'To defend society?' asked Somerset; 'to stake one's life for

others? to deracinate occult and powerful evil? I appeal to Mr.

Godall. He, at least, as a philosophic looker-on at life, will

spit upon such philistine opinions. He knows that the policeman,

as he is called upon continually to face greater odds, and that

both worse equipped and for a better cause, is in form and essence

a more noble hero than the soldier. Do you, by any chance, deceive

yourself into supposing that a general would either ask or expect,

from the best army ever marshalled, and on the most momentous

battle-field, the conduct of a common constable at Peckham Rye?'

{1}

'I did not understand we were to join the force,' said Challoner.

'Nor shall we. These are the hands; but here--here, sir, is the

head,' cried Somerset. 'Enough; it is decreed. We shall hunt down

this miscreant in the sealskin coat.'

'Suppose that we agreed,' retorted Challoner, 'you have no plan, no

knowledge; you know not where to seek for a beginning.'

'Challoner!' cried Somerset, 'is it possible that you hold the

doctrine of Free Will? And are you devoid of any tincture of

philosophy, that you should harp on such exploded fallacies?

Chance, the blind Madonna of the Pagan, rules this terrestrial

bustle; and in Chance I place my sole reliance. Chance has brought

us three together; when we next separate and go forth our several

ways, Chance will continually drag before our careless eyes a

thousand eloquent clues, not to this mystery only, but to the

countless mysteries by which we live surrounded. Then comes the

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