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 side,—"The mistake of the world is to think happiness possible to the senses."

In addition to these, Meredith gives us pictures of other than the purely romantic devotion. There is the brooding tenderness of maturity for childhood and youth: of Sir Austin, Lady Blandish, Wentworth, and Mrs. Berry, for Richard and later, Lucy; of Clara Middleton for Crossjay; of Rosamund for Beauchamp. This relationship is enhanced by a more intimate comradeship in the case of Lady Jocelyn and Rose, of Natalia Radnor and Nesta, and, in a happy-go-lucky fashion, of Roy Richmond and Harry. Nesta and Rose illustrate respectively Meredith's genuine and exquisite sentiment, and the omnipresent common sense which preserved it from sentimentality. When Nesta felt the first chill of the shadow on her life,—

"She sent forth her flights of stories in elucidation of the hidden; and they were like white bird after bird winging to covert beneath a thundercloud; until her breast ached for the voice of the thunder: harsh facts: sure as she was of never losing her filial hold of the beloved."

When Rose determined to appeal their case to her mother, she said to Evan,—

"You know she is called a philosopher; nobody knows how deep-hearted she is, though. My mother is true as steel. child,' and tears and kisses and maundering, you know. You mustn't mind her thinking me a little fool."
 * * * When I say kindness, I don't mean any 'Oh, my