from everything bearing the semblance of vice,--what more could the most
exacting fictionist desire to make up his ideal hero? Yet, without
ceasing to be all thus portrayed, he scatters desolation and crime in his
path. He does this, not through any revulsion of being in himself, but
in virtue of that very principle of action from which his lovableness
proceeds. Of duty simply as duty, of right solely as right, his
knowledge is yet to come. Essentially, his ideal of life as yet is "self-
pleasing." This impels him, constituted as he is, to strive that he
shall stand well with all. This almost necessitates that he shall be
kindly, genial, loving; enjoying the joy and well-being of all around
him, and therefore lovable. But this also assures that his struggle
against temptation shall be weak and vacillating; and that when, through
his paltering with it, it culminates, he shall at once fall before it.
The wood scene with Adam Bede still further illustrates the same
characteristics. This man, so genial and kindly, rages fiercely in his
heart against him whom he has unwittingly wronged. Frank and open,
apparently the very soul of honour, he shuffles and lies like a coward
and a knave; and this in no personal fear, but because he shrinks to lose
utterly that goodwill and esteem of others,--of Adam in particular,
because Adam constrains his own high esteem,--which are to him the
reflection of his own self-worship. Repentance comes to him at last,
because conscience has never in him been entirely overlaid and crushed.
It comes when the whirlwind of anguish has swept over him, scattered all
the flimsy mists of self-excuse in which self-love had sought to veil his
wrong-doing, and bowed him to the dust; but who shall estimate the
remediless and everlasting loss already sustained?

We have spoken of Captain Wybrow as the prototype of Arthur. He is so in
respect of both being swayed by that vital sin of self-pleasing to which
all wrong-doing ultimately refers itself; but that in Arthur the