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tainly curious things. I had thought never again to meet
the bright young face to which I felt so strange an attrac-
tion—and lo! here it is smiling on me daily. Captain Frere
should be a happy man. Yet there is a skeleton in this house
also. That young wife, by nature so lovable and so mirthful,
ought not to have the sadness on her face that twice to-day
has clouded it. He seems a passionate and boorish creature,
this wonderful convict disciplinarian. His convicts—poor
devils—are doubtless disciplined enough. Charming lit-
tle Sylvia, with your quaint wit and weird beauty, he is not
good enough for you—and yet it was a love match.
March 21st.—I have read family prayers every night
since I have been here— my black coat and white tie gave
me the natural pre-eminence in such matters— and I feel
guilty every time I read. I wonder what the little lady of the
devotional eyes would say if she knew that I am a miserable
hypocrite, preaching that which I do not practise, exhort-
ing others to believe those marvels which I do not believe? I
am a coward not to throw off the saintly mask, and appear
as a Freethinker. Yet, am I a coward? I urge upon myself
that it is for the glory of God I hold my peace. The scandal of
a priest turned infidel would do more harm than the reign
of reason would do good. Imagine this trustful woman for
instance— she would suffer anguish at the thoughts of such
a sin, though another were the sinner. ‘If anyone offend one
of these little ones it were better for him that a millstone be
hanged about his neck and that he be cast into the sea.’ Yet
truth is truth, and should be spoken—should it not, malig-
nant monitor, who remindest me how often I fail to speak it?

For the Term of His Natural Life