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Everyone knows that this is what Mr. Mallock some time ago called "the crux of Theism"; that "crux," to use his own language, is not "the existence of intelligent purpose in the universe," which may be freely conceded, but whether the processes of nature are or are not consistent with "a God possessing the character which it is the essence of Theism to attribute to Him, and which alone could render Him an object of religion, or even of interest, to mankind."
Atkins. You can put us where you will on the floor if you have no other place." "We can do better than that, sir," said Tom. "There is only my daughter here and Mr. Mallock my cousin. My daughter is gone to call the servants." The Duke looked very handsome and princely as he stood on the hearth, although there was no fire, and surveyed the room.
Mallock, and the euphuism of young Oxford, just as some people prefer a Dresden shepherdess to the Caryatides of the Erechtheum, pronounce Fielding to be low, and Mozart to be passé. As boys love lollipops, so these juvenile fops love to roll phrases about under the tongue, as if phrases in themselves had a value apart from thoughts, feelings, great conceptions, or human sympathy.
We saluted one another; and then the affair began. "Mr. Mallock," said my Lord, "the first piece of news is a little disappointing. It is that my Lord Shaftesbury is ill. It is not at all grave; but he is confined to his bed; and that throws back some of our designs." That, Mr. Mallock, was what we had hoped to be able to do in a week or two from now. Well; that is impossible. For the rest, Mr.
Mallock seems very young for his business, but I suppose that the Holy Father knows what he is about." "The Holy Father, sir," I said, "has committed himself in no sort of way to me. I am scarcely more than a free-lance who has had his blessing." "Well, well; it is all the same thing," said James a little impatiently. "Free-lance or drilled soldier they fight for the same cause."
When I looked up again, I saw, standing against the light in the door opposite, at the head of the steps, the woman that had played the Queen with that mock-blood still on her arm and breast. "Mr. Mallock," said the page, "the King is heartily sorry, and wishes to tell you so himself." I said nothing.
If, then, we accept the biological theory of social evolution, we are forced to the conclusion that the human race, instead of advancing, is really retrograding. Seeing that this is not a satisfactory explanation of human progress, Mr. Mallock supplements it with a new factor which he describes as "the unintended results of the intentions of great men."
She continued, looking through me, as through glass. "At noon: and I trust he will not keep me waiting." There was no more to be done. We turned and went out. "Lord! what a termagant is your pretty cousin, Mr. Mallock!" said my companion when we were out of doors again. "You could have trusted her well enough, I think."
"I can't say I've read them myself. Novels are not in my line. But my daughters tell me they are uncommonly good." "Ah," said the Leader of the House, in his deepest note, "this, indeed, is fame." The mention of novels reminds me of a story which I heard twenty years ago; when Mr. Mallock produced his first book the admirable New Republic.
He looked at me so fiercely that I stopped. "Listen to me," said he very imperiously. "I will have it my own way. M. Barillon, do you come with me now to His Majesty. M. Barillon shall be in the doorway that none may come through. Mr. Mallock shall be with the company and hear what they say. Then, if the King wishes for a priest, we will consult again here, and see if Mr.
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