LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 1972. April 8, 1882. From Begiauiug, Volume XXXVIIL) 4 Vol. CLIII. CONTENTS. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. SIR CHARLES LYELL THE FRERES. By Mrs. Alexander, author of The Wooing Ot. Part XXXI., THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS, ROBIN. By Mrs. Parr, author of Adam and Eve. Part V. JANE AUSTEN ON THE WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL, AMERICAN ANTS IX. DESTRUCTION OF EGYPTIAN MONUMENTS, A TRACT FOR THE TIME, CHRYSANTHEMUMS,, Quarterly Review,. Temple Bar, Nineteenth Century, Temple Bar,. Temple Bar,. Nature All The Year Round, Nature Blackwoods Magazine,. .3 23 31 . 36 43 52 .6o 64 P 0 E T R Y. 21 THE SONNETS VOICE, 2 2 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. F or EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for ayear,freeof#ostage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post.offlce money.order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money shouldbe sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, s8 cents. 2 A TRACT FOR THE TIME, ETC. A TRACT FOR THE TIME. Be lively with the cricket, be merry with the It is proposed to establish a childrens branch of grig, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. And never quote from Bacon in the presence Weekly Paler. of a pig! Dont contradict the moocow, nor argue with the gee Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! Pttnch Awelderly lady had had her boots blackt, And gave to the blacker a nice little tract: The following gives a resume~ exact, Of what may be found in this excellent tract : Speak gently to the herring, and kindly to the calf, Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles dont laugh! Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, Neer hint at currant jelly if you chance to meet a hare! Dont tantalize the tortoise, nor sacrifice the stoat, Dont persecute the parrot, nor grumble at the goat; But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs, Andbe not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs; Chase not the cochin-china, chaff not the ox obese, And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese! Be tender with the tadpole and let the limpit thrive, Be merciful to mussels, dont skin your eels alive; When talking to a turtle dont mention cali- pee Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram, And neer allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb! Dont beard the thoughtful oyster, dont dare the cod to crimp, And worry not the winkle, or scarify the shrimp. Tread lightly on the turning worm, dont bruise the butterfly, Dont ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry; Oh, neer delight to make dogs fight, nor ban- tams disagree Be always kind to animals wherever you may be! Be patient with black-beetles, be courteous to cats, And be not harsh with haddocks, nor rigorous with rats; Give welcome unto wopses, and comfort to the bee, And be not hard upon the snail let blue- bottles go free. CHRYSANTHEMUMS. NOT in the fairy freshness of the spring, Nor when bright summer smiles upon the land, Not when rich autumn with a lavish hand Wreathes earth with golden corn and purple ling: But then, when passage-birds have taken wing For sunnier climes; when the sere leaves lie dead, And moaning through bare branches overhead, The mournful wind their requiem seems to sing Yes, then, sweet flowers, when all around is drear, Ye come, the heart to gladden with your smile, A gleam of brightness ere the winter near, Chasing our sadness with your magic wile. Happy their lot, like you, who soothe and cheer, And lifes November brighten and beguile! Chambers Journal. THE SONNETS VOICE. A METRICAL LESSON BY THE SEASHORE. YON silvery billows breaking on the beach Fall back in foam beneath the star-shine clear, The while my rhymes are murmuring in your ear A restless lore like that the billows teach; For on these sonnet-waves my soul would reach From its own depths, and rest within you, dear, As, through the billowy voices yearning here, Great nature strives to find a human speech. A sonnet is a wave of melody: From heaving waters of the impassioned soul A billow of tidal music one and whole Flows in the octave; then returning free, Its ebbing surges in the sestet roll Back to the deeps of lifes tumultuous sea. THEODORE WATTS. SIR CHARLES LYELL. 3 From The Quarteriy Review. SIR CHARLES LYELL.* THE life of a man of science can rarely or never present the same stirring interest or variety, as that of a man engaged in an active profession or who has taken a prominent part in public life. His life is to be fo.und in his works, and his biogra- phy, if it is to be much more than a ca/a- lo~zee ~-aisonn6of these, must depend upon assuming something of an autobiographi- cal interest from being based upon the journals or letters of its subject. In this respect Mrs. Lyell has been fortunate in ~nding ample materials ready to her hand. Sir Charles Lyell maintained through life an extensive correspondence, which was not confined to scientific subjects, but ex- tended over a wide range of topics, while he possessed in no ordinary degree the gift of a fluent and agreeable letter-writer. On several occasions also he kept for a tin)e a regular journal, especially during some of his many tours on the continent of Europe, in which he recorded his ob- servations on men and things, as well as on geological facts. All these journals, as well as those of his letters that are not of a purely scientific character, are marked by a racy spirit and liveliness of observa tion, ever ready to seize on whatever was of real interest, combined with a sense of humor not often to be found in his coun- trymen. The great value of Mrs. Lyells biography must of course consist in the light it thro~vs upon the career of her brother-in-law as a man of science, but the non-scientific reader also will find in it much to interest and amuse him; and those whose memory goes back to the elder generation to which Lyell himself belonged will meet with many reminiscen- ces of the past, recalled in a lively and agreeable manner. Sir Charles Lx-ells position as a geolo- gist has long been securely established. In the words of one who was very compe- tent to judge. written immediately after his death: For upwards of half a cen- I tury he exercised a most important influ * L ~ Le//ers and 7ourna?s of Sir Char/es Lye??, B rt., Author of Principles of Geo]Qgy, etc. Ed- I ited by his Sister-in-Law, Mrs. Lycil. 2 vols. 8vo. I London, sSSi. ence on the progress of geological science, and for the last twenty-five years of his life he was the most prominent geologist in the world, equally eminent for the ex- tent of his labors and the breadth of his philosophical views. He may be con- sidered as holding much the same place in the history of geology that Charles Darwin has more recently assumed in that of biology, as the acknowledged leader of the science, who has marked out for the future the lines from which it is never likely to deviate, and on which alone true progress can be made. In neither case were their views strictly original. The doctrine of the transmutation of spe- cies had been put forward by Lamarck, many years before it was taken up by Darwin: and the theory that the opera- tion of such causes as we now witness in action would suffice, if only time enough vere allowed, to account for all geological changes, had been first advanced by Hut- ton before the close of the last century, and supported with much ability by Play- fair a few years later.* But the contrary opinion generally prevailed both in this country and on the Continent, until the subject was taken up by Lyell, who, with rare sagacity and great eloquence, with a wealth of illustration and most powerful reasoning, j established the truth of the long-neglected theory in a position that can hardly be shaken. The only danger is that the younger generations of geologists, who have been trained up to regard Lyells views as the orthodox and established faith, may be apt to forget how long and hard a strug- gle it cost to procure their recognition, and how much energy and perseverance ~vere required before their author, while still a young man, could break through the formidable array of authorities op- posed to him, which comprised at first all the leading geologists of Europe. It is here that Mrs. Lyells book comes in most opportunely, and enables those who have no personal recollections of the earlier * Huttons Theory of the Earth was published in 1795: Playfairs Illustrations of the Huttonian The- ory in 1802. f Sir John Lubbock, Address to the nritish Assc~. ciation, Sept. s88t. 4 SIR CHARLES LYELL. days of geology to realize, to a degree that would not otherwise be possible, the struggles and difficulties which none but those who remember them can fully ap- preciate. Charles Lyell was born on the 14th of November, 1797, at Kinnordy, in Forfar- shire, an estate which had been for some time in his family. His father, who bore the same name, was not only a man of cultivation and refinement far beyond ~vhat was usually to be found in a Scotch laird of moderate fortune, but he had de- voted himself to both literary and scientific pursuits with energy and success. In early life he had principally directed his attention to botany, especially to the more obscure portions of the study relating to the cryptogamous plants, which he pur- sued with such success as to render his name familiar to Humboldt and other savans, whom his son subsequently met at Paris. At one time he appears to have occupied himself almost as zealously with entomology; but this was but a short-lived taste. During the latter part of his life he was engaged principally in studies of a very different character, having been led to take so great an interest in Dante, that he not only devoted a large portion of his time to the study of the great Florentine poet, but published several works upon the subject, including translations of the minor poems contained in the !~i/a Nuova and the (~onvito, which are in general but little familiar to the English reader. The influence which his highly cultivated mind, and enlarged interest in a variety of subjects, exercised over his son in early life, is clearly to be seen in the letters addressed by the young man to his father, which form a large portion of the first volume. In common with many other men of eminence, whose lives have been of late years given to the public, the account of his earliest days is supplied by a fragment of an autobiography, which was written for the information of his ~vife, after he was first engaged to her. It does not, however, extend even to the end of his school-days, and though these early rem- iniscences are related with spirit and hu- mor, the only real point of interest they contain is the record of his early devotion to natural history. Entomology was in the first instance the special object of his attention, and though he himself owns, as might have been expected, that at this period mere acquisitiveness the desire of forming a collection and adding to the number of his specimens had more influence than - any love of scientific knowledge, it is evident that this pursuit, ridiculed as it naturally was by his school- fellows, but encouraged and kept alive by his father and other relations during the holidays, contributed to nourish in him that turn for scientific observation whicTi afterwards found so much wider a field for its exercise. A more questionable form of collection in which, however, he had the full sympathy of his schoolfel- lowswas that of birds eggs, including those of pheasants and partridges from the adjoining manors, which frequently afforded them materials for a substantial breakfast: their enjoyment of the unusual treat being greatly heightened by a vague notion that, if detected, they were liable to be transported to Botany Bay for this kind of poaching! (Vol. i., p. 31). Though he was born in Scotland, Lyells education was entirely English. He was yet an infant when his father hired a place called Bartley Lodge, in the New Forest, where he continued to reside for twenty- eight years. The boys earliest associa- tions were thus connected with the beau- tiful scenery of that neighborhood, and the first school to which he was sent, at a very early age, was at Ringwood,a few miles from his home. From thence he was transferred to a school at Salisbury, and thence again, when about twelve years old, to one at Midhurst, where he appears to have imbibed about as much Latin and Greek as boys usually carry away from a public school. At the age of seventeen he was entered at Exeter College, Oxford, and Went through the regular university course; but he does not appear to have applied himself with much zeal to the pursuits of the place, though he ultimately obtained a second class in classics. Those who knew him only in after life, will be moi-e surprised to learn that he was a candi SIR CHARLES LYELL. S date, though an unsuccessful one, for the instead of being whirled at railway speed prize for English poetry. from one end to another, without seeing But if his residence at Oxford was not or learning anything. remarkable for his proficiency in the After taking his degree at Oxford in studies of the university, in another re- 1819, the young student was entered at spect it undoubtedly influenced his ~vhole Lincolns Inn, and for a time devoted subsequent career. For it was there that himself to the study of the law in a spe- he first directed his attention to geology, cial pleaders office. But the weakness having attended a course of Dr. Buck- of his eyes, a disadvantage with which he lands lectures, who was at that time at had to struggle through out his life, soon the height of his popularity. According to compelled him to desist from the pursuit Mrs. Lyell, it was Bakewells Geology of this laborious profession; and though, at that time a well-known, popular intro- after a period of rest, he was able to re- duction to the subject, which he found in sume his legal studies, so as to be called his fathers library that first excited his to the bar in 1825, and even went the interest in what was to him a wholly new western circuit for two years, his increas- science, and led him to seek the opportu- ing devotion to geology made it abun- nity of pursuing its study under the dantly manifest that his vocation was for guidance of Dr. Buckland, whose ani- science, and not for the law. As early mated and vigorous mode of treating his as 1819 he had become a member of the subject was well calculated to seize on Geological Society, then a body of very the imagination of a youth like Charles limited extent, but comprising a number Lyell. of men full of zeal, talents, and energy: in From this moment he became a geolo- 1823 he became secretary of that society, gist, and though, of course, he could not and in the same year contributed his first devote himself wholly to his favorite pur- paper to their transactions. This, as well suit, we find him, while still at Oxford, as one published by him in 1825, in taking the opportunity of a visit to Mr. Brewsters Edinburgh 7ournezi of Sd- Dawson Turner at Yarmouth, to investi- ence, related to the geological formation gate the mode of formation of that sin~~u- of his native county of Forfarsh ire: and lar port and the estuary of the Yare, and throughout his letters it is interesting to arriving at conclusions undoubtedly cor- observe how continually he refers to the rect, though opposed to the obvious infer- geological phenomena in the immediate ence from present appearances, and com- vicinity of his home, which he had thor- batted as erroneous by his intelligent and oughly investigated at this early period. highly cultivated host. In a short tour Prominent among these were the depos- with his father, in the same year, we find its of shell marl, found in certain small him carefully noting all the geological lakes in Forfarshire, which afforded him peculiarities he met with on his way; a clue to the formation of the far more while an excursion with some friends to extensive fresh-water deposits that in Staffa and lona gave him the opportunity some countries occupy a large portion of of seeing some of the most interesting the surface. It was fortunate for him objects, in a geological point of view, to also that during this period of his life his be met with in the British Islands. The father continued to reside principally at next year (i8i8) he travelled with his the house which he had taken in the New father and other members of his family Forest, a position which brought him into through France, Switzerland, and Italy, the immediate proximity of the interest- and the extracts given from his journal of ing tertiary deposits of the coast of Hamp. this tour are characterized by that fresh- shire and the Isle of Wight; and thus ness of impression and variety of obser- drew his attention to that branch of geol- votion which he retained through life, and ogy on which, above all others, he has for which such a journey afforded ample left his mark. scope in those days, when people really In 1826 he was elected a fellow of the (ravelled in the countries that they visited, Royal Society, and in the following year 6 SIR CHARLES LYELL. lie contributed to this journal an article on Scropes Geology of Central France, * which attracted general attention, and af- forded the first evidence of the remarkable power he possessed of giving a popular form to his scientific views; a power which undoubtedly contributed in no small de- gree to the influence exercised by his writ- ings over the general public as ~vell as the scientific world. Meantime his name was beginning to become generally known as that of a rising young geologist; and when lie vis- ited Paris in 1823, he was received with open arms by Humboldt, Cuvier, Brong- niart, and other savezns, and found him- self at once admitted to all the scientific society of the French capital. But while lie profited to the utmost by the opportu- nities thus afforded him, he was keenly alive to the other objects of interest that presented theniselves, and his letters to his father give a lively picture of the state of political feeling at Paris, where the re- action that followed the restoration of the Bourbons was in full force, and the cleri- cal party ~vas continually increasing in power and influence. The Duke of Angoul~me was the hero of the hour, and the expedition into Spain, in which hardly a shot was fired, was re- garded as an important advantage to the Bourbons, as tending to secure the at- tachment of the army! Talking of the unusually wet weather at Paris, a lady ob- served to Lyell, There is a revolution in the heavens; and the Duc dAngoul~me should be sent to quell it,for in truth lie is too ~ood for US here. The men of science in general naturally took a more liberal view, and regarded the ultra-clerical movement with aversion and contenipt. But there ~vas unfortunately one exception, and that the iiiost illustri- ous of all, Cuvier. Humboldt, who viewed the matter with more impartial eyes as a stranger, thou gh half a Frenchman from habit and association, remarked of him: No, Cuvier gives no lectures, and the rea- son I regret to say is, that he is still a Politi- cian. No, you were mistaken, if you imagined that the ministry have reached a pitch of ul- traisni beyond him, and sent him back to his books. That time is yet to come. You ob- serve that his soirees are mostly attended by English; the truth is, the French savans have in general cut him; his contiiiual changing over to each iiew party that came into power at length disgusted almost all, and you know that it has been long a charge against men of science, that they were pliant tools in the * Quarterly RevIew, vol. xxxvi. liaiids of princes and miiiisters, and might be turned which way they pleased. That such a man as Cuvier should have giveii a sanction to such an accusatioii was felt by all as a deep wound to the whole body. . . - Cuviers situa- tion was a proud one while he stood in the very foremost rank of men of science in France, but when he betrayed the ~veakness of coveting ribbons, crosses, titles, aiid court favor, he fell down to the lowest among his new compet- itors. (Vol. i., pp. 1267). A striking picture was given at the same time by the great Prussian sava;it ~vhose unrivalled powers of conversa- tion made the same impression upon the young English geologist that they did upon all who were fortunate enough to come in his wayof the state of French society in general at this time. You cannot conceive how striking and ludi- crous a feature it is in Parisiaii society at pres- ent, that every other man one meets is either minister or ex-minister. So frequent have been the changes. They are scattered as thick as the leaves in autumn, stratum above stra- tum, and before one set have time to rot away, they are covered by another and another, and on the last are sure soon to fall those which are now blooming in full verdure above them. The instant a new ministry is formed, a body of sappers and miners is organized. They work industriously night and day. They are more religious, more constant at mass, more loyal, and, above all, they know better how to ape exactly not only the ideas and maniiers, but the very air and the expression, of their ancestors of some centuries back. At last the ministers, as Chateaubriand and VilkIe for in- stance at this moment, find they are become heretics, Jacobins, infidels, revolutionists in a word that they are supplanted by the very arts by which a few months ago they raised themselves to power. (Vol. i., pp. 1278). Some time afterwards, Lyehh sums up his experience of the two great rivals in science, with the reniark: There are few heroes who lose so little by being ap- proached, as Huniboldt. Of Cuvier this cannot be said. In 1828 he set out on a tour to Auvergne and the north of Italy, in company with Mr. (afterwards Sir Roderick) Murchiison and his wife; and afterwards continued his jouriiey alone to Rome, Naples, and Sicily. It was this tour that, iiiore than any other in the course of his life, con- tributed to lay the foundation of his geo- logical fame. He had already conceived the design of his great work, and made notes for, as ~vell as sketched out the plan of, the Principles of Geology; but it was only by following out his views step by step in the countries which above all SIR CHARLES LYELL. 7 others afforded the true key to his system, still remained much to be done in the that he was able to establish his theory way of observation, as well as of interpre- upon a base that could not be shaken, ana tation. It was reserved for the English that continually acquired increasing con- visitors, among other things, to point out firmation from all his subsequent re- the connection between the volcanic re- searches. It was undoubtedly also for- mains, which form so striking a feature tunate for him, that the greater part of of the whole country, and the extensive this tour was made in company with a fresh-water formation which covers large brother geologist, who, though far inferior portions of the adjoining plains and val- to him in original power and that kind of leys. Here Lyell especially found him- imagination which can alone lead to great self quite at home, and he dwells with discoveries in science, was possessed of great interest upon the perfect correspon- unrivalled powers of observation, and an dence of these deposits, demonstrably of amount of energy and activity in the pur- an older date than all the volcanoes of suit of his objects, which did not yield to the country, with the beds which are at that of Lyell himself. Even his compan- our own door in the marl loch near Kin- ion was obliged to admit that Murchison nordy. had a little too much of what Mathews He was not, however, so much en- used to ridicule in his slang as the keep- grossed with his scientific pursuits, as not moving, go-it-if-it-kills-you system, and to be fully alive to the natural beauties of to fight sometimes, for the sake of geol- the country through which they led him, ogy, as his wife had for her strength, to and in one of his letters to his sisters he make him proceed with somewhat less gives an animated description of one of precipitation. When on one occasion the most beautiful districts in France his overtasked strength broke down, and the Vivarais still, we believe, almost he was for a time unable to take the field entirely unknown to all English travellers again~ the two brother geologists occupied who are not geologists. themselves in composing a joint paper on Equally graphic and amusing are his the excavation of valleys, which, as sketches of his travelling experiences in Charles Lyell jocosely informs his sister, Sicily, where lie encountered almost all is intended to reform the Geological kind1 of difficulties and d6sagr~!mens Society, and afterwards the world, on which could ~vell be met with, except what this hitherto-not-in.the~least.degreeunder his friends seem most to have appre- stood subject. The boast, though ut- hendedbanditti, of whom he neither tered in jest, was no idle one. The views saw nor heard anything in any part of the of the fluvialists as the advocates island lie visited about two-thirds of of the new theory were called in derision the whole. We can answer for the same by their adversaries, who adhered to the having been the case a few years after- old idea (stoutly advocated by Buckland wards (in 1836), and we believe that, bad as well as by Conybeare and Greenough) as the Bourbon government of the island that existing valleys were scooped out at was, it kept down this greatest of all pests once by a mighty rush of waters causing to the security of life and property, far a gigantic, if not universal delugewere more effectually than has been accom~ vigorously combatted on their first an- plished since its overthrow. nouncement in the Geological Society, and In a geological point of view, his visit on niany subsequent occasions; but the to Sicily was even more instructive than new view gradually met with a tacit ac- that to Auvergne, not only from the op. quiescence, and ultimately came to be portunities it afforded him for observing regarded as beyond the r& ach of contro- the operations of recent Volcanic action, versy. which could at the same time be traced The geological phenomena of Auvergne back through a continuous series from a were already in a certain sense well known very remote period, but froni the ample to the scientific ~vorld, and had recently proofs of the extremely recent date (geo- been made the subject of an elaborate logically speaking) of the extensive terti- investigation by Mr. Poulett Scrope, ary formations which constitute a large which may be considered as having given portion of that great island. It was un- the coup de grdce to the long dominant doubtedly to the observations made on Wernerian theory.* Nevertheless, there this occasion that we owe the first con * See the preface to the second edition of his work ception of those general views, in regard on the Geology and Extinct Voicanos of Central France, 8vo., 1858, in which he is able to boast with cipitasion of trap has since that date (the publics. justice that the Wernerian notion of the aqueous pie- tion of his first edition in 1826) never held up its head.~ 8 SIR CHARLES LYELL. to the classification of the tertiary forma- tions, which speedily became a part of the received creed of all geologists; while they were gradually extended to the ear- lier strata, and formed the necessary foundation for the theories of Darwin, and the modern systems of evolution. It is interesting to trace in his letters at this period the gradual development of Lyells views upon this subject, from the first dawning of his theory to its ultimate establishment in his own mind, in the definite form in which it appeared in the Principles. The notion of the entire distinctness of the animal remains in dif- ferent geological formations even in strata of conformable position and no great thickness, as in the case of the Paris basin sanctioned as it was by the high authority of Cuvier, had assumed so firm a hold upon the minds of all geol- ogists, that it required no little courage on the part of a young man like Charles Lyell to take up a directly opposite view, and maintain that the transition was a gradual one, and that the successive as- semblages of fossils in different tertiary strata, from those of the Paris basin to those of Sicily, presented a continually increasing approximation to the fauna of the existing seas. Fortunately for him, the ground had been in some measure cleared before him by the labors of local Italian savans for the most part very ignorant of geol- ogy, but good conchologists and diligent collectors of fossil shells. By this means they had prepared considerable materials for the use of the scientific observer, and in some instances even veteran collectors were stimulated to fresh zeal by the glimpses afforded them by their foreign visitor of his wider generalizations. Pro- fessor Guidotti at Parma told him he should collect the next winter with quite new eyes after his cramming. On the other hand, the examination of these ex- ~ensive collections led Lyell himself to a more careful and accurate study of con- chology than he had before bestowed upon a branch of science which, though apparently of little interest in itself, is an indispensable handmaid of geology, and is~aptly compared by him to the demotic character of the ancient Egyptian in its relation with the hieroglyphics. After his Italian tour, Lyell worked with char- acteristic ardor at this branch of study un- der the direction of M. Deshayes at Paris, and at a later period under Dr. Beck at Copenhagen It was only by this assidu- ous labor at what might be regarded at the first glance as the minuticeof the science, that Lyell was able to arrive at that com- prehensive classification of the tertiary formations, with which his name will ever be inseparably connected. The germ of his theory was already in his mind before he started on his southern tour. He ~vrites to his sister from Naples before his visit to Sicily: My wish was to find this peninsula get younger and younger as I travelled towards the active volcanoes, and it has hitherto been all that I could desire, and I have little fear of bringing a great part of Trinacria into our own times, as it were, in regard to origin. His wish was amply fulfilled; and, before returning to England, he could boast cf having got full proof that half Sicily was formed since the Mediterranean was in- habited by present species of testacea, and that the island of Ischia and the Monte Mario near Rome were of equally recent date mere things of yesterday in the eyes of the geologist! Very astound- ing were these results in the eyes of the Italian geologists, who belonged alto- gether to the old school. One of them, to whom Lyell communicated some of his facts before recrossing the Alps, was fain to admit: I begin to think the day may come when the retiring of the ocean will be doubted and disputed by many. At the present day we believe there are many young geologists who have forgot- ten that such a theory was ever enter- tained. In England, on the other hand, his views on this subject were admitted with little difficulty by his brother geologists. The field was in great measure new, the tertiary formations in England being of comparatively little interest; while the facts spoke for themselves, and the result of continued conchological researches only served to confirm the results previ- ously obtained. Thus the classification first introduced by Lyell came to be uni- versally accepted, and though the nomen- clature was at first regarded as not very happily chosen, the names of eocene, miocene, and pliocene, have become in- delibly fixed in geological science, and have been gradually extended to the ter- tiary formations in all parts of the world. But if Lyells authority was speedily established as paramount in respect to tertiary geology, it was far otherwise with his more general theory, which sought to refer all geological changes to the opera- tion of known and existing cause s:ade- parture from the spirit in which the science had been hitherto pursued, so SIR CHARLES LYELL. 9 wide that we cannot wonder if it was long before it commanded general assent. The theories generally adopted by all the leading geologists up to that time were, indeed, uniformly based upon the assump- tion, that there existed in the early ages of the world a state of things wholly differ- ent from the present, and that the geolog- ical record bore witness to a series of great and violent changes, produced by causes either altogether different from any now in operation, or acting with an intensity so enormously exceeding anything now known to us, as to remove them altogether into a different class. As Lyell himself repeatedly observes, the occurrence of such catastrophes, wholly at variance as they were with the existing course of na- ture, had come to be regarded, not as a theoretical assumption requiring to be es- tablished by irrefragable proofs, but as a natural suggestion in order to account for any difficulties in the observed phenom- ena. Thus, when it was found that Buck- lands theory of one universal deluge was absolutely disproved by the facts, Sedg- wick had recourse to the supposition of three, or even four, successive deluges all, of course, equally departures from any known order of things, and all, as subse- quent investigation has shown, equally uncalled for as an hypothesis. Still more remarkable was the eager adhesion given by the same eminent geol- ogist to the bold theory advanced by Elie de Beaumont of the contemporaneous elevation of parallel mountain chains; certainly one of the most hasty generaliza- tions that have been put forth in modern times. Yet the Cambridge professor, whose unquestionably powerful intellect gave him great influence over those around him, in an anniversary address to the Geological Society in 1831, caught up and embraced the whole of what he termed De Beaumonts noble general. ization ; declared that it was little short of physical demonstration, and that it had given him (Sedgwick) a new geo- logical sense, a new faculty of induc- tion. This address was delivered within a few months after the publication of the first volume of the Principles of Geology; and De Beaumonts system was, as Lyell himself remarks, judiciously selected as directly opposed to his own. For a con- siderable period, the contests waged by the catastrophists and uniformitarians, as the rival sects ~vere named by Dr. Whewell, were repeated at successive meetings of the Geological Society, and, though it was long before the views of Lyell were formally adopted by any of the leading geologists of the older school, the opl)051t10n gradually waxed fainter and feebler, and theories that had at first been scouted as absurd and unphilosophical came to be treated with respect, and re- garded as worthy at least of attentive consideration. Writing in 1838, Lyell, after relating to his father-in-law-, Mr. Leonard Homer, one of these animated debates, remarks I was much struck with the different tone in which my theory of gradual causes was treated by all, even including De la B~che, from that which they experienced in the same room four years ago, when Buckland, De la B& he, Sedgwick, Whewell, and some others, treated them with as much ridicule as was consistent with personal politeness in my presence. It has been the same with all the suc- cessive steps of real importance in geol- ogy. No one who was present when Agassiz first expounded his theory of gla- cial action at a meeting of the Geological Society in 1841 of which unfortunately no record is preserved in Lyells letters will forget the tone of mingled con- tempt and ridicule with which it was re- ceived by the greater part of those pres- ent, with XVhewell at their head, who dealt with it at once in his sledge-ham- mer style of oratory. Yet the inexorable logic of facts has long since established the conclusions of Agassiz among those landmarks of geological theory, which are not likely again to be disputed, and cer- tain never to be overthrown. Other attacks were not wanting from a different quarter. The suspicion with ~vhich some narrow-minded zealots for the truth of Scripture (according to their own assumption of its meaning) had regarded geology from the first, w-as especially awakened by such a theory as Lyells. Shortly before the appearance of the Principles Lyell writes to one of his sisters: Longman has paid down five hundred guineas to Mr. Ure of Dublin for a popular work on geology, just com- ing out. It is to prove the Hebrew cos- mogony, and that we ought all to be burnt in Smithfield. Of course the last words are a jocular exaggeration; but Mr. Ure and his book are alike utterly forgotten. The attack on the new theories was made with the greater confidence because the last book on geology that had made a great sensation in the world, Bucklands Reliquic? DI/uvia;ice, had been written with the express view of reconciling cx I0 SIR CHARLES LYELL. Isting appearances ~vith the Mosaic ac- I of his first volume, complains how much count of the deluge, and so far at least harder it was to write for the general pub- might be considered as confirming, rather lic than for men of science (vol. i., p. 260). than impugning, the Scripture record. This is a difficulty which all scientific But when Lyell caine out with his views, writers feel, but very few overcome; or rather with his statement of facts, hardly any conquer it to the degree that proving to the conviction of all impartial was attained by Lyell. But no one, who minds, not only that there was no evi- has had the advantage of being first in- dence of an universal deluge, but that it troduced into the fascinating pursuits of was certain that nothing of the kind had geology by one of the earlier editions of swept over the surface of the earth for his great work, can ever forget the charm countless ages; still more when he main- of its perusal, or ho~v he seemed to catch, tamed that things had been going on in as he read on and on, some portion of the same uniform manner as far back as that enthusiasm and freshness of tone, the geological record extended, and that which lighted up a mass of dry details, this comprised periods to ~vhich the sup- and kept them still subordinate to the posed antiquity of the earth was a mere grand conception of the whole. trifle: a feeling was excited which Lyell Long before the publication of his recognizes with his characteristic moder- Principles, Lyell had made up his ation in a letter to his friend Poulett mind to aband5 altogether the profes- Scrope: Even some of the moderates sion of the law, and devote his life wholly have already hinted to members of our to the pursuit of geology; a resolution family, that my work, though certainly from which he nev~r afterwards swerved. creditable to the authors talents, contains At first indeed he appears to have en- opinions that may well cause some alarm. tertained the delusive hope, that science Whatever opposition might arise either might become a l)rofession to him in the from this or other quarters, one fact was ordinary sense of the word; and when, certain. The book was from the first a after the first success of his book, the complete success, and attracted the atten- booksellers told him that it ~vould rove I. tion of a public far wider than the mere an annuity to him,he ~vrites to his sister students of science. An able and well- that he has the moral certainty of earn- written review of the first volume (by Mr. ing a small but honorable independence. Poulett Scrope) which appeared in this Yet we believe that, popular as his works journal * almost immediately after its continued to be throughout the remainder publication, contributed greatly to its of his life, he never realized from their popularity; and Mr. Murray ~vas soon profits a sufficient amount to pay the ex- able to announce to the author that, if he penses which he incurred in his geolog~ could give him the second volume within ical investigations, and the numerous six months, lie ~vas convinced that within tours that they necessarily required. twelve months not a single copy of either At first, indeed, he took a step which volume ~vould remain unsold. But Lyell promised to secure him some immediate was far too conscientious a laborer in the remuneration. He was persuaded in field of science to hurry over his work. 1831, though with some reluctance, to He soon found that his second volume accept the professorship of geology at must be divided into two: one of which Kings College, London, an appointment ~vas l)ublished in January, 1832, at the certainly creditable to the liberality of same time with a second edition of the those who selected him, as the nomina- first volume, while the third did not make tion ~vas entirely In the hands of the its appearance till April, 1833. A new Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops of edition of all three was called for in the London and Llandaff, and two strictly following year; and from that time the orthodox doctors. Nor does he appear position of Lyelh was established, not to have had reason to complain of amiy in- only as one of the leading geologists of terference with the free expression of his the day, but as the most popular expo- views; but lie soomi found that, though nent of a science which was continually [mis lectures were sufficiently popular to attracting increased interest ~vitli the attract for a time a numerous and fashi- world at large. Much of this was un- ionabhe array of visitors, lie could coin- doubtedly owing to the merit of his style. mand but a very small class of real stu- He himself in one of his letters, written dents; and that the utility to be derived while lie was engaged in the composition from lecturing to such a small number was iio equivalent for the demand upon * Quarkr?y Review, vol. xliii. his tinie, and the interference with his SIR CHARLES LYELL. I I power of carrying on fresh scientific in- vestigations. He therefore determined to cut himself loose from Kings Col- lege after lecturing there for only two years, and he never afterwards entered into any engagement of a permanent kind that ~vould interfere with the unfettered pursuit of his scientific objects. Few people have ever been more inde- pendent than Charles Lyell of any craving after ~vealth or social position, other than what was justly due to his scientific celeb- rity. Before he had made up his mind to abandon the profession of the law, we find him writing to his father: I am quite clear, from all that I have yet seen of the world, that there is most real in- dependence in that class of society who, pos- sessing moderate means, are engaged in literary and scientific hobbies; and that in ascending from them upwards, the feeling of indepen- dence decreases pretty nearly in the same ratio as the fortunes increase. (Vol. i., p 171.) And again, after his engagement to Miss Homer, he writes to his future wife (after mentioning the case of an astrono- mer who had married and become rich, and was in consequence doing noth- We have at least no danger on one score, that of being rich, which I am sure, much as money is wanted in science, does stop mens careers more than anything, and gives them innumerable duties, by which they become stewards of their property, rather than men ~vho have time to devote to philosophical pur- suits. (Vol. i., p. 385.) Notwithstanding the labor of composing and passing through the press the three volumes of his Principles, Lyell was still able to find time for successive tours, with a view to fresh geological observa- tions. The first of these (in 1830), on which he started immediately after the publication of his first volume, was un- dertaken principally for the exploration of a group of extinct volcanoes, near Olot, in Catalonia; and the letters in which he gives an account of it are full of interest, not only as describing a corner of Eu- rope almost utterly unknown to any but geologists, but because the locality was at that very time in a state of political disturbance which would have deterred most travellers from venturing to cross the frontier. He re-entered France to learn the news of the Revolution of July, and to find the towns of the south in an amusing state of excitement and confu- sion, and on his return through Paris he came across a specimen of what a Parisian mob was like, when in a state of excite- ment, of which he gives in one of his letters a lively and characteristic picture (vol. i., p 308) His next tour, in 1831, to the. volcanic district of the Eifel, between the Rhine and the Moselle, was of less interest in itself, but assumed a vital importance to Lyell, because in the course of it he be- came engaged to Miss Homer, the eldest daughter of Mr. Leonard Homer, who was at the time residing at Bonn on the Rhine. Their marriage ~ however, de- layed till the following summer; and in the mean time he kept a journal for her amusement, which is certainly one of the most interesting portions of the present work, both as placing in the fullest light his own amiable and affectionate charac- ter, and on account of the notices it con- tains of the society in~vhich he lived, and of people whom he met, who ~vill always be remembered with interest by the gen- eration that is fast passing away, while they are known to their successors only by their works, or by such incidental notices as are contained in the present volumes. Conspicuous among these stands the well-known name of Mrs. Somerville which is indeed familiar to the rising gen- eration as a name, though her earlier works, by which alone she achieved her real reputation, are known to but few at the present day, and, indeed, ~vere never calculated to be popular. Her Mechan- ism of the Heavens, which was at this time just come out, found indeed few readers, for there were very few whose mathematical attainments were equal to the task; and Lyell reports : Young Murray tells me Mrs. Soniervilles book does not sell at all; [hut he adds] fhe State might award her ~,oooi. for the benefit conferred by a woman, who could thus teach what Dr. Johnson justly called the most overbearing of all aristocracies, that of mathe- maticians, how most of them can be equalled and surpassed by a lady who was merely read- ing for her amusement. (Vol. i., p. 371.) It was only those who were privileged to join her domestic circle, and go down, as Lyell frequently did at this time, to dine with the family at Chelsea, that could thoroughly appreciate the engagir~g sim- plicity and frankness of her character, combined with a gentleness of manner that is not often found to the same degree even in the most unlearned of women. So far from being in the slightest degree blue, she was the very antithesis of all that is conveyed by that obnoxious but 12 SIR CHARLES LYELL. expressive term so absolutely free from every tinge of affectation, and so little disposed to put forward her great attain- ments in society, that those who were not admitted to her intimacy might rather complain of a difficulty in drawing her out, even upon her favorite subjects. Babbacre also, who cantankerous as he unfortunately was in controversy ~vas one of the pleasantest and most so- ciable of companions in the society of his intimates, was at this time a constant member of the social circle frequented by Lyell, while all the elder geologists, Se dg- wick, Conybeare, Buckland, etc., fiercely as they opposed his new heretical doc- trines at the Geological Society, always met him at the club on the most friendly terms. When he was at. length induced by the manner in which, as he says, Buckland, Sedgwick, and Co. blazed away at him, to retaliate with such effect that, as one of his friends phrased it, he floored Buckland, and tore his theory to tatters before his face, the veteran Oxford professor was only more good- humored than before. A visit to Edinburgh at this period introduced him to a different set of celeb- rities, among others to Lord Cockburn, then solicitor-general for Scotland, of whom lie gives a charming account, doing complete justice to the genial simplicity of character for which he was so remark- able, ~vhile his conversation, if less bril- liant than that of his contemporary Jeffrey, ~vas not less varied and interesting. After a brief sketch of the topics of a long con- versation which they had together at Bonaly (Cockburns country-seat), Lyell writes: On these and fifty other subjects did we enlarge, and I think exchanged more ideas than I have often done with men with whom I have been acquainted for years.