decided in their opposition to Pascal and Montaigne. "Le pyrrhonisme," wrote Nicole, "n'est pas une secte de gens qui soient persuadés de ce qu'ils disent, mais c'est une secte de menteurs." Neither Nicole nor Arnauld were, in fact, fanatics; and Nicole, who had never come under the influence of St. Cyran, even went so far as to substitute a theory of general grace for the special and peculiar grace of the Jansenists. Here Arnauld could not follow. In anything which touched on the authority of Jansen he was unalterably firm in his attachment to his master, the great St. Cyran. If there was one man who ruined Port Royal from the point of view of the world it was St. Cyran. With out him Port Royal would not have been famous, but it would have been safe. It was he who, owing to his friendship with Cornelius Jansen, forced upon the Cistercian monastery the doctrines of the Augustinus," which afterwards led to the expulsion of Arnauld from the Sorbonne, and formed the immediate occasion for the "Provincial Letters. St. Cyran was at once a theologian and a great ruler of men. He wrote books which were the talk of his age, and Richelieu once pointed him out as "the most learned man in Europe." With his rare force of character he had also the power both to select the right men for his purpose and mould them as he would. It was he who saw the value of those two great engines of influence, education and the confessional; for he was the real author of the Port Royal schools, and through the mouth of Singlin and De Saçi he ruled over the consciences of the sisters and the penitents, even from the depths of his prison at Vincennes. His was the power and range of a great intellectual character, while Pascal's strength lay rather in the narrow intensity of his emotions. The key-note to Pascal's character is seen by his sister, when she refers to his humeur bouillante. It was the passionate keenness of his disposition which explains at once his success and his failure. In the earlier stage of his life, when he was full of scientific tastes and predilections, there was nothing which he took up which he did not carry out with singular neatness and precision. Without the assistance of Euclid, he worked out for himself Euclid's propositions. His experiments on the Puy de Dôme formed the exact proof that was wanting to establish the fact of atmospheric pressure. He astonishes his age by inventing a calculating machine, and distances all other competitors in the rapidity and completeness of his theory of the cycloid. When he turns from science to literature, there is the same origi nality, the same triumphant and rapid footstep, the same brilliance of result. He has not got the constructive and comprehensive mind of Descartes nor the erudition of Arnauld; but though he is the author of no system, his "Provincial Letters - both in the exquisite raillery of the earlier ones and the passionate rhetoric of the later-mark an era in the history of French prose and world-literature. But this intensity and keenness of character equally account for other traits in Pascal, which are not so amiable or so helpful to the world. They explain his sudden changes of life, his narrow enthusiasms, his wild fanaticism, his almost splendid wrong-headedness. There is some doubt whether Descartes suggested to Pascal the experiment on the Puy de Dôme in 1648, or whether the idea was wholly Pascal's own. But when a letter from Descartes is shown to Pascal by Carcavi the mathematician, claiming the originality of the idea, Pascal is outraged, affects first to despise the letter, and then angrily denies its truth. Yet both Baillet and Montucla, the first in his life of Descartes, the second in his "Histoire des Mathématiques," appear to prove that Pascal was anything but just to his predecessor. When in 1646 his father brings him into contact for the first time with Port Royalist teachers, it is Pascal whose young religious ardor serves to convert not only himself but his sister Jacqueline slso. Jacqueline, indeed, affords many points of similarity with her brother; she has the same ardent zeal, the same inflexible devotion to that cause which she has once espoused. But this passionate sensibility to new ideas perhaps is more often found in women than in men, and in Pascal himself the gusty violence of his temperament often strikes one as feminine. The women, too, of Port Royal were at least the equal of the men, and La Mère Angelique and Jacqueline were hardly surpassed by Arnauld or Pascal himself. Yet Jacqueline is, at all events, more consistent than her brother. When once she is converted through her brother's instrumentality, she does not waver again, but carries through her decision to join the nuns even in the teeth of the opposition of both her father Etienne and her brother Blaise. But she has to bewail the comparative changeable. ness of the very man who first led her to become dead to the world, and when Pascal finally joined Port Royal in 1654, she had already been for some years an inhab-question. The document begins with the itant of the monastery. From 1652 to mysterious word "Feu" and contains the nearly the end of 1654, there is an interval following significant phrases among many of some two years and a half, during which others, which are of highly_mystical imBlaise Pascal has apparently forgotten his port: "Dieu d'Abraham, Dieu d'Isaac, religious fervor, and has after the death Dieu de Jacob; non des philosophes et of his father become master of