ever I find one of George Eliot's novels, I cannot help going through it, it is a great weakness of mine. I have read this very book several times, and still I thought I was reading a new book, I fancied myself discovering new truths. You have read it, no doubt?"
"I read it years ago," replied my sister. "It impressed me as being a good book, but there are too many long conversations in it. They oppressed my mind."
"That is true," replied the doctor. "They may be somewhat tedious, but the ideal of the author is grasped by them. Whenever I read George Eliot, I, do not like to omit a single line. Whatever chapter, whatever page I may read, I feel my heart touched by a living sympathy. I am then aware of myself only as a spark in an ocean of consciousness, and am happy in drowning my individuality in the great sea of existence."
"I cannot quite accept your sentiment," replied my sister, "the heroine in Middlemarch married twice. Surely this is not a high ideal of self-sacrifice."
A gentle smile played round his lips, and passed away quickly. He answered softly,