~, A very different, though equally charac- teristic, picture does he draw of a foreign celebrity who visited England at this time August von Schlegel, who was well known to his correspondent Miss Homer, from her residence at Bonn, and she was naturally desirous to know the impression lie had made. You asked me in one of your letters how I liked Schlegelso little, that I avoided him. I met him three times, and exchanged some words each time. He is full of conceit, talks incessantly and of everything, not like Hum- boldt. whose loquacity bored some people, but never me, because unmixed with self-conceit, like Schlegels. He called at Chelsea and annoyed Mrs. Somerville. lie wanted to be pressed, he said, to lecture at the Royal In- stitution, and wished to know if he could be seen from all parts of the theatre, because the change of the expression of his countenance would add great effect to his delivery of cer- tain passages; and, I will lecture in French, for although I read and speak English well, I should be more at home in French. (Vol. i., p. 378.) In July, 1832, Lyell was married to Miss Homer; and never did a man of science find more cause to congratulate himself on the choice he had made of a partner for life. With great personal attractions, and a charm of manner that made her welcome in every society that she entered, she devoted herself heart and soul to the furtherance of her husbands pursuits; and when the weakness of his eyes inter- fered, as it frequently did, with his labori- ous studies, she was ever ready to act as his amanuensis, or rather as a most intel- ligent secretary. With an understanding fully capable of comprehending and ap- preciating all her husbands discoveries, she was so little disposed to put herself forward, that none but their most intimate friends would suspect how much knowl- edge she really possessed on the subjects of their common interest. As his father and sisters of whom six out of seven remained always unmarried continued to reside almost entirely at Kinnordy, while they warmly sympathized with Charles Lyells scientific pursuits, he constantly maintained with them an ac- tive correspondence, which at the same time ranged over a great variety of topics. In his father-in-law, Leonard Homer, one of the earliest members of the Geological Society, and, somewhat later, in his broth- er-in-law, Sir Charles Bunbury, a distin- gui shed authority in fossil botany, lie found correspondents of a more strictly scientific character, besides frequent let- ters to Sir John Herschel, the present Sir Joseph Hooker, and Charles Darwin, with whom he had been from an early period on a footing of intimate friend- ship. In 1834 he made a tour of three months to Denmark and Sweden, principally with the view of investigating for himself the question of the alleged gradual rise of the land in Sweden: a fact of which he had expressed his doubts in the earliest edi- tions of his works, but which he consid- ered as fully established by the evidences he saw on this occasion. His altered views, and the facts upon which they were based, were embodied in a paper read b& fore the Ro)-al Society in November, 1834, SIR CHARLES LYELL. 3 and were afterwards incorporated in the into controversy, rightly estimating that later editions of his Principles. But much of the time thus occupied was in it must be admitted that subsequent ob- reality wasted, without any real advance- servations have thrown considerable doubt ment of scientific truth. in an able letter on the extent and permanence of the sup- to Dr. Fleming a Scotch geologist of posed changes of level; a phenomenon to considerable note in his day, but who un- which Lyell himself continually referred fortunately belonged to the genus irrita- in his later writings, as an undoubted bile, a class not unknown among men of proof of the elevation of land still in prog- science as well as literature he writes: ress in our own times. I dare say I shall not keep my resolu- Another line of research [he writes to Mr. tion, but I shall try to do it firmly, that when Homer from Stockholm] has been the huge my book is attacked, as it will be by a greater drift blocks, or Baltic boulders, or erratic hornets nest than a small sally of yours in blocks, which cover all Denmark and Sweden. Jamieson can be, however pointedly against Their size is often enormous. Some I have popular doctrines, I will not go to the cx- ascertained have been placed where they are pense of time in pamphleteering. I shall in times exceedingly modern, geologically work steadily on at vol. ii., and afterwards, if speaking, certainly late in the Newer Pliocene the work succeeds, at edition 2, and I have period. I believe that ice has brought them. sworn to myself that I will not go to the cx- I have questioned the pilots closely about the pense of giving time to combat in controversy. agency of ice, in which they believe. I am It is interminable work. (Vol. i., p. 260.) persuaded 1/tat ice can do much for us. (Vol. Aaain at i., p. 437.) a later period we find him These last words are remarkable, as writincr to Sir J. Herschel in reference to the attacks of some German writers : one of the earliest references to the oper- ation, as a geological cause, of that which I have not wasted time in controversies with is now regarded as one of the most im- them or others, except so far as modifying in portant of all geological agencies. At the new editions some opinions or expressions, time when Lyell wrote these words, all and fortifying others, and by this means I have snch transported blocks were universally spared a great deal of inkshed, and have upon the whole been very fairly treated by the ascribed to some great ddbdcle or diluvial wave sweeping over the whole of north- critics. (Vol. i.~ p. 468.) em Europe. But while he thus avoided public con- On this tour he was not accompanied troversy in print, he naturally did not by his wife ; but this ~vas the last occasion shrink from defending his views in his for many years on which they ~vere thus private letters, as well as at the Geological separated. From this time she ~vas the Society. Two letters in the early part of constant partner of his travels: ever the second volume may be taken as mod- ready to bear the fatigues and discomfort els of able but temperate argument; the incident to geological explorations, and to one addressed to Dr. Whewell, who ~vas put up with a kind of accommodation at this time engaged in writing his His- very different from what is required by tory of the Inductive Sciences, in which most ladies in these days of luxurious LyclI naturally desired to see justice done travelling. But for some years after this, to his own views; the other to Dr. Fit- none of his journeys have any special ton, who in an otherwise favorable and interest, though they were all directed to friendly article in the Edinburgh Review some field of geological research, with a had accused him of not having done jus- view to clearing up doubts, or obtaining tice to Hutton, who was the first to sug- fresh proofs in support of his theories. gest the theory of actual causes, so Mean~vhile he was continually employed ably followed out by LycIl himself. Far in preparing fresh editions of his great from being disposed to ignore the merits work, in each of which he incorporated all of his predecessor, or his able expounder the additional information that he had Playfair, LycIl had, as he himself points acquired since the one preceding it, while out, placed on the very title-page of his he endeavored at the same time to meet work a motto taken from the lattei writer, any arguments that had been put forward which contains in a few words the germ by his adversaries, and occasionally modi- of his whole theory. fled his views in deference to well-consid- The celebrity which LyclI had now at- ered criticisms. It ~vas indeed one of the tamed naturally became the means of peculiarities of LycIls mind that, enthu- introducing him to a much wider circle of siastic as he ~vas in the pursuit of his own society than he had before frequented; theories, he was always unwilling to enter and though no man ever was less disposed 4 SIR CHARLES LYELL. to play the lion, no one, on the other hand, could more keenly appreciate and enjoy the charm of social intercourse with a circle that comprised all the leading celebrities of his day, literary as well as scientific. Milman, Lockhart, Hallam, Rogers, Sydney Smith, Macaulay, Lord Lansdowne, and the Chevalier Bunsen, were among his friends or habitual asso- ciates, and rarely have better materials for society been brought together. From this time we find him, in his letters to his father and sisters, who continued to lead a secluded life at Kinnordy, not unfre- quently giving them his reminiscences of people and conversations, which show no slight amount of the rare gift of Bos- wellizino as he himself terms it. A few instances are all that ~ve can afford to give. At a dinner at Miss Roo-erss (the sister of the ~vell-known poet) he met for the first time Lord and Lady Holland, with their constant attendant, Mr. Allen, whom he describes as an agreeableman of Lord Hollands age.~ Of Lord Hol- land himself he says that He has a cheerful, good-humored expres- sion, talking in a lively way, but never too much, of literary rather than political subjects, and of anecdotes of political men, rather than politics. Mr. Allen was saying how strange a contrast Erskine used to be in and out of his lawyers wig and gown. Out of it he talked in a most gauche and foolish way, in it so that you would trust your life and fortune in his hands. Lord Holland, among other stories to confirm this, said that one day when he and Lord Erskine were in council in the Cabinet, and Lord Erskines opinion on a measure was asked, he said in a hasty manner, Oh, yes, depend upon it, it must be, for I remember it was in an old Presbyterian 1)09k of prophecies which my mother had. When Erskine first came to the bar, he spoke very broad Scotch; he had never read more than the Bible, Shake- speare, Milton; and in three years he spoke eloquent English, and was quite a gentleman in manners. (Vol. ii., p. 8.) After touching upon various topics of conversation, such as the authorship of the Iliad and Odyssey, the Etruscan tombs, Niebuhr and his Roman history of which Lord Holland remarked that he never would give up the real existence of such men as Romulus and Numa, how- ever much fable might be mixed up with themthey came to Bucklands Bridgewater Treatise, then just pub- lished. This led to a talk on new spe- cies, and that mystery of mysteries, the creation of man. Lord Holland said that we ~vere no further on that point than Lucretius, out of whom he could take mottoes that would have done for each of my volumes. Then follows a characteristic portrait of Lady Holland, a remarkable personage whose memory is fast fading with the generation that i~ now dying out: I have said nothing of Lady Holland, who took her share in the talk. She asked me about the Danes and Swedes, knew the names at least, of many of them distinguished in science, said how much energy and love of truth there was in the Northern men of letters, as compared to her favorites the French and Italians, yet the French could be deep and persevering. I spoke of La Place and Cuvier. She said that the latter once wished her to complimenthim on his promotion to a higher political place, but she gave him fairly to un- derstand how much she lamented his having abandoned the line in which he was so great, to meddle with politics, in which he played so inferior and, in her opinion, unworthy a part. It is impossible to say in a letter anything which willgive an idea of the singularity of Lady Hollands way of questioning people, like a royal personage. It is impossible not to be sometimes amused, and sometimes a little indignant, with her. I cannot say I formed so high an estimate of her talent and power as to explain to me how she has righted herself to such an extent, and got on in society after all that happened more than thirty years ago. No doubt she has been in the interval prudent, and more strict in the choice of her society than others who had infinitely more right to be so. She had wealth and beauty, of which last there are still some remains yet, with an expression of temper. But then she had a husband who had not only talent, rank, and political station, but an infinite fund of both wit and good humor. (Vol. ii., p. 39.) With Rogers he ~vas particularly inti- mate, and these pages contain many ad- ditions to the table talk of the vet- eran poet, ~vhich must still remain but imperfectly reported. Our party at Mr. Rogers on Monday was brilliant, and no one engrossed too much. Mr. Empson, now editor of the Edinburgh Review, and Mrs. Empson (Miss Jeffrey), Hallam, Bab- bage, Eastlake, and Mr. Luttrell; the latter, though oldish now, came in now and then with his witty sayings. Lord Campbells Chan- cellors, in which a letter of Lady Philip Francis, acknowledgii~g her husband to be Ju. nius, is given, brought up that old controversy, and Rogers confessed the truth of the tale, that when he was set on at Ilolland House to ask Sir Philip Francis if he might put a qoes. tion to him, Sir Philip replied At your per- il 1 in so forbidding a tone, that Rogers re- treated to the rest, and said If he is Junius, it is Junius Rrutur. On some one calling in question the great superiority of Junius, Rog- ers cited in suppoit of it an able passage on SIR CHARLES LYELL. the difference between injuries and insults; but Ilallam said, After all, there is nothing in Junius so powerful as the comment of Dr. Johnson on it, when he said that some peo- ple mistake the venom of the shaft for the vigor of the bow. When Luttrell corn- plained of cold, Hallam said, Dont let Rog- ers hear you, for his maxim is that no man can be cold except he be a fool or a beggar. (Vol. ii., p. 136.) In another letter he tells us We had a pleasant call at Mr. Rogers, whose sister is recovering from her fall. We found on the old mans table a speech of Charles II. to his Parliament, printed in i66i, in bad English, which he observed could never have been shown to Clarendon. Alluding to Macaulay, he said, he had found him once writing a review with five folios open, each on separate chairs, but unfortunately, though con- scious that the article would be known to be his, he was writing with that confidence and rapidity which if he had had to sign his name at length to the pages, he would not have pre- sumed to do. Such was the unfortunate ten- dency of anonymous historical literature. He then repeated, what I had often heard him declare, that Hallam wrote history as a judge and Macaulay as an advocate, and he blamed the latter for giving a set-down to Charles Foxs Life of James II., for which Samuel Rogers stood up manfully, taking the book down from his shelf, and, without spectacles, pointed to three or four of his favorite pas- sages. (Vol. ii., p. 123.) On one occasion, after a lively account of a dinner at the Milmans, Lyell adds: I was not sorry that Sydney Smith happened to be engaged, for though such a party would have drawn out some of his best fun, he would have overpowered Rogers with his boisterous laugh and sonorous voice, and it is a great pleasure to enjoy quietly some rays of Rogers sunset; everything he says has a remarkably fine finish in it, but he is very mild and indul- gent, and no remains of the epigrammatical sarcasm for which he seems to have been fa- mous. (Vol. ii., p. 34.) The same experience with regard to the rival wits must have been observed by all who were well acquainted with them both; but ~ve can hardly assent to the disappear- ance of sarcasm in Rogerss later days: subdued it was by age, but by no means extinct. To the last he could never resist the temptation to say an ill-natured thing; though he was always ready to do a kind or good-natured one. Of Sydney Smith less is reported; but one of his bons mo/s may be cited, which we believe will be new to many of our readers: The article on Centralization in the Ed. 5 inburgh is by John Austin; they tell me it is good, but dry. I remember when Lord Melbourne was considering the best way of dispersing a mob which they were anticipating, Sydney Smith recommended him to get John Austin to go and read them a chapter out of his Jurisprudence, then just published. (Vol. ii., p. 122.) In another place we have a characteris- tic notice of Macaulay in one of his best moods : Macaulay was most entertaining at Milm ans last dinner, giving and taking, and not over- powering. He is hard at work with his His- tory of England. I asked him if he had read Constantinople, in the last Quarterly Reziew. He said, No, but all about St. Chrysostom is got out of the edition of his works, which I read at Calcutta, and ended by liking the old saint, which is more than one can say of most of the old Fathers. Milman remarked, that at Oxford such high prices are no longer ob- tained for editions of the Fathers or Puseyite medi~val books, but they are selling at Cam- bridge. A few days before, Herman Merivale told me he had heard the same, and that there was an extraordinary spread of scepticism and rationalism at Oxford. In large parties, men holding forth that as a high admiration of the beauty of form was the characteristic of the Greeks as a nation, so the Jews had the reli- gious instinct very largely developed, and hence they developed Judaism, Christianity, etc. To get back to Deans Vard, Milman was talking of the fortune he could have made if he had had the gift of prophecy for five years, as, when he came to Westminster, whole streets of houses were offered him for a fifth of what they let for, when railway companies were bid- ding for offices near the Houses of Parlia- ment, etc. On which Macaulay, recurring to the former talk about Chrysostom, said, But think if one could have bought up the Fathers at their value in iSoo (when they were fairly appreciated), and sold them at the Oxford price of 1540! Some one at the other end of the table, where there was a dish of larks, was talking of the destruction of life, such small birds, when Macaulay said, On that principle you ought to feed on blubber. Would not old Dr. Johnson have just said that, if Box had been sentimental? (Vol. ii., p. ii~~) Again he writes to his sister, in 1848, an animated account of a small dinner- party with Whately, the archbishop, ~vhom he describes as a strange compound of an Oxford Churchman grafted on Ireland, and full of information about all that is going on there, which he views with inter- est more as a political economist than in any other light, as far as I could judge. The party included De Beaumont, the celebrated French writer on America and Ireland. SIR CHARLES LYELL The Archbishop said, that if women ever became invested with political rights here, it might be well to have two Houses, and let the women speak in one and the men vote in the other, for since the Irish members have got in, he saw no other way of economizing time. Dr. Whately is a great philologist. When on such subjects he said, De Beaumont, you have no word for home. De Beaumont said, No, perhaps because we have less of the thing than you have. We have said of late mon chex soi, son chez soi, but that is very clumsy; and then you have another word, job, which we cannot translate; it is a sub. lime word thatGod knows we have the thing. The Archbishop was philosophizing on the cause of their not having the word job, and said that their representative form of government was so new, and in a pure mon- archy there were fewer true jobs. De Beau- mont said, Certainly there are no jobs under an absolute despotism; because it is all one great lob, and there is no room for small ones. . . . When De Beaumont asked how many grades there were in society, the Arch- bishop said, I cannot say how low it goes, but the other day some chimney-sweepers pre- sented a petition to the lord mayor against others who had intruded themselves into their privilege .of dancing, etc., on May-day, and in ti~is petition they said, that certain dustmen and other low fe/lows, pretending to be chimney. sweepers, etc., so the degrees of rank proba- bly descend even below the dustmen. (Vol. ii., p. 150.) An interesting discussion arose about the effect of the French law for the sub- division of property, on which subject Dr. Whately, in common with many English- men in those days, had very exaggerated ideas. The archbishop brought out a pamphlet to prove that in one district near Paris the aver- age property of eleven thousand landed pro- prietors was the quarter of an English acre each, and he began imagining, when the divis- ion had gone farther, a question of law arising as to whether a huntsman had committed a trespass by clearing his neighbors estate at one leap. (Vol. ii., p. 151.) Among the various notices of distin- guished men scattered through the corre- spondence, there is perhaps none more characteristic than the following account of Sir Robert Peel, with whom Lyell dined at Drayton, during the meeting of the British Association at Birmingham in 1839: a ~ sat on Sir Roberts right hand, and during conversation of three hours we talked of a great variety of subjects; antiquities of Tam- ~vorth, railways, paintings, sculpture, chartists of Kirriemuir, Birmingham, etc., British As- soc;ation, bearing of geology on Scripture, Wordsworths poems, Chantreys busts. Some of the party said next day that Peel never gave an opinion for or against any point from extra caution, but I really thought that he ex- pressed himself as freely, even on subjects bordering on the political, as a well-bred man could do when talking with another with whose opinions he was unacquainted. He was very curious to know what Vernon Harcourt had said on the connection of religion and science. I told him of it and my own ideas, and in the middle of my strictures on the Dean of Yorks paml)hlet I exclaimed, By-the-bye, I have only just remembered that he is your brother- in-law. He said, Yes, he is a clever man and a good writer, but if men will not read any one book written by scientific men on such a subject, they must take the consequences. After he had explained to me how railways were taxed, I pointed out to him Lord Carne- gies proof that such a method acted as a bonus towards the imposition of high fares. This he saw, and admitted as an evil. If I had not known Sir Roberts extensive acquire- ments, I should only have thought him an in- telligent, well-informed country gentleman, not slow, but without any quickness, free from that kind of party feeling which prevents men from fairly appreciating those who differ from them, taking pleasure in improvements, with- out enthusiasm, not capable of joining in a hearty laugh at a good joke, but cheerful, and not preventing Lord Northampton, Whewell, and others, from making merry. He is with- out a tincture of science, and interested in it only so far as knowing its importance in the arts and as a subject with which a large body of persons of talent are occupied. He told me he was one of the early members of the British Association, and that he was glad that we had persevered in holding our meeting at Birmingham under discouraging circum- stances; yet I learnt afterwards from the Bir- mingham Committee of Management, that when some of them, being personal friends of Sir Robert, asked his opinion only three weeks before, he could not venture any opinion at all. (Vol. ii., pp. 512.) We cannot attempt to follow in detail the subsequent investigations by which Lyell continued to strengthen and support the views of which he was now become the acknowledged exponent: or to notice the successive tours which he made to many various parts of Europe in the pros- ecution of his assiduous researches. But in 1841 a new field was opened for his observations. In the summer of that year he was invited to give a course of twelve lectures at the Lowell Institution in Boston, Massachusetts, for which he was offered the munificent sum of two thousand dollars; a striking contrast to the remuneration that he had any pros- pect of obtaining by similar services in this country. At the same time it afforded SIR CHARLES LYELL. 7 him an opportunity, which he embraced with avidity, of carrying his geological explorations into regions with which he ~vas personally unacquainted, though much had been already done by American geologists to prepare the ground for him. He was absent thirteen months in all, and travelled through a large part of the United States, as well as Canada and Nova Scotia; and the journey thus made was undoubtedly one of the most marked epochs in his life, and exercised a strong influence upon his mind throughout the remainder of his career. Not only did he form in America new and warm friend- ships, especially one with the ~vell-known historian of Spanish literature, Mr. Tick- nor, to which we are indebted for many of the most interesting letters in the present correspondence; but he experienced, as he himself tells us, a sensation of fresh- ness, cheerfulness, hope, and delight, on first visiting America, and seeing such a glorious prospect of rapid progress in knowledge and civilization, a feeling ~vhich he retained to the last (vol. ii., p. 69). The consequence was that he returned to England an enthusiastic admirer of Amer- ica and its institutions; and it was not ~vithout some reason that he was greeted by a friend soon after his return with the words: So, Lyell, I understand you are returned z[j5sis Arnericanis America- nior! It was partly with a view to finding a vehicle for the expression of these opin- ions, and correcting what he believed to be erroneous impressions prevalent in this country, that Lyell was induced to give to the world his Travels in North America: with Geological Observations, which, though principally occupied with geology, contains also many remarks on the political and social institutions of the country. We here perceive, as well as still more strongly in the correspondence now published, that nothing struck him more than the religious freedom enjoyed by all sects, and the social equality result- ing from it, which he contrasts ~vith that existing in this country. Closely con- nected with the religious questions was that of the American universities, which naturally presented many points of con- trast with the older institutions of the same kind in England, and which ap- peared to Lyell far better calculated for the advancement of scientific education. This led him to introduce in his Tray- els an elaborate attack on the English university system that of Oxford in particular: a digression certainly some- LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXVIII. 1926 what out of place, which had the effect of calling forth two vigorous but temperate pamphlets from Dr. Whewell, then inas- ter of Trinity College, Cambridge, in which he supported the system as a whole, though advocating extensive changes. From this time Lyell found himself in the front rank of university reformers, and when, in 1848, an influen- tial deputation from both universities pre- sented an address to Lord John Russell (then prime minister) for a Royal Coin- mission of Inquiry into the state of the Universities, it was Lyell who was selected to state the case of the reformers as af- fecting Oxford. The move thus made was undoubtedly the first step towards the extensive reforms that have since been carried into effect at both universi- ties. Lyells first book on America, though designed by him shortly after his return, was not actually published till 1845, and in September of that year he returned to the United States, and made a second and more extensive tour through that country. The results of his observations on this occasion, so far as they were not of a strictly scientific character, ~vere afterwards embodied by him in his Sec- ond Visit to the United States of Amer- ica, published in 1849. His travels on this visit led him to a much greater extent than before through the Southern, or what were then the slave, States: and it is a striking proof of the fairness of his mind, that though himself a strong oppo- nent of slavery, and coming directly from the North, ~vhere almost all his friends were zealous abolitionists, he was never- theless able to take a dispassionate view of the actual working of the peculiar in- stitution, and to admit that in practice the abuses so strongly stigmatized by many writers were far from being gen- erally prevalent. But though he at this time entertained hopes of the gradual abolition of slavery, his sympathies were strongly enlisted in favor of the Northern States, when the oTeat struo~(Yle actually broke out in i86i and we have seldom seen the case of th~ North against the South more ably, and at the same time more fairly, stated than it is in a long letter addressed by. him to Mr. Thomas Spedding, a brother of the well-known biographer of Bacon (voL ii., pp. 392400). In 1848 he received the honor of knight- hood, and, being at the time on a visit to Kinnordy, rode over the hills by Clova and Lock-na-gar to Balmoral, where he SIR CHARLES LYELL. was knighted by the queen. His letters contain no account of this visit, but the next year (1849), while staying at Birk Hall with Sir James Clark, he had the opportunity of making acquaintance with the prince consort, of whose capacity and culture he formed a high opinion, which was only confirmed by repeated subse- quent intercourse. On this occasion he writes What Van der Weyer said of the steady de- velopment of Prince Alberts mind, in a great variety of directions, I had been able more to appreciate. His German reading on seriotis subjects makes him an improving companion to one who is not versed in what is going on in that world, and I had much good talk with him alone, on a variety of grave subjects, as well as on the different insects which belong to Switzerland, the Isle of Wight, and Scotland respectively. That he knew so much about these was quite a new light to me. (Vol. ii., p. i~6.) The death of his father, in 1849, made little alteration in Lyells position. By an unexpected change in the old mans will, his son found himself, instead of being a Scottish landed proprietor with a considerable fortune, only richer than he was before by a few hundreds a year. The equanimity with which he bore this disappointment, and comforted himself with the reflection that there was nothing now to interfere with the steady pursuit of his scientific objects, is a striking proof of his truly philosophical charac- ter. We believe that the alteration in his prospects was conducive to his own hap. piness; we are certain that it was to the advantage of the world at large that he should not be withdrawn from an active, scientific life in London, to reside amid the hills of Forfarshire. In 1854 he made an excursion to Ma- deira and the Canary Islands, principally with the view of examining for himself what had been rendered classic ground to geologists by the celebrated work of Von Buch on this interesting group of islands. It was by his examination of them that the German geologists had been in great measure led to his once popular theory of craters of elevation a theory that was adopted by all the leading geologists of England, as well as of France and Germany, when Lyell first took the field against it. It was in par- ticular warmly espoused by Elie de Beau- mont and Dufresnoyat that time the leading authorities among French geolo- gists; and in 1835, when the system had been shaken to its foundations by the observations of Lyell and his precursor Poulett Scrope, we find the former writ- ing from Paris to Professor Sedgwick, that Von Buch, De Beaumont, and Dufres- noy are to write and prove that Somma and Etna are elevation craters; and Von Buch himself is just gone to Auvergne to prove that Mont-Dore is one also. This most unphilosophical theory, as it is justly termed by Poulett Scrope, is now so completely exploded, that the younger generation of geologists at the present day are probably hardly aware of the im- portant position it once held. But in all such cases of scientific errors once sanc- tioned by great names, it is interesting to observe how hard they die,- and how long a period elapses before the emptiness of the long-worshipped idols is generally acknowledged. Another point, to which frequent refer- ence is made in the later letters, is his view of the changes of climate which have undoubtedly occurred at different periods of the earths geological history. Here, as elsewhere, Lyell endeavored to explain all such changes by the operation of existing causes; and he had the merit of first pointing out how much the actual climate of the globe depended on the present distribution of land and sea upon its surface, and ~vhat great changes would be effected by a mere alteration of that distribution, produced by movements of subsidence and elevation, such as ~ve know to have been in operation within the most recent geological periods. But in this instance there can be little doubt that he pushed his argument too far. Though changes such as he suggested might undoubtedly influence the climate of particular regions of the earths sur- face to a material extent, it seems impos- sible to believe that they alone could account for the former existence of a semi-tropical flora within a few degrees of the north pole, or of a glacial period during which almo~t the whole of Europe was buried under sheets of thick ribbed ice. Modern geologists are, we believe, generally agreed that these extreme vicis- situdes of climate require the interven- tion of causes of a more general nature, and the suggestion first made by Mr. James Croll in 1864, of the influence of changes in the eccentricity of the earths orbit, such as we know to be going on, offers at least a plausible solution of a problem that cannot yet be said to be definitely solved. It was natural that Lyell should take up with characteristic eagerness the views SIR CHARLES LYELL. 9 of Agassiz concerning the enormous ex- tent and operation of glacial action, and, startling as it at first appears to admit that within a very recent period (geologi- cally speaking) the glaciers of the Alps extended in one solid mass across the valley of Switzerland to the Jura, and that the whole of Scotland and the north of England were in like manner covered ~vith mighty glaciers extending from sea to sea, he was one of the first to accept with confidence conclusions which ap- peared to him to be founded on satisfac- tory evidence. He did not, indeed, ever go to the extrava~ant lenoth of the enthu- siastic Swiss geologist, when he spoke of une petite lisi~re pr~s de l~quateur as the only part of the world exempt from the action of ice; and he was not satis- fied till he had verified for himself, by repeated visits to Switzerland, the obser- vations on which the glacialists had established their system. But he hailed from the first the introduction of a new existing cause, the operation of which had been little regarded by previous geol- ogi sts, but which was soon to be admitted by general consent as one of the princi- pal agents in bringing about the existing state of things on the surface of the globe. In this instance the new theory was the more readily admitted because it fitted in well with his own established views, but in other cases it was directly the contrary. Few qualities were, indeed, more strik- ingly characteristic of Lyelis mind than its remarkable plasticity, as it has been not inaptly termed by one of his admir- ers. Ardently as he was attached to his own theories and discoveries, and tena- ciously as he clung to them as long as he was convinced of their truth, he was ever ready to receive new ideas, and never too proud to correct his old views or abandon his former opinions, when once he felt satisfied that the evidence was against him. The enthusiasm for a system, strongly developed as it was in his char- acter, was always subordinate to the love of truth. In all his researches, it was the advancement of geological knowledge that he was seeking; not, as was errone- ously supposed by those who saw but one side of his character, the advancement of his own theories. At an early period we find him writing to Dr. Fleming: As a staunch advocate for absolute uni- formity in the order of nature, I have tried in all my travels to persuade myself that the evi- dence was inconclusive, bot in vain. I am more confirmed than ever, and shall labor to account for vicissitudes of climate, not to dis- pute them. A remarkable instance in which he was thus led to a change of views, and aban- doned a theory that had previously ap- peared to him, as to other geologists, complete and satisfactory, is ~vell de- scribed by himself in a letter to Sir John Herschel : I am very full of Darwins new theory of Coral Islands, and have urged Whewell to make him read it at our next meeting. I must give up my volcanic crater theory forever, though it costs me a pang at first, for it ac- counted for so much the annular form, the central lagoon, the sudden rising of an iso- lated mountain in a deep sea, all went so well with the notion of submerged, crateriform, and conical volcanoes, of the shape of Sooth Shet- land, and with an opening into which a ship could sail; and then we had volcanos inside some circular reefs, as in Dampiers island, and then we knew that it was not the corals which had any inclination of their own to build in a ring, like mushrooms and funguses in fairy circles on the green, for the very same species of corals will form a long barrier reef, or grow in any shape the ground permits: and then the fact that in the Pacific we had scarcely any rocks in the regions of coral islands, save two kinds, coral limestone and volcanic! Yet spite of all this, the whole theory is knocked on the head, and the annular shape and cen- tral lagoon have nothing to do with volcanoes, nor even with a crateriform bottom. Perhaps Darwin told you when at the Cape what he considers the true cause? Let any mountain be submerged gradually, and coral grow in the sea in which it is sinking, and there will be a ring of coral, and finally only a lagoon in the centre. Why? For the same reason that a barrier reef of coral grows along certain coasts, Australia, etc. Coral islands are the last efforts of drowning continents to lift their heads above water. Regions of elevation and subsidence in the ocean may be traced by the state of the coral reefs. I hope a good ab- stract of this theory will soon be published. In the meati time, tell all sea-captains and other navigators to look to the facts which may test this new doctrine. (Vol. ii., p. sa.) Another . new theory of Darwins was destined to produce a still greater revolution in his preconceived ideas. All those who have read any of the earlier editions of the Principles will remem- ber the vigor and ability with which Lyell combatted the views of Lamarck con- cerning the progressive development of species: a subject to which his own re- searches in the tertiary strata had espe- cially directed his attentiOn. This chapter continued to figure prominently, in suc- cessive editions of the work down to the 20 SIR CHARLES LYELL. ninth, published in 1853. But ten years later, when he first published his An- tiquity of Man, his views had undergone a great change, in consequence of the publication of Darwins ever memorable work on the Variation of Species, which had appeared in the interval. The change in Lyclis own mind had, in fact, been a gradual one, abrupt as the transi- tion might appear on a comparison of the two works; and one of the most interest- ing things in the present memoir is to trace in his letters the gradual progress of his views on this important subject, and the steps that prepared his mind for the ultimate reception of the new doctrine. His first impressions of the Lamarckian theory which was received in France with enthusiasm, while it found hardly any believers in this country are con- veyed in a letter to Dr. Mantell, who had sent him the original work I devoured Lamarck en voyage, as you did Sismondi, and with equal pleasure. His the- ories delighted me more than any novel I ever read, and much in the same way, for they ad- dress themselves to the imagination, at least of geologists who know the mighty inferences which would be deducible were they estab- lished by observations. But though I admire even his flights, and feel none of the odium theologicum which some modern writers in this country have visited him with, I confess I read him rather as I hear an advocate on the wrong side, to know what can be made of the case in good hands. I am glad he has been coura- geous enough and logical enough to admit that his argument, if pushed as far as it must go, if worth anything, would prove that men may have come from the ourang -outang. But after all, what changes species may really undergo! How impossible will it be to distinguish and lay down a line, beyond which some of the so- called extinct species have never passed into recent ones ! (Vol. i., p. i68.) But his own researches among the ter- tiary fossils led him at an early period to a result which was already a great step in this direction. So long as it was sul)posed that successive formations presented as- semblages of animals wholly distinct from each other, with no species common to the two, it was natural, if not necessary, to acquiesce in the assumption, that every such assemblage had been produced by a special creation, and that the catastrophes which were supposed to have separated every two formations had been accompa- nied by the extinction of all then existing species, and the repeopling the earth and seas by ~vholly new forms of created be- Ings. But when it came to be received as an admitted fact that no such catastrophes had in reality taken place, and that many species were common to successive for- mations, while their gradual dying out and replacement by others might be traced step by step from the oldest pliocene to the no~v existing fauna, it was evident that the whole basis of speculation was funda- mentally changed. The difficulty still remained, to account for the appearance of new species in the successive stages, without appealing to direct acts of crea- tion in each case, a supposition ~vhich, though Lyell himself was for some time prepared to admit it, was strenuously resisted by Continental naturalists, among vhom the Lamarckian hypothesis, or some modification of it, had obtained great influence. Hence we find him ear- nestly seeeking for some mode of sur- mounting this difficulty. As early as 1836 he writes to Sir John Herschel In regard to the origination of new species, I am very glad to find that you think it may be carried on through the intervention of in- termediate causes. I left this rather to be in- ferred, not thinking it worth while to offend a certain class of persons by embodying in words what would only be a speculation. (Vol. i., p. 467.) Shortly after we find him writing to Whewell to precisely the same effect, and, after the publication by the latter of his History of the Inductive Sciences, expressing his satisfaction that he went nearly as far as to contemplate the l)ossibility at least of the introduction of fresh species being governed by general laws. Twenty years more had still to elapse before the publication of Dar- wins book appeared to supply the miss- ing link, by suggesting the inodies ore- 7-audi of the changes in question. But, during the whole of this interval, fresh discoveries in pakeontology, as well as in botany and zoology, were continually fur- nishing fresh proofs of the transitional character of the geological record, and filling up the supposed gaps in the pro- gressive series of created beings. One after another several of the leading natu- ralists of the day were coming to entertain views more and more approximating to the Lamarckian theory of transmutation. On one occasion Lyell writes: When Huxley, Hooker, and Wollaston [an eminent entomologist] were at Darwins last week, they (all four of them) ran a tilt against species, farther I believe than they are delib- erately prepared to go. I cannot easily see how they can go so far, and not embrace the whole Lamarckian 4octrine. SIR CHARLES LYELL. 