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The first result of his inspection was an involuntary exclamation of surprise. Could this be the original design which he had believed himself to be reproducing! was it possible that the same man, with the same soul, could have painted this first and this last! Which should he rather trust the identity of the picture or the identity of his soul? Seldom does the opportunity occur to a human being to place his past side by side with his present, to contrast the two individualities: nor would it be easy to forecast in imagination the sensations which such a contrast would produce. The mere memory of what has been is not sufficient; for memory is tinged with the colouring matter of current life. Only that which embodies in visible form the essence of our past existence, will serve. Edward Tremaine's picture, revealing as it did the innermost traits of his disposition and character at the time of its production, afforded the best advantages for such an experiment. Yet the artist's face, instead of expressing the gratified self-esteem of one who has come upon proofs of his advancement, suggested the horror of a wretch who has just discovered the existence of a loathsome and fatal disease, which for years has been feeding upon his very vitals.

When Tremaine had hidden away that first picture in the dark closet, resolving to copy his successive copies thenceforth, he had done so from an unacknowledged conviction that it contained a subtle truth and beauty which he had lost the power to repeat. Once

out of sight and mind, the distress which the recognition of impotence inflicts had subsided, and he had been able to live his downward life very comfortably. Now suddenly the ghost of his forgotten excellence arose, and confronted

him with his degradation. Perhaps the strongest effect of the revelation was due to its abruptness; but be that as it may, it is certain that Tremaine felt the full force of it. It is scarcely necessary to remark that the Doctor, in planning to corrupt the youth's artistic integrity, had calculated on a corresponding decay in his love for Francesca. So well-planned a scheme deserved to succeed; but success of that kind, when it comes, is apt to be too complete-to embrace too much. Like the fiend in the legend, it is altogether too complacent for comfort.

After a while Mr. Tremaine's outward composure in a measure returned; he took up his palette and brushes once more, and seating himself at the easel, he began to work on the unfinished copy with great earnestness and rapidity, and with a singular smile playing about his lips. So diligent was he that by the time the Doctor and his ward were due, the picture was completed after a fashion, and was placed side by side with the other. And then Mr. Tremaine, with his heart beating high and fast, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright, waited for the visitors to appear.

The expected knock came at last. "Now for it!" Tremaine muttered; and opening the door, he admitted the suave Doctor, with the fashionable Francesca on his

arm.

The Doctor began his greetings with his customary smooth courtesy; but the artist, seeming quite to ignore his presence, turned upon Francesca a glance of such earnest and appealing affection as could scarcely have failed to impress her, had she been on the look-out for it. But she happened to be so absorbed in shaking out her skirts, arranging her scarf and adjusting her hairpins, that she escaped it entirely.

Tremaine then addressed the Doctor. "You wished to see the original design, Fannie tells me, of which all I have done since has been a reproduction. Your request has led to an odd discovery. If you recollect the exact terms of our agreement of two years back, you won't need to be told what the discovery is. Be kind enough to compare the first with the last."

So saying, he drew aside the veil he had thrown over the two pictures; and the Doctor assumed the attitude of an indulgent connoisseur.

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Yes, very beauti- eh! what's this?" he broke off harshly. He threw a malign side glance upon Tremaine, who returned it with a haughty smile. Francesca shewed her appreciation of the situation by remarking vaguely, "How very mean and unkind!"

But whatever doubts as to Edward Tremaine's genius had heretofore existed, they were now dispelled. The Doctor felt this in the midst of his anger; Tremaine himself knew it, and his eyes kindled with the glory of the conviction; only poor Francesca failed to apprehend it; but that, perhaps, was not entirely her own fault.

The two pictures were both perfect in their way; and the excellence of each brought into startling relief the excellence in the other. Each borrowed from the other an

awful power. They were dissimilar as life and death, yet were bound together by an appalling kind of relationship, like that which links evil to good.

In those hasty touches which the artist had given his latest copy, he had but carried to its logical conclusion the change which had all along been in progress. The three faces which now looked forth from the frame were the faces of condemned souls; but deep as were the marks upon them of misery,

degradation, and despair, these could not wholly hide the likeness borne by each to its inspired counterpart on the neighbouring canvas. The brightness and sweetness of the latter cast over the other's murky darkness an additional gloom.

There was a silence; then the Doctor laughed shortly and derisively; his bony finger sought his thin nose, and he looked at Tremaine with a malicious leer.

"Are you aware that you have broken the conditions of our bargain?" inquired he. "No one can call this last picture a copy of the original. All the money you have received up to this time consequently reverts to me."

Tremaine, contrary to his patron's expectation, did not break out into entreaties and protestations. He put the Doctor aside with a contemptuous gesture, and turned his eyes full on Francesca, who shrank nearer to her guardian. When he spoke, his voice was resonant with power, yet penetrated with an undertone of sad and yearning tenderness.

"Come, Fannie; it is not too late. See our souls are painted there-pure and loving as they were once, and dark and hateful as they have been growing since. But the spell that man had thrown over us is broken! Brush away the dust and stains that have settled on your heart. Cast off this slavery, and be my own little Fannie again!"

But here the Doctor interposed, in tones as smooth and musical as of yore. "What has occurred, Edward, though painful in itself, renders easier the task of acquainting you with an important piece of news. The regard which (I am pleased to note) you still retain for Francesca, is, I am sure, greater than to desire her marriage to a penniless artist; and I know you

will rejoice to hear that she has this afternoon consented to become my wife-thereby securing to herself the luxury and the tender care which otherwise she must have forfeited."

