things　Greek；　from　the　least　to　the　greatest；　from　the　AGAMEMMON
  （perhaps　his　favourite　tragedy）　down　to　the　details　of　Grecian
  tailoring；　which　he　used　to　express　in　his　familiar　phrase：　　'The
  Greeks　were　the　boys。'　　Dr。　Bell　…　the　son　of　George　Joseph；　the
  nephew　of　Sir　Charles；　and　though　he　made　less　use　of　it　than　some；
  a　sharer　in　the　distinguished　talents　of　his　race　…　had　hit　upon
  the　singular　fact　that　certain　geometrical　intersections　gave　the
  proportions　of　the　Doric　order。　　Fleeming；　under　Dr。　Bell's
  direction；　applied　the　same　method　to　the　other　orders；　and　again
  found　the　proportions　accurately　given。　　Numbers　of　diagrams　were
  prepared；　but　the　discovery　was　never　given　to　the　world；　perhaps
  because　of　the　dissensions　that　arose　between　the　authors。　　For　Dr。
  Bell　believed　that　'these　intersections　were　in　some　way　connected
  with；　or　symbolical　of；　the　antagonistic　forces　at　work'；　but　his
  pupil　and　helper；　with　characteristic　trenchancy；　brushed　aside
  this　mysticism；　and　interpreted　the　discovery　as　'a　geometrical
  method　of　dividing　the　spaces　or　（as　might　be　said）　of　setting　out
  the　work；　purely　empirical　and　in　no　way　connected　with　any　laws　of
  either　force　or　beauty。'　　'Many　a　hard　and　pleasant　fight　we　had
  over　it；'　wrote　Jenkin；　in　later　years；　'and　impertinent　as　it　may
  seem；　the　pupil　is　still　unconvinced　by　the　arguments　of　the
  master。'　　I　do　not　know　about　the　antagonistic　forces　in　the　Doric
  order；　in　Fleeming　they　were　plain　enough；　and　the　Bobadil　of　these
  affairs　with　Dr。　Bell　was　still；　like　the　corrector　of　Italian
  consuls；　'a　great　child　in　everything　but　information。'　　At　the
  house　of　Colonel　Cleather；　he　might　be　seen　with　a　family　of
  children；　and　with　these；　there　was　no　word　of　the　Greek　orders；
  with　these　Fleeming　was　only　an　uproarious　boy　and　an　entertaining
  draughtsman；　so　that　his　coming　was　the　signal　for　the　young　people
  to　troop　into　the　playroom；　where　sometimes　the　roof　rang　with
  romping；　and　sometimes　they　gathered　quietly　about　him　as　he　amused
  them　with　his　pencil。
  In　another　Manchester　family；　whose　name　will　be　familiar　to　my
  readers　…　that　of　the　Gaskells；　Fleeming　was　a　frequent　visitor。
  To　Mrs。　Gaskell；　he　would　often　bring　his　new　ideas；　a　process　that
  many　of　his　later　friends　will　understand　and；　in　their　own　cases；
  remember。　　With　the　girls；　he　had　'constant　fierce　wrangles；'
  forcing　them　to　reason　out　their　thoughts　and　to　explain　their
  prepossessions；　and　I　hear　from　Miss　Gaskell　that　they　used　to
  wonder　how　he　could　throw　all　the　ardour　of　his　character　into　the
  smallest　matters；　and　to　admire　his　unselfish　devotion　to　his
  parents。　　Of　one　of　these　wrangles；　I　have　found　a　record　most
  characteristic　of　the　man。　　Fleeming　had　been　laying　down　his
  doctrine　that　the　end　justifies　the　means；　and　that　it　is　quite
  right　'to　boast　of　your　six　men…servants　to　a　burglar　or　to　steal　a
  knife　to　prevent　a　murder'；　and　the　Miss　Gaskells；　with　girlish
  loyalty　to　what　is　current；　had　rejected　the　heresy　with
  indignation。　　From　such　passages…at…arms；　many　retire　mortified　and
  ruffled；　but　Fleeming　had　no　sooner　left　the　house　than　he　fell
  into　delighted　admiration　of　the　spirit　of　his　adversaries。　　From
  that　it　was　but　a　step　to　ask　himself　'what　truth　was　sticking　in
  their　heads'；　for　even　the　falsest　form　of　words　（in　Fleeming's
  life…long　opinion）　reposed　upon　some　truth；　just　as　he　could　'not
  even　allow　that　people　admire　ugly　things；　they　admire　what　is
  pretty　in　the　ugly　thing。'　　And　before　he　sat　down　to　write　his
  letter；　he　thought　he　had　hit　upon　the　explanation。　　'I　fancy　the
  true　idea；'　he　wrote；　'is　that　you　must　never　do　yourself　or　anyone
  else　a　moral　injury　…　make　any　man　a　thief　or　a　liar　…　for　any
  end'；　quite　a　different　thing；　as　he　would　have　loved　to　point　out；
  from　never　stealing　or　lying。　　But　this　perfervid　disputant　was　not
  always　out　of　key　with　his　audience。　　One　whom　he　met　in　the　same
  house　announced　that　she　would　never　again　be　happy。　　'What　does
  that　signify？'　cried　Fleeming。　　'We　are　not　here　to　be　happy；　but
  to　be　good。'　　And　the　words　（as　his　hearer　writes　to　me）　became　to
  her　a　sort　of　motto　during　life。
  From　Fairbairn's　and　Manchester；　Fleeming　passed　to　a　railway
  survey　in　Switzerland；　and　thence　again　to　Mr。　Penn's　at　Greenwich；
  where　he　was　engaged　as　draughtsman。　　There　in　1856；　we　find　him　in