21 In another conversation at the same Hooker:! feel that Darwin and Huxley house, a botanical phenomenon was men- deify secondary causes too much. They tioned which (as Lyell adds) will figure think they have got farther into the do- in C. Darwins book on Species with main of the unknowable than they have, many other ugly facts, as Hooker, by the aid of variation and natural selec- clinging like me to the orthzodo~r faith, tion. He expresses himself strongly to calls these and other abnormal vagaries. the same effect in the Antiquity of When people come to know that they are Man, the first of his works in which clinging to an orthodox belief, they are he admitted, though in a cautious and apt before long to loose their hold. The guarded manner, his adherence to the ugly facts continued to multiply; while Darwinian theory. the extravagant lengths to which such The very title of this last-mentioned writers as Agassiz and Alcide dOrbigny book indicates another instance in which were driven, in support of their views of Lyell was compelled to retract the view the distinctness of species in all succes- he bad hitherto entertained on a subject sive zones of creation, had a strong ten- of the highest interest and importance. dency to force more reasonable thinkers In common ~vith all other geologists, I~e in the opposite direction. Hence when had always believed that man was one of Darwin five years after the above con- the most recent introductions into the versation put forward his theory of system of nature, and that he did not ap- natural selection, a suggestion which pear on the face of the earth until all the undoubtedly supplied a vera causa, species now known to be extinct, such as whether or not it was adequate to solve the mammoth and mastodon and the cave all difficulties, we cannot be surprised to hy~ena, had disappeared from its surface. find both Lyell and Hooker shaking off The few cases that appeared to militate their former doubts, and zealously espous- against this doctrine were explained away, ing the new doctrine, which was destined and though several instances are men- to work so great a revolution in the sci- tioned in the course of these letters, entific world. ~vhich were difficult to get overone in One of the great difficulties that Lyell particular is termed by Lyell, though appears to have felt in embracing in its not quite satisfactory, still the best proof entirety the transmutation theory, whether he had seen it was not till i86o that the as presented by Lamarck or by Darwin, evidence afforded by the discoveries of was, as he himself repeatedly admits, one M. Bouchet de Ia Perthes at Amiens was of feeling rather than of reason. He felt to be overwhelming. It was impossi- appears to have entertained an insur- ble in this instance to deny the inference, mountable repugnance to the idea that not only of the co-existence of man with man was only an improved kind of ape: extinct species of animals, but of his a prejudice, if such it is to be called, having been there previous to the forma- which we believe to be shared by many tion of the gravel, and the excavation of of our readers. In his earlier letters he the valley in which the remains were dis. repeatedly refers in a jesting tone to the covered. Fresh evidence rapidly accu- time required for ourang-outangs to mulated, and Lyell, with his usual candor, become men on Lamarckian principles; after carefully examining for himself the and, even after he had declared himself a localities in Picardy and Belgium, col- convert to the theory of transmutation, lected all the evidence in a separate work, he was still reluctant to admit its applica- in which at the same time he embodied tion to the case of man, though feeling his altered views on the subject of glacial himself compelled to acknowledge that action and the variation of species. The this was a logical consequence. popular interest in the subject was suffi- At the same time it must be observed ciently proved by the sale of five thou- that Lyell never went along with the sand copies of the Antiquity of Man views of some English, and many Ger- within a few months, and of three editions man, savans in the materialistic argu- ~vithin the year. ments that they derived from this new All these changes in his views had to doctrine. In one of his letters to Darwin be introduced into the tent/i edition of his he especially approves of an observa- Principles, the preparation of ~vhich tion of the Duke of Argyll, that variation involved an amount of labor almost equiv or natural selection cannot be confounded alent to the composition of a new work. with the creational law without such a Thirteen years had elapsed since the ap- deification of them as exaggerates their pearance of the last edition, during which influence. And again, in writing to Dr. time an immense amount of additional 22 SIR CHARLES LYELL. geological facts had been accumulated, was carried off almost suddenly after a while whole chapters had to be re-written, few days illness; and as she was twelve and others added, in accordance with the years younger than her husband, and new discoveries and new theories which youthful and vigorous for her age, the he had himself adopted. This was the blow was as unexpected as it was over- last important literary labor of his life. whelming. His one resource ~vas to be Sir Charles Lyell was now seventy years found in his old pursuits: and he writes of age, and, though the activity of his to a geological friend a few months after mind was almost unabated, his bodily the sad event: I endeavor by daily work strength was fast beginning to fail. at my favorite science to forget as far as Various offers of a flattering kind (we possible the dreadful change that has are told by Mrs. Lyell) had been made to been made in my existence. But, as he him in the mean time to accept offices of adds, at my age of nearly seventy-six an honorable character a trusteeship of the separation cannot be very long. * the British Museum, the presidency of He was still able to make a short geo- the Royal Society, etc.; and during the logical tour in his native Forfarshire in year i86r, under the proposed Reform the summer of 1874; and he found pleas- Bill, which conferred a representative in ure in visiting some of his earliest haunts, Parliament on the University of London, and verifying his geological observations the candidature was offered to Sir Charles of fifty years before. On the 5th of No- Lyell. But he declined all these over- vember in the same year he was present at tures, and resolved that he would devote a dinner in celebration of the fiftieth anni- himself to the end of his life to his favor- versary of the Geological Club, of which ite science, which was daily opening up he had been a member from its founda- more interesting matter for study and re- tion, and made a short speech ~vith a vigor search. Other marks of honor were, that surprised all his friends who were however, conferred upon him, which in- present. But his strength was already volved no additional duties. In January, almost exhausted, and he now sank rap- 1862, he was elected corresponding mem- idly. In February, 1875, he sustained a ber of the Institute of France, and in fresh bereavement by the sudden death of 1864 the queen created him a baronet. his brother, Colonel Lyell, who had been It was a characteristic feature of Ly- almost daily with him up to the time of his ells mind that, instead of feeling any own fatal illness. Charles Lyell followed jealousy of the discoveries of others, he his younger brother within a fortnight, on was always among the first to admit the the 22nd of February. He was buried in merits of rising men of science in the Westminster Abbey, in accordance with younger gene ration. Thus we find him a requisition numerously signed by emi- in a letter to Mr. Ticknor, in 1859, speak- nent men of science; but few, very few, of ing of a friend of mine, Huxley, who those who followed him to his grave be- will soon take rank as one of the first longed to the distinguished circle that naturalists we have ever produced. And had witnessed his early progress, or been at the meeting of the British Association his associates or opponents in the Geo- in the same year, he writes: Young logical Society. The first generation of Geikie has read the best paper, to my geologiststhe men who had made the mind, yet presented to our section. Of society what it afterwards became: Buck- the young men he is certainly the coming land, Co nybeare, Greenough, Sedgwick, geologist and writer. Murchison, De Ia B& che, Phillips all We must now hasten to the end. As had passed away, and Lyell, the most dis- the infirmities of age increased upon him, tinguishe d of them all, was the last sur- he went less into society; and though he vivor. still continued to make something of a His name would ever have held a prom- geological tour every summer, these be- inent position in the annals of science; came more limited in extent, and of com- but it was not till the publication of the paratively little interest. Hence the few present work that the public at large had letters that Mrs. Lyell has preserved to any means of estimating the variety of his us from these latter years have not the attainments both in science and literature, variety or freshness of those of an earlier or of tracing in detail the progress and time. In April, 1873, he had the misfor- tune to lose his beloved wife, who had * A beautiful tribute to ber memory, written by Mr. been his constant companion and assidu- Hillard of Boston, for publication in an American in all his pursuits, during newspaper, bas been inserted by Mrs. Lyell in tbe ap. ous helpmate pendix to tbe work, and is tbus made for tbe first time forty years of unbroken happiness. She accessible to tbe Britisb public. TIlE FRERES. 23 development of those views by which he earned an unrivalled position as a geolo- gist. Mrs. Lyell has furnished an impor- tant contribution to the history of science, at the same time that she has presented to the world an admirable picture of a singularly amiable as well as highly gifted man. From Temple Bar. THE FRERES. BY MRS. ALEXANDER, AUTHOR OF THE WOOING 0 T. CHAPTER XLIII. A LONG ride in the fresh pure mountain air failed in its usual effect. Grace could not sleep; she was restless, and oppressed by vague forebodings. The look and tone with which Balfour had uttered, How can I ever bid you good-bye? were perpetually present to eye and ear; and though she told herself she ~vas fanci- ful, that she exaggerated probably what might have been an expression of natural friendly regret, the first effect remained stamped upon her mind her heart; for she recognized almost with awe, yet with a strange tremulous delight, that whatever doubt she might have respecting Balfours feeling, she could have none about her own. This Iong happy spell of frank companionship had drawn her heart so closely to the comrade of her early days, that the thought of parting with him was too bitter to be endured. She had never suspected where this confidence, this mutual understanding, was leading her; but now, that instantaneous glimpse of tenderness and passion which he had be- trayed, seemed as by an electric touch to have set the sources of love and devotion, which had silently gathered in the depths of her heart, flowing full and quick. Yes; she loved him as she had never loved any one else! Her first attachment to Max, it was an uneasy mixture of im- agination and excited vanity, which yet might have settled into something true and lasting; but this ali ! how sweet the mixture of friendly comprehension and confidence, with a touch of tender- ness beyond what friendship could reach! There was so much strength in the gentle repose of Balfours manner; a breadth and toleration in all his ideas; a simple sincerity that disdained disguise in his manner and opinions. And then she con- jured up his face and form and voice with loving exactitude, and felt they were the incarnation of such a nature tender, true, resolute; the full grave eyes, the breadth of brow, the figure of more strength than grace, yet not without dig- nity; the soft, mellow voice, which yet could ring out loud and full. No! Maurice was not handsome, like Max or Wolff von Falkenberg: but oh! lovely and good in her eyes yes, worthy to be loved as a friend and lover, and she would love him whether he loved her or not. Perhaps he did, and even then they must part; perhaps he did not, and then the parting must be more complete. In any case she must hide what she felt, be- cause it would help him; because if he was resolved not to speak, he had force enough to keep his purpose, and need not be subjected to unnecessary pain; if he felt no more than brotherly affection, why it would be doubly necessary to be on guard, for Grace was peculiarly alive to the wholesome womanly shame of giving a love that was not sought. Not that I can ever be ashamed of loving him in my own heart, if I can only keep it all hidden there. But she greatly dreaded meeting him; she feared to encounter his eyes ; she hesitated to speak, lest he too should per- ceive what she did in the very sound of her voice; she shrank from giving him her hand, lest the mysterious magic of the touch should betray her. But his composure, his quiet self-possession was an infinite relief, when he came in later than usual the following day, and Mrs. Frere seized upon him directly to read aloud passages from a letter of Randals received that morning. She was, as usual, prettily posed in her easy-chair near the window; her work- table with its vase of flowers beside her. Grace sat a little behind on the sofa, dili- gently at work, with a large basket full of sundry objects to be repaired. If there was a hidden blessing in Adams sen- tence, In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread, so there is a double ben- ediction of tranquillizing power to woman in needlework. It is a refuge and a strength, as Grace found it that morning. Balfour placed himself between them, at a little distance, so that he could observe both faces. I am sore you will be interested in my dear boys account of his life at Cairo he writes so graphically! If ths Sir Alexander Atwell writes a successful book, I know who will have done the best part of it; he says, The ~adrone is as 24 THE FRERES. busy as a dog in a fair, arranging every- thing for our start, but I fear is rather a niggardly curmudgeon, stingy about no, thats not it. Sir Alexander was pleased to say that I was too careless of money no, no, here it is: We went yesterday to be presented to the khe- dive, etc., and the usual account fol- lowed donkey-drivers, donkeys, strings of camels, backshish, veiled beauties, Scriptural allusions, glowing skies, incon- gruous mixture of European conveniences, regrets for the Mamelukes, and other pic- turesque ruffianism. They seem to have a good deal of society too, said Mrs. Frere, breaking off and turning the crossed epistle over and over. Ah, yes! here it is: The Marquis and Marchioness of Uppingham are at this hotel, as well as Lord Cecil Fitzhar- ris, and young Morrison of Craigdarroch with his tutor you know he is a million- aire. They are all very pleasant and friendly; the marchioness is a charming and beautiful young creature (She must be five-and-thirty at least, if there is any truth in Debrett. said Mrs. Frere en ~arenthe~se), far gone in Egyptology knows a lot more about it than Sir Alex- ander; she is writing notes of her own tour, and is good enough to show me por- tions of her MS. occasionally. She ac- cepts my assistance quite unaffectedly; she is most amusing about Sir Alexander, and I cannot help seeing that he is a little jealous of the notice I receive, and tries to keep me scribbling from morning till night. However, I do not mind him much, for I am waking valuable friends here. Young Morrison asked me to have a smoke and some iced champagne the other evening, and was quite delighted with my singing of Molly Carew. He is rather common, but very good-natured. It is all pleasant enough, and no doubt will help to push me on; but it is deucedly expensive. Hovever, as we start to-mor- row for Constantinople, as it is getting fearfully hot, I hope my money will hold out till my quarter is due and a mis- erable pittance it is ! Poor dear boy, he must have forgotten to post this; it is dated a month ago! said Mrs. Frere reflectively; it is amaz- ing how he gets on, in spite of every dravback. Imagine that Sir Alexander Atwell only gives him fifty pounds for all his time, his help, his ideas ; it is really too shabby! Why, a high-class cook, not a chef a woman would get as much! indeed! returned Balfour absently. I wish Randal was coming out to Aus- tralia with me. so do I 1 said Grace softly, but earnestly. You are very good, dear Maurice, observed Mrs. Frere, with a slight, supe- rior smile; but I cannot see that there would be much advantage in exchanging Cairo and its charming coterie for the ruggedness of a colony. I should like Randal to have some more exalted profession than playing Punch for peers and millionaires, said Grace impulsively. My dear Grace, I am shocked to hear you talk in that horrid radical way. Ran- dal is only in his natural sphere; you quite wound me, said her mother tear- fully. Grace never means to be unkind, re- turned Balfour; there was a caressing sound in his utterance of her name. No, I dare say not; but she should not seem so, when she sees I have a little comfort in my dear boys letters. Ah, mother dear, I am a wretch to vex you! cried Grace. I am sure every one must like Randal; and I hope he will get on well. Mrs. Frere shook her head. If you would think before you speak, it would be a great improvement, she said emphati- cally. There was a short pause. I rather expected a letter from Dar- nell this mornino~ said Balfour. J fancy matters must be pretty well settled by this time; and I do not want to be snatched away at a moments notice. What do you say to another ride to-mor- row, Grace, as my time is so uncertain? There was an indescribable softening of his tone as he addressed her. Oh, it would be very nice! returned Grace, fastening her eyes upon her work; but Gertrud and Frieda are coming in to dine with us to-morrow, and we are all going to meet the count on his return from Dresden, so you see, I must stay at home. Have we had our last ride, then? said Balfour, turning to her. I do hope not, dear Maurice. She forced herself to speak nearly in her usual tones. Surely you will be a week longer here? He did not reply. Max, too, has not written; I quite expected to hear from him yesterday or to-day, said Mrs. Frere. And I, remarked Grace, am quite uneasy about Lady Elton. It is more THE FRERES. 25 than ten days since she left, and she has only written once. I answered immedi- ately, and she has not written again. Oh, she will write, I dare say, when she gets to London, said Mrs. Frere carelessly, and rising from her seat. I am going to meet Mab on her way from school; she ~vants some new gloves. Will you come with me, Maurice? Certainly, Mrs. Frere. I will put on my bonnet directly. She left the room, and Balfour moved his chair nearer to Grace. You would not mind Randal being a rough fellow like me? No, indeed; I wish he were. I should like a real brother just like you. Ah, it is true! I am not a brother; but I can be a true, real friend, can I not? Your hand on it, Grace, and look at me! He held his out, and she placed hers in it without hesitation; but it took all her self-control to raise her eyes to his while her hand lay in his grasp. He held it with a soft, lingering pressure, palm to palm, each pulse throbbing against pulse. Nothing short of her passionate desire to mask her heart could have nerved her to meet his glance as she did, fully, gravely, for a moment; and then her eyes sank slowly, though his revealed nothing save an eager questioning. He sighed deeply; and letting her withdraw her hand, was beginning a sentence, with Grace, if when re-enter Mrs. Frere. Oh, Gracey, I cannot find the key of the large ScA rank (wardrobe); I am sure I gave it to you. I will come and look for it, said Grace, rising quickly and leaving the room. She was thankful to escape. Maurice evidently wished to explain something, but it was equally clear that he wished for nothing but friendship; and she thought she understood him. Situated as they both were, anything more ~vas out of the question; nor would either hamper the other with a long, perhaps hopeless engagement. It was not to be thought of; and she must show herself brave and wise, and worthy of a strong mans love. If oh, if only he would understand her! And Maurice did not quite understand her. How terrible at times is the fleshly veil ~vhich shrouds us from the perfect knowledge of each other, although it is also often a precious safeguard! Divested as Balfour was of small van- ities, though not undervaluing himself, he was not disposed to think that Grace was in love with him. Had he felt anything beyond vaguest suspicion of her prefer. ence, he neither would nor could have exercised so much control. He reproached himself bitterly for the momentary slackening of the rein which he saw had startled her, and vowed over and over again to himself that he would let nothing disturb the pleasant tranquil- lity of the last few days he had to spend in the society so dear to him. The evening had passed much as usual. Balfour had persuaded Mrs. Frere to let him drive them out to Oybin; and with Grace and Mab as guides and supporters, she had explored the lovely ruins more completely than she had before done. They had steeped themselves in the beauty of the various points of view; they had watched the sun sink over the wide Silesian plain, and had been com- pletely, quietly happy. But Balfour had not been a moment alone with Grace, nor had he sought to be. Grace had been composed and natural and companionable as usual; but there had been (to Balfour) a new, subtle, indefinable charm in her voice and mannersomething subdued and pensive, which he scarce dared inter- pret into reciprocity, yet which at mo- ments sent thrills of giddy rapture through his veins, and paled his brown cheek with sudden throes of emotion. But he was lord of himself through all ; and now he ~valked to and fro the Hof garden, after he had bid good-night to the little group which made a beloved home to him, to think, to battle with himself, and gain composure before he tried to sleep. What mastery this passion for Grace Frere had obtained over him! for it was passion, strong and deep. At first, it ~vas the pleasant surprise to find in his old playmate, or rather plaything, a charming, graceful woman a thoughtful, sympa- thetic companion, bright, natural, intelli- gent, untainted ~vith coquetry, and gifted with considerable powers of observation; at first the delightful intercourse was just sufficiently dashed with the salt of boy and girl companionship. But how soon his pulse began to beat at her touch, his heart to throb at the sound of her. voice! and then he had cast himself unresisting into the strong current of love, reckless ~vhere it might carry him, so long as his idol was untouched. And now, he almost regretted that so much of passion had come to mingle ~vith the tender friendship which was the basis of his love. If he 26 THE FRERES. could win her if he had not been con- demned to expatriation or if she had not been tied at home, perhaps she might have yielded him her love, had he ven- tured to seek it; and once given, they could have dared and conquered all things. If! Oh, miserable mite of a syllable! did ever so small an obstacle hold great issues in the balance? But for the necessity of repeating it, into what a golden cloudland of home and happiness might he not shape his course! what a future of success, ~vith such a wife, would lie before him! And the tone of her voice, lower and softer than usual that eveningthe beauty of the down-sweeping lashes dropped over her averted eyes, came back to ear and sight; and the possibility that she might have given him her heart, came over his in a wave of mingled joy and agony. If he could believe this, he would not leave her without confessing the love he felt. And who could tell? the appointment he expected might prove better than he an- ticipated some hints in Darnells last letter suggested this hope: if so, he would try his chance. If she did care for him well! such a possibility even, brought heaven almost too near for sanity; if she did not, he would be on the point of de- parture, and need vex her with his pres- ence no more. Even so much of a resolution brought composure, and throwing away the end of his second cigar, Balfour ascended to his room, to sleep and dream and wake, and toss restlessly, and sleep again by snatches, till it was time to rise and go forth to meet the day. Influenced, perhaps, by some unac- knowledged presentiment, he lingered over his breakfast and the small local Zeitung, waiting till the post came in, feel- ing strangely restless and excited. And when at last the Trdger entered the salle ~ manger, he held forth a letter with the London postmark, and a news- paper. The former was the long-anticipated summons. His friend, however, wrote in anticil)ation of the former appointment, telling him he had about a weeks law, and o1vin~ him some private particulars particulars that brought the li~,ht to Bal- fours eyes, and a smile of satisfaction to his lips. The decision as to the most feasible line was to be left to him, with a good prospect, as he at once perceived, of ~vorking the whole thing into his own hands, while his absolute pay was consid- erably beyond his expectations. With such probabilities, would he not be justified in offering himself to Grace? Putting sentiment out of the question, her position was not much beyond his own; her portion of this worlds goods consid- erably less, for he could add to his share and she could not. Yes, he ~vould try his luck even an engagement Blessed be Darnell for giving him such a chance! And it must be confessed that Balfours next proceeding was to rush up- stairs and look at himself in the glass; and though he laughed somewhat cyni- cally at this impulse, which sprang more from self-distrust than coxcombry, he did not disdain to put his thick wavy dark hair in order before he started for Berg- strasse, considerably disturbed in mind by the hope and fear which contended in his heart, and earnestly praying that he might find Grace alone. Much depended on the way she would take the intelligence of his near depart- ure. Still to avow all to her would be a relief and delight, take it how she would. So with head erect, and an elastic step, vaguely conscious that his beloved was not indifferent to him, Balfour soon ac- complished the distance between the S~ichsische Hof and her abode. As he mounted the stair, he met Paulina rushing down with the door-key in her hand. Ach, du lieber Himmel ! she ex- claimed, stopping. I go now to seek you, mein Herr. Ach, come quick! the Gnadige Frau wants you. Oh Weh oh Weh ! Why, what is the matter? exclaimed Balfour, alarmed and astonished: and then, without waiting for areply, followed her up-stairs, not heeding the stream of exultations which Paulina did not cease to pour forth while she opened the door. The salon was empty when Balfour en- tered. He stood a moment, looking im- patiently round; but almost immediately Grace came in through the door which led into Mrs. Freres bedroom. She was very pale, with a.n expression of grief and horror in her eyes, while tears still hung on her eyelashes. Oh, Maurice, Maurice! ~vas all she seemed able to say; but she stretched out both hands to him. He took and pressed them to his heart. What is it, dear? Speak to me, Grace! he said. Oh, Maurice, she is quite gone! We shall never see her dear, kind face again! and drawing away her hands, she covered her face with her handkerchief, and yield- ed for a moment to a burst of tears. THE FRERES. 27 Who, for Gods sake? cried Mau- rice, fearing it might be the mother. Lady Elton! sobbed Grace it is too terrible! Here, read this, and she took up an open letter which lay beside a newspaper on Mrs. Freres writing- table. The letter was from Jimmy Byrne I have a sad piece of news to com- municate, which I fear will upset you and Miss Grace. The death of your friend Lady Elton, in Paris, is announced in this days paper. I post it with this, that you may see the sad particulars. Before writ- in ~, I managed to run up at dinner-time to the City, and inquired at Freres. It is too true; and Mr. Max started off for Paris last night. He is, I understand, her ladyships executor, probably her heir; but I do hope she has not forgotten Miss Grace, for they say she has left a power of money. Now read the neWspaper account, said Grace, who had recovered herself a little the worst part of the sad busi- ness is in there; and she pointed to a paragraph headed SUDDEN DEATH OF LADY ELTON. We have to announce the sudden de- mise of Lady Elton, in Paris, yesterday, under the following distressing circum- stances. Her ladyship had arrived at Meurices H6tel, ~vhere she was always in the habit of stopping, about ten days ago, en route from Germany to London, ac- companied by her maid and manservant, an Italian, both old and trusted emph?yds. Her ladyship had long been a sufferer from severe neuralgic pains in the head, to allay which she used opiates and chlo- roform. The night before last, the maid saw Lady Elton to bed as usual, leaving a bottle of chloroform, a glass and night- light, as was her custom, on a table by the bedside. When she returned in the morn- ing, she found her mistress quite dead, and holding in her hand the bottle of chloroform, from which the cork had dropped upon the floor. It is supposed that the deceased had sought relief from pain by the usual application of chloro- form, ~vhich she perfectly understood. Perhaps it took effect quickly, for she had evidently dropped the stopper, continuing to inhale the dangerous fumes until life was extinct. The deceased ~vas the wid- ow of Sir George Elton, second baronet, and leaves no family. Lady Elton was well known and highly esteemed by a ~vide circle, both in London and on the Conti nent; nor will it be easy to fill the place she held in the brilliant literary and artis- tic society which weekly assembled in her hospitable mansion. Her nephew, Mr. Maxwell Frere, ~vas telegraphed for at once and is expected in Paris this morn- mo It is an awful business! exclaimed Balfour, looking up. To think that she should be stolen from us in such a ~vay ! cried Grace, who had risen to re-read the startling pas- sage over his shoulder that a touch, a word in time might have saved her! I always feared that chloroform. Oh, how I wish I had gone with her! I would have watched her well! and she sat down again with a fresh burst of tears. And I am glad you did not! said Balfour, drawing his chair beside her, and laying aside the paper. This dreadful tragedy would have happened all the same; you would not have watched her when she was not specially unwell and what a shock for you, had you been on the spot; I am awfully cut up myself; but I cant stand seeing you cry, Grace. I wish you would stop. No; dont mind, returned Grace, try- ing to dry her tears. It is a relief; and I could not shed a tear at first. My mother is in a dreadful state; I will make her come in and talk to you, it will do her good Stay one moment, urged Balfour, terribly uncertain what to do; not liking to lose this opportunitynot liking to obtrude his affairs and feelings on her at such a time. Grace looked at him inquir- ingly. Oh, I had something to tell you, but not now. We must think of Mrs. Frere, and yourselfyou look ~-ery ill. Oh, Maurice, you dont mean to tell me you are called away now immedi- ately? It would be too cruel; and she looked at him with tearful, imploring eyes and quivering lips. No, no; not immediately. At any rate 1 will not go if I can be of any use to you, Grace, cried Balfour, catching her hand and pressing it between both his, while he looked intently, tenderly into her eyes. You know Yes, yes; I know how kind you are, interrupted Grace, a little confused, but soothed by the warm sympathy of her companion; but we dont expect you to throw away your chances in order to comfort us. You see no one can do us any good; our dear friend has gone. Nothing can bring her back; and we 28 THE FRERES. must just try and submit, though it is hard. My mother is going to write to Uncle Frere for more details; and Mau- rice you are not going to-day or to-mor- row No; not to-day nor to-morrow, dear Grace. He added hastily, for he heard the handle of Mrs. Freres door turning: 1 must tell you all about myself and my hopes when you are a little more coin- posed. You will care to hear? Indeed, indeed I will, murmured Grace, rising to meet Mrs. Frere, who came in, drowned in tears, with a pocket- handkerchief in one hand and a prayer- book in the other. I feel so desolate, as if we had lost our only friend, she sobbed, as soon as she had shaken hands with Balfour. No one else took the same interest in Grace and my dear Randal; and I do hope she has, as poor Mr. Byrne suggests, remem- bered them in her will. Not that that would be any consolation for the loss of one we loved so well, continued Mrs. Frere, with the simple, transparent world- liness which was one of her characteris- tics and Max might well spare some of her wealth too but it would be nice to know she thought of them, the cousin he used to be so fond of. Balfour listened; and an odd feeling of disappointment stole over hun, chilling the warmth and ardor which quickened the blood in his veins a few minutes be- fore. What if this death altered the fam- ily fortunes ? what if Mrs. Frere wished to promote a marriage between her daugh- ter and her nephew? If sobut he would not think about it. This was not a day to intrude his feelings upon Grace, uncertain as he was about hers, lest he might add to her trouble. Meanwhile, Mrs. Frere ~vas talking. Though dear Lady Elton was such a clever, superior woman, she was un- wise on some points. I was al~vays frightened at the way she used chloro- form, and those sort of things. I even ventured to remonstrate with her, which she took in very good part. She was too well-bred to do otherwise; but had she heeded me, she would be alive now. I do not pretend to be wiser or cleverer than my neighbors; still, if my- advice wcre followed occasionally, much might be saved. Grace and Balfour preserved a respect- ful silence; and after wiping away her tears, and looking out a place in the prayer-book where she had inserted a marker, Mrs. Frere resumed, addressing Grace, who was sitting quite still, in a dejected attitude, in the corner of the sofa, her elbow on the sofa-cushion, and her cheek resting on her hand. The worst loss is to you, I know, dear love; but there is no use in sitting still and grieving. It will be better to do something; and I should not like even Gertrud and Frieda to see pink in my cap. Will you, dearest, be so very good as to put black ribbon in my Irish-lace morning cap? You will find some in the white box on the top shelf of my ward- robe; and then, dear, you must arrange one of your old black dresses for your- self, and something for Mab. You see, dear Maurice, the widow and the father- less are obliged to exercise some ingenu- ity to l)resent the appearance due to their position. Balfour murmured an inarticulate as- sent, while Grace rose and silently left the room. Poor child! it is a great blow to her, said Mrs. Frere. She was so devoted to Lady- Elton that, latterly, I felt a little jealous most unnecessarily I dare say; for I am sure no mother could be more loved and cared for than I am. But Lady Eltons views were scarcely orthodox; and I always feared that Grace might catch something of her ideas. It is very awful to be cut off thus unprepared. Very, returned Balfour. I must say it has been a great shock; and I see Grace is deeply affected by it. I wonder if she has left al/her money to Max, resumed Mrs. Frere; it would have been but natural. Still she ought to remember how my dear girls youth is spoiled by poverty. Not spoiled, Mrs. Frere ! exclaimed Balfour; a little crippled, perhaps. But what can be brighter or happier than Graces life? Dear child! she is wonderfully con- tent; but Lam not content that she should always pineno,not pine; she does not pine at all but be lost in obscurity; and I know Lady Elton thought so too. I could see she was anxious Grace should marry well; indeed, lowering her voice, I observed, or thought I observed, in our very last conversation, that she rather wished a marriage between Max Frere and Grace. Certainly in many ways it would he desirable, though I have a great objection to marriages between cousins. Still, I could see Lady Elton thought Max was attached to Grace, and then his proposed visit looked like it. Balfour listened intently, his heart THE FRERES. 29 sinking lower and lower as she spoke. Yes, it was indeed a marriage desirable in many ways. Consanguineous unions were not objectionable in his eyes. And Grace ! ~vas it possible that her aversion to the proposed visit arose from some of those unaccountable back-eddies which, as he had read, characterized the peculiar contradictions of a womans first love? Dont you think so? asked Mrs. Frere, rousing him from his uncomfort- able thoughts. Yes no what is it, Mrs. Frere? That it looks as if Grace was the at- traction I mean Max coming to pay us a visit at this distance, though he could never find time to call when we were in the same town with him last year. Balfour forced himself to say it was extremely probable; and then, feeling it was impossible to endure these confi- dences any longer, got up. You want to write, Mrs. Frere, and I dare say you have plenty to do, so I will leave you for the present. Can I go any- where, or do anything for you? No, thank you very much ; but pray come back to our early dinner. Very xvell, I will return, said Bal- four; and he left her. While Balfour walked away towards the Wienaue and its fragrant woods, that he might commune with himself undisturbed, the news of Lady Eltons death flew with electric speed through the little commu- nity, greatly to its enlivenment. What! the great English lady, who was so ill or so exclusive that she would see none save her own people and the Dalbersdorf family, declining all commu- nication with even the Spilzeu Belzdrde, the high officials of the town dead, and dead in so awful a manner? Was it really accident? Was it some secret crime that Italian attendant looked like a villain. Was it suicide? English people always committed suicide when they lost a few pounds on the stock exchange, or their finger ached. Altogether it was mysteri- ous, and a little just a little disgraceful. Then, who was to get her money? Prob- ably the queen of England. When deaths were doubtful or self-inflicted, property reverted either to the crown or to the Church. No, no; Fraulein Frere would just remain as she was, and that young English friend or relative ~vho was so constantly with her, woud find that she had nothing beyond her good looks; and after all they were nothing so very re- markable while her manners though pleasant, certainly were wanting in the softness and deference which distinguish a German maiden, etc. Balfours presence at dinner was a great help and restraint, though Grace was not a little shocked at Gertruds point-blank questions as to the chances of her inher- iting Lady Eltons ~vealth. How can you fancy such a thing, Ger- trud? Why should Lady Elton leave me any money? You may be quite sure she had made her will and settled everything long ago. I wish you would not talk in that way, she cried indignantly. XVelI, dear? put in her mother, I should be rather surprised if Lady Elton has made no mention of you; though no doubt the bulk of her property will go to Max Frere. It is quite horrible to be arguing about what she has or has not done with her money, before we have well taken in the idea that she has gone from us, re- turned Grace. Du lieber Himmel ! exclaimed Ger- trud, who held fast by her leading idea, if Rudolph von Falkenberg but knew, he would be back and at your feet. He admired you so much, and said all you wanted was a fortune. Though sad at heart, Grace could not help laughing aloud at this undisauised fortune-hunting, and Balfour echoed the laugh. I think we had better not tell grand- papa when he first arrives, said Frieda; he will be so shocked and grieved, he will get no sleep after the fatigue of his journey.