THERE IS NO JOY BUT CALM

Look at that odd figure coming down the street. I mean that dumpy little man in the coal-skuttle hat, with the coat tucked under his arm. One corner is peacefully trailing in the mud but he does not notice such trifles. He is a philosopher by the grace of God. See he has stopped in the very midst of the largest mud-puddle and is beautifully speculating about the fourth concept of reality utterly oblivious of the first. He evidently had some object in coming down here. Oh he was after a Boston car. Well! it is just gone passing him, but he, not one whit disturbed, moves his feet placidly in the water on the crossing and waits for another.

Be a philosopher, oh my brother, if you would know perfect peace.

On reading Bernstein’s LaSalle it has again been borne in upon me, how completely Meredith failed in the Tragic Comedians, to portray his character. He gives us only a bizarre and unnatural giant in place of the very human socialist full of strength and weakness. It may seem sacrilegious to the devoted admirers of Meredith to dare to compare him with Dickens but his method is often the same. He too seizes certain marked characteristics of his characters and then dwells on them to the utter neglect of the other traits. He usually manages to keep this tendency within bounds but in the Tragic Comedians it completely carried him away and the character of LaSalle is a distorted caricature that has not even the excuse of being humorous. It resembles nothing on earth certainly