Life is a terrific struggle for all who begin it with no endowments save their brains.

A hypocrite was not necessarily a harm-doer; easy to picture the unbelieving priest whose influence was vastly for good, in word and deed.
But he, he who had ever prided himself on his truth-fronting intellect, and had freely uttered his scorn of the credulous mob! He who was his own criterion of moral right and wrong! No wonder he felt like a whipped cur.

It was the ancestral vice in his blood, brought out by over-tempting circumstance.

The long line of base-born predecessors, the grovelling hinds and mechanics of his genealogy, were responsible for this.

Oh for a name wherewith honour was hereditary! His eyes were blinded by a rush of hot tears.