~~ On, no, pray do not tell him to-night! cried Mrs. Frere; you must make some excuse for Grace not going to the sta- tion But I will go, mother, said Grace it would seem too strange if I did not. Grace carried out her intention; and amid the general hubbub of the welcome, her quiet sadness passed unnoticed. The veteran was very tired, but greatly gratified by his visit to Dresden, and his interviews with great personages. He was anxious, however, for the quiet of his own room; and with many kind messages to his niece, the count, with Gertrud and Frieda, rolled away in the family landau, and Grace walked towards home, accom- panied by Balfour. The train had been late, and it was now past seven. The sun was sufficiently low to cast long shadows, and the cool evening ~vas tempting. Do not go in yet, said Balfour. Take a turn in the park; it will do you good. You are not likely to meet any 30 THE FRERES. one, so many have gone to the Fest at the Stift. How sorry I was yesterday not to have an invitation, said Grace, turning with him in the direction of the park and what a change to-day! They strolled on in silence; Balfour revolving in his own mind whether he should speak of his own affairs or not, resolved to defer the expression of his feelings until after the next post at all events, as he thought if there was any truth in Mrs Freres anticipations they would soon know. And he shrank from the idea of seeking a woman so much more richly endowed than himself, especially as the ~vords which had fallen from Grace continually repeated themselves in his mind, I should not mind giving all I had to the man I would marry, but I do not know that I should like him to take it. No; if Grace was to have any large slice of Lady Eltons fortune, it was all over for him. Nevertheless, he would tell her, and while he reflected, Grace sud- denly asked, What news have you had to-day, Mau- rice? Better than ours, I hope. Much better than I had hoped, he returned. Darnell writes that I shall receive official notice of my appointment in a day or two, and gives me some details which show that it will be the best I have yet had. Darnell himself com.es out with me. He is the junior partner, youknow, in the great contracting firm of Denny, Calthorpe & Darnell, and goes out to manage the works. And whereabouts is this line to be made? Through a rather remote district Yauda I think it is called, in New South Wales. A short pause. When must you go, Maurice? I cannot exactly tell; I am afraid in a week or ten days at furthest. I have a few, very few, preparations to make in London. A long pause. Then Grace resumed, in a carefully modulated voice, from which Balfour missed something of its natural tone, We should always have missed you, Maurice but it will be doubly hard to let you go now.~~ While I dread the good-bye so much that I almost wish I had never come, re- turned Balfour earnestly, but looking away from his companion. Well, at all events, said Grace hur- riedly, you must have gone somewhere you must have left Zittau; only it need not have been for the antipodes. Grace,.exclaimed Balfour, suppose Lady Elton has left you her heiress, how do you think Max Frere will like it? I do not think he would mind much. Max is not greedy of money, at least I think not; but do not believe the dear mothers fancies. Lady Elton will not leave me anything. I do not see why she should think of it; you know I was out of her favor for a long time. I suppose Mr. Frere will soon an- swer your mothers letter and then we shall know. Grace made no answer; and having reached the end of the long stretch of grass, trees, flower-beds, and shrubs, which on this side of the town had re- placed the fortifications, they paused to look at the view of mountain and forest before returning. A faint golden haze hung over the intervening fields, and down the gentle incline of the park the vista was broken by the pointed roof of the first humble little church which Lutheran- ism had ventured to rear in the frontier town, and a short, sturdy round tower, s~ill bearing the marks of Frederick the Greats cannon-balls. All was silent and peaceful. How sweet and quiet it is! said Grace, with a slight sigh ; it is a charm- ing view! Do you remember the sun- sets over the sea at Dungar, Maurice ? Nothing was ever more beautiful! Oh, how I loved that place and love it still ! Yet I suppose I shall never see it again. At your age all things are possible, returned Balfour. And then their talk flowed freely, each recalling to the other pleasant innocent memories, sweetened by the sense that they were mutual, as they strolled slowly to and fro, enjoying the charm of voice and look and sympathy and silent com- prehension an hour long to be remem- bered, to which the heart would revert clingingly through many a change, and which would bear the diminishing effect of times reversed telescope. At length they returned to Bergstrasse. - Will you not come in ? said Grace, as they paused at the door. No, thank you; I have letters to write, ~ind I dare say Mrs. Frere would rather be alone. They parted. And Balfour walked slowly away to his hotel, wondering why it was that the light and hope which had illumined the first hours of the morning THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. 3 had been effectually overcast by what seemed but an insufficient cause. From The Nineteenth Century. THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. V/AL, sir, I tell you that that thar Yello~vstone Park and them Geysers is jest indescribable. Yes, sir, thats what they are, sure, said all the packers, team- sters, and prospectors we consulted on the subject. A greater measure of truth characterized this statement than is usually contained in eulogistic reports of scenery. We were advised at Ogden that pack trains or wagons could be hired at various points of the Utah Northern branch of the Union Pacific Railway. In order to economize time my companion preceded me, to contract for transport, whilst I remained in Ogden to conclude arrangements in connection with the com- missariat department. These completed, I followed him. He met me at Dillon with a history of woe. At so short a notice no outfits were to be obtained anywhere but at this place, and here the demands for them were exorbitant. No regard was taken of current rates. We were looked upon as so much quartz to be crushed and smelted. I ventured to expostulate with one teamster: What you ask is absurd. It would pay you in three weeks more than your outfit cost. Oh, horses is dear in this country! Not as dear as that amounts to. Wal, it aint much for them as has the means and wants to go in. I am afraid, to use a miners expres- sion, that we did not pan out quite so well as their previous experiences of an English prospect led them to antici- pate. Eventually a little diplomacy se- cured us the services of a Mormon team- ster and his boy, a wagon, and twelve mules . and horses, on very moderate terms. We engaged a cook, and with Dick (the guide we had brought from Ogden), the outfit was complete. Dick was an old soldier, and a first-rate fellow. True, the Dillon whisky prove~d almost too much for him at starting, but ordinary poison would be a mild beverage in comparison with it, and we ~vere so glad that it did not kill him outright that we excused his temporary indisposition. Besides, even then he displayed the most charming urbanity and the greatest anxi- ety to get under way. All I wants, Mr. , is to make a start, to get away beyond the pale of civilization as you may saybeyond the (hic) pale, he would repeat, meditatively. Beyond the pail or the cask, Dick? Beyond the (hic) pale, replied Dick somewhat dubiously, after a long and thoughtful pause. Dick ~vas energetic in his endeavors to engage an outfit.? Say you, look here, he would explain to a native these ere men dont want none of your snide outfits, but jest good bronchos and a wagon and strong harness. Wal, cant yer find no wagons? Wagons ! ! Wagons nough for a whole army, you bet. But it, these fellows all propose to make inde- pendent fortunes in a single day. Why, they want jest as much to hire out one broncho for a week as 11 buy a whole team. Swearing is prevalent amongst these fellows. Our teamster was rather gifted with talent in this direction. He was to be heard at his best in the early morning. whilst engaged in catching the hobbled mules and horses. Amongst the more harmless titles conferred by him on mem- bers of our stud were the yaller one-eyed cuss, the private curse, the bandy- legged, hobbling, contrary son of etc., etc., here following contumelious refer- ences to both the animals remote ances- tors and immediate progenitors. But I do the man injustice. It is impossible to render in its pristine vigor, upon paper, the eloquence that distinguished his morn- ing exhortation to the mules. Frantic with rage, he usually concluded by im- ploring us to assist him in hanging them or driving them into the river with the view of drowning them. B rown, our cook, one of the quietest , gentlest, and best old fellows in the world, rather enjoyed the scene. The teamster criticised his cook- ing, an insult that the meekest cook can- not forget. Yes, he said one day, as he turned the antelope steaks in the frying-pan and listened to the voice of the teamster softly swearing in the distance yes, Mormons always do swear terble, and the women as well, and the children too, and s~moke. I guess they smokes more and stands for the swearingest people as there is any- where. And theyre all alike. We took no tent, but trusted entirely to fine weather and buffalo robes. For the first few days the track lay through a gameless and uninteresting alkali country. THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. 32 Every one, myself excepted, was disagree- about an hour, and then returned with ably affected by the water. Even the little more than the ~vinch and the butt dogs were un~vell. The dryness of the end of the rod. atmosphere was remarkable. Moist sugar Well, Piscator, what luck? inquired became as hard as rock; discharged 1)0w- B. der left nothing but a little dry dust in the Why, these here durned fish dont guns, our lips cracked and our finger-nails piscate worth a cent. Guess Ill ~o and crrew so brittle that it was impossible to catch some with a l)ole and a hopper or pare without breaking them. As we pro- thar wont be any fish for supper. The ceeded the scenery grew wild, and in identification of trout was one of sundry places fine. On many slopes the pine points on which the teamster and I begged forests had been lightly swept by fire, and to differ. Trout vary considerably in skeleton trunks, from which the bark had markings in these mountain streams ; stllI fallen away, stood out in ghostly array a trout is unmistakable. against the yellow, red, and russet under- Thats a pretty trout, said I, one growth, or looked with ascetic asperity day. on the bright belt of light-leaved willow He aint no trout. That thars a chub, bushes whose bouThs danced gaily in the thats what he is. sunlight on the foot-hills. How do you know that from obser- At length we surmounted a low divide vation? leading from the Centennial Valley and No, chap he told me so the other caught our first glimpse of Henrys Lake. day. In the purple haze of an autumnal sunset I should call it a trout. it stretched out before us, and the ripples V/al, I reckon they call him a chub that dwelt there, waked from their mid- down at the terminus,* and the boys they day slumbers by the evening breeze, know something there. Anyway hes a sparkled and glittered and tossed and chub in this country. laughed whilst they restlessly compared With this conclusive argument An- their blue and gold and violet reflections drews always annihilated me. We were and chased each round the shores of at issue upon several questions of this emerald islands out on the silver bosom and other natures. Only one, however, of the waters. Time was when only the threatened to result unpleasantly. An- sun came up over the hills and looked in drews had a boy. He was a surly, flat- upon the solitude of this beautiful sheet faced boy, with a nose like a red pill. of water, dreaming its days away in the His name was Bud, or Buddy. The fa- still heart of the mountains. At most ther thought all the ~vorld of Bud. Bud perchance an occasional Indian wandered was one of the smartest boys in the thither to hunt antelope on its grassy States. (There are a good many of shores, wild fowl in its reedy fringe, or them.) His proud spirit brooked no re- spear by torchlight the noble trout that straint. On all subjects he was the best haunt its crystal depths. Now it is in a informed person in the party. He ~vas fair way to become a summer resort. twelve years of age. He was also a Mor- Already a log hotel has been tried there. mon! His education was complete. He Jam-pots and empty meat-tins lie around possessed, together, with great expe- it in profusion. Fortunately for some rience, implicit self-reliance, a shot-gun, a reason it has been deserted. So the peli- rifle, and a racing pony. Bud at once cans, the swans and geese that dot the assumed command of the expedition. He lakes wide surface, the ducks and flocks seemed to labor under an impression that of teal that sail there in fleets or skim in we had come from England to accompany close order to and fro, the grouse in the him. willo~v thickets, and the wary regiments When the track was well travelled he of antelope, have yet a respite of com- would drive our spare stock a few yards parative security to enjoy, before civiliza- ahead of me, in order that I should be tion drives them from their patrimony, thoroughly annoyed with the dust. This We frequently camped near a trout ~1eased him; but I was forced to insist stream. The trout, although proof against on his taking his pleasure in some other the persuasive influence of the artificial way. Bud declared that he would be fly, were generally amenable to the seduc- dog-durned if he was a-going to run his tions of the grasshopper, the butterfly, or interior (he called it by some other name) grub. Dicks disgust at fly-fishing was amusing. One day B. lent him a rod and The terminus is any village on the railway line I gave him some flies. He was absent that the speaker happens to frequent. THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. 33 out a-driving the stock any further ahead durned if he would. Ho~vever, he was induced to change his mind; and as the teamster expended all his courage in talking, and collapsed the moment an op- portunity was afforded him of displaying his prowess, the matter was amicably set- tled. Thenceforward Bud was a little more circumspect. He used to over-eat himself. When just retribution overtook him, his devoted parent, in an agony of fear, would declare his intention ot re- turning at once with his outfit to the terminus in quest of a doctor. On two occasions we hung for a while with the greatest anxiety upon Buds languid re- sponses to questions regarding his health. And we questioned him as if we loved him. We all doctored him too. Yet he lived! Evidently his constitution was very strong. At any rate we had nothing in camp that could make him die or even get worse. Once in a fit of meddlesome benevolence I restrained his father from giving him a powerful aperient for diar- rhcea. It has been a source of regret to me ever since, for though some months have elapsed since Bud and I were com- rades, my feelings towards him have un- dergone no change. Never allow a boy to accompany a party of this kind, and, least of all, a Western frontier boy. The patience with which an American will submit to insolence from an ill-conditioned young cub of this kind is truly marvellous, and utterly passes the comprehension of an Englishman. There- fore, I say, on no account have anything to do with a boy. Those who dwell in the vicinity of the Yellowstone National Park love enthusi- astically to term it Wonderland. Nor is it altogether ~vithout reason. \Vithin its boundaries (one hundred miles square) there are over ten thousand active gey- sers, hot springs, fumaroles, solfataras, salses, and boiling pools. Of these over two thousand are confined in the small area comprising the upper and lower geyser basins. Sulphur mountains, an obsidian mountain, a mud volcano, and various other remarkable phenomena, add to the curiosity of this extraordinary re- gion. Some of the grandest, some of the most grotesque scenery may be seen here, and the magnificent falls, the interesting cascades, and the eccentric beauty of the Grand Caflon may well challenge compar- ison ~vith the worlds most picturesque features. To attempt an exhaustive de- scription of these marvels within the lim- its of letter-writing is impossible. Equally LiVING AGE. VOL. XXXVIII. 1927 difficult is it, amongst so much that mer- its attention, to select that ~vhich is most noteworthy. We will proceed at once towards the upper geyser basin, passing en route the lower basin with its so termed l)aint- pots or cream-pots boiling vats of a semi-silicious clay, which varies in color from creamy white to pink or slate. The next point of interest is Hells Half- Acre. The pools here are at once the most impressive and beautiful in the park. I turned aside twice to see them, once on my way to the upper basin, and again on my return. On these occasions I saw them under completely diverse aspects; for on the first day a thunderstorm dark- ened the usually serene beauty of the sky. They are situated near the bank of a river, in a desolate expanse of white, formed by deposits from the numerous tiny springs that bubble up on all sides. The first pool is of comparative unimportance. The second, from which the locality derives its name, considerably exceeds half an acre in extent. It is but recently that it as- sumed its present dimensions. These apparently are daily increasing; and it bids fair, if its devouring energies con- tinue undiminished, to join forces with its fellow pools, and form a lake some acres in extent. Numerous cracks and fissures scallop the edges of the yawning gulf, and indicate the direction of future encroach- ments. It is with feelings not altogether devoid of apprehension, therefore, that the stranger to these infernal regions cautiously approaches to windward of the steam, to gaze into the awesome abyss below him. The boilino- hiss and roai- of many waters issues increasingly from its cavernous depths, but heavy clouds of steam veil them from view, and the min-~ iature cliffs, all jagged and crumbling, that plunge precipitately down into the sea of white, are speedily lost in its enveloping folds. Anon the wind sweeps past, and a momentary glimpse is obtainable, through a rift in the steam, of the l)erturbed and seething surface of the water. It is a wonderful sight. Alone it would repay the labor of the journey. And seen as I first saw it, when thunder rolled over- head, and the broad heavens ~vere filled from time to time with the glare of light- ning, the impressive character of th~ scene was enhanced. Unlike Hells Half-Acre, the third and largest pool is brimful, and overflows its edges, formi rrg, ~vith the minerals its wa- ters contain in solution, a succession of steps and tiny ledges which entirely sur THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. round it. It is impossible to conceive anything more beautiful than the brilliant coloring here presented. Its waters are of the purest, brightest, cerulean blue, but near the shallow edges are reflected the enclosing rocks, and the glorious blue is lost in yellow, pale green, or red, whilst chemical deposits, in exquisite arrange- ments, such as the genius of nature alone can suggest, of & ru and ivory, lemon and orange, buff, chocolate, brown, pink, ver- milion, bronze, and fawn, encircle the pool, or paint with ribbon-like effect the tiny streams that trickle from its overflow. Nor is this all. In the transparent cur- tain of rising steam, as it is gently wafted across the pine-wood landscape, a dim reflection of all these wondrous colors slowly dissipating and melting into thin air, is distinctly visible. The sleepy still- ness, the appearance of profound depth, and the moist brilliancy of the coloring, defy all efforts at description. The brush of the greatest artist, the pen of the fin- est writer, would alike be laid aside in despair, and the genius of man perforce must bow before the power of nature, were it tasked to convey in a faithful pic- ture the fantastic beauty of this unearthly scene. We passed on through pine forests, seared and blackened by recent fires, and through the middle geyser basin, with its columns of steam, its subterraneous rum- blings, its hollow echoing of our horses trampling, its hissing craters and its bub- bling springs, that sometimes lay within a few feet of the track. Towards evening we entered the upper basin. Imagine the head of a valley walled in by sombre hills and threaded by a rushing stream. Patches of desert white alternating with clumps of pine trees filled the bottom. On alisides, issuing from amidst the foliage, dense columns of steam rose up and tow- ered into the heavens. The storm had cleared, and the sun, sinking amidst gold and purple clouds, shed a fiery glow through the trees upon the ridges, that caused each twig, almost, I had said, each pine needle, to stand out clearly in a fringe of delicate tracery against the sky. As we crossed the stream and mounted the opposite bank, a vast monument of steam, followed by a stream of water one hundred and sixty feet high, shot up into the air at the further end of the basin. There goes Old Faithful, exclaimed Dick the only reliable geyser in the park. You can always bet on seeing him every sixty- five minutes. Already encamped here we found a party of twenty American ladies and gen- tlemen, who were travelling through the park. They informed us that the Giant- ess (perhaps the finest, but certainly the most capricious geyser of all) was ex- pected to play in the morning, and the Castle to perform the next evening. There are nine principal geysers, namely, the Giant, Giantess, Castle, Grand, Beehive, Comet, Fan, Grotto, and Old Faithful. With exception of the Grotto, which simply churns and makes a great uproar, one of these tremendous fountains may be expected at any moment to cast a stream of boiling water from one to two, or even three hundred feet into the air. All geysers have not the same action, and most of them, in style of action, in the duration of their eruptions, and in the intervals that elapse between them, are apt individually to vary. Some play with labored pumping, others throw a continu- ous stream, some wear themselves out in a single effort, others subside only to re- commence again repeatedly. Thus an eruption may extend from two to twenty minutes the approximate time occupied by the Grand; or even to one hour and twenty minutes a period that the Giant has been timed to play. The colors that tinge the edges of some craters, and stain the courses of the streams that they send forth, are inde- scribably beautiful. The snowy white- ness of the grounding is relieved by dainty buffs, pale pinks and softest ~crus, deep yellow shot with brown, orange streaked with vermilion or straying into crimson, chocolate merging into black, and inter- lined with lemon by colors, in fact, run riot, and all glistening wet beneath the clearest crystal water, that in the centre of the crater deepens into the heavenliest blue. From such brilliancy it is a relief to turn towards the sullen hills of purple pines. Extinct domes and craters, overgrown with flourishing trees, or mounds still bare, and even steaming, with other~vise only their immense size to indicate the mighty power that formed them, are found here and there, amongst those well known to be still active. Many craters are sur- rounded by the skeleton trunks of trees that they have killed, and which, under the action of their mineral waters, are rapidly becoming petrified; whilst in the conflict betwixt desolation and verdure, which, owing to the frequent variation of the centres of action, is constantly in progress, the lowly bunch-grass steaks ground wherever it dare draw a blade. THE YELLOWSTONE GEYSERS. Of all the geysers whose eruptions we witnessed, the Grand was, I think, the most interesting. It played each evening at a regular hour. We were thus enabled to get comfortably into front seats, focus our glasses, and discuss the programme, as it were, before the performance com- menced. This it did very abruptly, al- though the activity displayed by a small vent-hole, and the furious bubbling in another orifice connected with it, might be accepted as premonitory symptoms. Suddenly, with a single prefatory spurt, the Grand shot a vast stream of water over two hundred feet into the air. For a few minutes this pressure was main- tained with unabated vigor, then it sud- denly ceased, and the waters shrank back out of sight in the cavernous hollow of the crater. Meanwhile the vent and caul- dron were still furiously laboring, and subterraneous thunder shook the ground on which we stood. After a minutes cessation, the geyser again burst forth without warning, and with even greater violence. This continued until nine suc- cessive pulsations had occurred. The latter efforts, however, perceptibly dimin- ished in grandeur. It is impossible to conjure up in words any idea of the majestic fury of the scene. The maddened rush of scalding water bursting for a moments freedom from its mysterious captivity, the gigantic columns of dense vapor, the clouds and clouds of lace-like falling spray or diamond show- ers, the lance-tipped water-jets pennoned ~vith puffs of steam, the subterraneous reports, the vondrous effects of the even- ing sun on the silver sheaf of water-spears that with lightning rapidity flashed forth and vanished, broke and reformed, and the rainbow that shone through the drift- ing masses of gauzy mist, baffle entirely my powers of description. I could only gaze and marvel. The l)ackers and team- sters were right: the Yellowstone Park and them geysers is jest indescribable. Over and over again was I forced to ad- mit it, and not the least heartily when I looked down the dim valley at night and watched the ghostly columns of gleaming vapor winding from amidst impenetrable shadows and invading the silent heavens, or listened to the ever-recurring rush and splashing of those mighty fountains break- ing the stillness of the breathless hours. Slightly removed from the main group is one of lesser importance, containing, however, objects of considerable interest. Chief amongst these is the Golconda spring. In some respects this is one of 35 the most striking features in the upper basin. It lies in the hollow of banks that form an exact representation of an in. verted horseshoe. By tiny terraces, the creation of deposits contained in its heav- ily charged waters, the stream issues from the frog of the hoof and spreads over a large surface on its shallow course to the river. There is a strange fascination in striving to pierce the profound, pellucid and brilliant depths of this extraordinary spring. Somewhat akin the feeling is to that which impels us to gaze and gaze over some sheer, scarped precipice or into some grand ravine. One could stand for hours there, tracing the ivory cliffs bathed in sapphire circles, down, down, down, to where the gleaming waters grow black and awesome, and the creamy rocks contracting, lose their fantastic imagery and mass in weird mystery, to form the gloomy portals of what seem the fathom- less abysses of another world. As a game country the Yellowstone Park is a mistake. You may kill a few antelope, an occasional elk or deer; it would not be utterly impossible to happen on a stray bear or bison; but to go there merely for game is to court certain disap- pointment. Besides which, hunting is re- stricted in the park. Beyond its bounda- ries good game countries are easy of ac- cess; within them summer tourists have scared away all the game. Nevertheless it is always possible to kill enough birds and antelope to vary the camp fare. It is a delightful climate and a glorious country for gipsying. I, at least, never tire of riding through the cool dim pine woods and grassy glades, where the chipmunk and squirrel curiously reconnoitre you, and the odor of pine sap is heavy on the air, where the breeze from without pene- trates only in softened and saddened mur- murous tones, that in rising and falling seem to come from so far away, to linger so short a while near you, and to die away so very slowly in the unexplored aisles of the forest. On you ride silently over a thick carpet of pine needles, and smoke pipe after pipe whilst you travel lazily back over the past and its scenes in thought. A non you halt for a while and chat to the ~vise-looking retriever Shot, till th~ wagon wheels are heard creaking in the distance and you pass dn again ahead of the party. Perchance the scene changes to some stream-threaded valley, full of beaver-dams, near which a few ducks are idly sailing in security. Here the pine yields place to willow bushes or the ever-rustling quaking aspen, and the 36 ROBIN. chipmunk and squirrel are succeeded by gorgeous butterflies and red-winged grass- hoppers that spring away with noisy clap ping from every tuft of grass beneath your horses hoofs. At night round a blazing camp-fire Dick and old Brown, B. and I, sit through many a pleasant hour chatting, till the flames wax low and red and the vociferous snoring of the teamster warns us of the time. Old Brown then gets off his last tale or joke, and with a hearty good-night, we turn into luxu~ rious couches of springy pine tops and buffalo robes, where we sleep d hi belle iftoile the unbroken sleep of a natural life. What silver-lit skies spread above us, what a glorious blue their shadowy depths embosom, and how exquisitely delicate is the tracery of yonder pine bough betwixt us and the late-rising moon! Good-night, good-night, and Shot replies with a lazy yawn as he coils himself up against my back and makes himself comfortable also for the night. F. FRANCIS. From Temple Bar. ROBIN. BY MRS. PARR, AUTHOR OF ADAM AND EVE. CHAPTER X. Her watery eyes have burning force, Her floods and flames conspire; Tears kindle sparkssobs fuel are, And sighs but fan the fire. THAT first evening which the three spent together remained all his life fresh in Christophers memory; it was an epoch in his existence, the birth of a new life in which he was caught by the hand of friend- ship on the one side, and beckoned by the finger of lo~ve on the other. Years after, he could repeat and go over every trifling detail that had taken place, and the manic of Venice seen by him then, abided with him forever. When they got back to their hotel, and Robin had left them, Christopher exl)ected that he should hear some further explana- tions, but after two or three cursory re- marks which served only to make light of his former fears, Mr. Veriker altogether avoided the subject. His anxiety relieved, his pains gone, back had come his old flow of high spirits, and he rattled on from one thing to the other until Christopher had to plead that the fatigue of the journey was beginning to tell upon him, and that in spite of his inclination to stay, he felt it would be wiser to go off to bed. Quite right, said Mr. Veriker, for I heard by what she said at parting, that youve got your day cut out and dried for you to-morrow. Thank Heaven! Ive done ~vith sightseeing; no more palaces, and churches, and galleries for me. I leave to Robin the honor of doing cice- rone shes young and has the energy for it. And the good-nature, too, said Chris. topher, only I must take care not to let her overtire herself about it. Oh, no fear of that with a gondola to take you where you want to go besides you mustnt do too much at a time, therell be no need to hurry. Now weve got you here, we dont mean to let you off under a month or two, I can assure you. Christopher shook his head. I shant be able to stay as long as that, he said, but already you have made me feel so at home with you that I am sure it wont be for want of inclina- tion. Then were quits, for, by Jove! to see me now, you wouldnt believe I was the same man I was a few hours ago. De- pend upon it, its best to have nothing to do with those doctoring chaps; I know I wish I hadnt seen the one I went to. Not that I believe the half of what he said, only it isnt a cheerful idea to dwell upon, especially if a fellow happens to feel a bit seedy. I must say you dont look very much of an invalid, said Christopher laugh- ingly not at all what I expected from your letter to find you. Mr. Veriker was delighted. A bit of a humbug, then, you think me ? All right; never mind that, so long as it has brought you to us. Oh, I heartily forgive you. For years it has been my wish to see you and Robin. As I was telling her this evening, hardly a day passed without my stepmothers saying something to me about her. With her dying breath she spoke of her to my father, telling him always to remember that she was the child of her sister, and bore the name of Robina. The words seemed to touch Mr. Veri- ker. He nodded his head, but made no answer; and Christopher, thinking it best to accept this as a signal of dismissal, bade him good-night and ~vent off to the room that had been prepared for him. Once alone, he sat down with some vague idea of collecting his thoughts and examining his impressions, a task quickly given up as impossible ears, eyes, irn- agi nation, all had run riot. Visions of Robin floated before him; stories and ROBIN. smart sayings of Mr. Veriker rang in his ears; a dozen schemes and fancies filled his brain: nothing was to be hoped for that night his senses had become un- manageable and so completely beyond his control that he saw his wisest plan would be to hurry into bed, and trust to sleep and a nights rest for restoring, in place of this dazed being, the sober, matter-of. fact mortal he had up to this present time held himself to be. Cramped by a continual atmosphere of repression, hitherto Christopher had rested ignorant of the capabilities for enjoyment which he possessed. This turmoil of new emotions, of gaiety and excitement, produced a sense of happi- ness entirely new to him, and he slept soundly and awoke refreshed, ready to carry out the plans which the night be- fore he and Robin had made. Those who know Venice will recall the life about to open out for Christopher, and such need not be told that a week there draws people closer together than years spent under ordinary circumstances in ordinary places. From midday, when at Florians, the Quadri, or at an old haunt of Mr. Veri- kers on the Riva dei Schiavoni, the three met to breakfast together, they were sel- dom or never apart. Each morning, long before Mr. Veriker was up, Robin and Christopher had started off to visit some church or see some pic- ture. At that early hour busy life had not begun to stir, the windows of the pal- aces were still dark, empty gondolas waited at the water-washed stairs below. Between the pauses of talk, they could hear the distant murmur of the sea the sea that washed upon the shores of Lido and Robin would strangle at its birth a sigh, for was it not there that she and Jack had spent so many blissful hours together? At the quay below the Rialto, they would come upon the market boats piled up with fruit and greenery, fresh from far-off islands in the Lagoon, and dismiss- ing Paolo, the two would saunter back through the Me rceria, stopping like chil- dren here and there caught by the sight of curious many-colored shells, bright Oriental stuffs, trinkets, gems ,which soon, if Robin but admired, Christopher wanted at once to buy. In the afternoon lohger expeditions were undertaken. Only permit him to remain stretched at his ease on the cush- ions of the gondola, and Mr. Veriker never quarrelled at how far he was asked 37 to goMurano, Tercello, Chioggiait did not not matter in the least. All I bargain for is that we shall want some dinner, he would say, so get back in decent time for that. After dinner, with his coffee, Mr. Veri- ker liked a cigar, and while smoking it, a chat with some chance acquaintance who, posted up in the scandal of the place, could give him a little idea of what was going on around him. Robin, know- ing his habits, would propose a stroll, and off together she and Christopher would go. Perhaps she would talk to him of her father, tell him of her past life, the places she had seen, the ~vay they had lived there Christopher only dropping in a word here and there to keep her talk. ing, not caring what she said so long as he might listen and look at her. When she had taken these walks with Jack, Robin had never cared to speak, and if he-did not talk, there would be long silences between them, when instead of words, tremulous, half-smothered, hap. py sighs rose to her lips; but with Chris- topher, as with her father, she had the desire to let her tongue run, and on from one subject to another it went with- out thought or care. Only, two or three times, suddenly, in the midst, while she was yet speaking, a voice, a sound, the scent of a flower, the plash of an oar would come as a sudden stab to her, and she would be seized by the impulse to run away, far off, to some place where alone, unseen, she might fling herself down and ease this passion of sobs which lay choking in her throat. How should she keep them back? She could not speak at least not yet; so, pausing, with dumb-show she would bid Chris- topher look, and he, following her gaze, would stand as if rapt, looking out afar, not seeing the fair scene that lay before him there, for his eyes were turned within watching the tumult of a most rebellious heart which fought and struggled, mocked by a voice which asked if its next cry was to be for the moon. As distant and far off as seemed that moon which sailed above their heads, was any hope Christopher had that Robin should ever be moved to listen to his love. In that, he never cheated himself; he knew that very soon after he had first seen her, though why, or how, or when, it ceased to be his own he could not tell, he had delivered up to Robin every atom of I is heart it was hers, solely hers, to stab, to sting, to trample on. Bitterness to Christopher, who would 38 ROBIN. willingly have endured any pain if but a germ of hope lay hidden in it, Robin did none of this; she simply accepted all that she saw he offered her, and taxed his strength to its utmost limits by the out- spoken, frank affection in which she sought to pay him back, pleasing herself and, as she seemed to think, him by con- stantly recalling to his mind that pledge they were under to look upon each other as sister and brother. XVeIl! under that subterfuge, so long as it kept him near to be of service to her, he would remain; there would be time and enough of sad opportunity, when he got back into the dull routine of his solitary life to face his difficulties, take himself in hand, and re- gain the mastery of self control. Chris- topher never doubted but that this mas- tery would be his; he forgot that a great teacher has said, Withstand the begin- ning, after remedies come too late. But blind as Robin was for eyes closed by love for one away ofttimes fail to see love that has drawn near Mr. Veriker suffered from no short-sighted- ness in this matter. It did not take him long before he had come to a tolerably correct conclusion as to the turn affairs had taken. And how did the knowledge affect him?it filled him by turns with satisfaction and displeasure: satisfaction inasmuch as Robin married, and his anx- iety ended, what mattered anything so long as she was provided for; and then came the thought of how this provision would come about by that old brutes son marrying his daughter, and up would leap the fire of enmity fanned into flame by a hundred bitter memories, until Mr. Veriker in his wrath and indignation would s~vear she had better beg her bread he would rather see her marry any one Jack ? oh a thousand times rather Jack than Christopher, that is, so long as Christopher had a father; but fathers could not live forever, and old Blunt, tough as he ~vas, the wrong side of sixty, must drop off some day, and then, surely there was nothing for Robin that he could desire better. She was young, of an age when girls could be tempted into taking fancies; and with as much money as she cared for, to spend, a man who would worship her take her where she liked to go, give her everything she wanted what on earth more could any girl wish for? and yet, all this and more had been offered to her mother! and God reward her! she had flung it aside for his sake, had chosen him, stuck by him, given up all to marry him; and he had broken her heart she had died, they said, of the ruin he had brought upon her. No! no! he murmured, wiping his eyes, which of late were apt to grow dim ~vhenever he dwelt, as he often dwelt now, on past days and old memories, I must try and keep her child from making such a sacrifice. I wont think of Jack, we must give him the slip: it wouldnt do, hes too much what I was, and were not worth it, fellows like Jack and I. And then in his mind arose a more present difficulty. Supposing anything did chance to hap- pen to him, and Jack was written to, as soon as he heard of it, if he fancied her left alone to get on as best she could, hed be safe to come and see what was going to become of her, and if shed found a home with the Blunts or with somebody they knew, to have a fellow like Jack dropping suddenly down among a strait- laced set would never do. In their respectable eyes it would d her as completely, he said, as if she had me constantly at her elbow. CHAPTER XI. ~ dans 1esprit une femme comme ii y en a pen, qui me pr~serve des femmes comme ii y en a beau- coup., STRANGELY enough, since Christo- phers arrival neither Robin nor Mr. Ver- iker had once mentioned Jack before him. By tacit consent his name was avoided, and if in telling a story reference was obliged to be made to him, he was spoken of as a friend who happened at the time to be one of their party. Even to one another they had ceased to talk of him, and to the name once so familiar though it still lay ever on their tongues they refused utterance. I want papa to forget, Robin ~vould say to herselfto fancy that I dont think about Jack that I dont care for him any more. Poor child! to have it suspected that she had given her love without its being asked or being wanted, seemed a terrible humiliation. For if Jack could not look on her as anything but a child, that her father should still regard her as one was a necessity; and though she well knew that girls sometimes married at her age, and that in some experiences she was older than many women, still the thought of being looked on by those two as for- ward beyond her years rought blushes to her face, and filled het with shame and confusion. What a relief it was to feel that Chris- ROBIN. 