his own des savans. Certitude, certitude, sentifortunes and entered the gay world of mens, vue, joie, paix. Oubli du monde, et Paris. How was that interval spent? It de tout hormis Dieu. Reconciliation tois difficult to say. He was certainly known tale et douce. Soumission totale à Jesusin the salons of the capital, and probably Christ et à mon directeur." This is the figured in the assemblies of Madame de so-called "amulet" of Pascal. Amulet it Sablé, Madame de Lafayette, and Madame was not, but rather the record of some dé Longueville; and to the Port Royal singular and awful experiences which Pasascetics he appeared indubitably as a cal wished forever to remember. Whatworldling. Once launched in the gaieties ever view we may take of it, it is certain of Paris, his keen ardor probably led him that it marks the turning-point in his life. to satisfy his curiosity in amusements Henceforth, the adieux had been said to which might be indiscreet and were cer- the society of Paris, and to the love of tainly unedifying. We are not without science, and the new life begins at Port positive evidence on this point. To this Royal; the new life of monkish seclusion period belongs that curious fragment and fanatical austerity. To the God, not which Cousin discovered, the "Discours sur les Passions de l'Amour," and though it is hard to imagine Pascal in love, yet Faugère has not hesitated to suggest that the object of his affection was the sister of his friend the Duc de Roannez. A somewhat dubious confirmation of Pascal's weaknesses is furnished by the memoirs of Fléchier cited by M. Gonod. It appears that a certain lady, "qui était la Sapho du pays," was to be found at Clarmont, and that "M. Pascal, qui s'est de-feet. Let others make terms if they will puis acquis tant de réputation, et un autre savant, étaient continuellement auprès de cette belle savante." But perhaps it is more charitable to suppose that this amorous personage is not the same as our hero of the humeur bouillante. Then succeeds that memorable change, called by his historians his second conversion, in the latter part of 1654, from which date Pascal is forever lost to science and to the world, and forever won for theology and the Church. It is prefaced by two events; first the accident at the Pont de Neuilly, when Pascal, driving in a carriage, sees his horses precipitated into the river, while he is himself preserved through the providential breaking of the traces; second, the experiences of the night of Monday, November 23rd, 1654. After Pascal's death a servant discovered in his waistcoat a little parcel which had been evidently worn, stitched up in his clothes, from day to day. The parcel contained two copies, one on parchment the other written on paper, of a marvellous document relating a vision or series of visions which had happened to him from 10.30 P. M. to 12.30 P. M. on the night in VOL. LX. 3087 LIVING AGE. of philosophers and scientists, but of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the penitent turns. And he carries even into the changed conditions the wonted eagerness,' the same passionate zeal, the old humeur bouillante. He will outdo all others in the ardor of his converted zeal. Arnauld might study Descartes, but for himself he could not forgive him. De Saçi might turn aside from knowledge and philosophy; Pascal will trample them under his with the Jesuits, he will expose all their casuistical chicanery and perverted morals. Nicole might wish the formulary to be signed, but Pascal and Jacqueline will stand out alone. Pascal himself fainted away at the idea of any proposed compromise with the enemies of Jansenism; and poor Jacqueline, signing at last the detested document with grave doubts and fears, dies shortly after of a broken heart. No one shall exceed Pascal as a zealot and a fanatic. His stormy vehemence of sacrifice shall include the sacrifice alike of philosophy and of himself. Rarely, indeed, has there been such a zealot. The "Pensées" remain as the chief witness of the fact. But there are other evidences beside. His sister had to expostulate with him on his neglect of his ablutions and to remind him that godliness did not necessarily mean uncleanness. When he was dying he wanted to be carried to the Hospital of the Incurables to die among the poor. After he was dead, it was found that he carried an iron girdle with spikes which he was in the habit of pressing to his side when he felt anything which his sensitive mind enable her to go to service. The ecclesiastic wished to know the name of him who was doing this charitable act: "for," said he, "I think it is so noble that I cannot suffer it to remain in obscurity." Such an act is worth a good many "Pensées." W. L. COURTNEY. From Chambers' Journal. RICHARD CABLE, THE LIGHTSHIPMAN. 