"Oh, Fannie!" cried Tremaine, in a deep, tremulous voice, "is this the truth? Can you leave me, now, and unite yourself to him?"

"But you've lost your money," Fannie whimpered; and Guardie

suits me better."

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The Doctor gave his intended wife his arm, and they were about

to depart, when the artist, pointing to the satanic visage peering from the dark background of his latest work, said

"It may have escaped your notice, sir, that not only one but both the conditions of our bargain have been violated. This copy was painted for some one else than my old patron!"

But did no punishment overtake the Doctor and Francesca for their sins?—Yes; a very ghastly one: has it not already been foreshadowed?-they married!

I.

ON MIRACLE.

THE subject of Miracle is one as to which what is called public opinion in England is in a state of chaos. It is not only a question which is regarded from opposite stand-points. That is the case with most matters of great importance. It must rather be admitted that we fail, as a rule, to look at the question from any fixed and definite stand-point at all. Our hasty and perturbed glances are like the glimpses which are caught, from the deck of a storm-tossed vessel, of a coast veiled in drifting mists.

The language for the most part used in describing the subject is equivocal and confused. Many of those to whom it is most important to form distinct and tenable opinions on the matter, shrink from all discussion as a sort of impiety. Has not the Church spoken? Is not Christianity a religion of miracle, founded on, and by miracle? Are not its priests and bishops, according to the creed of the great majority of Christendom, clothed to this hour with direct, supernatural, miraculous power? Is not an implicit admission of this power spreading wider, day by day, among the descendants and successors of men who did not blush to be called Protestants? How, then, can there be any question as to miracles? To doubt on the matter is to doubt the truth of Christianity, to be one of the outcast. There is the end of the matter.

Let the theologian rest satisfied. with his wordy triumph. It is useless to dispute on such a basis. With men who can not only utter, but (if there be any such) believe, what has been cited, logical argument is useless. Press them never so hard, the door of escape is always open. "I cannot reply to your sophisms-but that is only a trial of my faith. The wisdom of this world is foolishness in the sight of God. There is, of course, an answer to all that you have to say. I do not, at the moment, know what it is; but that has nothing to do with the matter. You are only blindly cavilling at Divine truth.'

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So long as the Church could present, or could make the slightest pretence to present, a unity of front against all assailants, such a position as the above was not only proud, but tenable. And at the head-quarters of Catholic Christendom it is still regarded as the citadel of the Faith. If the watchword Semper, ubique, ab omnibus can no longer be uttered, from a sheer sense of shame, as applicable to the rank and file of the Church, its whole power and virtue has become concentrated in her supreme ruler with a distinctness not attained by the greatest Pope who ever defied the world before the actual wearer of the tiara. And for the rank and file, not only of the Catholic Church, but of all those who claim in any way to be provinces, or schools, or even guerilla bands, of Christen

dom, the doctrine of obedience is one that brings much comfort. It may well be questioned whether it is not a grave offence to suggest to a private soldier, in matters ecclesiastical as well as in matters military, a doubt as to the strategical capacity of his officers, or as to the absolute strength of the positions he is ordered to defend. But it is another matter for the military student, for the engineer, for the staff-officer, for the man who may one day have the responsibility of command. To him. another chapter of duty is opened. He must not only know how to obey-he must be taught how to think and how to guide. It is in the case of the corresponding group of students in religion that it becomes a duty to have somewhat clearer ideas as to miracle than they can derive from ecclesiastical text-books.

II.

In order to approach so vexed and thorny a subject of discussion with any prospect of advantage, it is necessary first to define in what sense ambiguous or comprehensive words are to be used, and then to employ them in that sense alone. First of all, therefore, it is, of course, necessary to explain in what sense the word miracle is to be used in the following pages. The definition given in the last edition of Johnson's Dictionary has either the disadvantage of excluding a large number of the events, or accounts of events, which are ordinarily called miraculous, or that of giving so vague and elastic a limit as to comprehend almost every event. "Miracle, in theology," is there said to be

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Effect above human or natural power, performed in attestation of some truth." This definition omits any reference to the worker, or assumed worker, of the miracle; a

consideration which, according to the sole authority that can be properly invoked on the subject, is an essential element in the case. Again, in requiring the performance to be in attestation of some truth, it is not stated whether this is the primary and essential condition of the miraculous or whether it is only a secondary and subsidiary condition. In the latter case the application is indefinite. Any event, whether from its regular occurrence, as that of the seasons, or from its unique character, as the destruction of a city, may be said to be in attestation of some truth. And to those who believe in the control of human events by Divine power-and to others than these the discussion has no interest--many effects are above human or natural power, if the word natural have its ordinary significance.

An event so startling that, but for its occurrence, it would be regarded as impossible, which was not implored by any prayer, or predicted by any prophet, but which formed a main link in a certain chain of events, would not, or at any rate need not, be a miracle, according to this definition. Thus, if we are prepared to accept as strictly historic the account given by the Book of Exodus of the crossing of the Red Sea; and not only so, but to attach to such a phrase as "a wall unto them on their right hand and on their left," a literal sense, which is not the interpretation of Semitic scholars, this great wonder could only be called a miracle if it served to attest the truth of the words of Moses-not as being in itself a means of safety for the twelve tribes. Again, the case which Josephus cites as very similar to that of the escape from Egypt, the passage of Alexander the Great into Asia, during an unprecedented

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