39 topher knew nothing of this dear, quiet, sober, matter-of-fact Christopher! With him she could be free as air without any fear of misinterpretation she could say what she liked, as she pleased ; they could discuss, speculate, argue about everything together, more especially about love, a theme that somehow always came upper- mostled to, Robin believed, by her de- ires, entered on, Christopher feared, by ~iIs hopes. Both professed great igno- rance regarding it, and yet each spoke as if from experience Robin wounding, slaying the tender passion with her tongue, Christopher upholding, pleading for, defending it. How often in after days Christo- pher went over those walks again, holding a knowledge then, which shed a light on each discussion. Carried away, he would seem to stand on the very spot where the words were said; the surroundings of the scene a cruelly faithful memory brought before him. Above, the stars; below, the sea a forest of gondolas moored around the steps close by which they were stand- ing. Sometimes, tempted by the beauty of the night, they would step into one of these and be rowed out to San Giorgio. As long as he lived, Christopher never forgot one of those evenings, nor the en- chantment in which they had enthralled him. Oh! how we shall miss him when he is gone, Robin said over and over again to her father. And Mr. Veriker agreed with her. Of late, more especially for the last ten days or so, he had been constantly dwell- ing on the possibility of Robin herself having the desire to care for Christopher. Shes got sense enough, he said to himself, and, its my belief, sees that it would be a good thing for her that keep- ing mum about Jack, never dropping a syllable about him, shows to my mind that the winds in that direction. And then he would sigh and premise that it was the best thing that could hap- pen, particularly if she thought so. Wom- en were odd fish, twas of no use men try- ing to fathom them. He had thought she meant to break her heart over Jack. Poor old Jack! He felt quite sorry for him, grew sentimental each time he thought of him, until a certain day when happily Robin was not with him a letter was brought to him, a letter from jack full of reproaches that he had been left so long a time without hearing a word about them. Full of alarm, Mr. Veriker put this let- ter into his pocket. XVhat was the use of upsetting everything now? He rather thought it was his duty to keep silent and say nothing about; it; if he showed her what Jack had written, how could he tell in what way it would affect Robin? be- sides, beyond the present there was the future to be thought of. The reading of that letter had thrown him into a state of acritation, one by one his fears began to awaken, and with each dull thud of his heart a mournful voice repeated, Jack must be got rid of, Jack must be got rid of. So with the idea of strengthening his resolution, but in reality as a relief to this fit of nervous emotion, he ran his eyes once more over the paper and then tore it up into atoms, which he threw away. Perhaps the consciousness of this de- ception disposed Mr. Veriker to be the whole of the ensuing day more than usu- ally critical with Christopher, so that, strive as he might, he could not help com- paring everything he said or did with what Jack would have said or would have done in similar circumstances. It had been arranged that the afternoon should be devoted to visiting Murano. The weather was perfect: an opal sky, an azure sea, with a filmy mist which soft- ened without obscuring all it fell upon. Never before had Christopher felt him- self so entirely under the influence of this external beauty; it seemed to enslave his imagination, to attack his senses so that he became absent and dreamy; and Rob- in, noticing his humor, began to twit him on his idleness and want of energy. As- sisted by her father, soon a dozen open- ings were given, each of which a more ready man would have seized on as an op- portunity for furthering his suit; but for two reasons Christopher said nothing to the purpose in the first place, the gift of ready speech had been denied him; in the second, his feelings were too earnest to find outlet in froth. Shallow waters run their course noisily; deep rivers flow silently. To gauge Christopher, therefore, was beyond the depth of Mr. Verikers power remembering his own successes, his theory was that women as a rule give their love to those best practised in the art of winning it. What was the good of sit- ting mum and saying nothing?a beg- gar that is dumb, you know. Ah, yes, he said to himself, a beggar that i~ dumb ! but that dumb beggar had eyes to look out of, not to see with, which is- about all the use poor Christopher cans make of his. And this led him to a men ROBIN. 40 tal survey of Jacks face, which had always been a puzzle to him, inasmuch as lie knew, that so far as actual good looks went, his own beat it. But for real downright mischief, he mused reflective- ly, upon my life, Id back Jacks phisog. against any other, and without alterinr his l)osition or letting his eyes wander to where Christopher and Robin were sit- ting, he conjured up the two he had so often seen there together remembered how his weak nature had made him go back with Paolo so that he might avoid the embarrassment of feeling he ought to look after them. A side glance stolen at Robin showed him a head drooped, a face dreamy with a shadowed sadness in the far-off gaze of eyes which smote his heart heavily with- in him. Was it of Jack she was thinking? Poor child, why had he not looked after them better? Surely it might have struck any man who knew Jack as he did, that it ~vas the right thing to do and then, as a salve to the course he had now taken, came the probability that a thousand to one in spite of all lie had written, by this time Jack had found friends and was in the way of soon being caught by new faces. Times out of number when Robin was in pinafores, he had known Jack in love furiously smitten, worked up to the white heat of passion, so that all his friends were betting on the fool lie ~vas about to make of himself; and in the very thick of it all, some fine morning, everybody awoke to learn that Jack was gone had left the place, nobody, his inamorata included, able to guess for where, or for what earthly reason. Every one had some conjecture to hazard, but it never occurred to any one, and certainly not to Mr. Ver- iker, to be within a mile of the truth, ~vhich generally was, that at a certain point of sliding Jack had suddenly pulled him- self up, looked temptation in the face, and in the battle which ensued had come off so far conqueror that lie had strength left to run away from his danger. It was this habit that had stood him in good stead ~vhen lie had made up his mind concerning Robin, with the differ- ence that in place of striving to rid him- self of every recollection, Jack carried away Robins face enshrined in his in- most heart. The knowledge that she loved him he treasured as a talisman to help him to get on, and to protect him from eviL Bless her! bless her! he would say, prcssing to his lips an old faded photo- gra~Th taken in the early days when Robin wore short petticoats and her hair hung loose down her back. Belo~v in crooked, cramped letters she had written then, Your own, your very own Robin. And so she is still !Jack would tell himself triumphantly. I dont believe it has ever entered her head to give a single thought to any other man. The result of Jacks past made this cer- tainty score a great deal for Robin, and then absence, occupation, a strange place, with not a creature lie knew, all helped to fan a flame which, under other circum- stances or elsewhere, might by this time have flickered very low. Jack had always been a bad correspondent, and unless one wanted something or the other, during any of the times they had been apart, very few letters had passed between him and the Verikers. Now, much as he would have liked to write and hear from Robin, the same sense of honor which had closed his lips fettered his pen; to write to her the every-day commonplace letter of a friend was impossible, and by her silence he judged that she was under the same influence. But this feeling had nothing to do ~vith Mr. Veriker, whom Jack anathi- ematized from a free vocabulary as the most selfish, the laziest fellow the earth contained. Oh, if he only had him near! for words easy to say have an ugly look on l)aper, and Jack had to content himself by a somewhat curt epistle, asking in straightforward English to be informed what they were about, where they were going, and what they were meaning to do, and it was this very letter which, reaching Mr. Veriker, had caused him such per- plexity. More than a week had gone by since he had received it, and so far nothing was done. Every morning he awoke with the determination to write to Jack, but the day passed and the night came, and he went to bed again not having done it. Happily for his decision, it was at length in a way forced by a conversation with Christopher, in which he related with niuchi satisfaction certain portions of a letter received by him that morning from his father. Mr. Blunt acknowledged him- self very satisfied with the reports which had been given him; lie asked question after question regarding Robin, and he p~trticuharly desired, as lie wished to see what she was like, that Christopher should bring back a photograph of her. There seemed no doubt then, l)ut that when she needed it and a terrible conviction wa~ forced on him that need it soon she would a home with these relations would be ROBIN. 4 offered her, and if so Jack must be got rid of, put altogether off their scent, and the sooner it ~vas done the better. The following day Mr. Veriker excused himself from the afternoon expedition. Under the plea of lying down to get some rest he would secure the opportunity of writing Jack a letter. The paper lay upon the table, the pen was in his hand, only the words to say were not ready. The poor battered conscience which had slept undisturbedly through many a doubtful transaction was suddenly up in arms, and Mr. Veriker lacked all heart to quiet it. Until now, it had not come to him how much he cared for Jack valued his good opinion enjoyed his fellowship; and he was going to fling all these away, cut him- self off from him altogether. Already his memory had travelled back to bygone days; he was going through past scenes remembering forgotten debts, old obli- gations. It was true that Jack had a habit of saying hard things, and at times made you feel a terrible rough tongue of his own, but for sticking to his word and never sneaking out of it if things went wrong, he hadnt his fellow The afternoon h~d slipped away, but Mr. Veriker was but very little advanced with his letter, and yet it must be written; for Robins sake he must make the sacri- lice, it was the only amends he could make her. So with as much jauntiness as he could find expression for, he in- formed Jack that he felt wonderfully bet- ter, but not so well as he yet meant to be when they found a place with more sun, and fewer people from their own country. Its up stick, and away now from Ven- ice, so until we find another resting-place you wont hear from us. I have the ad- dress you left to write to in case of ne- cessity, but theres little fear but what you will get some news of us before you move from where youre now hanging out. Then followed a rhodomontade respecting his health and his hopes of speedily getting quite well again, an in- vented message or two from Robin, and he signed his name and it was finished. Sealed and directed, he sat with it in his hand, with his eyes, looking straight before him, fixed in vacancy. Suddenly he buried his face in his arms. Even ~vhen alone men seek to hide their tears, and this treachery to Jack seemed the warrant of his own death in casting him off he was giving up his last, lingering hopes of life. CHAPTER XII. Standing, with reluctant feet, Where the brook and river meet, Womanhood and childhood fleet IT was Christophers last evening in Venice; he ~vas to start the next day, and he, and Robin, and Mr. Veriker were full of those promises, agreements, stipula- tions, which friends at parting make to. geth er. Each had some confidence to impart, something particular to say best said when only one was with the other; and, in consequence, a series of stratagems were resorted to, and kept up on Mr. Ver- ikers part to get rid of Robin, and in the case of Robin and Christopher to get rid of Mr. Veriker. In this the t~vo latter had just succeeded. Christopher wanted to have a last look of sunset from the public gardens, and he had asked Robin to go with him there. We wont include you, he said to Mr. Veriker, because it might make you feel tired, and you and I will want to have our talk later. In the Via Garibaldi, as is usual, a crowd of loiterers were looking in at the shop windows, before which neither Chris- topher nor Robin cared to linger. They walked briskly, talking of indifferent sub- jects until they reached the entrance of the gardens, which, except for a few old men and some women clustered together, were deserted. Shall we go to the end to our favor- ite seat? asked Robin, leadino the way. Christopher followed her he was full of that dumb pain which hangs on our spirits and is a weight on our tongues; he wanted Robin to know how much h~ suffered at parting with her, and he could find no words in which to tell her. The seat reached a tumble-down af- fair backed by some thick, feathery tam- arisk trees they sat down, and for some time, without speaking, ~vatched the orbs departing glory. Robins thoughts ran on many things; Christophers on one. Dare he venture to take her hand? al- most fearing to meet her look, he took it. Startled, Robin turned quickly round, but only to smile at him encouragingly,, and clasp the palm which trembled next her o~vn. A lump of lead seemed to sink within Christopher; with quick pressure he took his hand away. What a terrible jar to love is mere affection! Jewelled with islands, there spread out before them, lay the golden sea, girt round with outlined chain of snowy peaks. The fishing-boats, with orange sails, were dot- 42 ROBIN. ted here and there waiting for the wind, a gentle breeze of which already was being wafted from afar. Robin! Christopher in desperation at length exclaimed, youll think of me sometimes, wont you? Her thoughts had wandered off to Jack. It was he ~vho had taught her to feel the beauty of a scene like this. Think of you! yes, rousing herself, and very often too. Thats right how his sentences seemed jerked out to-night; his heart kept up such a thudding that he had no breath to give his speech the measure it usually had. And whatever you ~vant in any way youre to write to me youll remember that? Im not likely to forget, and she smiled sadly, considering I hav~no one in the ~vorld who cares to be of use to me but you. Should he tell her? It was madness, he knew, but yet, oh the sick longing that came into his heart! Involuntarily he shut his eyes, opening them to find Robin looking at him. The glare dazzles you, she said. Alas! instead of the despair which Jack would have called up to his aid, Christo- phers face showed nothing but that his eyes were weak and filled with water. I ought not to look at the sun, he said bitterly, and he put up his hand and pressed his fingers tight, striving to keep back that torrent which was sapping all his strength. Futile! vain! hopeless! none knew better than himself, were any words which he might now say Robin did not love him, in that never for a moment had he been deceived; his deception lay in the belief that as yet she did not know love, and in the cherished hope that at some distant far-off day to come, it might be his to teach the lesson. And nurturing this hope, fed by a thousand specious argu- ments, Christopher would conjure up his own image, scan his appearance, examine into his advantages, trying to discover if he possessed one single iii erit that could prove a lure by which the heart he cov- eted might be caught. He too had a photograph of Robin to look atthe one lately taken at Vianellis to show to his father and in his own room, when alone, he would take it from out its many coverings, and hold it before him feasting his eyes. Fool ! madman ! that he ~vas ever to dream that she could be won by him. For Robin, without possessing the gift of rare beauty, had a face which steals away mens hearts: there was in it a mixture of childlike innocence and daring saucinessshe could look tears and smile sunshine. Then her light-hearted- ness and gaiety of disposition, inherited from her father, vere a species of subtle intoxication far removed from the effect of high spirits, which she did not possess, and which when not shared in makes com- panions sad. Robin had rather the art of adapting herself to every ones humor, and while doing so the power of gradually im- parting to them her own. The opportunity of making girl friends had never been given her. Mr. Veriker had kept aloof from the society of wom- en: it was a tribute to the love in which he held his wifes memory, that, being in the prime of life and very handsome, he pointedly avoided seekirrg any femi- nine intimacy. Those who had the hardi- hood to disregard this avoidance and to thrust themselves on him, he protected his daughter from, andas whenever Jack was with them he had a worthy coadjutor. in him the world of women was a terra inco~nita to Robin. Was it from this reason that she was so utterly devoid of the small the petty weak- nesses common to many of her sex? She knew that she was pretty, and openly showed the pleasure she took in the fact; but of vanity in its true meaning she had none. Candid,frank, open, the girl with good training might have been per- fect; as it was, left to run wild with no pruning, she lacked many of those moral conditions without which no character can be duly balanced. It must not be supposed that Christo- pher was blind to the faults he saw in her, neither could he turn a deaf ear to some things which pained him inex- pressibly. Careful as Mr. Veriker strove to be, and anxious as he was to appear at his best before Christopher, as a fig- tree cannot bring forth thistles, nor a grape thorns, neither can a man whose morality is easy, call up virtues to asume at will. Mr. Veriker would talk of people to Robin, tell stories before her, at which Christopher who had given her wings would feel his hair stand on end, and severest shock of all his angel would supply names, jog her fathers memory, and help out his recollections. When Jack was with them Robin had suffered from many a sharp rebuke from him, and had often been told to hold her tongue; but -much as it pained Christo- pher, he felt powerless to speak the evil JANE AUSTEN. 43 seemed rooted so much deeper down to him. It had its origin in the life she led, the places she saw; and apart from his love, he was possessed by a great longing to rescue her from this, to guide her by a teaching of which she knew nothing, for of many truths, the heathen in a savage land had as much knowledge as poor Robin. And the same compas- sion although in a lesser degree he spread out towards Mr. Veriker, with whom Christopher never talked without realizing how impotent words are when, to those we say them to, they bear no meaning. Mr. Verikers sole anxiety as to death, was that he had to leave Robin. Im afraid I must make up my mind to throw up my hand, he would say, and there, so far as Ive found out, will be an end of the game and of me. Then see- ing that Christopher looked pained, he would add by way of consolation, You talk to Robin about that, my good fellow, make her listen to what youve been tell- ing me women are ever so much easier to convince about that sort of thing than men are. It never seemed to present itself to Mr. Veriker that Christopher was a man most certainly he never regarded him as one; he rather looked on him as some strange anomaly, some unaccount- able being, possessing a pot of money, and not an idea of enjoying it! except in spending it on him and Robin, and that certainly he had done freely enough since he had been there; he was never tired of bringing them gifts, anticipating their wishes, providing them with pleas- ures. They had lived as much as ~vas possible en prince since Christopher had come to Venice. From Temple Bar. JANE AUSTEN.* THE chronicle of Miss Austens life is brief and simple. For twenty-five years from her birth on December i6, 1775, she lived in her fathers family at the rectory of Steventon in Hampshire, making of course occasional visits to relatives and friends, some of which visits took her to Bath. In i8oi, on the resignation of her father, she ~vent with her family to Bath, and from thence, after Mr. Austens death * Novels by Jane Austen, with a biography, in aix volumes. Bentley and Son. in February, 1805, she removed to South- ampton. There she remained for four years, when her mother, her sister Cas- sandra, and herself, took up their abode at Chawton in Hampshire, in a house be- longing to Mr. Austens second son. This continued to be her home till her last ill. ness. She died in Winchester, whither she had gone for medical advice, on July 10, i8i~ She made few friends beyond the circle of her own family, and it is not known that she ~vas ever seriously in love. Her literary activity falls into two dis- tinct sections. She began Pride and Prejudice in October, 1796, at the age of twenty, and finished it in August, l797 Sense and Sensibility was begun in November, 1797. Northanger Abbey was composed in 1798. Then came a pause. During the nine years passed at Bath and Southampton, extending from her twenty-sixth to her thirty-fifth year, we do not know that she wrote anything except the short but striking history of Lady Susan, a novel in letters, though it is probable that the fragment ~vhich Mr. Austen-Leigh entitles The XVatsons, was begun in these nine years. She pub- lished nothing till i8i i; but from that date onwards, novel followed novel with great rapidity. Sense and Sensibility, after undergoing revision, was published in r8ii ; Pride and Prejudice in 1813; Mansfield Park followed in 1814; Emma at the end of 1815; and Per- suasion came out with Northanger Abbey, after her death, in i8i8. This silence may be explained by the discouragement which attended Miss Austens first attempts to put her work in print. A proposal made by her father to Mr. Cadell for the publication of a novel comprising three volumes about the length of Miss Burneys Evelina ( Pride and Prejudice ) was declined by return of post. The fate of Northanger Abbey was still more humiliating. It was sold in 1803 to a publisher in Bath for ten pounds, but it found so little favor in his eyes that he chose to abide by his first loss rather than risk further expense by publishing such a work. The Thorpes, Tilneys, and Cather- ine Morland for ten pounds, and dear at the price! Afterwards, when four nov- els had been published, Jane wished to recover the copyright. One of her brothersundertook the negotia- tion. lie found the purchaser very willing to receive back his money and to resign all claim to the copyright. When the bargain was con- cluded, and the money paid, but not till then, 44 JANE AUSTEN. the negotiator had the satisfaction of inform- ing him that the work thus lightly esteemed was by the author of Pride and Prejudice. Six novels, of which four only were published in her life, and a few fragments, do not make up a large bulk of work for one who wrote so rapidly and well as Miss Austen. It is true that she died in her forty-third year, but on the other hand she began to write at a very early age. She was barely twenty when she began Pride and Prejudice, and she finished it in ten months. After a brief interval she is engaged upon a fresh work, Sense and Sensibility, which is completed with equal rapidity. Thus before she was twenty-three she had written t~vo of the best novels in the language. At this rate she might have filled our shelves, as recent novelists have filled them. But the great stimulus to over-production was ~vanting: there was no demand for her labor. No printers boy waited to carry off her copy, no editor insisted on an- other sheet to make up his forthcoming number. Unknown and in silence she created her wonderful storjes. Mrs. Ben- net lamented in vain; Mr. Collins made love and no one laughed. With nothing but her own taste to guide her, she pro- duced work almost faultless in style; and wrote English which puts us to shame. She composed in the first instance for her own amusement from her earliest child- hood wrting rather than reading attracted herand therefore she wrote when and as she pleased. She altered, excised, re- wrote, caring for nothing but the perfec- tion which satisfied her own judgment. She steadily refused to travel beyond the circle within which she felt that her pow- ers ranged. In the last years of her life, when she became known as an authoress, she received various suggestions from friends that she should write a novel on this or that subject. Mr. Clarke, for in- stance, the librarian of Carlton House, requested her to delineate the habits, character, and enthusiasm of a clergyman who should pass his time between the metropolis and the country, who should be something like Beatties minstrel Silent when glad, affectionate though shy, And in his looks was most demurely sad; And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why. What induced the man to make this request, it is hard to say; Janes clergy. men are far enough removed from such a type. The qualities which they distinctly have not, are earnestness and enthusiasm. Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton are selfish, un- derbred men, ~vhose thoughts are wholly occupied with themselves. Dr. Grant, in Mansfield Park, is a bon vivant, of whom we hear in connection ~vith a roa~t turkey and the best means of turning a living to good account. The young men who are about to take orders, the Ber- trains, Tilneys, and Ferrars, have common sense, and morals enough to enable them to fill the place of a country clergyman, and that is all. They never exhibit any peculiar fitness for their vocation, unless it be that they appear to be fit for nothing else. Jane knew this, and answered Mr. Clarke thus I am quite honored by your thinking me capable of drawing such a clergyman as you gave the sketch of in your note. But I assure you I am not. The comic part of the charac- ter I might be equal to, but not the good, the enthusiastic, the literary. Such a man s con- versation must at times be on subjects of science and philosophy, of which I know noth- ing, or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations and allusions, which a woman who, like me, knows only her mother tongue, and has read little in that, would.be totally without the power of giving. A classical education or, at any rate, a very extensive acquaintance with English literature, ancient and modern, ap- pears to me quite indispensable for the person who would do any justice to your clergyman; and I think I may boast myself to be with all possible vanity the most unlearned and unin- formed female who ever dared to be an au- thoress. The same gentleman, failing with his parson, suggested yet another subject. A historical romance, illustrative of the august house of Cobtmrg would just now be very interesting, he writes, on the occasion of the approaching marriage of Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold, whose chaplain and secretary he had recently become. It is difficult to believe that any man, even a chaplain, could have made such a proposal. What have his- tory and the august house of Coburg to do with life in English villages and water- ing-places, with the ultra-genteel and demi-vulgar, the artful or artless young women, and somewhat flabby young men, whom Jane Austen knew from the heart outwards? She answers, humorously I am fully sensible that a historical romance founded on the House of Saxe-Cohurg might be much more to the purpose of profit or l)op- ularity thaim. such pictures of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under army motive than to save my JANE AUSTEN. 45 life, and if it were indispensable to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or at other people, I am sure that I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. NoII must keep to my own style and go on in my own way: and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I shall totally fail in any other. This is from a letter dated April i, i8i6. In August she had finished Persuasion. Who would exchange Anne Elliot for a wilderness of heroines of the august house of Coburg? The same self-command and certainty of aim showed itself in her mode of com- position She had no separate study to retire to, and most of the work must have been done in the general sitting-room, suhject to all kinds of casual interruptions. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by ser- vants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper, which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting. paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it give her notice when any one was coming. I have no doubt [her nephew and biographer continues] that I and my sisters and cousins, on our visits to Chawton, frequently disturbed this mystic process, without having any idea of the mischief we were doing: certainly we should never have guessed by any signs of im- patience or irritability in the writer. Of herself Jane says in a letter What should I do with your strong, manly, vigorous sketches, full of variety and glow? How could I possibly join them on to the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush as produces little effect after much labor? Miss Austen read little; she seems to have shared Lambs aversion to the ac- quirement of useful knowledge. He could read anything but the authors who form the necessary part of a gentlemans libra- rv. She detested quartos. Ladies ~vho read those enormous great, stupid, thick quarto volumes, which one always sees in the breakfast parlor there, must be acquainted with everything in the world. To write and create was her pleasure: her vein of original composition was so full and strong that she had no need to replenish it with reading. She knew French well and something of Ital- ian, but we find little or no traces of either French or Italian literature in her works. Richarclson she had carefully studied and knew minutely; she ~vas so far influenced by his example that some of her earliest attempts seem to have been written in the form of letters as Lady Susan still is. Sense and Sensibility was so com- posed, but was rewritten after the removal to Chawton in 1809. She is accurate in all her descriptions of ships and naval affairs; but her knowledge of these mat- ters was derived from conversation and correspondence with her two youngest brothers, who were in the navy, rather than from any study of the subject in books. Not that she shrank from such reading: she mentions with pleasure an Essay on the Military Police, and Insti- tutions of the British Empire, by Captain Pasley, which I find delightfully ~vritten and highly interesting. I am as much in love with the author as ever I was with Clarkson or Buchanan. The first soldier I ever sighed for, but he does write vith extraordinary force and spirit. Captain Pasleys book was an oc/avo. Her opin- ion of the far-famed Spectator, the great thesaurus of sound English and sound morality, she has given us in Northanger Abbey, in a passage in which she makes a powerful claim for the novel as against other kinds of literature. I am no novel-reader I seldom look into novelsDo not imagine that I often read novelsIt is really very well for a novel. Such is the common cant. And what are you reading, Miss ? Oh! it is only a novel ! replies the young lady; while she lays down her book with affected indifference or momentary shame. It is only Cecilia or Camilla or Belinda; or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest de- lineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humor, are conveyed to the ~vorld in the best chosen language. Now, had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of The Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly would she have produced the work and told its name; though the chances must be against her being occupied with any part of that voluminous publication, of which the matter or manner would not disgust a young person of taste. This passage is the more interesting because it is perhaps the sole instance of irritation and severity to be found in Miss Austens ~vorks. So far as we know, her favorite authors were Johnson in prose, Crabbe in verse, and Cowper in both. She would some- times say, in jest, that if ever she married at all, she could fancy being Mrs. Crabbe. The truth is that she estimated the knowledge which comes from life far 46 JANE AUSTEN. above the knowledge which comes from books. In this learning she was herself skilled as few have been, and she knew the value of it. When Fanny Price ap- pears at Mansfield Park, she is at a great disadvantage in all accomplishments as compared with her cousins, the Bertrams. My cousin is really so very ignorant, says one Miss Bertram. Do you know, we asked her last night what way she would go to get to Ireland! and she said she should cross to the Isle of Wight, and she calls it the island, as if there were no other island in the world. I am sure I should have been ashamed of myself if I had not known better long before I was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least notion of yet. How long ago is it since we had to repeat the chronological order of the Kings of England with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns? Yes, added the other, and of the Ro- man Emperors as low as Severus, besides a great deal of the heathen mythology and all the metals, semi-metals, plants and distin- guished philosophers. As the story develops these young la- dies, so precocious and well informed, make but a poor show beside the ignorant Fanny Price, for, with all their promis- ing talents and early information, they were entirely deficient in the common acquirements of self-knowledge, generos- ity, and humility. In this matter, we may take Fanny for a reflection of the authoress. Her knowledge, like all the best knowledge, came from within, not from without; she needed no books to open the world to her; she possessed that divine gift, from worlds not quick- ened by the sun, which enables persons to see for themselves, and at first hand. This want of knowledge derived from books has had a wholesome effect on her work. No author is so free from book-making very few tell us so much that is strictly their own. Jane Austen is not the prophet of a superior culture or the slave of general ideas. She does not weary us with art or anatomy; she has nothing to say about evolution and the Jews. She plucks her wild flowers and plants them; whether beautiful or not, there they are, in their native soil, delin- eated with such fidelity and grace, with so thorough an insight into their habitats and life, such an exquisite discrimination of color and curve, as hardly another writer in the language has attained. This was her knowledge she kne~v what was around her and close to her. She never sought in distant places or remote ages for a scene and a subject; the nearest village with its hall or parsonage was enough. It is seldom that we meet with this close connection between author and subject; but when ~ve do, the result is of peculiar value. It is this which makes Wordsworths poetry what it is. While his great contemporaries went attitudi- nizing through life,raptin fictitious emo- tions, plunged in unreal sorrows, telling Eastern stories and painting the visions of a dream, he laid his hand on the coun- try and the life nearest to him. And therefore his poetry is the English poetry of the early part of this century; for bet- ter or worse it is the poetry by which that generation will be known in the history of literature. In his later work, ~vhen he came to write Don Juan, Byron got close to reality, but the reality was itself unreal, the fevered existence of a restless spirit, not a calm, self-controlled life. For this reason even Don Juan will wear out before the best parts of Wordsworth. The same reality breathes through Miss Austens work. If we wish to know what life was like in the scenes she depicts, we turn to her; and we might ask with the ancient critic, 0 life! 0 Menander! Which of you two was the plagiarist? In this respect she has perhaps only two rivals, Scott in his best novels, and Field- ing. They also have the supreme gift of making literary and artistic the world in which they live. They have the humor which transforms like heavenly alche- my what would otherwise be common- place, or even repellent; they are creative as Homer and Shakespeare are creative. Their range is wider, their touch more powerful than Jane Austens; but in faith- fulness of delineation and finish of work, she is more than an equal. Yet while we commend the faithful real- ism of Jane Austen, we cannot deny, and she would not have denied, that her range is limited. The incidents of her novels are the incidents of common, every-day, social life: family conversations or gath- erings, morning calls, dinners, balls, ~ved- dings, and the like things intensely real perhaps, but intensely prosaic. Regions familiar to later novelists are left un- touched by her. In her works we shall look in vain for scenes such as the meet- ing of Maggie and Philip in the Red Deeps; of mother and daughter in Car- oline Helstones sick-room. She has nothing to tell us of rebellion and aspira- tion; of that ideal world which after all JANE AUSTEN. is the world as we shall one day know it. Wives weary of their husbands cannot turn to her for refuge, and in her pages maidens will find little of the rapture and bliss so prominent in the tender scenes of recent novels. Janes heroines say what they have to say unimpeded by kisses; even when the illusion of the feelings is at its strongest, they behave as ra- tional creatures; at any rate we are spared the descriptions of their weakness or it may be that their joys are silent, too deep for words, as best befits a feel- ing which must wear through a lifetime. Whatever realism there is in uncontrolled passion, is not Janes realism. Nor can we find in her works brilliant descrip- tions of natural scenery. That she ~vas not insensible to these things we see from more than one speech put in the mouth of Fanny Price, the most meditative of her characters, but her sensitiveness was never aided by imagination. Such a pas- sage as this, in which Georges Sand describes the scenery of the Creuse, is beyond the reach of the English author- ess Cest un mouvement gracieu~c de Ia bonne d~esse; mais, dans ce mouvement, dans ce ph facile de son v~tement frais, on sent Ia force et Iampleur de ses allures. Elle est l~t comme couch~e de son long sur les herbes, baignant ses pieds blancs dans une eau courante et pure cest la puissance en repos; cest la bont~ calme des dieux amies. Mais il ny a rien de mou dans ses formes, rien d6nerv~ dans son sourire. Ehle a Ia souveraine tran- quiIlit~ des immortels, et, toute mignonne et delicate quelIe se montre, on sent que cest dune main formidablement ais~e quelle a creus~ ce vaste et d~hicieux jardin dans cet horizon de son choix. The passion for nature which is some- times prompted by inward dissatisfaction or despair, was unknown to Miss Austen. Completely in harmony with the life around her, her attention was absorbed by that, and not absorbed only, but satis- fied. Neither in her books, nor in her letters, do we find any trace of a heart ill at ease, of a spirit seeking rest and finding none. Such satisfaction is at once a source of strength and of weak- ness ; it gives finish, but it necessitates limitation. When, therefore, we speak of the realism of Jane Austen, we do not mean that there are not a thousand and one things beyond her reach, and yet real; we mean that what she gives us, she gives without exaggeration, or deficiency, or adulteration. Some have said: Her conversations 47 might have been written down from actual life. This is true: they might have been so written, but we have not the least rea- son to suppose that they were. If we heard her characters speaking, they would undoubtedly say what she makes them say; but the characters are nevertheless her own creation. From the fragments of real life she has olven us a complete whole, just as a physiologist might restore a skeleton from a bone. The characters of real life are not so complete and con- centrated as the characters of fiction, for the sufficient reason that we cannot know our acquaintance as the novelist knows his creations, or govern their actions and words at our will. And very many of the personages of real life are without any character at all, though they may sup- ply the materials of a character to a great genius, who knows them better than they kno~v themselves, they leave no distinct impression on us; a novelist cannot there- fore write down what they say or describe what they do. The fragmentary photo- graph must be made into a picture, the dry bones must live, the dulness of country life must become a source of never-ending amusement sofar is the realism of Jane Austen removed from the mere imitation of real life. How this transformation is effected ~ve learn from herself when she tells us that she can only depict those characters at whom she can laugh. H ergiftispre-emi- nently humor a rare gift at any time, and perhaps peculiarly so just now, vheri a general earnestness seems likely to make existence intolerable. For it is truly melancholy to think how serious we have become; we have lost the power of laughing at ourselves or others, and all our energies are absorbed in universal criticism and the higher thought. Music, heavenly maid, is now an educational force. Poetry to be classical must have the note of seriousness; and poets who have not this note, like Chaucer and Burns, must begin with shame to take the lo~ver room, while elegiac Gray is per- mitted to go up higher. A common grey- ness silvers everything. Nay, even the premier himself may perhaps owe his ex- alted position to his inability to appreciate the lighter aspects of life, while Lord Beaconsfield has fallen under the con- demnation which a serious generation inevitably pronounces on a frivolous statesman of threescore years and ten. Humor itself has come to be regarded as something which postulates sadness. This was not the temper of Jane Austen. 48 JANE AUSTEN. She did not laugh at herself or her friends because there is always a tragedy underly- ing a comedy, or because she suffered under the burden of a WeZfsc/zmerz ~vhich must have relief in laughter or tears. She laughed because she could not help it, and makes those who read her laugh for the same reason. And if we, in this serious age, are tempted to think lightly of a genius which merely amuses us in this phenomenal way, we may console our- selves with the reflection that under Jane Austens guidance we learn to smile at the ~veaknesses of mankind rather than to fret over them. Such an attitude of mind will at once save us some trouble, and ftirnish us ~vith a comfortable feeling of superiority. To define humor is difficult, and per- haps the wisest course is to treat it as Mr. lvi. Arnold treatspoetry, and describe it by examples. We cannot set forth in brief and precise terms ~vhat constitutes the poetical element in a fine passage of Milton, but when we read it we feel and know that it is poetical. The same is the case with humorous writing. When we read the opening sentences in Pride and Prejudice, or Persuasion, we say at once, This is humor, This is the hu- morous aspect of life. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Som. ersetshire, was a man who, for his own amuse- ment, never took up any book but the Bar- onetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited rem- nant of the earliest patents; there any unwel- come sensations, arising from domestic affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt, as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century. if we mean to weep rather than laugh over the follies and vulgarities of life, we may as well put away the volumes at once; Miss Austen will certainly be no favorite of ours. We shall not get through a single novel, or even a single chapter, if we are resolutely bent on being serious. Turn where we will, the same murmur of quiet laughter rings in our ears. Mrs. Allen never talked a great deal, and could never be entirely silent While she sat at her work, if she lost her needle or broke her thread; if she heard a carriage in the street, or saw a speck upon her gown, she must observe it aloud, whether there was any one at leisure to answer it or not. We can hardly read the words without at once calling to mind some equally good-natured, equally vacuous person, who is only tolerable so long as we are tolerant a person about whom deeper questions of use or purpose in life can never be asked. Of the same type, btit more obviously ridiculous, is Mrs. Palm- er, who, when she heard of Willoughbys iniquities, was determined to drop his acquaintance im- mediately, and was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all. She hated him so much that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell everybody she saw how good-for-nothing he was! These are not in the least abnormal characters, they are samples of an abun- dant stock; and only differ from others in their transparent silliness. The world is at play, and we are interested sl)ectators of the game. XVe find that people do not say ~vhat they mean or mean ~vhat they say; that their motives in action are often mixed to such a degree that they could themselves with much difficulty disentan- gle the threads. The most excellent young men fall in love with the wrong women, and are only too glad to find themselves delivered from the chains in which they once yoked themselves with such rapture. Youn~ ladies who exert their utmost skill, 7ail to gain their ends, ~vhile others, apparently without effort, secure the hap- piness so richly deserved. But whatever the situation, with few exceptions it is amusing. Even Anne Elliot herself, whom we dearly love, provokes a smile as she trips down the streets of Bath Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy could never have passed along the streets of Bath than Anne was sport- ing with from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way. Humor such as this, it may be said, does but skim the surface of life. It takes no heed of the depths of sorrow lying underneath; it fails even to sound the fountains of joy. it is superficial and exists only by reason of its superficiality. Had Miss Austen felt more deeply, she would have written differently. The verities of life, the great mysteries beyond it, would have attracted a more reflective mind. Does not this humor imply something like insensibility or half- knowledge? There is a tragic aspect of life, we may reply, as well as a comic; but it does not therefore follow that the tragic JANE AUSTEN. 49 is more real than the comic. Laughter is human no less than tears; the laughable is as certainly a legitimate object of art, as the sad or terrible. The important point is that we should not confuse the two. It is as great a mistake to turn errors into tragedies, as it is to ridicule what is really tragic. Jane Austen was aware of her limitations; the tragic side of life was not for her. She knew indeed how to depict the pangs of disappointed affection, but she also knew that they were curable. Over the results of vicious conduct she prefers to draw a veil; she could not enter upon them without drop- ping into a serious vein, ~vhich is not her vein. She wrote to amuse, and to a clear mind and happy nature like hers, from which irritation was almost wholly absent, the pursuits of the ~vorld round her, often aimless, often perverse, were an inex- haustible source of laughter. Yet we must not think of her as one who saw nothing in life but what was ridiculous. She makes us love some characters and despise others, though we smile at them all. In spite of her vulgar- ity and fussiness, her ill-timed jokes, do- mestic hints, and epicurean sentiments, we still have something like an affection for Mrs. Jennings. Well, my dear, tis a true saying about an ill wind, for it will be all the better for Colonel Brandon. He will have her at last; ay, that he will. Mind me, now, if they aint married by Midsummer. Lord! how hell chuckle over this news. I hope he will come to-night. It will be all to one a better match for your sis- ter. Two thousand a-year without debt or drawback except the little love-child; in- deed, ay, I had forgot her; but she may be prenticed out at small cost, and then what does it signify? Delaford is a nice place I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice, old- fashioned place, full of comforts and con- veniences; quite shut in with great garden- walls, that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry-tree in one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then there is a dovecote and some stew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and everything in short that one could wish for. 1~t is difficult to get over such a speech as that; but we do get over it, because Mrs. Jennings is at all times willing to include others in her comforts. She is without any trace of malignity or selfish- ness, a sympathetic friend in affliction, a careful nurse in sickness. But Mrs. Nor- ris we hate, as perhaps we never hated any living person. She is ridiculous, it is true, but she is also mean, grasping, LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXVIII. 1928 covetous, and ill-tempered. Whenever she appears, we feel that there is a dark spot in the scene, that some one will be made uncomfortable, if it is in her power to do it. She is one of those persons whose object in life it is to keep people in their places ; in other ~vords, to tyran- nize over them as much as possible. XTet, in spite of this strong feeling, we cannot help but laugh when one amiable scheme after another for spreading discomfort falls to the ground, and when advice given for selfish aims is set aside as of no value. Listen to her shrill, staccato tones! Mrs. Norris called out: Stay, stay, Fanny! What are you about? Where are you going? Dont be in such a hurry. Depend upon it, it is not you that are wanted; depend upon it, it is me (looking at the butler); but you are so ready to put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? It is me, Bad- deley, you mean. I am coming this moment. You mean me, Baddeley, I am sure; Sir Thomas wants me, not Miss Price. But Baddeley was stout. No, maam, it is Miss Price, I am certain of its being Miss Price. And there was a half smile with the words which meant, I do not think you will answer the purpose at all. Poor Mrs. Norris! the very servants understand and sit in judgment. Gradu- ally she finds herself, in spite of her very animated efforts, more and more neglected and useless, till at length nothing is left for her but to retire into a distant part of the country with her disgraced and favor- ite niece, Mrs. Rush~vorth. It would not be easy ~vithin the limits of a short paper to go through the cata- logue of Miss Austens characters. Un- like many modern novelists, she never repeats herself. Other authors have given us the same characters in different scenes; she gives us the same general scenes, but the characters are always dif- ferent. The silly chatter of Miss Bates is as unique in its way as the rattle of Mr. John Thorpe. Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton both marry for money, and both propose to a lady who has not the least intention of accepting them; but the formal pom- posity of the one is not in the least like the pushing vanity of the other. Miss Lucy Steele and Miss Fairfax both con- tract secret engagements, but we despise the one and admire the other. Vulgarity meets us in Miss Steele, Isabella Thorpe, and Lydia Bennet; ~ve see it in a variety of forms and in different degrees, and perhaps Miss Steele may be allowed to bear away the palm. The same holds 50 JANE AUSTEN. good of the more serious characters. Catherine Morland, if she can be called serious, is not like Fanny Price, yet both are types of a natural, simple-minded girl. Elizabeth Ben net is extremely clever, and not less so is Emma Woodhouse, yet neither reminds us of the other. Anne Elliot and Elinor Dashwood are patient and constant in their affections, and are perhaps more alike than any of the others we have compared. Both have an un- usual force of character, though called upon to exercise it in very different spheres of action; both, under a quiet exterior, conceal a great depth of affec- tion, but the story of Annes life is more pathetic, her love is more deeply tried than Elinors. If Colonel Brandon may rank with Mr. James Knightley in regard to tact, sense, and delicacy, sentiment and melancholy, rheumatism and a flannel waistcoat, serve to distinguish the former, while Mr. Woodhouse, who to himself is a sufficiently serious subject, is sul gene- ris, not to be approached, and never to be forgotten. That young man is very thoughtless, he says of Mr. Churchill, who proposes to find room for a ball at the Crown, by using two rooms, and dancing across the passage. Do not tell his father; but that young man is not quite the thing. He has been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but, indeed, he is not quite the thing! Among such a variety of different scenes and actors, different readers will find different favorites. The author her- self was greatly pleased with Pride and Prejudice. One or two letters have been preserved in which she speaks of her book. The work, as we have seen, came out at the beginning of 1813, and was her second published novel. On January 29, Jane must write to her sister Cas- sandra: I want to tell you that I have got my own darling child from London. I must confess that I think her [Elizabeth Bennet] as delight- ful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least, I dont know. And again on February ii she writes to her sister : Upon the whole I am quite vain enough, and well satisfied enough. The work is rather too light, and bright, and sparkling; it wants shade; it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense, if it could be had; if not, of solemn, specious. nonsense, about something unconnected with the story; an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparte, or some- thing that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with increased delight to the play. fulness and epigrammatism of the general style. Walter Scott also thought highly of this novel, and many will select it as the best of her productions. Others are in favor of Persuasion, which, though written in declining health, certainly ex- hibits no sign of declining vigor. In no other is the interest more sustained, the characters more striking or exact, the in- cidents more fresh and unconventional; in no other is pathos so largely blended with humor. Most careful readers will probably find a difference between the first three of the novels and the last three. If the former show quite as much orig- inality and genius, they may perhaps be thought to have less of the faultless finish and high polish which distinguish the latterthese words of Mr. Austen- Leigh are a true criticism. On the whole, looking at the truth, variety, and exquisite development of the characters, Emma seems to deserve the first place. Miss Austen said of the principal character, I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like. If we cannot read the story of Emmas blun- ders without a smile at her perverse love of match-making, and her conceited as- sumption that she can govern others, and arrange their private concerns as she ~vill, we also feel that she grows upon us; she learns by experience; step by stel) she becomes more worthy of the manly re- gard which has watched over her from childhood. She is always clever and re- fined; often brilliant; a little imperious, as her situation permits, a little wayward, but always a lady, and always charming. We part from her with a feeling that we have been in good and amusing society, with a woman who, though capable of foolish actions, has sense and good hu- mor, and we go about our way cheered by the thought that persons may make life very pleasant without being monsters of perfection. Of the many amusing scenes in Miss Austens works, perhaps the two most irresistibly laughable, are those in which Mr. Elton proposes to Emma, and the Dashwoods, Miss Lucy Steele, and Mr. E. Ferrars are brought together. Emma has done her best to bring about a match between Mr. Elton, the clergyman of th~ parish, and her friend Miss Harriet Smith. On returning from Mr. Westons party, she finds herself ate-d-t~e with the par- son, shut up in the carriage with no pos- sibility of escape. Mr. Elton had waited for his opportunity and did not let it slip: he poured out his professions of affection into Emmas astonished ears. It is impossible for me to doubt any long- er. You have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment is much beyond any- thing I can express. After such behaviour as I have witnessed during the last month to Miss Smithsuch attentions as I have been daily in the habit of observingto be ad- dressing me in this manner this is an un- steadiness of character, indeed, which I had not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far, very far from gratified on being the object of such professions. Good heaven! cried Mr. Elton; what can be the meaning of this? Miss Smith ! I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole course of my existence: never paid her any attentions, but as your friend; never cared whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her, and I am very sorry extremely sorry. But Miss Smith, indeed! Oh, Miss Woodhouse, who can think of Miss Smith when Miss Wdodhouse is near! No, upon my honor, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid the smallest atten- tion to any one else. Everything that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been done with the sole idea of marking my adora- tion of yourself. You cannot really, seriously doubt it. No! (in an accent meant to be insinuating), I am sure you have seen and understood me. What an Iclaircissernent! Poor Em- ma! No wonder that her mind was in great perturbation on her arrival home, and it needed a very strong effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection. The other scene is of a more compli- cated nature. Mr. Edward Ferrars is secretly engaged to Miss Lucy Steele, who has confided the fact to Elinor Dash- wood, of whom she has reason to be jeal- ous. Elinor is very partial to Edward, who is only deterred by his engagement, and hardly deterred by it, from making love to her. He has no suspicion that his engagement is known to any one but Lucy. Marianne Dashwood is greatly in favor of her sister~ s marriage with Ed- ward, and anxious to do all that she can to bring it about. In this chaos of se- crecy and knowledge, Lucy, Edward, Ma- rianne, and Elinor are all brough tinto one room. JANE AUSTEN. 5 It was a very awkward moment; and the countenance of each [Marianne has not yet entered] showed that it was so. They all looked exceedingly foolish; and Edward seemed to have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again as to advance farther into it. [Marianne enters, and] her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feel- ings, strong in itself and strongly spoken. She met him with a hand that would be taken, and a voice that expressed the affection of a sister. Dear Edward! she cried, this is a mo- ment of great happiness! This would almost make amends for everything! Edward tried to return her kindness as it deserved, but before such witnesses he dared not say half what he really felt. Again they all sat down, and for a moment or two all were silent; while Marianne was looking with the most speaking tenderness, sometimes at Ed- ward, and sometimes at Elinor, regretting only that their delight in each other should be checked by Lucys unwelcome presence. Ed- ward was the first to speak, and it was to no- tice Mariannes altered looks, and express his fear of her not finding London agree with her. Oh, dont think of me! she replied with spirited earnestness, though her eyes were filled with tears as she spoke, dont think of my health. Elinor is well, you see. That must b~ enough for us both. No wonder that Edward, after a little more of this pointed conversation, got up to go away. Going so soon! said Marianne; my dear Edward, this must not be. And drawing him a little aside, she whis- pered her persuasion that Lucy could not stay much longer. But even this encouragement failed, for he would go; and Lucy, who would have outstayed him had his visit lasted two hours, soon afterwards went away. What can bring her here so often? said Marianne, on her leaving them. Could she not see that we wanted her gone? How teas- ing to Edward! Other scenes hardly less amusing will be found scattered up and down the vol. umes with no niggardly hand. In an age so prone to making selections as the pres- ent, it is a little remarkable that no one has ventured to publish a series of scenes from the great novelists, whose works are no longer generally read. The small cir- cle for small it probably is who read Fielding and Jane Austen, might resent the application of the scissors to their favorite authors, but they would be con- soled with the reflection that in this way a wider interest would be awakened in books now too generally neglected. We have selections from poets by the dozen, why should we not have selections from novelists? The novel~ is the form of lit- 52 WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN. erature in which the dramatic genius of the last hundred years has most ade- quately expressed itself; we can hardly imagine that Jane Austen, or Scott, or Thackeray, or Charlotte Bront~, will not find some readers, as long as English lit- erature is read at all. Unfortunately the trick of writing a novel is so easily caught that we are apt to lose sight of the great masters in the scores of stories often far from uninteresting which are poured out on the world from year to year. All the more necessary is it that we should read the best, and ascertain why they are the best. This is a duty for every one; more especially when we think of the education and the reading of women, we might demand, with some show of reason, that among a young ladys accomplish- ments should be included the power of distinguishing a good novel from a bad one. From this point of view a course of Miss Austen would be most salutary. From Nature. ON THE WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN.* Mv attention was drawn to the Basque whale fishery by observing, during my study of Arctic literature, and especially while editing the voyages of William Baf- fin, that the first English whaling vessels were in the habit of shipping a boats crew of Basques to harpoon the whales. I was informed that a whale, the Bal~na biscay- ensis, had frequented the coasts of the Basques provinces from time immemo- rial; but that it had become nearly extinct in the seventeenth century, when the Basques began to extend their voyages further north, and across the Arctic Circle. Hence the Basques had become dexterous whale-fishers long before any other Eu- ropean people had entered upon that perilous occupation. I found that several naturalists had in- vestigated the history of the Biscayan whale, notably Eschricht and Reinhardt in Denmark, M. Fischer in France, and Prof. Flower in this country. Full infor- mation respecting these investigations is contained in Eschricht and Reinhardts memoir, published by the Ray Society in i866; and many interesting particulars have since been brought to light respect- ing the whale fishery so far as it relates to * By Clements R. MaTkham, C.B., F.R.S. Read at the Zoological Society, December i~. Revised by the author. the French Basques, and to the ports of Bayonne, Biarritz, Gu6tary, St. Jean de Luz, and Ciboure. But in looking through the books and papers on the subject, a list of which was kindly furnished to me by Prof. Flower last June, I did not find any particulars respecting the Spanish ports, where the Basque sailors are more numerous than in France, and inhabit a more extensive line of coast. I therefore thought it possible that, by visiting those ports and making inquiries respecting the literature of the provinces in which they are situated, and the local traditions, I might be able to collect some further in- formation touching the whale fishery of the Basques. It has now been suggested to me that such particulars as I have suc- ceeded in bringing together, from their bearing on the history of the llai~na bis- cayensis, a nearly extinct animal, would be interesting to the Zoological Society. I therefore have pleasure in communicat- ing the following notes on the subject. The coast which I personally visited this summer extends from the French frontier to the Cabo de Peflas, including the Basque provinces of Guipuzcoa and Vizcaya, and the purely Spanish provinces of Santander and the Asturias. It is for the most part bold and rocky, with lofty cliffs of cretaceous limestone, having strata hove up at great angles. Occa- sionally there is a stretch of sand ,gen- erally at the mouths of rivers, and here and there a rocky little boat-harbor. For- ests of oak and chestnut clothe the moun- tains, with occasionally open spaces of fern and heather and bushes of arbutus and myrtle. In some places the chestnut groves come down almost to the waters edge. Along this coast there are many small fishing-towns. Fuenterrabia, on its picturesque hill, overlooks the French frontier. Following the coast to the west- ward the next port is Pasajds, and then domes the city of San Sebastian, which was the centre of the old whale fishery. Zarauz is a town stretching along the shores of a sandy bay. Guetaria is built in a cleft of rocks which are sheltered be- hind the island of San Anton. Zumaya and Deva are at the mouths of rivers; and Motrico is a picturesque little town built on steep slopes like Clovelly, over- looking a rocky bay. These are the ports of Guipuzcoa. Andarroa, at the mouth of its river, where small schooners are still built, is the first port of Vizcaya, coming from the east. Lequeitio is a large and more im- portant place, sending out about a hundred WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN. 53 flshing.boats. Next come Mundaca, at the mouth of the river of Guernica, Ber- meo, another populous fishi ng-to~vn with as many boats as Lequeitio, Plencia, and Portugalete and Santurce in the bay of Bilbao. These are the principal Vizcayan ports. The province of Santander has Castro-Urdiales, Laredo, and Santofia on the shores of a large harbor, Santander itself, and San Vicente de Ia Barquera. In the Asturias are the ancient ports of Llanes, Rivadesella, Villaviciosa, the im- portant town of Gijon, Candas, and Luan- co. From the little village of Luanco to the end of the Cabo de las Pefias is a walk of eight miles, and this was the most western point I reached. The Basque fishermen are a handsome race. They go away on their fishing voyages for many days, and are brave, honest, and industrious; while both men and women are always cheerful and light- hearted. They belong to a people who, for centuries, have repelled foreign inva- sion, have enjoyed free institutions, and made their own laws. The Basque fish- ermen are the descendants of the old whalers, and retain their traditions. They have, from time to time, produced naval worthies whose names are historical. Among them are Sebastian del Cano, a native of the little fishing-town of Gueta- na, who was the first circumnavigator of the globe; Legaspi, the conqueror of the Philippine Islands; Machin de Munguia, the Spanish Grenville; and Churruca, whose gallantry at the battle of Trafalgar won for him the admiration of his English foes. Such men were the product of the whale fishery, which was for the Basques, as it has since been for the British, an admirable nursery for seamen. My first inquiries had reference to the antiquity of the Basque whale fishery. The following facts show that it was a well-established trade in the twelfth cen- tury, so that it probably existed at least t~vo centuries earlier. King Sancho (the Wise) of Navarre granted privileges to the city of San Sebastian in the year 1150 A.D. in this grant there is a list of articles of merchandise with the duties that must be paid for warehousing them: whale bone has a prominent place in the list. Garga de boquinas-barbas de balienas . . . 2 di- ~ieros. The same privileges were ex- tended by Alfonso VIII. ot Castille to Fuenterrabia in 1203, and to Motrico and Guetaria in 1204. Ferdinand III., in a royal order dated at Burgos the 28th Sep- tember, 1237, gave similar privileges to Zarauz; and this document contains fur- ther proof of the antiquity of the whale fishery. For a claim is made that, in ac- cordance with custom (sicut forum est) the should have a slice of each whale, along the back-bone, from the head to the tail. The custom here referred to indi- cates the antiquity of the fishery. At Guetaria it was the custom to give the first fish of the season to the king, who usually returned half. Another proof of the importance of the whale fishery on the northern coast of Spain, and probably also of its antiquity, is the fact that no less than six of the towns have a whale for their coat of arms. This charge is in the arms of Fuenterrabia. Over the portal of the first house in a steep old street of Guetaria there is a shield of arms consisting of a whale amidst waves of the sea. At Motrico the town arms consist of a whale in the sea, har- pooned, and a boat with men holding the line. The same device is carved on the wall of the town hall of Lequeitio. The arms of Bermeo and Castro-Urdiales also contain a whale. I was assured that vz~gias or look-out posts were established on the headlands, and high up the moun- tains overlooking the fishing-towns, whence notice ~vas given directly a whale was seen spouting in the offing; and soon the boats were in pursuit. On the moun- tain of Talaya-mendi ( Look-out inoun- tam ) above Zarauz, there are some ruined walls which, according to Madoz, are the remains of one of these watch-towers, whence warnings ~vere sent down the mo- ment a whale was in sight. In some of the towns there are records which throw light on the whale fishery, but (chiefly during the French occupation) most of the ancient archives have been destroyed or are lost. Fortunately this is not uni- versally the case. In the town of Le- queitio eight of the libros defabrica or fabric rolls of the church, commencing from the 3-ear 1510, have been preserved, which contain much interesting informa- tion. The most ancient document relating to whales in the Lequeitio archives is dated September iith, 138[. Itis there ordered and agreed by the Gabildo that the whale- bone taken shall be divided into three parts, two for repairing the boat-harbor, and the third for the fabric of the church. The same order is repeated in another document dated x6o8. In the libros de fabrica de la tg-iesia de Lequeitio there is a list of the whale killed in various years, by the boats of Lequeitio, from 1517 to i66i. 54 WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN. 1517. Two whales killed. 1525. Re- turns in money value. 1531. January and February, two large and one small whale killed. 1532. None killed. 1536. Two large whales and one small. 1538. Six whales killed. 1542. Two whales killed. 1543. One whale wounded by the Lequei- tio people, but captured at Motrico. Di- videcl between the two towns. 1543. Two whales killed, mother and young. The mayor-domo working all day at the whale- bone, and received two rials. 1546. Feb- ruary 24, a ~vhale killed in front of St. Nicholas Island. The bone yielded nine and one-half ducados. 1550. Two whales killed. 1570. One whale killed. 1576. One whale killed. 1578. One whale killed. i~8o. Three and a young one. i6o8. One whale killed. 1609. Three whales killed. i6ix. Two small wl]ales killed, in concert with the men of Andarroa, which led to a law-suit. 1617. One whale killed. i6i8. One whale killed. 1619. One whale killed. 1622. One ~vhale killed with its young. 1649. Two whales killed. i6~o. Two whales killed. 1657. Two whales killed and two young. i66i. One whale killed. In the Zibro defabrica including the years from 1731 to 1781 there is no men- tion of a whale, nor in the two succeeding books. The sailors went long voyages in search of them. But in 1712, fifty years after the last entry in the books, there were boats and apparatus for catching whales. In 1740 it was said that there were no sailors in Lequeitio, all having gone on long whaling voyages. In a record of a marriage at Lequeitio on July i~th, 1712, among the goods of the bride are mentioned a whale-boat with sails, lines, harpoons, and apparatus complete. Of the bridegroom it is said that he was clothed decently, having four coats of London cloth, a good chest to keep his clothes in and another for travelling, a mattras, pillow, and blanket, and needful clothes for going to sea. So that be- tween them they vere well prepared for a whaling expedition. These entries at Lequeitio indicate that, during the sixteenth century, the whales were abundant for if this ~vas the catch of only one village out of at least twenty along the coast, we may fairly multiply it by at least ten for the average yield of the fishery. In the books of the Gofradia de Mare- an/es of Zarauz there are similar records, from which it appears that between the years 1637 and i8oi as many as fifty-five whales were killed by the Zarauz people, whose prowess was known throughout the Cantabrian coast. There is one note- ~vorthy tradition at Zarauz, to the effect that two young sailors, without any help, chased, harpooned, and killed a large whale, and brought it safely to the beach. This deed is immortalized on imperish- able stone. Over the portal of a house in Zarauz, No. 13 Calle de Azara, there is an inscription, now in the greater part ren- dered illegible by time, but with letters of the shape and style used in the sixteenth century. To the left of the inscription there is carved a harpooned whale, with the line fastened to a boat, in which are two men. Don Nicolas de Soraluce, the learned historian of Guipuzcoa, told me that an old resident in Zarauz, named Belaunzar~in, had often spoken to him of the feat recorded on this stone slab; add- ing that he used to hear his grandmother explain that the carving represented the harpooning and killing of a whale by two young sailors in a single boat. This deed was considered worthy of being handed down to posterity, and the stone was therefore placed over the door of the house of these two brothers, or, as some say, a father and son. There are some other records as to the disposition of the whalebone. By an order dated November 20th, 1474, the town of Guetaria gave half the value of each whale towards the repair of the church and of the boat-harbor. In San Sebastian, according to an ancient cus- tom, the whalebone was given to the cofradia (brotherhood) of San Pedro. It is clear that the whales, close along the coast, became very scarce in the mid- dle of the seventeenth century, when the entries at Lequeitio cease, and that the Basque sailors then began to seek the means of exercising their special craft by making long voyages, even to the Arctic regions. Such voyages were occasionally made at a still earlier period. It is stated by Madoz that a pilot of Zarauz, named Matias de Echeveste, was the first Span- iard who visited the banks of Newfound- land; and, according to a memoir written by his son, that lie made twenty-eight voyages from 1545 to 1599, the year of his death. in the accounts of the first En- glish whaling voyages to Spitzbergen, in the collection of Purchas, we read of Basque ships from San Sebastian fre- quenting those Arctic seas in search of whales, and of the overbearing way in which their captains were often treated by the English. Nevertheless, the En- glish were glad to obtain the help of the WHALE FISHERY OF THE BASQUE PROVINCES OF SPAIN. ~ Basque sailors to do for them the most perilous and difficult part of the work, namely, the harpooning and killing of the whales. I gather from Eschricht and Rein- hardts memoir, that this Biscayan whale was known to the French Basques as the sarde, and was the same as the Nordka- ~er of the Dutch and north Germans, and the Ste/bag of Iceland, a whalebone whale, but smaller and more active than the great Greenland whale. The Konge- s~ei/ (an ancient Norwegian record) has a passage to the effect that those who travel on the sea fear it much, for its nature is to play much with vessels. Belonging to the temperate North Atlan- tic, it is described as much more active than the Greenland whale, much quicker and more violent in its movements, more difficult and dangerous to catch. It is smaller and has less blubber than the Mys/icetus, the head shorter, and the whalebone much thicker, but scarcely more than half as long. For centuries the Basques had attacked and captured this formidable cetacean; and they, in fact, monopolized all the ex- perience and skill which then existed in connection with the craft and mystery of whale-fishing. To the sailors of all other nations it was an unknown business, ap- pearing all the more perilous from their absence of knowledge. So it was natu- ral that the hardy and intrepid fishermen from the Cantabrian coast should be in requisition as harpooneers, as soon as the English and Dutch entered upon the Arc- tic whale fishery early in the seventeenth century. With their services, we also borrowed their words. Harpoon is de- rived from the Basque word arpol, the root being ar, to take quickly. The Basque izarpoinari is a harpooneer. There is a letter still extant at Alcala de Henares, from James I. of England to the king of Spain, dated 1612, in which permission is asked to engage the ser- vices, on board English vessels engaged in the Arctic whaling-trade, of Basque sailors skilled in the use of the harpoon. The fact that Basque boats crews were frequently shipped seems to show that this request was granted. In the whaling fleet fitted out for Spitzbergen in 1613, under the command of Benjamin Joseph, with Baffin on board the generals ship as pilot, twenty-four Basques were shipped. Orders were given that they were to be used very kindly and friendly, being strangers and leaving their own country to do us service. The English seem to have adopted the fishing rules of the Basques, as well as to have benefited by their skill and prowess. Thus we read of an order being given because the order of the Biscaines is that whoso doth strike the first harping-iron into him, it is his ~vhale, if his iron hold. The Basques went out to attack the whales in the offing, while the English got ready for boiling down. We read: News was brought to us this morning that the Basks had killed a whale; therefore we hasted to set up our furnaces and coppers, and presently began work; ~vhich we con- tinued, without any want of whales, till our voyage was made thanks to the Basques. In another place Baffin calls the Basques our whale-strikers. Of course the English, in due time, learned to strike the whales themselves; but the Basques ~vere their instructors; and it is therefore to this noble race that we owe the foundation of our whaling-trade. In travelling along the coast, I found a universal tradition of the whale fishery; and often the families of fishermen had the harpoons hanging in their houses, which had been there for generations. They still have occasion to use them when porpoises come within range; and on board one of the Gijon steamers there was a man with unerring aim. But many harpoons hang on the walls as relics of the old whaling days. At Laredo the fishermen brought me a harpoon of pe- culiar construction. The point ~vas nar- row and very slightly barbed, but there was a hinge half-way up the point, which was kept in line with the shaft by a ring. When the harpoon entered a whale, the ring slipped, the hinge turned, and the point came at right angles to the shaft, making it impossible for the harpoon to come out again. Baron Nordenskidld informs me that this kind of harpoon is used by the Norwegians to kill the white whales. At Llanes, in Asturias, I found a large, palatial house which was formerly the Casa de Ballenas, or house where busi- ness connected with the whale fishery was transacted. At Gijon there is also a Casa de Bailenas, and also a street called Whale Lane. These names, with the coats of arms and traditions, are all relics of the old whaling days. At Sari Sebas- tian, too, there are enormous tinalas, or earthenware jars, in which the oil was stored. It was at one time supposed that the BaZa~na biscayensis had become quite ex- tinct; but this is certainly not the case. A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL. Whales are seen on the Cantabrian coast at intervals of about ten years. In 1844 a whale ~vas seen off Zauraz. Boats went out and it was hit, and it broke the lines, and got away with two harpoons and three lances in its body, after having towed the boats for six hours. On the 25th of July, 1850, early in the morning, a whale ap- peared off Guetaria. Boats quickly pur- sued it, but the harpooneer missed his aim, and the whale ~vent off, heading N.W. In January, 1854, a whale and her two young entered the bay of San Sebas- tian. One of the young whales ~vas sin- gled out for attack, but the mother made desperate efforts to defend it, and once broke the line. Eventually the mother and one calf escaped, while the other was secured. Of course, with proper boats and apparatus, and if the fishermen had had a little of their ancestors experience, all three would have been caught. It is the skeleton of this young whale that Professor Eschricht purchased at Pam- pluna. It is now at Copenhagen. While I ~vas at Gijon, in the Asturias, I was told by an old fisherman that a whale had been caught, about twenty years ago, by the villagers near the light- house on Punta de Pefias. The story was not believed by merchants and others of whom I made inquiries, so I thought it best to investigate the matter myself. I, therefore ~vent westward to the little fish- ing village of Luanco, and next day pro- ceeded on foot across a wild, mountainous country to the lighthouse of Punta de Pefias; a distance of sixteen miles there and back. There, in the courtyard of the lighthouse, was a whales jaw-bone, and the man in charge corroborated the story. But he added the curious statement that the whale was dead and half flensed, drifting in under the land, when the vil- lagers first saw it, and went out in their boats to tow it on shore. I also found parts of the rib-bones in the granary of a farmhouse at Viodo, a hamlet near the lighthouse. The last whale of which I obtained in- telligence was sighted between Guetaria and Zarauz on the i ith of February, 1878. Many boats went out from these two places, and one boat from Orio. The first harpoon that kept fast was thrown by a smart young sailor of Guetaria, the countryman of Sebastian del Cano, the first circumnavigator of the globe. He is now in the Spanish navy. Eventually the whale was killed and towed on shore. No one derived any benefit, because there was a law-suit tried at Azpeitia. It ap pears that the harpoon was of Guetaria, but that the line belonged to Zarauz. Meanwhile the whale became unpleasant and had to be blown up. The authorities of San Sebastian, however, through the intervention of Don Nicolas Soraluce, secured the bones, and the skeleton is now carefully set up in the small museum in that city. It is forty-eight feet long, and part of the whalebone remains in the jaw. There are also bones of a whale found in the sands at Deva in the same museum. I was given part of a whales rib dug up on the Lequeitio beach, and a jaw-bone which was long in the court- yard of the palace of the Count of Revil- laQgedo at Gijon, is now preserved in the Jovellanos Institute, in the same town. Of course there must be any number of bones buried in the sand of the beaches where so many hundreds of whales have been flensed in former centuries. In 1878 the accomplished historian of Guipuzcoa, Don Nicolas Soraluce, printed a pamphlet at Victoria on the origin and history of the whale and cod fisheries, which contains much interesting informa- tion. I may add that Senor Soraluce is preparing some additional chapters on the whale fishery, and that he expects to obtain copies of interesting documents relating to the same subject from the archives of the Ministry of Marine at Madrid. From All The year Round. A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL. SOME three miles south of Pontefract lie the villages of High and Low Ack- worth. Between them is a large building of freestone, with three wings, standing back from the road. This is the chief scholastic institution of the Quakers. The property of the most unostentatious and least proselytizing sect in the world, its existence is known to few outside the circle of Friends. The school was originally a foundling hospital, and was one of the branches of the London Hospital for the Mainte- nance and Education of Exposed and Deserted Young Children. It was erect- ed in 1757, at a cost of thirteen thousand pounds, which was defrayed partly by public subscription, and partly by govern- ment aid. For a few years the hospital carried out the benevolent intentions of its promoters, but owing to mis manage- ment on the part of the committee, and to A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL. 57 the withdrawal of the annual Parliamen- tary (~rant, the institution came to grief in b 773. The property was extensively adver- tised for sale, but for six years the hospi- tal remained empty, and became a habi- tation for foxes and adormitory for owls. Through the instrumentality of Dr. Foth- ergi II, the wealthy and benevolent Quaker physician, it was at last bought for seven thousand pounds by the Society of Friends, who there established a school for the purpose of securing a pious, guarded, careful education to the children of Friends, not in affluence. The terms were at first very low, being only eight pounds eight shillings for edu- cation, maintenance, and clothing. Still, there were several boarding-schools in existence then whose terms ~vere even lower. But low as they undoubtedly ~vere they were too high for many of the parents, some of whom were unable to pay the cost of conveying their children to the school. This drawback was to some ex- tent anticipated by the committee, ~vho allowed twopence for every mile exceed- ing fifty which children travelled, and the same on the return journey. As a large proportion of the scholars came from dis- tant counties, the value of this arrange- ment will be obvious. For instance, the two first inmates of the school came from Dorset, a distance of three hundred miles. A coach was occasionally chartered to bring down a cargo of cl~ildrento the school. In the stage-coaches they were not very welcome passengers, for their appearance was homely and their purse light. The estimation in which they were held by one coachman may be gathered from the following incident. A party of children under the charge of a woman Friend, filled the regular coach. At one stage of the journey a gentleman was waiting for an in side place Quite full, growled the driver; and a queer lot, too; a regular tag-rag and bobtail. He did not suppose that the speech was heard by the inside passengers, and at the end of his stage came obsequiously to the door to beg to be remembered. The lady in charge took her revenge. Laying three