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Chapter XXXIV

           Now,Ididnotlikethis,reader.St.Johnwasagoodman;butIbegantofeelhehadspokentruthofhimselfwhenhesaidhewashardandcold. Thehumanitiesandamenitiesoflifehadnoattractionforhim—itspeacefulenjoymentsnocharm. Literally,helivedonlytoaspire—afterwhatwasgoodandgreat,certainly;butstillhewouldneverrest,norapproveofothersrestingroundhim. AsIlookedathisloftyforehead,stillandpaleasawhitestone—athisfinelineamentsfixedinstudy—Icomprehendedallatoncethathewouldhardlymakeagoodhusband:thatitwouldbeatryingthingtobehiswife. Iunderstood,asbyinspiration,thenatureofhisloveforMissOliver;Iagreedwithhimthatitwasbutaloveofthesenses. Icomprehendedhowheshoulddespisehimselfforthefeverishinfluenceitexercisedoverhim;howheshouldwishtostifleanddestroyit;howheshouldmistrustitseverconductingpermanentlytohishappinessorhers. Isawhewasofthematerialfromwhichnaturehewsherheroes—ChristianandPagan—herlawgivers,herstatesmen,herconquerors:asteadfastbulwarkforgreatintereststorestupon;but,atthefireside,toooftenacoldcumbrouscolumn,gloomyandoutofplace. 

           "Thisparlourisnothissphere,"Ireflected:"theHimalayanridgeorCaffrebush,eventheplague-cursedGuineaCoastswampwouldsuithimbetter. Wellmayheeschewthecalmofdomesticlife;itisnothiselement:therehisfacultiesstagnate—theycannotdeveloporappeartoadvantage. 

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