is this:  How can any one whose character is deeply tinged by this sort of egotism—­and it is the shadow of all eager and sensitive temperaments—­best fight against it?  Can it be subdued, can it be concealed, can it be cured?  I hardly dare to think so.  But I think that a man may deliberately resolve not to make recognition an object; and next I believe he may most successfully fight against egotism in ordinary life by regarding it mainly as a question of manners.  If a man can only, in early life, get into his head that it is essentially bad manners to thrust himself forward, and determine rather to encourage others to speak out what is in their minds, a habit can be acquired; and probably, upon acquaintance, an interest in the point of view of others will grow.  That is not a very lofty solution, but I believe it to be a practical one; and certainly for a man of egotistic nature it is a severe and fruitful lesson to read the lives of two such self-absorbed characters as Spencer and Farrar, and to see, in the one case, how ugly and distorting a fault, in the other, how hampering a burden it may become.

Egotism is really a failure of sympathy, a failure of justice, a failure of proportion, and to recognise this is the first step towards establishing a desire to be loving, just, and well-balanced.

But still the mystery remains:  and I think that perhaps the most wholesome attitude is to be grateful for what in the way of work, of precept, of example these men achieved, and to leave the mystery of their faults to their Maker, in the noble spirit of Gray’s Elegy:—­

     “No farther seek his merits to disclose,
       Or draw his frailties from their dread abode
      (There they alike in trembling hope repose),
       The bosom of his Father and his God.”

—­Ever yours,

T. B.

Monk’s orchard,
Upton,
Nov. 8, 1904.

Dear Herbert,—­I have been trying to read the letters of T. E. Brown.  Do you know anything about him?  He was a Manxman by birth, a fellow of Oriel, a Clifton Master for many years, and at the end of his life a Manxman again—­he held a living there.  He wrote some spirited tales in verse, in the Manx vernacular, and he was certainly a poet at heart.  He was fond of music, and a true lover of nature.  He had a genius for friendship,