fate。　He　had　been　the　spoiled　darling　of　the　public；　the　constant　favourite　of　the　press；　and　now；　like　the　dark　angels　of　old；
  so　huge　a　rout　Encumbered　him　with　ruin。
  He　could　not　recover　from　amazement　at　having　offended　everybody　by　an　enterprise　which　had　been　undertaken　in　the　cause　of　universal　reconciliation。
  During　that　grim　season；　my　Father　was　no　lively　companion；　and　circumstance　after　circumstance　combined　to　drive　him　further　from　humanity。　He　missed　more　than　ever　the　sympathetic　ear　of　my　Mother；　there　was　present　to　support　him　nothing　of　that　artful；　female　casuistry　which　insinuates　into　the　wounded　consciousness　of　a　man　the　conviction　that；　after　all；　he　is　right　and　all　the　rest　of　the　world　is　wrong。　My　Father　used　to　tramp　in　solitude　around　and　around　the　red　ploughed　field　which　was　going　to　be　his　lawn；　or　sheltering　himself　from　the　thin　Devonian　rain；　pace　up　and　down　the　still…naked　verandah　where　blossoming　creepers　were　to　be。　And　I　think　that　there　was　added　to　his　chagrin　with　all　his　fellow　mortals　a　first　tincture　of　that　heresy　which　was　to　attack　him　later　on。　It　was　now　that；　I　fancy；　he　began；　in　his　depression；　to　be　angry　with　God。　How　much　devotion　had　he　given；　how　many　sacrifices　had　he　made；　only　to　be　left　storming　around　this　red　morass　with　no　one　in　all　the　world　to　care　for　him　except　one　pale…faced　child　with　its　cheek　pressed　to　the　window！
  After　one　or　two　brilliant　excursions　to　the　sea；　winter；　in　its　dampest；　muddiest；　most　languid　form；　had　fallen　upon　us　and　shut　us　in。　It　was　a　dreary　winter　for　the　wifeless　man　and　the　motherless　boy。　We　had　come　into　the　house；　in　precipitate　abandonment　to　that　supposed　answer　to　prayer；　a　great　deal　too　soon。　In　order　to　rake　together　the　lump　sum　for　buying　it；　my　Father　had　denuded　himself　of　almost　everything；　and　our　sticks　of　chairs　and　tables　filled　but　two　or　three　rooms。　Half　the　little　house；　or　'villa'　as　we　called　it；　was　not　papered；　two…　thirds　were　not　furnished。　The　workmen　were　still　finishing　the　outside　when　we　arrived；　and　in　that　connection　I　recall　a　little　incident　which　exhibits　my　Father's　morbid　delicacy　of　conscience。　He　was　accustomed　in　his　brighter　momentsand　this　was　before　the　publication　of　his　'Omphalos'occasionally　to　sing　loud　Dorsetshire　songs　of　his　early　days；　in　a　strange；　broad　Wessex　lingo　that　I　loved。　One　October　afternoon　he　and　I　were　sitting　on　the　verandah；　and　my　Father　was　singing；　just　around　the　corner；　out　of　sight；　two　carpenters　were　putting　up　the　framework　of　a　greenhouse。　In　a　pause；　one　of　them　said　to　his　fellow：　'He　can　zing　a　zong；　zo　well's　another；　though　he　be　a　minister。'　My　Father；　who　was　holding　my　hand　loosely；　clutched　it；　and　looking　up；　I　saw　his　eyes　darken。　He　never　sang　a　secular　song　again　during　the　whole　of　his　life。
  Later　in　the　year；　and　after　his　literary　misfortune；　his　conscience　became　more　troublesome　than　ever。　I　think　he　considered　the　failure　of　his　attempt　at　the　reconciliation　of　science　with　religion　to　have　been　intended　by　God　as　a　punishment　for　something　he　had　done　or　left　undone。　In　those　brooding　tramps　around　and　around　the　garden；　his　soul　was　on　its　knees　searching　the　corners　of　his　conscience　for　some　sin　of　omission　or　commission；　and　one　by　one　every　pleasure；　every　recreation；　every　trifle　scraped　out　of　the　dust　of　past　experience；　was　magnified　into　a　huge　offence。　He　thought　that　the　smallest　evidence　of　levity；　the　least　unbending　to　human　instinct；　might　be　seized　by　those　around　him　as　evidence　of　inconsistency；　and　might　lead　the　weaker　brethren　into　offence。　The　incident　of　the　carpenters　and　the　comic　song　is　typical　of　a　condition　of　mind　which　now　possessed　my　Father；　in　which　act　after　act　became　taboo；　not　because　each　was　sinful　in　itself；　but　because　it　might　lead　others　into　sin。
  I　have　the　conviction　that　Miss　Marks　was　now　mightily　afraid　of　my　Father。　Whenever　she　could；　she　withdrew　to　the　room　she　called　her　'boudoir'；　a　small；　chilly　apartment；　sparsely　furnished；　looking　over　what　was　in　process　of　becoming　the　vegetable　garden。　Very　properly；　that　she　might　have　some　sanctuary；　Miss　Marks　forbade　me　to　enter　this　virginal　bower；　which；　of　course；　became　to　me　an　object　of　harrowing　curiosity。　Through　the　key…hole　I　could　see　practically　nothing；　one　day　I　contrived　to　slip　inside；　and　discovered　that　there　was　nothing　to　see　but　a　plain　bedstead　and　a　toilet…table；　void　of　all　attraction。　In　this　'boudoir'；　on　winter　afternoons；　a　fire　would　be　lighted；　and　Miss　Marks　would　withdraw　to　it；　not　seen　by　us　anymore　between　high…tea　and　the　apocalyptic　exercise　known　as　'worship'　in　less　strenuous　households　much　less　austerely　practised　under　the　name　of　'family　prayers'。　Left　meanwhile　to　our　own　devices；　my　Father　would　mainly　be　reading　his　book　or　paper　held　close　up　to　the　candle；　while　his　lips　and　heavy　eyebrows　occasionally　quivered　and　palpitated；　with　literary　ardour；　in　a　manner　strangely　exciting　to　me。　Miss　Marks；　in　a　very　high　cap；　and　her　large　teeth　shining；　would　occasionally　appear　in　the　doorway；　desiring；　with　spurious　geniality；　to　know　how　we　were　'getting　on'。　But　on　these　occasions　neither　of　us　replied　to　Miss　Marks。
