after their union that they could never be apart. Each seemed to gain strength by contact with the other. Mr. Lewes' mercurial disposition now assumed a stability greatly enhancing his brilliant talents, and for the first time facilitating that concentration of intellect so necessary for the production of really lasting philosophic work. On the other hand, George Eliot's still dormant faculties were roused and stimulated to the utmost by the man to whom this union with her formed the most memorable year of his life. By his enthusiastic belief in her he gave her the only thing she wanted—a thorough belief in herself. Indeed, he was more than a husband; he was, as an intimate friend once pithily remarked, a very mother to her. Tenderly watching over her delicate health, cheering the grave tenor of her thoughts by his inexhaustible buoyancy, jealously shielding her from every adverse breath of criticism, Mr. Lewes in a manner created the spiritual atmosphere in which George Eliot could best put forth all the flowers and fruits of her genius."
He died in 1878. Among the many letters of sympathy which she received after her loss, was one from Professor Kaufmann, her reply to which has been published since her death.
"My dear Sir," she writes, "your kind letter has touched me very deeply. I confess that my mind had more than once gone out to you as one from whom I should like to have some sign of sympathy with my loss. But you were rightly inspired in waiting until now, for during many weeks I was unable even to listen to the letters which my generous friends were continually sending me. Now, at last, I am eagerly interested in every communication that springs out of an acquaintance with my husband and his works.
"I thank you for telling me about the Hungarian translation of his 'History of Philosophy,' but what would