  'a　terribly　busy　state；　finishing　up　engines　for　innumerable　gun…
  boats　and　steam　frigates　for　the　ensuing　campaign。'　　From　half…past
  eight　in　the　morning　till　nine　or　ten　at　night；　he　worked　in　a
  crowded　office　among　uncongenial　comrades；　'saluted　by　chaff；
  generally　low　personal　and　not　witty；'　pelted　with　oranges　and
  apples；　regaled　with　dirty　stories；　and　seeking　to　suit　himself
  with　his　surroundings　or　（as　he　writes　it）　trying　to　be　as　little
  like　himself　as　possible。　　His　lodgings　were　hard　by；　'across　a
  dirty　green　and　through　some　half…built　streets　of　two…storied
  houses'；　he　had　Carlyle　and　the　poets；　engineering　and　mathematics；
  to　study　by　himself　in　such　spare　time　as　remained　to　him；　and
  there　were　several　ladies；　young　and　not　so　young；　with　whom　he
  liked　to　correspond。　　But　not　all　of　these　could　compensate　for　the
  absence　of　that　mother；　who　had　made　herself　so　large　a　figure　in
  his　life；　for　sorry　surroundings；　unsuitable　society；　and　work　that
  leaned　to　the　mechanical。　　'Sunday；'　says　he；　'I　generally　visit
  some　friends　in　town　and　seem　to　swim　in　clearer　water；　but　the
  dirty　green　seems　all　the　dirtier　when　I　get　back。　　Luckily　I　am
  fond　of　my　profession；　or　I　could　not　stand　this　life。'　　It　is　a
  question　in　my　mind；　if　he　could　have　long　continued　to　stand　it
  without　loss。　　'We　are　not　here　to　be　happy；　but　to　be　good；'　quoth
  the　young　philosopher；　but　no　man　had　a　keener　appetite　for
  happiness　than　Fleeming　Jenkin。　　There　is　a　time　of　life　besides
  when　apart　from　circumstances；　few　men　are　agreeable　to　their
  neighbours　and　still　fewer　to　themselves；　and　it　was　at　this　stage
  that　Fleeming　had　arrived；　later　than　common　and　even　worse
  provided。　　The　letter　from　which　I　have　quoted　is　the　last　of　his
  correspondence　with　Frank　Scott；　and　his　last　confidential　letter
  to　one　of　his　own　sex。　　'If　you　consider　it　rightly；'　he　wrote　long
  after；　'you　will　find　the　want　of　correspondence　no　such　strange
  want　in　men's　friendships。　　There　is；　believe　me；　something　noble
  in　the　metal　which　does　not　rust　though　not　burnished　by　daily
  use。'　　It　is　well　said；　but　the　last　letter　to　Frank　Scott　is
  scarcely　of　a　noble　metal。　　It　is　plain　the　writer　has　outgrown　his
  old　self；　yet　not　made　acquaintance　with　the　new。　　This　letter　from
  a　busy　youth　of　three　and　twenty；　breathes　of　seventeen：　　the
  sickening　alternations　of　conceit　and　shame；　the　expense　of　hope　IN
  VACUO；　the　lack　of　friends；　the　longing　after　love；　the　whole　world
  of　egoism　under　which　youth　stands　groaning；　a　voluntary　Atlas。
  With　Fleeming　this　disease　was　never　seemingly　severe。　　The　very
  day　before　this　（to　me）　distasteful　letter；　he　had　written　to　Miss
  Bell　of　Manchester　in　a　sweeter　strain；　I　do　not　quote　the　one；　I
  quote　the　other；　fair　things　are　the　best。　　'I　keep　my　own　little
  lodgings；'　he　writes；　'but　come　up　every　night　to　see　mamma'　（who
  was　then　on　a　visit　to　London）　'if　not　kept　too　late　at　the　works；
  and　have　singing　lessons　once　more；　and　sing　〃DONNE　L'AMORE　E
  SCALTRO　PARGO…LETTO〃；　and　think　and　talk　about　you；　and　listen　to
  mamma's　projects　DE　Stowting。　　Everything　turns　to　gold　at　her
  touch；　she's　a　fairy　and　no　mistake。　　We　go　on　talking　till　I　have
  a　picture　in　my　head；　and　can　hardly　believe　at　the　end　that　the
  original　is　Stowting。　　Even　you　don't　know　half　how　good　mamma　is；
  in　other　things　too；　which　I　must　not　mention。　　She　teaches　me　how
  it　is　not　necessary　to　be　very　rich　to　do　much　good。　　I　begin　to
  understand　that　mamma　would　find　useful　occupation　and　create
  beauty　at　the　bottom　of　a　volcano。　　She　has　little　weaknesses；　but
  is　a　real　generous…hearted　woman；　which　I　suppose　is　the　finest
  thing　in　the　world。'　　Though　neither　mother　nor　son　could　be　called
  beautiful；　they　make　a　pretty　picture；　the　ugly；　generous；　ardent
  woman　weaving　rainbow　illusions；　the　ugly；　clear…sighted；　loving
  son　sitting　at　her　side　in　one　of　his　rare　hours　of　pleasure；　half…
  beguiled；　half…amused；　wholly　admiring；　as　he　listens。　　But　as　he
  goes　home；　and　the　fancy　pictures　fade；　and　Stowting　is　once　more
  burthened　with　debt；　and　the　noisy　companions　and　the　long　hours　of
  drudgery　once　more　approach；　no　wonder　if　the　dirty　green　seems　all
  the　dirtier　or　if　Atlas　must　resume　his　load。
  But　in　healthy　natures；　this　time　of　moral　teething　passes　quickly
  of　itself；　and　is　easily　alleviated　by　fresh　interests；　and
  already；　in　the　letter　to　Frank　Scott；　there　are　t