  Sometimes　in　the　course　of　this　winter；　my　Father　and　I　had　long　cosy　talks　together　over　the　fire。　Our　favourite　subject　was　murders。　I　wonder　whether　little　boys　of　eight；　soon　to　go　upstairs　alone　at　night；　often　discuss　violent　crime　with　a　widower…papa？　The　practice；　I　cannot　help　thinking；　is　unusual；　it　was；　however；　consecutive　with　us。　We　tried　other　secular　subjects；　but　we　were　sure　to　come　around　at　last　to　'what　do　you　suppose　they　really　did　with　the　body？'　I　was　told；　a　thrilled　listener；　the　adventure　of　Mrs　Manning；　who　killed　a　gentleman　on　the　stairs　and　buried　him　in　quick…lime　in　the　back…kitchen；　and　it　was　at　this　time　that　I　learned　the　useful　historical　fact；　which　abides　with　me　after　half　a　century；　that　Mrs。　Manning　was　hanged　in　black　satin；　which　thereupon　went　wholly　out　of　fashion　in　England。　I　also　heard　about　Burke　and　Hare；　whose　story　nearly　froze　me　into　stone　with　horror。
  These　were　crimes　which　appear　in　the　chronicles。　But　who　will　tell　me　what　'the　Carpet…bag　Mystery'　was；　which　my　Father　and　I　discussed　evening　after　evening？　I　have　never　come　across　a　whisper　of　it　since；　and　I　suspect　it　of　having　been　a　hoax。　As　I　recall　the　details；　people　in　a　boat；　passing　down　the　Thames；　saw　a　carpet…bag　hung　high　in　air；　on　one　of　the　projections　of　a　pier　of　Waterloo　Bridge。　Being　with　difficulty　dragged　downor　perhaps　upthis　bag　was　found　to　be　full　of　human　remains；　dreadful　butcher's　business　of　joints　and　fragments。　Persons　were　missed；　were　identified；　were　again　deniedthe　whole　is　a　vapour　in　my　memory　which　shifts　as　I　try　to　define　it。　But　clear　enough　is　the　picture　I　hold　of　myself；　in　a　high　chair；　on　the　left…　hand　side　of　the　sitting…room　fireplace；　the　leaping　flames　reflected　in　the　glass…case　of　tropical　insects　on　the　opposite　wall；　and　my　Father；　leaning　anxiously　forward；　with　uplifted　finger；　emphasizing　to　me　the　pros　and　cons　of　the　horrible　carpet…bag　evidence。
  I　suppose　that　my　interest　in　these　discussionsand　Heaven　knows　I　was　animated　enoughamused　and　distracted　my　Father；　whose　idea　of　a　suitable　theme　for　childhood's　ear　now　seems　to　me　surprising。　I　soon　found　that　these　subjects　were　not　welcome　to　everybody；　for；　starting　the　Carpet…bag　Mystery　one　morning　with　Miss　Marks；　in　the　hope　of　delaying　my　arithmetic　lesson；　she　fairly　threw　her　apron　over　her　ears；　and　told　me；　from　that　vantage；　that　if　I　did　not　desist　at　once；　she　should　scream。
  Occasionally　we　took　winter　walks　together；　my　Father　and　I；　down　some　lane　that　led　to　a　sight　of　the　sea；　or　over　the　rolling　downs。　We　tried　to　recapture　the　charm　of　those　delightful　strolls　in　London；　when　we　used　to　lean　over　the　bridges　and　watch　the　ducks。　But　we　could　not　recover　this　pleasure。　My　Father　was　deeply　enwoven　in　the　chain　of　his　own　thoughts；　and　would　stalk　on；　without　a　word；　buried　in　angry　reverie。　If　he　spoke　to　me；　on　these　excursions；　it　was　a　pain　to　me　to　answer　him。　I　could　talk　on　easy　terms　with　him　indoors；　seated　in　my　high　chair；　with　our　heads　on　a　level；　but　it　was　intolerably　laborious　to　look　up　into　the　firmament　and　converse　with　a　dark　face　against　the　sky。　The　actual　exercise　of　walking；　too；　was　very　exhausting　to　me；　the　bright　red　mud；　to　the　strange　colour　of　which　I　could　not　for　a　long　while　get　accustomed；　becoming　caked　about　my　little　shoes；　and　wearying　me　extremely。　I　would　grow　petulant　and　cross；　contradict　my　Father；　and　oppose　his　whims。　These　walks　were　distressing　to　us　both；　yet　he　did　not　like　to　walk　alone；　and　he　had　no　other　friend。　However；　as　the　winter　advanced；　they　had　to　be　abandoned；　and　the　habit　of　our　taking　a　'constitutional'　together　was　never　resumed。
  I　look　back　upon　myself　at　this　time　as　upon　a　cantankerous；　ill…　tempered　and　unobliging　child。　The　only　excuse　I　can　offer　is　that　I　really　was　not　well。　The　change　to　Devonshire　had　not　suited　me；　my　health　gave　the　excellent　Miss　Marks　some　anxiety；　but　she　was　not　ready　in　resource。　The　dampness　of　th