66 "MEHALAH, ,” “JOHN HERRING," COURT ROYal, ЕТС. CHAPTER XLI. could call a temptation. And mark the 99 Yet the great heart of humanity is greater than that of Pascal; and, despite | his disapproval, it can find in him something to love. Vigor, enthusiasm, devotion, such qualities we can admire; but there is enough in him of the common warmth of human feeling even to win our tears. Madame Périer tells us that as he was returning one day from mass at St. Sulpice, he was met by a young girl about fifteen years of age and very beautiful, who asked an alms. He was touched to see the girl exposed to such obvious dan ger, and asked her who she was. H ving learned that her father was dead and that her mother had been taken to the Hôtel Dieu that very day, he thought that God had sent her to him as soon as she was in want; so without delay he took her to the seminary, and put her into the hands of a good priest, to whom he gave money, and whom he begged to take care of her and to place her in some situation where, on account of her youth, she might have good advice and be safe. And to assist him in his care, he said that he would send next day a woman to buy clothes for her, and all that might be necessary to SEVEN RED WINDOWS. A CURIOUS sight it was to see Cable breaking stones on an early summer day, with his children about him, sitting on the heap, playing in the road, crouching into the hedge, and at noon clustering round him whilst he divided among them the cold potato pasty that constituted the family dinner. But it was on Saturday only that this little conclave assembled, when there was no school. On all other days the elder children were learning their letters and the art of sewing in the national school. The winter had passed hardly for Richard Cable, and for his mother, who had become infirm with age and trouble. She did not complain; but her face was paler and more sharp in feature, her movements were less rapid, her hair bad become grayer. A tree ill bears transplantation, and Bessie had been uprooted from a comfortable home, from associations sad, painful, and yet cherished as associations, and carried away to a strange corner of Britain, where she was subjected to hardships to which she was unaccustomed. The work Richard got was not such as to bring in much pay, and it was not work for an able-bodied man. Sometimes he sat on the side of the road against the hedge and broke stones with a long hammer; at others he hobbled about the road scraping it and cleaning the waterrunlets. He got very wet over his work, and then rheumatism made itself felt in his weak thigh. One consideration troubled Richard Cable night and day, and the trouble grew as the children oldened. How could the cottage be made to accommodate them all when they were grown up? How could his scanty earnings be made to sustain the whole family when the children were young women and exacted more of him? Would he be constrained to send his ones. As he sat breaking stones, sometimes the mica in the stones glittered in the sun; he wondered whether he should chance on a nugget of gold or a thread of silver, and so make his fortune. But such an idea, when it rose, embittered him the more. No; there was no chance of his finding gold thus; for that, he must go to California, and that he could not do, because he might not leave his helpless children. Silver! If he lit on a vein, what would it profit him? Others would enter in and quarry the precious metal; the mining captain, the men, the lord of the manor, the shareholders, would reap the silver; not a coin minted out of it would come to his pocket who discovered the lode. self a new house. Why should he be capable of adding three new rooms to his dwelling, and he, Dicky Cable, be unable to enlarge his cob cottage without encroaching on his garden? Then his mind turned back to Hanford. He thought of the Hall that might have been his, had Gabriel Gotham behaved rightly to his mother. He knew that house well now, and he took a grim pleasure in considering how he would have disposed of the rooms for the accommodation of his dear ones. The little rose room, that would have done for the twins; and Mary, sweet Mary, should have had the blue room looking out on the terrace, with the window over the door. The yellow room would have gone to his mother and baby Bessie. Lettice and Susie could have revelled in the lavender room, so called because it always smelt of lavender. How happy the children would have been there! How sweet would have been the sound of their voices as they played among the bushes of laburnum and syringa! The idea was enticing; but Richard never for a moment regretted having refused the offer made him. His brief life in the Hall had left an indelible mark on him other than that which has been mentioned. In spite of himself, he had been forced to contrast the habits of the cultured with those of the class to which he belonged; and his clear good sense showed him that there were vulgarities and roughnesses that might be sloughed away with advantage; that there were merits as well as demerits in civilization. Involuntarily, his mind was caught by these points, and hung on them, and he began to correct in himself little uncouthnesses, and to insist on attention to these matters in his children. In Bessie Cable there had ever been a refinement and grace of manner above her position, due to her early association with Gabriel and the rest of the Gotham family; but Richard had not regarded this or sought to acquire it. Now he appreciated it, and was painfully anxious that his children should acquire it. Indeed, with them there was no difficulty; they had instinc tive delicacy and refinement. They had the look of little ladies, with their transparent skins, fine bones, and graceful shapes. All at once Richard Cable left the parish church of St. Kerian and attended the Wesleyan meeting-house. What was his reason? It was no other than this: The rector had a large family, growing up; they sat in a pew near the beautiful old carved and gilt oak screen; and Cable could not endure to see them there on Sunday, and to listen to the voice of a pastor who was able to retain his eldest daughter, aged twenty-three, in the parsonage; also his second, aged twenty; and his third, aged eighteen. Why should the rector be thus privileged, and he himself be without the means of making a home for his children when they were grown up? The ways of Providence were not equal. He gave up going to chapel after a few months, because he was at war with Providence, after which the chapel was named. He beat the stones to pieces with a vindictive hate, as though he were breaking. "You're swelling out of your clothes," up the social order and reducing all men said Farmer Tregurtha one day as he to one size and ruggedness. The farmer came on Richard sitting on the bench at who was principal shareholder and main-his cottage door, looking at his children. stay of Providence Chapel had built him- "What do you mean? asked Cable. 