"And to what conclusion?" asked his companion.
"That the balance even here is in favour of right," replied Morley. "Supposing that there be an equal portion of misfortunes and disappointments, successes and advantages, allotted to the virtuous and the vicious--and there is nothing either in reason or experience to show that the bad man is more favoured by fortune than the good--the very nature of the virtuous man's own mind leaves his pleasures not only more pure, but more poignant from the freshness of his heart, while his sorrows are diminished by resignation to the will of Him who sent them, and by those bright hopes which lighten half the load of life."
"I am glad to think that you have got up such a comfortable philosophy," answered Lieberg, "for of late I have certainly seen that you are very sad, Morley, and I have striven to the best of my power, though somewhat vainly, to cheer you."
"I thank you for it deeply," replied Morley, extending his hand, "and I wish I had been wise enough to get up this philosophy, as you call it, before. You would not have found it, then, so difficult to soothe me, Lieberg."
"It is an excellent good philosophy," answered his companion; "and the only part of it with which I might be inclined to quarrel, my good friend, is the actual estimation of what is right and what is wrong, what is innocent and what is vicious. I do not take for granted the dictum of every would-be philosopher--no, nor of every puritan--when he tells me that a thing which makes me very happy, and does no harm to anybody, is a vice or a wickedness;--but there is no use of talking any more about it. Ethics are a very uncertain science; what's excessively wicked in one country is highly virtuous in another--polygamy is an honoured observance in Turkey. Dwindle it down to bigamy in England, and it becomes a great crime, for which you send the poor wretch to hard labour in a penal colony, as if the fool's act would not be punishment enough if we did but compel him to abide by the consequences, and live with the two wives at once."
Lieberg laughed aloud, half drowning Morley's reply--"The Christian has always a standard of morality, Lieberg."
The former, however, wished to pursue the subject no more, for he was satisfied with the advantages he had gained, and was well inclined to leave the boundaries of vice and virtue vague and undefined.
He therefore turned the matter off with a jest, and as their breakfast concluded, demanded--"Well, Morley, what shall we do to-day?"
"For my part," answered Morley, "I shall quit Paris this very day, but I do not wish to influence your conduct, Lieberg, as you many have affairs to keep you here somewhat longer. I wish to be away from the place, and will wait for you anywhere that you like, till you rejoin me."
Lieberg's eyes flashed with an angry expression for a moment, when Morley talked of leaving the French capital so suddenly; but the latter part of his companion's speech cleared his brow again, and he replied--"Nay, nay, I will go with you. I have nothing to do here, unless it were to take leave of some of the fair girls we know; but as you are in such haste, we will do without even that. Doubtless, as the poet says--