benevolence. However, as his private activity is not bounded by the
precincts of St. Peter's Parish, within which the society confines
its remedial labors, the miserable creatures who might need its aid
are sent away uncomforted. The delicious joke of the thing is that
"St. Peter's" is a rich and exclusive parish, consisting of what is
called "the better classes," and has no "abandoned women." Whatever
wickedness there may be in St. Peter's is discreetly veiled, and
makes no claim upon public charity. The virtuous horror of the
secretary when she hears that the "abandoned woman" who calls upon
her for aid has a child, though she is unmarried, is both comic and
pathetic. It is the clean, "deserving poor," who understand the art
of hypocritical humility--it is these whom the society seeks in
vain in St. Peter's Parish.

Still another problem of the most vital consequence Kielland has
attacked in his two novels, _Poison_ and _Fortuna_ (1884). It is,
broadly stated, the problem of education. The hero in both books is
Abraham Loevdahl, a well-endowed, healthy, and altogether promising
boy who, by the approved modern educational process, is mentally
and morally crippled, and the germs of what is great and good in
him are systematically smothered by that disrespect for
individuality
and insistence upon uniformity, which are the curses of a small
society. The revolutionary discontent which vibrates in the deepest
depth of Kielland's nature; the profound and uncompromising
radicalism which smoulders under his polished exterior; the
philosophical pessimism which relentlessly condemns all the flimsy
and superficial reformatory movements of the day, have found
expression in the history of the childhood, youth, and manhood of
Abraham Lvdahl. In the first place, it is worthy of note that to