that is bright and noble and generous.' He cannot accept, that is, a compromise, and yet cannot believe that the whole truth is on either side. He dies in an edifying but perplexed state of mind, listening on his death-bed to a pious declamation from Jean Paul. The other hero begins as a sceptic, but is induced to take orders. He finds his position unbearable, rambles abroad, forms a connection with another man's wife, is driven by remorse to the verge of suicide, is saved by a priest more or less representing Newman, becomes a monk, finds his old scepticism revive, falls into despair, and dies without leaving anybody to regret him. Indeed, there seems to be little enough to regret. A slight change would make the novels into edifying and orthodox tracts, showing how scepticism may sap morality. Froude explains that he accepts for himself the critical conclusions of his heroes. But he holds that it requires exceptional moral strength to resist the resulting dangers. The period, in Carlyle's language, was one of cant—of practical unbelief covered by hypocritical formalism; and a man who sees through the cant is too likely to lose the vital truth which once gave meaning to the now obsolete creeds.
A little story added to the Shadows of the