sixpences in his hand one by one, she said, without a smile, and unconscious of sarcasm, That is from Rag, that is from Tag, and that is from Bobtail Sometimes the children came on foot. William Howitt came on horseback from his home at Heanor, in Derbyshire, his uncle accompanying him. On their way they overtook a Friend who was taking his boy to the same school. They had walked seventy miles, rather than put the authorities to any needless expense. It was the only ~vay in ~vhich the poor man could testify his gratitude to them. They had ~valked that distance in two days, al- though the lad was only ten years old. The father was described as a very thin, delicate-looking man, but, tired as he was, he immediately returned home when he had placed his son in school. Not only did the children come from all parts of the United Kingdom, but some came from America, and even from Russia. To William Howitt the change from the endearments of :home was striking and cheerless enough. A vast wide house, he says, ~vith long stone passages, large numbers of strange boys, a severe disci- pline, cold, hard beds at night, cold rising in the dark, early mornings, no hats al- lowed in the playground even in the win- ter (and the winters there were very sharp), no approach to the fire on holiday afternoons till after dark, and on rainy days our playplace was an immense open shed, supported in the front by Tuscan pillars, where, thrusting our hands into our bosoms we used to huddle together by scores to keep one another warm, and happy was he that got deepest in the throng. Could anything be more coin- fortless? Winter and summer alike, at six oclock in the morning, the boys were compelled to have an open-air bath, the water of which was a strong chalybeate, and always excessively cold. No boy could claim immunity on account of weakness, and the timid boys were plunged in head first by the stronger ones. Still worse, they had to dry themselves with their shirts, or run about in the fields until their bodies were dry. Everything was done according to rule. The committee even regulated the bames of the children. There was even a rule as to where the boys should leap. For sixty years after the foundation of the school, the following regulation was read to them once a month: The boys are desired not to leap anywhere within the bounds (i.e., premises) except on the ground below the pump, or in the shed-court, and there to avoid pebbles, flags, and channel-stones. The interference ~vith the childrens re- creations on the part of the masters even ~vent so far as to prohibit kite-flying; be- cause a horse had taken fright. Other reasons assigned for its abolition were that kites occasion considerable ex A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL. pense, which may be employed more use- fully; that this diversion endangers the childrens taking cold by standing, and prevents their exercise, ~vhich is neces- sary for their health. Finding that idle- ness was the mother of mischief, the committee thought they had found a rem- edy in providing George Foxs journal and similar works for the use of the boys in their leisure~ As might have been ex- pected, the boys cared as little for such reading as modern boys would. A wall surrounded the estate, out of which there was no escape. The com- mittee had so little knowledge of human nature that they thought they would ex- clude evil influences. The rooms ~vere fifty feet in length and nearly twenty in ~vidth, and as there ~vas only one fire in each, in winter, and all the floors were of-stone, the condition of the children may be imagined. In i8io, how- ever, or thirty years after the school had been established, the committee adopted steam-pipes; but not until ten years after did they turn their attention to warming their meeting-house. To make that com- fortable and cheerful never occurred to them, and we can, with the historian of the school, well believe that in those long, solemn, and often silent services of the week, the thinly-clad and shivering little boys and girls had a good deal of leisure for -eflecting on their miseries. Notwithstanding hard fare and some- what harsh treatment, William Howitt described his school-days as delightful, helping each other with our gardens, reading, conversing, and joining in all the active sports of the school. There was, he said, a famous troop of lads to engage in any play, and he had often seen the whole number making one long line at leapfrog, or busy at prison-bars, or run- across, making a clamor and a hum that was heard a mile off. That run-across he described as a grand play. Across the middle of the green ran a paved walk; under the windows of the boys dining- room was another; the space between these was occupied by one-half the boys at play, whose business ~vas to seize any of the others who attempted to run across. If the runners got across to the pavement under the windows they were safe; if they were caught and detained while the captor counted ten, they were prisoners, and were on parole under the dining-room until any other of their party running across could touch them, which gave them a right to run back again. In these sports they were joined by the appren tice-masters, one of whom was an entht~- siastic reader of Homer, and had diffused Homeric admiration among all the boys. We were, said Howitt, Greek and Trojan mad, and, of course, we divided our two bands in this game into Greeks and Trojans. We tucked up our coat-laps under our coats, and buttoned our coats up so as to resemble close jackets, pre- senting as little as possible for anybody to get hold of, and it may be imagined with what ardor we played, till we were all as hot as Achilles ever was himself when before the walls of Troy. Many a good coat and shirt-collar have I seen wrenched away in one pull at that favor- ite game. XVith equal enthusiasm he describes the l)art he took in the work of the farm, which had not fewer than three hundred and fifty people to support. The list of offences and the punish- ments to be awarded is a curious docu- ment. It is entitled Observations on Punishment, and opens with this expla- nation, which we copy verbatim for the benefit of modern teachers: Punish- ment is intended as a restraint on evil, and should be inflicted with coolness and resolution without the least appearance of passion, for when passion is discov- ered there is reason to believe that re- venge has had some share in the punish- ment, and that the master is not influenced by a sincere concern for the welfare of his scholar. The less severe punishment is the better, provided the end is an- swered; but in some cases it should be more severe than in others. The docu- ment then describes the punishment to be awarded for each offence. Telling a wilful lie, taking Gods name in vain, swearing, stealing, and other gross im- moralities, may be punished ~vith the rod, which, whenever used, should be done ~vith much soleinnity Although fight- ino re(Yul ar pitched battles was considered a grave offence, it was not considered as bad as lying or swearing, for it was or- dered that the offender should be pun- ished in a less degree than the former immoralities. Very literal was the read- ing of Solomons advice about the rod, in the early days of the school. But from the first, corporal punishment could not be inflicted without the consent of all the masters, who held weekly courts. A modification of this regulation was, how- ever, made, which provided that in cases of disobedience to a masters authority, the master might at once call in the aid of two of his fellow-teachers, who with himself might jointly decide on the amount A FAMOUS QUAKER SCHOOL. 59 of correction adequate to the offence, and inflict it with the rod with due caution, not exceeding three strokes, to be done by a master not offended. These meth- ods, though cumbrous, were at any rate better than punishment inflicted in the heat of passion. Another method of punishment was that of solitary confinement, sometimes for nights and days, and a diet of bread and ~vater. This treatment, though harsh, was better than that in force at about the same time at Christs hospital, in the square Bedlam cells of which boys were locked up with a handful of straw and a blanket for a week or ten days together. It is certain that the lads at Ackworth gave their masters a good deal of trouble. William Howitt said of his predecessors at the school that they had been of a bold and insubordinate cast; they seemed to have been giants in the land, and the traditions of their exploits were our themes of fear and wonder. They had elected a king; it was he who dared to climb the highest up a leaden spout in the corner of the pediment in the very centre of the main building, and there cut his initials. Under his orders they had committed many a daring transgres- sion; for he was absolute. They had planned schemes of escape and put their plans into execution; but always, with one solitary exception, brought back again and punished, a result morally certain for, not being allowed to possess money nor to wear hats, their appearance and purses were equally hostile to long flights. Many a time has my indignation been roused by the recital of the treachery of an old Friend, who, beholding a troop of these bareheaded, moneyless, and foot- sore boys passing through his town, had entrapped them by an invitation to din- ner, in their case an irresistible bait, and then sent them back. Often, too, have I wept at the pathetic story of a poor lad, who, having reached the house of his companion, while he sat, on a fine sum- mer day, with him and his mother, shell- in g peas in the garden, was pounced upon by the pursuer, and driven back like a stray sheep along the hot and dusty road, a long and weary way, and with a heart full of weary expectations. The uniform dress of the boys was as singular as the rules by ~vhich they ~vere governed. Like George Fox, they wore long-tailed coats, leather breeches, and buckled shoes. The girls ~vere dressed more tastefully, in white caps, hair turned back over them or combed straight down on the forehead, checked aprons with bibs, and white neckerchiefs folded neatly over their stuff gowns in front. Their walkino costume consisted of a hat, a long cloth cloak, with colored mits reaching to their elbows. In 1848 liberty was given to parents of girls to send either silk or straw bonnets. Leather breeches con- tinued in use down to 1820, when cordu- roy was substituted. They were styled by the boys leather dicks, and were so stiff and strong that their owners used to balance them on end and jump into them, and so tough that the boys used to cut strips off for making whip-lashes. It is said that one boy laid in a stock of lashes by cutting the whole of one leg away, and as a punishment the tailor made him a huge stocking, and obliged him to wear it on the dismantled leg. The last remaining specimen of the leather breech- es was exhibited, with other curious arti- cles formerly used in the school, at the centenary of the institution, which was celebrated in 1879. In one matter at least the example of the founder of the sect was not strictly followed. The boys were forbidden to wear hats. Not until 1832 did the committee come to the con- clusion that some advantage would arise from the boys being allowed to wear some covering for the head, each boy being then presented with a dark brown worsted cap. But this innovation was not adopted without a protest from one Friend, who considered that caps gave the boys a mil- itary appearance I The children were forbidden to go out of the school grounds. Once a month, however, this rule was relaxed, and occa- sionally they were allowed a free scram- ble upon a common in the neighborhood. On both occasions they must have pre- sented a motley appearance, dressed in their peculiar Quaker garb, and in hats which did not fit them. The bell rung, wrote William How- itt, the boys ran tocollect in the shed, they drew up in two long lines facing each other, perhaps two yards apart. Large wicker baskets were brought forth from the storeroom piled with hats of all imaginable shapes and species; for they were such as had been left by the boys from the commencement of the in- stitution ; there were broad brims, nar- row brims; brown, and black, and white; pudding crowns, square crowns, and even sugarloaf crowns, such as Guy Faux him- self wore. These without ceremony were popped upon the heads of the boys at random; little ones ~vere left sticking on 6o AMERICAN ANTS. the summit of great round-headed lads, ready to fall off at the first move, and great ones dropping over the noses of little ones. For forty years after the opening of the school the instruction did not extend be- yond the three Rs. The attention of the boys was concentrated upon a few sub- jects instead of being frittered away upon many. To make good writers and read- ers was the ambition of the committee. Reading, however, seems to have been the pet subject, but, from the absence of suitable books, was taught under difficul- ties. Frequent complaints of the non- existence of books adapted to the capac- ity of children appear in the minutes of the committee, who were compelled to fall back upon the journals of Friends, and the less easily understood beauties of a ponderous German philosopher. More attractive reading ~vas supplied in Goldsmiths History of England, Wil- ]iam Penns Travels through Holland and Germany, and Sewells history. Another characteristic piece of Quaker literature offered to the juveniles was the narrative of Thomas Lurting, who from a fighting sailor turned peaceable Christian, and exhibited his friendly principles even to the Algerian pirates who had captured the ship in which he was engaged, and on whom he turned the tables by making them prisoners without shedding of blood or the striking of a blow. The institute, was managed by two committees, the one sitting in London and the other at Ackworth. As might have been expected, there were frequent conflicts of opinion between them, and when the London committee advised the introduction of Mrs. Barbaulds Hymns and the Catechism of Nature, the Ack- worth committee rejected them as unsuit- able, and adopted the Rational Dame. But brighter days dawned before the cen- tury closed, and Lindley Murrays En- glish Reader proved an inestimable boon to the school. Other school-books were added from time to time, and a more comprehensive system of education has been gradually introduced. Taking the school as a whole it is believed to have been in advance of middle-class schools both in education and training. It is ad- mitted that the treatment was Spartan; and some of the friends of the school contend that the failings of the committee were those of the age in which they lived, and sprang out of prevailing currents of thought. The school has educated about ten thousand children, and but for it many of them would never have had any educa- tion at all. Among the scholars may be mentioned John Bright; the late Mr. Henry Ashworth, of Bolton, foremost in the Anti-Corn-Law agitation; William Howitt; the Right Hon. James Wilson, who was financial secretary for India, and the founder of the Economist; Mr. Jere- miah Holmes Wiffen, the translator of Tassos Jerusalem Delivered, and the author of Historical Memoirs of the House of Russell; Benjamin B. Wiffen, author of the History of the Early Spanish Protestant Reformers; Dr. Miller, F.R.S., author of the Elements of Chemistry; Mr. John Gilbert Baker, F.R.S., the well-known botanist; and Mrs. Ellis, author of Women of En- gland. From Nature. AMERICAN ANTS.* LOOKING to the extensive and sys- tematic work which Dr. McCook has already accomplished in the study of some of the most interesting species of New World ants, we are exceedingly glad to observe from this additional volume that he has no~v turned his serious attention to the honey-ants, for, although the habits of this species were known to be certainly among the most remarkable of the many remarkable habits that are presented by the Hymenoptera, they have not hitherto engaged the study of any competent ob- server. As he himself observes, Very little of their habits has heretofore been known, and only the forms of the honey- bearer and worker-major. In order, if possible, to remove this reproach from entomology, I started in the early part of July, AD. 1879, for New Mexico. In giving a short abstract of the results which have rewarded his energy, we may best begin by describing the forms or castes which Dr. McCook found to constitute a colony of honey-ants. There are (i) three castes of workers, namely, major, minor, and minim or dwarfthe first being 8-5 mm. in length, the second 7 mm., and the third 55 mm.; (2) honey- bearers, a sedentary class or caste dis- tingui shed by abdomens distended into a spherical form of expansion of the crop filled with grape-sugar; the length (in- cluding abdomen) is i~ mm. (one-half * The Honey-A n/s of/he Garden of/he Gods, and /he Occident A n/s of/he A inerican Plains. By Henry C. McCook, D.D. Philadelphia: Lippincott and Co., 1882. AMERICAN ANTS. 6r inch); the proportions and description of the head and body are those of the worker- major, of which it may be a developed form; (~) female, or queen length 13 mm.; (4) male length 5 mm. Regarding the economy of the hive, the first important point established by Dr. McCooks observations is that the honey- bearers do not, as has been asserted, themselves elaborate the honey, but that this is gathered by the ~vorkers from a peculiar kind of vegetable gall, and by them poured into the crop or proventricu- lus of the honey-bearers; the honey-bear- ers are therefore nothing more than living store-houses for the food of the hive, their relation to the rest of the community be- ing, as Dr. McCook observes, similar to that of the honey-comb cells to the hive bee. For not only do the worker-ants store the rotunds, but when they re- quire food they go to the rotunds, which feed them by pressing out a drop of their store from the cesophagus. Likewise the queen, virgin females, males, and the teeming nursery of white grubs are all dependent on the rotunds for nourish- ment. The honey is collected from the galls by the workers at night, the insects being very intolerant of sunlight, and quickly dying when exposed to it. The honey pressed from the body of the rotunds has a pleasant taste, somewhat resembling ordinary honey, but more aro- matic, slightly acid, and contains a larger proportion of ~vater being, therefore, more limpid. It requires about one thou- sand honey-bearers to yield one~ pound weight (troy) of honey. J)r. Wetherill says, as the result of analysis, that the substance is a nearly pure solution of gra~)e-sugar which is in a state of hy- dration isomeric with grapesugar, and differing from grape-sugar in not crystal- lizing. The working ants are so fond of the honey stored within the rotunds, that when, in making sections of the nests, Dr. iVlcCook ruptured the abdomens of the rotunds, he always observed that, notwithstanding the high state of ex- citement which pervaded the colony, the ordinary instinct to defend the nest and preserve the larv~, cocoons, and other dependents, was at once suspended in the presence of the delicious temptation. It is therefore the more remarkable that when a rotund dies the workers do not open the abdomen to get at the contained honey, but, after severing the abdomen from the thorax, remove each part sepa- rately to a cemetery, or common bury- ing-ground which these ants, like many other species, maintain. The author sug- gests, and not improbably, that this for- bearance on the part of the workers may be explained as the result of an instinc- tive sentiment by which nature guaran- tees protection to the living honey-bearer. The partly-filled rotunds are not wholly dependent for their food upon the gorg- ing process to which they are submitted by the workers, for when only partly filled, they will feed themselves on sugar; but the author never saw a honey-bearer of full rotundity taking food or drink. But the fact that before this insect is largely distended with honey it will feed itself points to the supposition that it may be itself a ~vorker, slightly, if at all modified in structure; and this supposition is borne out by anatomical investigation. For the latter has shown (r) that it is the crop alone which contains the nectar received at the mouth ; (2) that the organs of the abdominal portion of the alimentary canal are ordinarily in a nat- ural state, except in so far as their posi- tion has been changed by the downward and backward pressure of the expanding crop; and (~) that the process by which the rotundity of the honey-bearers has probably been produced has its exact counterpart in the ordinary distension of the crop in over-fed ants; that at least the condition of the alimentary canal in all the castes is the same, differing only in degree, and therefore the proba- bility is very great that the honey-learer is simply a worker with an overgrown ab- domen. Why the extraordinarily dis- tended crop seen in the honey-ant should be limited to two species (so far as known), and why so limited a number of workers in the formicaries of these two species should develop the round abdomen, are questions that provide sufficient wonder, but yield scant satisfaction. The degree of distension which the crop of fully gorged rotund undergoes is certainly most surprising. Among the thirteen plates with which Dr. McCooks work is illustrated, several figures are given of the crop in various stages of re- pletion. In the comparative scale of rep- resentation adopted, the empty crop is drawn about the size of a pea, and the fully distended one about that of a tennis- ball. Regarding less special points of inter- est, ~ve may notice the absence of indi- vidual beneficence. Not a single instance of such beneficence was noticed, although closely watched for, while the exhibitions of an apparently cruel neglect were many. Thus, the grains of sand and soil were 62 AMERICAN ANTS. heaped around the rotunds, until the poor creatures were literally buried alive. It would have been easy for the busy masons to draw their fellows aside and thus carry on their work. But it either never oc- curred to them to do so, or the disposi- tion was wanting. This, however, applies to the case when the ants are engaged in making a new nest, after having been transferred en masse by the author to hitherto unbroken ground. But in the natural sites the workers sho~ved great interest in the preservation of the rotunds, dealing with them very much as with the larva~. In these natural sites the ro- tunds hang suspended by their claws, backs downwards, from the roof of their underground chaii~ber, and if they fall to the floor they are unable to move from the spot on account of their unwieldy mass. In such a case several workers would join in removing one rotund, push- ing and pulling her along. - . - Another sketch represents a worker-major drag- gi ng a rotund honey-bearer up the per- pendicular face of a cutting made in the excavation of the nest. The mandibles of the two insects were interlocked, and the worker backed up the steep, success- fully drawing her protcgie. It seems, however, to have been undetermined ~vhether in such a case the worker re- stores the rotund to her place on the roof of the chamber; it is certain that they did not do so in the authors artificial for- micaries, for although the fallen rotunds were faithfully attended, often cleansed and caressed, in no single instance did the workers attempt to right them and restore them to the roof. It ~vill be seen from this brief epitome of Dr. McCooks results that, ~vhile add- ing a number of new facts, they partly confirm, and partly contradict the previ- ously published statements of Llane (1832) and Wesmael (1838). But, as Dr. Mc- Cook himself observes, One of the most perplexing accounts of the honey- antis that of Mr. Henry Edwards, who recorded the statements from a verbal description given to him by Capt. W. B. Fleeson, whose observations were made at or near Santa F~. This description was first published in the Proceedings of the California Academy of Sciences, (vol. v., p. 72, 1873), and afterwards in the col- umns of this journal. Its chief points were that the honey-bearing ants are sus- pended to the roof of this chamber by meshes of ~veb, that there are three very distinct castes, if not species and genera of ants forming a colony, that the larger kind form a fortress of a most remarkable character, and also gather leaves and flowers which they deposit in the middle of their fortress, leaving them to be then conveyed by ants of a second species to the honey-bearers as food. The remark- able fortress was described as being formed in the shape of a perfect square, having one side open and always facing due south, while round the remaining three sides the ants of the larger species were described as perpetually parading in a double line of defence. None of these assertions have been corroborated by Dr. McCook, and therefore he may be ex- cused for suggesting that Capt. Fleeson may perhaps have been testino- the credulity of the writer by one of those jokes of which naturalists are occasion- ally the victims. But, he adds, if the narrative is to be taken in good faith, I can only explain the facts by supposing that the observer happened upon a nest of cutting ants (A/ta fervens) within whose boundaries a nest of Melliger had chanced to be established, and had con- founded the habits of the two as those of one formicary; or, second, that the cutting ants, or some other species of a similar economy, have really acquired the habit of kidnapping and domesticating the honey- ant for the sake of its treasured sweets, precisely as many ants domesticate aphides. The porterage of leaves, etc., into nests is not an uncommon habit among ants of divers species; therefore, without stopping to discuss the question whether such material may contribute to the food supply of the formicary, it may be remarked that its most probable and ordinary use is for purposes of architec- ture or nest-buildino- After again reading the account as pub- lished by Mr. Edwards, we cannot enter- tain the suggestion that he has been the victim of an intentional hoax. But as the suggestion has been made by an honest and independent observer, we feel it to be incumbent on thosewho were responsible for the publication of the account to repu- diate the insinuation of dishonesty; and, looking to the definite nature of the state- ments which that account contained, we feel it is now more desirable than ever that they should be either verified or dis- proved by some competent naturalist vis- iting the locality where the observations are said to have been made. The second part of Dr. McCooks vol- ume treats of the Occident ants of the American Plains. These build mounds from less than half a foot to more than a foot in height, round which they make a circular clearino- of grass and other AMERICAN ANTS. 63 vegetation, presumably by cutting it away after the manner of the agricultural ants of Texas, previously described by the same author. The mound is always cov- ered ~vith pebbles which have been re- moved in the process of excavating the underground chambers and galleries~ Some of the pebbles so transported are ten times the ~veight of the ant, so that the labor performed would be parallelled by that of a man if he could carry half a ton up a staircase one-third of a mile high~ These ants do not begin their labor till eight or nine oclock in the morning; so, as Dr. McCook seems not unwilling to observe, it might not be unmeet that those persons whose love of sleep during late morning hours has been disturbed by the familiar Scripture proverb, Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ~vays, and be wise! should return upon their mentors with the above-recorded facts, and cite this ant, who is indeed no slug- gard, as being nevertheless fond of a morning nap. The days work, or at any rate the day of out-door work, begins hy the gates which had been closed the previous evening. The manner of opening the gate cannot be fully described, because the work is chiefly done within and behind the outer door of gravel. The mode would doubtless be correctly indi- cated by reversing the process of closing gates, presently described. What I saw was, first, the appearance of the quivering pair of antennae above one of the pebbles, followed quickly by the brown head and feet projected through the interstices or joints of the contingent gravel-stones. Then forth issues a single ~vorker, who peeps to this side and that, and after com- passing a little circuit round about the gate, or perhaps without further cere- mony, seizes a pebble, bears it off, depos- its it a few inches from the gate, and returns to repeat the task; she is followed, sometimes cautiously and at intervals of ten, twenty, even thirty minutes, by a fe~v other ants, who aid in clearing away the barricade, after which the general exit occurs. Again there is a rush of work- ers almost immediately after the first break, who usually spread over the hill, bustling around the gate, gradually widen- ing the circles, and finally push out into the surrounding herbage. At first the exit hole is the size of a pea, perfectly round, and plainly shows that sand and soil have been used under the gravel to seal up the gate. The whole appeared to have been cemented, probably by the moisture of the night dew. The process of closing the gates is, even more interesting to the observer than the opening, as the various steps are more under his notice. - - - At nest A the clos- ing was chiefly from within. The work. ers pushed the sand from the inside out- wards with their heads. A grass straw about an inch long was brought from the interior and pushed out until it lay across the gate ~as a stay for the filling material. Soil was here principally used for closing, a few pebbles being added. In another case, when the gate was nearly closed a straggling minor came back from the commons and essayed entrance, wherein she failed. Several trials and failures succeeded, whereupon she commenced dragging the dirt from the opening. While thus engaged the major approached with a huge bit of gravel, which she de- posited on her comrade with as much nonchalance as though she were one of the adjoining pebbles. At last the minor dug out a tiny hole through which she squeezed into the nest, and the major, who was deliberately approaching close behind her, carrying another pebble, im- mediately sealed up the opening. During this amusing episode the straggler made no effort to aid in the closing, being wholly intent on entering, and the gate- closer paid no attention to her whatever, beyond the first sudden and satisfactory antennal challenge. Each moved forward to her own duty with the undisturbed plas- ticity of a machine. This by-play between the gate-cbs- ers and the late-returning foragers is not the exception but the rule; neverthe- less it does not appear that the foragers ever so far miscalculate their time as to arrive after the gates are completely closed. When the gates are all but closed there is generally but a single ant engaged in the closing process from without; this ant slips in at the last moment, and the process is finally concluded from within. The gates are similarly shut during the daytime if the ~veather seems to threaten a heavy rain-storm. Indisposition the Occident ants, though provided with very formidable stings, are exceedingly mild and unwarlike so much so, indeed, that even when greatly incommoded by the tiny but viscous er- ratic ants which Dr. McCook observed on one occasion to have impertinently estab- lished a nest within their clearino they would not dislodge or even fight their insignificant foes, but entirely abandoned their old avenue, cut down and around the erratic colony, and made an opening on the edge of a slight ridge sev- eral inches beyond the disputed territory, 64 DESTRUCTION OF EGYPTIAN MONUMENTS. but still in the line of the avenue which they had been using in their work. A tithe of the pains required for this task would have literally cut out and carried a~vay the whole nest-space of the erratics, whose scant numbers of diminutive war- riors could have been overwhelmed in a moment by the legions of their huge hosts. Lastly, Dr. McCook has satisfactorily ascertained that these Occident ants pre- sent the same habits of harvesting as those which were previously known to occur in the allied species of Florida and Texas. His work as a whole deserves warm commendation, and we trust that the success which has attended his study of the sundry species of ants that have hitherto engaged his attention, will in- duce him to extend his researches to those other species on the American continent which present habits and in- stincts, if possible, more remarkable than those which he has done so much to elucidate. GEORGE J. ROMANES. Arid~us, the titular successor of Alexan. I der the Great, so that it dated from the commencement of the Ptolemaic period; but the rest of this temple, we were told, I formed part of the foundations of the sugar-factory. It was one mass of gran- ite, covered with hieroglyphics, in the streets of RI~oda, evidently waiting till it ~vas wanted for building purposes. The historian of future ages grubbing among the iron boilers, shafts, and wheels which are characteristic of the period in which we live, will be puzzled to account for the presence of these immense blocks traced with the records of a civilization four thousand years older, and will either come to the conclusion that the ancient Egyp- tians used steam-engines, or that hiero- glyphics were the ornaments with which we covered our sugar-factories, It is heart-breaking to think how much injury has been done to the antiquities of Egypt within the last ten years by the reckless destruction of its monuments in order to make sugar more cheaply. A gentleman who had been resident at Minieh ten years ago informed me that he had seen a __________ beautiful naked figure of Antinous, carved in white marble, brought over from the ruins of the city and condemned to be From Blackwoods Magazine. pounded into fragments in order to form DESTRUCTION OF EGYPTIAN MONU part of the foundations. It was such an MENTS. exquisite piece of sculpture that he almost ABOUT four miles to the westward of went on his knees to the moufettish of Rhoda is the site of the once important that date to spare it, promising that if he city of Hermopolis Magna, the capital of would only give him time he would pur- the Hermopolitan Noine; and the agri- chase it for a large sum of money. The cultural railway which intersects the Egyptian official, however, desirous of Daira Sanieb sugar-estates in all direc- proving his zeal in the cause of Western tions runs close past it. The moufet- civilization and his incorruptibility, was tishes have a very convenient method of inexorable, and the statue xvas dashed to superintending the work in the more dis- pieces then and there, and pounded into tant part of the lands by means of small, the foundations of the sugar-factory, as single-horse train carriages. In a vehicle an evidence of his comprehension of the of this description we took a drive to the utilitarian spirit of the age and his sympa- mounds that mark the position of the thies with the advanced ideas of the late ancient city. Here we were met by the kh~dive. At the same time, a stone in- local superintendent with donkeys, and scribed with three bnguages, which might scrambled over the dibris and tumuli, have proved of immense historical value, which reminded me very much of those of was broken up by this enlightened official, Arsino~ in the Fayoum. Like those of who also found sarcophagi very useful for Antino~, they had been searched in all building purposes the workmen en- directions for blocks of stone with which gaged in making the excavations ruth- to construct the sugar-factories. In one lessly blasting the tombs covered with place I saw twelve porphyry columns hieroglyphics, and flinging the mummies erect that had escaped the sacrilege, but into the Nile after appropriating whatever the massive stonework of an old Egyptian they found of value in the coffins. Nor temple had not been so fortunate. Of has this work altogether stopped; at this edifice, which must have been on a Surarieh they are blasting within a few grand scale, only two plinths remained, feet of the tablets on which the figures of the diameter of which was twelve feet and Raineses and the god Savak are delin- the height three feet. They were covered eated, and the little temple I had visited with hieroglyphics and the ovals of Philip is evidently doomed.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 1973. April 15, 1882. From Beginning, Volume XXXVIII.~ Vol. CLIII. CONTENT S. I. AMYE ROBSART II. THE FRERES. By Mrs. Alexander, author of The Wooing Ot. Conclusion, III. RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTION, IV. IAR.CONNAUGHT: A SKETCH, V. THE BURDEN OF SOVEREIGNTY, VI. MIDNIGHT T~ SUNSET WITH CLOUDS LINES, SUGGESTED BY A BIRD SINGING, A WOOD-PRIMROSE IN FLOWER, A CHILD PLAYING, AND AN EARLY BUTTERFLY,. . . Nineteenth Century, Temple Bar, Macmillans Magazine, Cornhill Magazine, Spectator, Spectator, POETRY. THEY DO BUT GROPE IN LEARNINGS PEDANT ROUND, FOR WE THE MIGHTY MOUNTAIN PLAINS HAVE TROD,. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & CO., BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLANS, remitted directly to the Pubii,shers, the LIVING AuR will be punctually forwarded for a year,free qf#ostage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post.office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, s8 cents. 67 So io6 116 125 127 66 66 66 SUNSET WITH CLOUDS, ETC. SUNSET WITH CLOUDS. THE earth grows dark about me, But heaven shines clear above, As daylight slowly melts away With crimson light I love; And clouds, like floating shadows, Of every form and hue, Hover around its dying couch, And blush a bright adieu. Like fiery forms of angels, They throng around the sun Courtiers that on their, monarch wait, Until his course is run From him they take their glory; His honor they uphold; And trail their flowing garments forth, Of purple, green, and gold. Oh bliss to gaze upon them, From this commanding hill, And drink the spirit of the hour, While all around is still; While distant skies are opening, And stretching far away, A shadowy landscape dippd in gold, Where happier spirits stray. I feel myself immortal, As in yon robe of light The glorious hills and vales of Heaven Are dawning on the sight; I seem to hear the murmur Of some celestial stream; And catch the glimmer of its course Beneath the sacred beam. And such, methinks with rapture, Is my eternal home More lovely than this passing glimpse To which my footsteps roam: Theres something yet more glorious Succeeds this life of pain; And, strengthened with a mightier hope, I face the world again. Temple Bar. GERRARD LEWIS. LINES SUGGESTED BY A BIRD SINGING, A WOOD- PRIMROSE IN FLOWER, A CHILD PLAYING, AND AN EARLY BUTTERFLY, January iS, 1882. SWEET bird, whose carol on the winter thorn Tells of glad hope within thy pretty breast, Wait ere thou singest! Winter may be born, And all these sunny fields with snow be drest. Yet who can blame thy song? Would I might know The faith and hope that in thy joy-notes flow! Dear flowret! To thy thinking, spring has come; Thou hastenest all thy beauties to unfold, And in a nook of thy soft woodland home, Dost shine amid the moss like star of gold. How can we chide thee? Oh, for strength to meet The coming stormso bloom in fragrance sweet! Fair child, who sees no future, knows no past, Sing on, and fear not! But the storm will come: Thy thoughtless joyance may not always last. Yet smile within the shelter of thy home Care comes with years but thine the glad to-day. Strength will be given, and patience for the way! Poor outterfly, which flutterest in the sun, With white wings spread, to catch its transient heat, Thy little life, perchance ere day is done, Will pass away. A thing so frail and fleet Is scarce worth being horn yet flutter free: An emblem of our day is seen in thee. Chambers Journal. THEY do but grope inlearnings pedant round Who on the fantasies of sense bestow An idol substance, bidding us bow low Before those shades of being which are found, Stirring or still, on mans brief trial-ground; As if such shapes and modes, which come and go, Had aught of truth or life in their poor show, To sway or judge, and skill to sam or wound. Son of immortal seed, high-destined man! Know thy dread gift, a creature, yet a cause: Each mind is its own centre, and it draws Home to itself, and moulds in its thoughts span, All outward things, the vassals of its will, Aided by HeaYen, by earth unthwarted still. NEWMAN. FOR we the mighty mountain plains have trod, Both in the glow of sunset and sunrise; And lighted by the moon of southern skies! The snow-white torrent of the thundering flood We two have watched together. In the wood We two have felt the warm tears dim our eyes While zephyrs softer than an infants sighs Ruffled the light air of our solitude! O Earth, maternal Earth, and thou, 0 Heaven, And Night first-born, who now, een now, dost waken The host of stars, thy constellated train Tell me if those can ever be forgiven, Those abject, who together have partaken -~ Those sacraments of nature and in vain? AUBREY DE-VERE. AMYE ROBSART. 