knowledge led them to forget the source of all true enlightenment; now
it expressed a forbearing sympathy with such as erred in the opposite direction,
who were too literal in their interpretation of the sacred volume. Amiable as
the smile was, it betrayed weakness, and at moments Martin became unpleasantly
conscious of indisposition to examine his own mind on certain points. His life,
indeed, was one of debate postponed. As the realm of science extended, as his
intercourse with men who frankly avowed their infidelity grew more frequent, he
ever and again said to himself that, one of these days, he must sit down and
have it out in a solemn self-searching. But for the most part he got on very
well amid his inconsistencies. Religious faith has rarely any connection with
reasoning. Martin believed because he believed, and avoided the impact of
disagreeable arguments because he wished to do so.
    The bent of his mind was anything but polemical; he cared not to spend time
even over those authors whose attacks on the outposts of science, or whose
elaborate reconcilements of old and new, might have afforded him some support.
On the other hand, he altogether lacked that breadth of intellect which seeks to
comprehend all the results of speculation, to discern their tendency, to derive
from them a consistent theory of the nature of things. Though a man be well
versed in a science such as palæontology it does not follow that he will view it
in its philosophical relations. Martin had kept himself informed of all the
facts appertaining to his study which the age brought forth, but without
developing the new modes of mental life requisite for the recognition of all
that such facts involved. The theories of evolution he did not venture openly to
resist, but his acceptance of them was so half-hearted that practically he made
no use of their teaching. He was no man of science, but an idler among the
wonders which science uses for her own purposes.
    He regarded with surprise and anxiety the tendencies early manifested in his
son Buckland. Could he have had his way the lad would have grown up with an
impossible combination of qualities, blending the enthusiasm of modern research
with a spirit of expansive teleology. Whilst Buckland was still of boyish years,
the father treated with bantering good-humour such outbreaks of irreverence as
came immediately under his notice, weakly abstaining from any attempt at direct
argument or influence. But, at a later time, there took place serious and
painful discussions, and only when the young man had rubbed off his edges in the
world's highways could Martin forget that stage of most unwelcome conflict.