for the most part lest the offspring should come to have wishes and feelings of its own, which may occasion many difficulties, fancied or real.  It is this that is at the bottom of the whole mischief; but whether this last proposition is granted or no, at any rate we observe that Christina had a sufficiently keen appreciation of the duties of children towards their parents, and felt the task of fulfilling them adequately to be so difficult that she was very doubtful how far Ernest and Joey would succeed in mastering it.  It is plain in fact that her supposed parting glance upon them was one of suspicion.  But there was no suspicion of Theobald; that he should have devoted his life to his children—­why this was such a mere platitude, as almost to go without saying.

How, let me ask, was it possible that a child only a little past five years old, trained in such an atmosphere of prayers and hymns and sums and happy Sunday evenings—­to say nothing of daily repeated beatings over the said prayers and hymns, etc., about which our authoress is silent—­how was it possible that a lad so trained should grow up in any healthy or vigorous development, even though in her own way his mother was undoubtedly very fond of him, and sometimes told him stories?  Can the eye of any reader fail to detect the coming wrath of God as about to descend upon the head of him who should be nurtured under the shadow of such a letter as the foregoing?

I have often thought that the Church of Rome does wisely in not allowing her priests to marry.  Certainly it is a matter of common observation in England that the sons of clergymen are frequently unsatisfactory.  The explanation is very simple, but is so often lost sight of that I may perhaps be pardoned for giving it here.

The clergyman is expected to be a kind of human Sunday.  Things must not be done in him which are venial in the week-day classes.  He is paid for this business of leading a stricter life than other people.  It is his raison d’etre.  If his parishioners feel that he does this, they approve of him, for they look upon him as their own contribution towards what they deem a holy life.  This is why the clergyman is so often called a vicar—­he being the person whose vicarious goodness is to stand for that of those entrusted to his charge.  But his home is his castle as much as that of any other Englishman, and with him, as with others, unnatural tension in public is followed by exhaustion when tension is no longer necessary.  His children are the most defenceless things he can reach, and it is on them in nine cases out of ten that he will relieve his mind.

A clergyman, again, can hardly ever allow himself to look facts fairly in the face.  It is his profession to support one side; it is impossible, therefore, for him to make an unbiassed examination of the other.