99 "So proud," answered Tregurtha, laugh- | made such an impression on his mind that ing, "proud wi' contemplating them seven little mites." "And I've a cause," said Richard, holding up his head. He could not get over his difficulty about housing the little girls as they grew older. He could not raise the roof and add a story, as the clay walls would not bear the superstructure; and to add to the cottage laterally was to rob his garden. he was unable to shake it off. Only one point puzzled him—the arrangement of the windows. How were they set in front of the house so that there should be seven windows? If he had two on the right and two above, also two on the left and two above, and one over the door, that would make nine. If he had four on one side and two on the other, and one above the door, that indeed would be seven; but the house would be lopsided. He tried to recall how the windows were at Hanford, and was unable to recollect. All day he puzzled over the problem. As he went through the village, he met the mason. "Mr. Spry," said he, "how could I build a house on Summerleaze with seven red windows in the front and a door?" "Summerleaze!" exclaimed the mason. "Why, sure, that belongs to Farmer Tregurtha. You're surely not a-going to build there?" "Never mind about that," said Cable hastily. "All I ask is, how can I have seven red windows in the front of a house, with a door to go in at?" "You about to build!" exclaimed Spry. Wonders will never cease! Where is the money to come from? Show me that, and I'll consider the question how to build with it." "I want to know how there could be seven red windows in the front of a house, as well as a door, and the front of the house not look crooked and queer? One night, after Cable had been fuming in mind over this trouble all day, he had a remarkable dream. From his bedroom he could look through a tiny window away to a green sloping hillside, which had its head clothed with dense oak coppice. He had often looked out at this hill and thought nothing of the prospect. This night, however, he dreamed that, as he lay in bed, he was gazing through the window; and although it was night, he saw the whole of that slope and the wood, and the granite tors and the moor clothed in heather and gorse behind it, bathed in glorious sunlight. But what was new and remarkable in the landscape was that, on the slope, where now lay a grass field," standing with its back to the coppice stood Hanford Hall. There was no mistaking the house, with its white walls, and windows painted Indian-red, and the great door opening on to the terrace. There it stood, with its flight of stone steps down the slope in three stages. Moreover, he saw himself standing in the doorway, and one of his children's heads peeping out of each window. There was Mary looking from the blue room, and Effie from the rose room, and Susie from the lavender room, and Martha from the yellow room. Only he could not make out whether little Bessie were there, and from which window her dear innocent little face, with its look of pain ever on it, was visible. The house had an air of comfort about it, and a freshness, such as Hanford Hall lacked. It had lawn and flower-garden before it, and gravelled walks; and a summer-house where at Hanford stood the windstrew, a summer-house with a conical roof and a gilt ball at the top. This was the only completely novel feature in the scene. He knew the St. Kerian landscape. He knew the front of the house at Hanford, and of course his children's faces were familiar to him. Why, then, was a perfectly new feature introduced, and how was it that such a jumble of disconnected objects and scenery should occur to him? When Richard awoke, the dream had "What be the good of puzzling over that, when the land ain't yourn, nor the money itself to build with." Then he pushed on his way, and left Cable unanswered. That same day Cable was seated by the roadside. He had broken his pasty into eight pieces; but little Lettice had cried for more, and he had given her his por tion, contenting himself with the crumbs. He was hungry and irritable, teased with his dream, and angry at the mason for the contemptuous way in which he had left him with his problem unsolved. All at once he heard a voice above him, and looking up, saw Farmer Tregurtha standing in his field behind the hedge, gazing down on him and on the little shining heads on which the sun was blazing. "Hulloh! Dick," shouted the farmer, "what's the meaning of this I hear? Spry has been talking all over the village that you are about to buy my land of me whether I want to sell or no. I did not know you were flush of money and wished to extend your acres!" Tregurtha had |