whenever he spoke of Lionel's cousin.

"Oh, Francie should have lived in the fifteenth century--she would have
been a follower of Savonarola," Lionel said, with a laugh. "She's far
too exalted for these present days."

"Well, Linn," said his friend, "I'm glad you know at least one person
who has some notion of duty and self-sacrifice, who has some fineness of
perception and some standard of conduct and aim to go by. Why, those
people you associate so much with now seem to have but one pursuit--the
pursuit of pleasure, the gratification of every selfish whim; they seem
to have no consciousness of the mystery surrounding life--of the fact
that they themselves are inexplicable phantoms whose very existence
might make them pause and wonder and question. No, it is the amassing of
wealth, and the expending of it, that is all sufficient. I used to
wonder why God should have chosen the Jews, of all the nations of the
earth, for the revelation that there was something nobler than the
acquisition of riches; but I suppose it was because no race ever needed
it so much. And what new revelation--what new message is coming to the
multitudes here in England who are living in a paradise of sensual
gratification, blinded, besotted, their world a sort of gorgeous
pig-stye--"

"Oh, that's all right," Lionel said, cheerfully. "Octavius Quirk has
settled all that. The cure for everything is to be a blowing of the
whole social fabric to bits. Then we're going to begin again all over;
and the New Jerusalem will be reached when each man has to dig for his
own potatoes."

"Quirk!" said Maurice Mangan, contemptuously; and then he took out his