67 From The Nineteenth Century. AMYE ROBSART. No story has ever taken a stronger hold of the public mind than that of Amye Robsart, and the interest felt in it con- tinues from time to time to be refreshed by new pictures and popular dramatic representations. With the ladies particu- larly it is so great a favorite that they think it almost cruel to bring out any discovery that may help to produce a disillusion. This perhaps is not to be wondered at, if what has been said by one of themselves is quite correct, as we hope it may not be, that fiction is the chief mental sustenance of the greater part of the female sex in this country at the pres- ent day. The reason why this tragical story has survived so many others of similar kind which have been, comparatively speaking, forgotten, of course is carebant vale sacro they lacked what it obtained, viz., the powerful aid of the Author of Waverley to give it a world-wide and lasting celebrity in his novel of Kenil- worth. His object (as stated in the introduction to that novel) was to delineate the character of Queen Elizabeth; to describe her as at once a high-minded sov- ereign, and a female of passionate feelings, hesitating betwixt the sense of her rank and the duty she owed to her subjects on the one hand, and on the other, her attachment to a nobleman, who, in external qualifications at least, amply merited her favor. The interest of the story is thrown upon that period when the sudden death of the first Countess of Leicester [a title which Amye never had] seemed to open to the ambition of her husband the opportunity of sharing the crown of his sovereign. Sir Walter Scott is generally truthful and accurate, as indeed writers of every sort who deal with historical matters ought to be; but in working out his object in this instance he was, as is well known, not so attentive as usual to the real order of events. This misplacing of scenes and substitution of one person for another rather interferes with the pleasure of the reader. A graver objection is that the novel has had the effect of stamping some of the characters introduced with infamy hardly ever to be effaced, but which later researches have shown to be undeserved. This has been done chiefly by the late Mr. Pettigre w, a well-known archreologist, by Mr. Bartlett of Abingdon, and Mr. Adler of New York. With respect to Lord Robert Dudley himself, to whose direct instigation com- mon rumor attributed the violent death of Amye, Sir Walter Scott, in one of the notes to the novel, is careful to explain that he has represented him rather as the dupe of villains than the unprincipled author of their atrocities: his reason being that in the latter capacity, which a part at least of his contern~oraries at- tributed to him, he would have made a character too disgustingly wicked to be useful for the purpose of fiction. But in dealing with some of the other personages he has forgotten this propriety, and con- sequently has produced in Varney (as one of his earliest critics observed) a charac- ter of such pure and unrelieved villany as never existed; and, had such a moral monster ever appeared on the surface of society, he would not have been a proper subject for representation. The truth simply is that the basis of the novel was the venomous book called Leicesters Commonwealth, concocted against Dud- ley by his enemies the Jesuits; and from this Scott took the names of Anthony Foster and Richard Varney, discarding what information he had elsewhere about the one, and apparently knowing nothing at all about the other. Many persons think, and some have been bold enough to say, that either from total want or imperfect supply of materials, or from spite and political prejudice, there is, in the histories put into our hands, fiction enough already without making matters worse by the help of historical novels. The student of history, it is true, does not go to such sources for his history. On the other hand, the generalityof read- ers of historical novels, though they may be readers, are not often students, of his- tory; and perhaps it is not going much too far to say that, of the young and im- pressible who devour the novel and have the scenes there described still further 68 AMYE ROBSART. fastened on their memory by some mas- terpiece of painting or acting at a theatre, there is not one in a thousand but to the end of his days will be quite satisfied that the story is true as he has there read or seen it. The effect of this novel of Kenil- worth certainly has been to create a strong bias against Dudley; and that effect would now perhaps hardly be de- stroyed, even if all the real facts should happen to be discovered. This indeed has not yet come to pass; but some things have been brought to light which give a different complexion to the story, and it is by no means impossible that more may eventually be forthcoming from those stores of secret history which, under the direction of the Historical Commission and by the ~vise permission of the different owners, are now undergoing investigation. If (as remarked by Disraeli the elder) to contribute something not before known is a more important service to the general fund of history than to give new form and color to what we are already possessed of, an opportunity has lately been pre- sented of rendering some slight service in that way in the case of Amye Robsart. In a private examination of the large and curious collection of documents at Longleat belonging to the Marquis of Bath, an original letter from Amye was recovered, being the second now known to exist, a former one having already been preserved in the British Museum. The letter at Longleat was found pinned inside a dressmakers bill, among a number of private papers and accounts of Lord Rob- ert Dudley. The discovery naturally led to a stringent scrutiny of every scmp of paper relating to him and to his period. The result was the finding not only of some valuable original deeds and docu- ments relating generally to R. Dudley and his affairs, but also a few incidental allu- sions to, and notices of, Amye Robsart as his wife. These will be found to throw, it may be only a little, but still, so far as they go, quite a new light, not indeed upon the actual manner of her death, but upon the previous circumstances of her mar- ried life. Two or three points of difference be- tween the current belief and the real facts must first be mentioned. I. THE MARRIAGE. SHE was the only daughter and heir (a brother Arthur being illegitimate) of Sir John Robsart, a knight of Norfolk, of lineage older than that of the Dudley family.* Her mother, Lady Robsart, had been married before to a Mr. Appleyard, of a very old Norwich family; and by him she had a son John Appleyard, Amyes half-brother. Robert Dudley, Esquyer, and Amye were married when quite young (she about eighteen, and he about nine- teen years of age), in A.D. 1550, fourth year of King Edward the Sixth. The proofs of their marriage are these. There is among the records in London a settle- ment on the ladys side by Sir John Robsart, the father, dated the 15th of May, 1550. There is at Longleat a deed of settlement on the husbands side, dated the 24th of May, 1550: and it runs thus, Between John, Earl of Warwick, K.G., of the one part, and Sir John Robsart, Kt., on the other part : witnesseth that they are fully agreed that a marriage shortly after the ensealing hereof, shall be had and solemnized between Robert Duddeley, Esq., one of the younger sons of the said Erle, and Amye Robsart, daughter and heir apparaunte to the said Sir John Robsart, if the said Robarte and Amye will thereunto condiscend and agree; and then continues about lands, etc. These two documents were settle- ments in May, 1550, on the inte,zded mar- riage. The marriage itself took place on the 4th of June, i~so, at Sheen, in Surrey, in the presence of the court, and is partic- ularly mentioned by King Edward the Sixth, then only eleven years old, in his diary (now preserved in the British Mu- seum). It was therefore not in any way clandestine, but public and notorious as possible. There are also at Longleat several doc * She is believed to have been born at Stansfield Hall, Norfolk, a house which belonged to her fatber, and which some years ago obtained a horrible notoriety from being the scene of tbe murder of tbe Jermy family by Rush. AMYE ROBSART. 69 uments dated after the marriage in which they are both mentioned: one being a grant of the manor of Hemsby, near Yar- mouth, in Norfolk, by his father, John, then Duke of Northumberland, to his son, Lord Robert Dudley, and the Lady Amie his wzfr. Their married life lasted rather more than ten years, from the 4th of June, 1550, to the 8th of September, i~6o. II. AMYE NEVER AT KENILWORTH IT may be mortifying to any who, at Drury Lane Theatre, have wept at the touching interview between the Count- ess of Leicester and Queen Elizabeth, to be told that no such interview ever took place, except upon that stage. The rea- son is, that Kenliworik Gastle, where the earl received the queen, did not belong to him at all during Amyes l~fr. She died 1560. The queen gave Kenilworth to Lord Robert in June, 1563. The orig- inal letters patent granting it, dated the 20th of June, 1563, are at Lonoleat- and there is also the original warrant from the queen to deliver to Dudley possession of the castle. This is an interesting document, being Queen Elizabeths authority to six gentle- men, named, to go to Kenilworth, and take possession on behalf of Lord Robert. The formal delivery is endorsed, dated the 29th of June, and it is attested by the sig- natures of no less than sixty-four wit- nesses. But the wife Amye was not present, for she had been in her grave nearly three years, since September, i~6o. III AMYE NEVER COUNTESS OF LEICES TER. FOR the same reason she never was Countess of Leicester, Dudley not hav- ing been created Earl of Leicester until after the grant of Kenilworth Castle. The patent of creation is dated the 29th of September, 1563, rather more than three years after her death. During her life he was Sir R. Dudley, Kt, commonly called Lord Robert; and she Amye, Dame or Lady, Dudley. IV- SIR RICHARD VARNEY. THE late Mr. Pettigre wsays: Of Sir Richard Varney I can ascertain no particulars. He is mentioned, in no measured terms, as an instigator to baseness, as the chief prompter to the murderous design, and as having been left with a manservant, an under- ling, and Anthony Foster, to effect the diabol- ical business. We know nothing of Varney, save the mention of him in Ashmoles narra- tive, drawn by the Jesuit in Leicesters Com- monwealth, ~nd by the very important part he is made to play in the novel of Kenilworth. His name does not occur in any authentic doc- uments connected with Sir Robert Dudley or Amye Robsart, nor, indeed, does he appear to have had any real existence. A letter was found at Longleat, dated the 20th of April, 1560 (six months before Amyes death), addressed To the Rt. honorable and my verry good lorde, the lorde Robert Dudley, Mr. of th horses to the Quenes Majestie at Court, signed RICHARD VERNEY. The name, of course, caught attention; and the next thing ~vas to find out, if pos- sible, something about the writer. The letter itself was of the common kind, from one friend and gent1em an to another; referring to the loss of some favorite hawks of Dudleys, which had been en- trusted to the care of one of the writers servants, and which had been misman- aged. But the seal, not in wax, but on wafer, was fortunately preserved, the de- vice being an antelope with long horns. On examining it closely with a glass it appeared that the animals tail ended not with the usual single tuft of hai r, but in a trz~artite finish, something like a fleur- de-lis. The letter was written from War- wick, and in Dugdales history of that county, under the name of Verney, will be found an engraved plate of a monumental coat of arms, supported by two antelopes, with the peculiar tripartite caudal finish. At Longleat there is also a parchment deed signed by the same Richard Verney, where the seal is preserved in wax, and presents the same peculiarity. This identified the writer of the letter as Sir Richard Verney, of Compton Verney, in Warwickshire, whose family is now rep- 70 AMYE ROBSART. resented, and place occupied, by their i in Berkshire. His wife was Ann, niece descendant, Lord Willoughby de Broke. of Lord Williams of Thame, lord high Lord Robert Dudley himself was a War- chamberlain in the reign of Philip and ~vickshire man. He had. already l)roperty Mary. Cumnor Hall, or Place, belonged in that county (before Kenil~vorth was to Dr. Owen, the queens physician. Mr. given to him) from his father; and Sir Forster rented it of him at the time of Richard Ye rney was a neighbor and Amye Robsarts death, but purchased it friend, of whom nothing has been discov- soon after. Hi~ children all died. He ered but ~vhat is perfectly respectable. ~vas highly esteemed as a most honest There is a letter to Lord Robert Dudley, gentlenian by his neighbors at Abingdon, master of the queens horse, from Sir and was sometimes consulted by the Uni- Ambrose Cave, one of the queens minis- versity of Oxford to assist in settling ters, and M.P. for Co. Warwick, written matters of controversy. He ~vas a culti- on the i6th of July, 1559, a year before vator of the fine arts, a musician, a Amyes death. Certain commissioners builder, a planter, and towards the close were wanted for the county; and Sir Am- of his life (1572) was returned to Parlia- brose, ~vriting in the name of the Council, ment for the borough of Abingdon. In says : Cumnor Church there is a large brass plate to his memory, embellished with certain coats of arms, the usual marks of gentility. He had always been a personal friend of Lord Robert Dudleys, and when Dudley was promoted to honor, Mr. Fors- ter became not only the principal receiver of his income, but one of the chief con- trollers of the expense of a very stately establishment. For, with all his mag- nificence, the Earl of Leicesters house- hold expenses were kept in the most precise manner. At Longleat there are some of the inventories of his furniture, dresses, etc., in large folio volumes, beau- tifully written. All bills were duly ex- amined and payments registered and signed by five of the household officers. The earl was remarkable for his costly wardrobe. The practice was for the ma- terials to be supplied to the tailor, or embroiderer, by the mercer or other tradesman. The orders to the trades- men were all issued by the chief officer of the wardrobe; and there is a bundle of such orders, filed exactly as they were left by Mr. Forster. Every one of these is signed by him in the year i~66, six years after Amyes death; and he died in v. 1569. There is also an original letter from the Earl of Leicester to A. Forster, relating to furniture at Kenilworth Castle, containing special orders about costly hangings for the dining-chamber, specify- ing the very width and height; with di- rections, for sufficient store of spicery and fireworks against my chiefest day; also instructions for a banqueting-room to be got up quickly, with peremptory orders for all to be on the alert. It ends: So fare you well, Antony; in much haste, TONY FOSTER. ANTHONY Fors/er, or Forrester, Esq., was of an old Shropshire family, settled * To endeavour Almse~Yfor~~ i.e. to consider himself bound to undertake for. So in the Prayer- Book collect for second Sunday after Easter, also daily endeavour ourselves: in the preface to the Confirmation Service, They will evermore endeavour themselves, and in the Ordination Service, I will endeavour myself so to do. In all these instances in the Prayer-Book the words are often read with a pause between endeavour~ and themselves, as if the meaning were that they would themselves, do their best, etc. The mistake is a very pardonable one, the modern use of the word endeavor being simply to try. Nor is there in the English translation of the Bible any other sense of the word. It is in the Prayei~- Book only that the obsolete use is retained. And whereas for the execution of the charge committed unto us we resolved of certain gen- tlemen to be officers unto us, as Mr. Fisher for one, who cannot well take it upon him, in whose stead Sir Richard Varney, a gentleman meet to serve in that behalf, wold willingly endeavour himself* for Warwickshire, if it plese you to appoint or require him by your letters to take the chardge upon him. Thus leaving to trouble your Ldship any further at this tyme I commit you to God who send you increase of honour. Your good Lordships to command, Ambrose Cave. This is scaycely the tone in ~vhich a min- ister of State would write about a man who was capable of staining his hands in a miserable murder. In the novel Varney is disposed of in a manner that is no doubt highly satisfac- tory to the reader. He is found next morning dead in his cell, having swallowed a dose of poison. This does very well for the story, but the real Sir Richard Ver- ney, in i~6ithe very next year after Amyes deathfilled the office of her Majestys high sheriff for the county of XVarwick, and, in fact, did not die till the 26th of July, 1567. AMYE ROBSART. your loving master, R. Leycester. This letter does not refer to the preparations for the great reception of Queen Eliza- beth, which was in 1575,but to a visit of Sir Nicholas Bacon, the lord keeper of the great seal. Having seen in these few instances how widely the current belief differs from the real facts, we come to the main part of the story, bearing in mind that the title of Countess of Leicester, and the name of lKenilworth Castle, are to be ab- solutely dissociated from the true history of Amye Robsart. To go back to the beginning of her mar- ried life, A.D. 1550. The older narratives have begun with telling us that their mar- ried life was an unhappy one: that they lived apart, and she in a lonely house. That is certainly the way to prepare the readers mind for a violent conclusion; but there is no evidence that their mar- ried life was from the first, or indeed ever, an unhappy one: for until a very little while ago, nothing, whatever was known about their married life. The little we do now know from the Longleat papers ex- hibits them as living on the best footing. And as to~their living apart, that only ap- plies to the last year or two, and the house in which she lived was anything but lonely. \Vhere their first home was is not known. Perhaps in Norfolk, where their property lay; possibly in London, because this was in Edward the Sixths time, and Lord Robert was one of the gentlemen in ordinary in the household. After Edward the Sixths death, July, 1553, Dudley certainly ~vas in London, but against his will and under unpleasant cir- cumstances; for he had joined with his father in the attempt to place Lady Jane Grey on the throne, for ~vhich Queen Mary sent him to the Tower. He was con- victed of high treason; all his estates, as well as his wifes, were forfeited; and he had a very narrow escape from sharing his fathers fate on Tower Hill. The prin- cess Elizabeth (afterwards queen) was at the same time lodged in the Tower by her sister, Queen Mary, for State reasons. Dudley remained in custody half a year, till January, 1554. Several other noble- men of his party were also prisoners; but their wives were allowed to visit them from time to time. Among the ladies whose names are mentioned as so doing, is that of Amye, Lady Dudley; so that so far, in the fourth year of marriage, there is no sign of estrangement. On receiving his pardon he was released, and his es- tates, including his wifes, were restored to him. This was through the influence of Philip of Spain, the husband of Queen Mary; in return for which Robert Dudley offered his services to Philip, who sent him off to the Continent to fight against the French. How long lie was abroad does not appear; but his wife would of ne- cessity be left at home. We lose sight of them entirely for three years, if not more, but at the end of that time she reappears, in the first letter above mentioned as in the British Museum (HarI. MS. 4712). It refers only to a comparatively trifling matter, but it is really very useful in re- vealing to us, most inart~ftciaiiy, what her domestic position was in the seventh or eighth year of marriage. It is dated the 7th of August, no year being named; but as it refers to their farm at Sydis- terne, in Norfolk, it could not have been written before 1557, because that prop- erty did not come into their hands (as is known from deeds) before that year. It ~vas probably written still later, and in the first or second year of Queen Elizabeth, i~~8 and i55~, because it speaks of Dud- leys being called away on weighty busi- ness. The substance of it is this: Sydis- terne was a large sheep-farm with three thousand sheep upon it, and their agent or steward was a Mr. Flowerdew. He had written to Dudley about some of the farm affairs, and particularly about some poor people who were waiting for some money. Lord Robert had been called off in a hurry, without answering that letter; so the steward writes a second time, and the second letter conies into Amyes hands. She sends a courteous apology to the agent for his first not having been answered, explains the reason, and hav- ing full authority to settle all matters, she orders him to sell some wool, even at a loss, so as not to keep the poor people waiting any longer for their money. In this there is no sign of estrangement. She appears simply as a trustworthy wife left with full direction to settle doniestic matters in her husbands absence, in the seventh or eighth year of their short mar- ried life of ten years. But there is some- thing more in this letter. It is dated from Mr. Hydes, ~vhiich ~vas at Dench- worth, a few miles from Abingdon, and not many from Cumnor. The wife of Mr. Hyde ~vas Alice, daughter of Sir Thomas Essex, of Lanibourne in Berks, and they had a very large family of chil- dren; a state of society not quite con- sistent with the solitary and lonely resi- dence to which Amve is commonly sup- posed to have been consigned. The 7 72 AMYE ROBSART. Hydes and Dudleys were old friends, Mr. Hyde having bought some years before from Robert Dudleys father the manor of Kingston Lisle, near Denchworth. Mr. Hydes brother, XVilliam, was at this time M.P. for the Co. Berks; so that there is no doubt of the respectability of this family. Amye, as Lady Dudley, resided a great deal at this Mr. Hydes, and was constantly visited there by her husband. How she came to be living there so much admits of explanation. Queen Elizabeth had come to the throne on the 17th of November, 1558, when Robert Dudleys star was in the ascend. ant. He had been of no particular im- portance in Queen Marys reign, but he was of the same side as Elizabeth in matters of religion; he had been her playfellow in childhood and her fellow. prisoner in the Tower. She immediately appointed him master of the horse and K.G. This in the first year of her reign. The office of master of the horse was one which demanded his continual attend- ance in London. No one journeyed about more than Queen Elizabeth, and, go where she would, the master of the horse was obliged to go with her. In the published accounts of the queens progresses, there is always a great horseback cavalcade, and the master of the horse, in close at- tendance, riding a little in rear of her Majesty. Now, as Amye had no children, it is not unlikely that, instead of living alone in apartments in London, she -pre- ferred living with friends in the country, and for that reason stayed at Mr. Hydes. She might have disliked, as many ladies did, the life of the court. In some letters of that period at Longleat, written by ladies of the highest rank, they express their great weariness with its state and formalities, begging their husbands to come back for economys sake as soon as they could: at any rate not to compel them to go up to London. I3ut whilst Amye was so staying at Mr. Hydes, she was only under his roof as a visitor and friend, and she was perfectly at liberty to go wherever she liked. There is evidence that she used that liberty, and had suita- ble means for doing so provided by her husband. Among the documents are two folio account-books: one kept by Mr. William Chaucy, Lord Roberts secretary or stew- ard, beginning the 20th of December, 1558, the first year of Elizabeths reign, and a year and a half only before Am~-es death; the other by Mr. Richard Eflvs, of about the same time. Mr. Chaucy be- gins by a statement of moneys received into his hands, the first item of which is 300/. from Mr. Anthony Forster, Lord Roberts treasurer. Then follow,per con- Ira, the payments made. The following extract exhibits all the items that occur in this volume relating to Amye. If the figures are multiplied by, say, six or seven to express present value, they will be found to convey no indication of l)arsimonious allowance or inattention to her comfort. Items relating to Amye (Robsart) Lady Dudley, extracted from the account-books of Lord Rob- ert Dudley. (Original at Long/eat.) Gyven to Gowre for hys charge riding into Lincolnshire to my ladie xx:. Paid his hyer of certen haknes [hackneys] for my ladie - lxi:. Item to John Forest for his charge Ryding to Mr. Hides to my ladye iii:. iiijd. For Gower for my Lady, coming out of Lincoln . . . . xxvi:. viiid. To Johans for riding to Mr. Hides to my lady. . - . . . iiis. iiijd. To Mr. Blunts horsehier when he rode to my lady in the Christmas 6s. 8d. To Johnes for my lady - . 66:. 8d. To hier of xii horses when my lady came from Mr. Hides to Lon- don 6os Item to Langham for 2 days hord- wages attending upon my lady at Christchurch, yr Lordship being at Windsor . . . 35. 4d. To Thomas Johnes and his fel- lowes for their dynners, weyting uppon my lady from Christ. church to Camerwell. . - 3:. 8d. Iteiii; for my bote-hier to London about the despatch of my lady - 8d. Item; for a trunke saddell with ye appurtenances for carrying of my ladies apparel . . . . 203. To Thos. Johnes to buy a hoode for my lady . . . . xxxv:. To Gilbert ye gouldsmith for 6 doz. gould buttons of ye Spanish pattern, and for a littell cheyne delivered to Mr. Forrest for my lady: use Lxxx. To Mr. Virloe for lynnen cloath for my lady . . . . ~is. Two eli of fine Holland for to make my lady ruffes . . . 12:. 2 1-2 ells of Russet taffata to make my lady a gowne at 13s. 4d. an dl. .. . . 35s. Item, paid to Eglamby for my lady: charge from Mr. Hides to Camberweil - . . . Item, delivered for my ladys charge riding into Suffolk: with xl pis. toles [a Spanish coin] delivered AMYE ROBSART. 73 to Hogans to put into her Lady shzz5s purse . . . /26 135. 4d. 1559. For sewing silk sent to my lady by Mr. Forster . . . 45. For apparel sent to my lady and for the charges of Higgenes, her man, lying in London . . 6os. For bringing venison to Mr. Hides 5S. Item: ii pair of hose sent to my lady by Sir Richard Verneys servant . . . . . 8s. Item. for spices bought by the cook when your Lordship rode to my ladys . . . .. 225. 1559. For a looking glass sent to my lady by Mr. Forster . . 45. To Smyth the mercer for 6 yards of velvet at 433. a yard: and 4 yards to the Spanish taylor for your Lordships doublet: and 2 yards for garding my ladys cloak 1123. 6d. The following items, under the head of Play money, show that Lord Robert was frequently visiting at Mr. Hydes: To Mr. Hide which he lent your Lordship at play at his own house 403. Delivered to your Lordship at Mr. Hides at sundry times; by my hands 203.: by Hugans us, and by Mr. Aldersey 25s, & c. Total 673. The other account-book (Richard El- liss) refers to i~6o, the last year of her life, but there are in it only one or two items, and these refer to the expense of her funeral. There is, however, a mercers bill (six months before her death) : s.d. i~6o. March. Delyvered a velvet hatt imbroidered for my Ladye . 3 6 8 Pair of velvet shoes for my Ladye 3 0 0 In the account-books the dates of month and day are not always given, so that it is not easy to distinguish exactly which of them refer to her whilst she ~vas lodging with the 1-lyde family at Denchworth, and which to her later residence at Cumnor. But it is evident that she was under no restraint, for we find her journeying about, to Lincolnshire, London, Suffolk, Christchurch in Hampshire, and Camber- well, twelve horses being at her command. CUMNOR. IT cannot have been much before the very last year of her life that she removed from Mr Hydes, at Denchworth, to Cum- nor Place, about eleven miles off. It is quite intelligible that she might have found it more convenient to have a house in which she would be more of the mistress than would be the case whilst staying at a friends; and it seems unreasonable to suppose that if her husband had any evil design upon her life he would have placed her in a house only a few miles from the Hydes, her most intimate friends. Cum- nor was a large building, quadrangular, and of ecclesiastical style, having for- merly belonged to the dissolved monas- tery of Abingdon. It was not lonely, for it was close to a large village, ~vithin an easy walk of Oxford, and there were sev- eral persons staying in it; Mrs. Owen (wife of William Owen, the owner), Mr. Forster and his wife (tenants), Mrs. Odingsell, a widow, sister of Mr. Hyde, living with the Forsters. It is not un- likely, from two sets of servants being spoken of, one under Amyes control, that the house was divided, one part being appropriated to her. Mr. Forster pur. chased the house from Owen after Amyes death, and curiously enough, by his will in 1572, he bequeathed it to Dudley on condition of his paying 1,200/. to the widow Forster. Dudley (then Earl of Leicester) did so; and it is entered as his property in a schedule of his estates. One would have thought that if he had ever been a party to the murder of his wife there, he would have been content to have nothing to do with it, and rather never hear of it again. One of the very few documents at Longleat, connected with her actual resi- dence at Cumnor, is a dressmakers, or, more correctly, a woman-tailors bill, from one William Edney, of Tower Royal, in London, sent in by him to Lord Robert Dudley for articles supplied to his wife. Inside this bill was found (as before men- tioned) a letter from Amye to the tailor, which he had preserved as a voucher for some particular gown ordered by her. Amye Lady Dudleys Letter to her Thilor. edney wt my harty comendations thesse shalbe to desier you to take ye paynes for me As to make this gowne of vellet* whiche I sende you wt suche A collare as you made my me rosset taffyta gowne you sente -my-last & I will se you dyscharged for all I pray you let it be done wt as muche speade as you can & sente by this bearar frewen the carryar of oxforde & & thus I bed you most hartely fare well from comnare this xxiiij of avguste Your assured frind AMYE DUDDLEY. To my very frinde will yam edney the tayler ye a at tower rill geve this in London.t * Pellet, in the letter, is used by Spencer, for velvet. Chaucer has vetloute. Ben Jonson vellute, probably frnm the Latin villosus, hairy or woolly. Tower Royal, near Bucklerabury and the Mansion 74 AMYE ROBSART. Among other items in the bill of this poor ladys wardrobe were a loose go~vn of satten byassed with lace over the garde, a round kirtle of russet wrought- velvet with a fringe; a Spanish gown of damask, laced all thick athwart the guard; a Spanish gown of russet dam- ask; a loose gown of rossel /aff~zfa (the pattern alluded to in the letter); also lace, fringes of black silk and gold, ruffs, collars, and the like. These little matters are mentioned merely to show that, as to dress, she appears to have been liberally supplied. One of the last items was incurred after her death, viz., a mantle of cloth for the chief mourner. While she was living at Cumnor during the last year of her life, perfectly free from restraint, so far as appears from the documents before us, the court, and in- deed the whole country, began to be filled with various rumors about Robert Dudley and the queen. All these arose from the queen being a young unmarried lady, and from the anxiety which her counsellors, the nation, and foreign nations, too, felt upon this question, viz.: who, in case of her death, was to be the successor to the throne. There were schemes and in- trigues that were going on all around the queen. There were princes abroad, and noblemen at home, ready to be promoted. Dudley was known to be in high favor: the queen was believed to be really at- tached to him. Rumors of the worst kind were bruited about in London. It was said that Amye was very ill, that she had a cancer, that she was to be divorced, that she was to be poisoned, that Dudley had actually given instructions for her quiet disappear- ance. The Spanish ambassador, De Cua- clra, reported all these to his master, and that the affair was coming off immedi- ately. Dudley himself knew of these evil reports. He also knew that for his wife to die just then in any way would be damaging to his character, and to any hopes that he might be entertaining they would only be most damaging, because, though the queen had declared rather pettishly to her ministers that she was not going to marry a subject, or allow any one beneath her to be called My Lords Grace, still, should she change her mind, public opinion would hardly allow a queen House, London. Stowe says the queens wardrobe was there, and that it had been a strong resideuce occupied by Royally, afterwards turned into shops. Others derive it from the merchants of La Reole, who estabiished themseives there, and gave to the street the name of La Reole. of England to select for a husband a man who had caused his wife to be murdered. The last thing, therefore, that Dudley would wish to hear among all these un- toward rumors, would be that his wife had met with a violent death. This appears from what took place when that news actually reached him as described in some letters preserved (in transcript) in the Pepysian Library at Cambridge, and printed in Craiks Romance of the Peer- age, Lord Braybrookes Diary of Pepys, Mr. Pettigrews pamphlet, and Adlers Amye Robsart. From these it appears that Amyes death took place on Sunday, the 8th of September, 1560. The news was carried by one Bowes, a Cumnor servant ,to Lord Robert, then at Windsor, and reached him the next morning, Monday. A little ~vhile before this message reached Wind- sor Sir Thomas Blount, one of Dudleys household officers, had set off towards Oxfordsh ire. It has been said that Dudley had pre- viously heard something that alarmed him, which induced him to send Blount off. I3ut no evidence df this has been produced. Blount had not gone very far on his road when he met Bowes coming, who told him all he knew, viz., that the day before, Sunday, being Abin~ don Fair day, Lady Dudley had herself given the strange order for all belonging to her to go to the fair, and would suffer none to tarry at home; that Mrs. Odingsell re- monstrated with her, saying it was not a proper day for gentlewomen to go, but that she would go next day. Whereupon Lady Dudley grew very angry, and said Mrs. Odingsell might do as she pleased, but all hers should go, and that Mrs. Owen should dine with her. Her people, accordingly, all went to the fair, leaving in the house, so far as appears, three ladies, Mrs. Owen, Mrs. Forster, and Mrs. Odingsell, besides the Forster servants. Of Forster himself, or of Varney there is no mention at all. On their return from. the fair Lady Dudley was dead, found lying on the floor of the hall, at the foot of the staircase. Bowes could tell Sir Thomas nothing more, as he had been among the rest away at the fair. Sir Thomas, having heard this, continued his ride, and stopped for the night at Abing- don, about four miles from Cumnor, and, wanting to hear what was said about the matter, sends for the landlord, and pre- tending that he was on his way to Glou- cestershire, asked, What news in these parts ? AMYE ROBSART. The landlord replied, There was fallen a great misfortune ~vithin three or four miles of the town. My Lord Robert Dudleys wife was dead. Blount asked, How was that? By a misfortune, as he heard: by a fall from a pair of stairs. * Blount asked, By what chance? The landlord did not know. Blount asked, What was his judgment and the judgment of the people? He said, cautiously enough, Some said ~vell, and some said evil. What do you think? asked Blount. The landlord said, He thought it must be a misfortune, because it happened in that honest gentlemans house (meaning Mr. Forsters). His great honesty doth much curb the evil thoughts of the peo- ple : i.e., Mr. Forster ~vas so well known as a respectable man that no one would believe a crime could be committed in his house. Methinks, said Blount, that some of her people that waited on her should have something to say about this? No, sir, said the landlord, but lit- tle : for it is said they were here at the fair and none left with her. How might that be? asked Blount. It is said, answered the landlord, that she rose that day very early, and commanded all her sorte to go to the fair, and would suffer none to tarry at home: which was thought a very strange thing for her to do. This conversation took place on the Monday evening, at Abingdon. The same evening, Dudley at Windsor, hav- ing heard what Bowes, the first messen- ger from Cumnor, had to tell him, sends off by a return messenger one Bryse, with the following letter to Sir Thomas Blount: Cosin Blount, Immediately upon your de- parting from me there came to me Bowes, by whom I do understande that my wife is dead, as he saithe, by a fall from a pair of staires. Little other understandinge can I have from him. The greatness & the suddennesse of the mysfortune doth so perplex me, untill I do heare from you how the matter standeth, or howe this evill doth light upon me, consider- ing what the malicious world will bruyte [i.e. will say] as I can take no rest. And, because I have no waie to purge myselfe of the mali- cious talke that I knowe the wicked worlde will use, but one, which is the verie plaine truth to be knowen, I do praye you, as you have loved me, and do tender me & my quiet- ness, and as nowe my special truste is in you, * A pair of stairs, in the west of England, means a staircase with two landings. 7S that you will use all devises& meanes you can possible for the learning of the truth; wherein have no respect to any living person: & as by your own travell and diligence, so likewise by order of lawe, I mean, by calling of the Coro- ner, & charging him to the uttermost, from me, to have good regard to make choyse of no light or slight persons, but the discreetest & substantial men for the juries: such as for their knowledge may be able to search honorablie & duelie, by all manner of examynacions, the bottom of the matter: & for their upri~htness will earnestlie & sincearlie deale therein, with- out respect. And that the bodie be viewed & searched accordinglie by them: and in every respect to proceede by order & lawe. In the mean tyme, cosin Blount, let me be advertysed from you by this berer, with all spede, howe the matter doth stande: for, as the cause & the manner thereof doth marvelously trouble me, considering my case many xvaies, so shall I not be at rest till I may be ascertayned thereof: prayinge you ever, as my truste is in you, & as I have ever loved you, do not dissemble with me, neither let anythinge be hid from me, but sende me your trewe con- ceyt and opinion of the matter, whether it happened by evill chance or villainye: and faill not to let me heare contynewallie from you. And thus fare you well. In moch hast, from Windsore, this IXth day of September in the eveninge. Your lovinge freud and kyns-. man, moch perplexed. R. D. Lady Dudley had (as mentioned above) a half-brother, John Appleyard, and an illegitimate brother, Arthur Robsart. So Dudley adds, in a postscript : I have sent for my brother [i.e. brother-in- law] Appleyarde, because he is her brother, & other of her frendes also, to be theare, that they may be previe & see how all things do proceede. It is difficult to conceive how such a letter as this could have been written by a man who had previously given a tacit consent to his wifes destruction. The distance from Windsor to Abing- don would be about forty miles. It does not appear at what hour Blount received it; but the next morning (Tuesday, lath), having heard what ~vas said and thought outside Cumnor, he went on to the house itself, and had the same account from the ladys own maid, Mrs. Pinto. He then asked her, What she thought of the matter; was it chance or villany? The maid answered: By my faith, I judge it chance, and neither done by man nor by herself, for she was a good, virtuous gen- tlewoman, and daily would pray upon her knees; and divers times I have heard her pray to God to deliver her from despera- tion. Then, said Blount, she might have an evil eye in her mind? (meaning, 76 AMYE ROBSART. I presume, thought of suicide). No, good Mr. Blount, said the maid, do not so judge of my words. If you should so gather, I am sorry I said so much. On Wednesday, iith, Blount at Cum- nor replied to Dudleys letter. He re- ports all that Bowes had told him on the road (which ~vould be the same as Bowes told Dudley), and also all that he had heard and seen, as above given; adding that a coroners jury was already assem- bling before he had reached Cumnor, and that since he had been there he had heard several strange things which led him to think that Lady Dudley had been some- ~vhat disordered in her mind. It has been alleged against Dudley that he showed great indifference by not going down immediately himself. But one may look at his conduct in another light. He knew ~vel1 enough that he would be im- mediately suspected of having in some way led to the violent death. If he had gone down in person, his presence might probably have overawed a country jury, and hindered them from speaking out and asking questions freely; or it might be said that he had bribed them not to be too inquisitive. He therefore wisely stayed away; but he urged, in the very strongest terms, that no pains should be spared to find out if it were done by vil- lany, and the guilty l)arties to be declared. Also that all his wifes own relatives should be sent for: thus giving to her family every opportunity of fair play. The chief of these were Mr. Appleyard, her halt-brother, and Arthur Robsart, her illegitimate brother. Appleyard was a Norfolk man, high sheriff of that county the next year. Mr. Norris and Sir Rich- ard Blount, both of well-known Berkshire families, were also there. The jurymen were all strangers to Dudley; but such was the jealousy towards court favorites, that there were some among them who would have been glad to connect him with the death if they could. Yet the ans~ver sent to him was that after/lie most search- ing inquiry they could make, they could find no presumption of evil dealing. Sir Thomas Blount himself asked in every direction, and declared he could not find or hear of anything to make him suspect that violence had been used by any per- son. Lord Robert then writes to desire that a second jury of substantial honest men should be summoned; and to them he sent this message: To deal earnestly, carefully, and truly, and to find as they shall see it fall out. And if it fall out a chance or misfortune, so to find, and if it appear villainy (as God forbid so mis- chievous or wicked body should live) then to find it so, and~God willing, I shall never feare the due prosecution accordingly, what person soever it may appear any way to touch: as well for the just punishment of the act as for myne own trewe justification: for as I would be sorry in my heart any such evil should be com- mitted, so shall it well appear to the world my innocency. Here, before proceedino~ two o remarks. b r three i. if he had really in any way encour- aged, or connived at, a violent death, it is next to impossible that he could have faced the ordeal of inquiry in such a tone as this. 2. These letters, which passed between Dudley and Blount at the very moment, annihilate some of the common false- hoods. For example (i) Verney and Forster (neither of whom is mentioned in the letters as being near the place) are said in the slanderous narrative ( Leices- ters Commonwealth ) to have sent away all the servants. It was Lady Dudleys own doing, and a very strange thing in- deed for her to do. (2) The narrative says that the body was hastily buried, and that her father, Sir John Robsart, ordered it to be exhumed for the coroner. Amyes body ~vas not buried, for the inquest was already sitting when Sir Thomas Blount arrived at Cumnor; and instead of the matter being hastily smuggled through, it was most closely inquired into, in the presence of all the ladys own friends and relatives that could be got together, un- der no restraint from the presence of Dudley himself. Nor could her father Sir John Robsart have given any order, for he had himself died several years before, viz. in A.D. 1553. 3. Though (as observed in the earlier part of this paper) the evidence found at Longleat does not clear up the whole mystery, still its tendency is to give a new complexion to many of the circumstances. It certainly does not present any traces of estrangement between Dudley and his wife, or of dark arrangements for putting her out of the way. Mrs. Pinto, the ladys maid, ~vas satis- fied that the death of her mistress was a pure accident, neither done by man nor herself. The jury could find no pre- sumption of evil dealino~ The late Mr. Pettigrew, who wrote very carefully upon the subject, accepted the verdict of the jury, but adds: There are at the same time some circumstances that lead to a suspicion that it might have been her own AMYE ROBSART. 77 a~ct. The strange stories which Sir thomas Blount heard from the ladys maid, Amyes prayers to be delivered from desperation, and the sending all servants out of the house for the day, for them to find her dead when they returned these circumstances led Mr. Pettigrew to think that possil~ly she might for some time have been laboring under mental in- firmity, and that care and seclusion in the house of friends with female companions about her, may have been desirable, in- stead of her appearing about the court, where her conduct might have excited remark, and have been inconvenient. It may be added that the prevailing whisper- ings and slanders about the queens only waiting for her death, and that treachery was on foot, had reached her; and it is not difficult to believe that continual sus- picion of being marked may have had a depressing effect and have led her to de- stroy herself. However, after a prolonged inquiry, the jury found it mere accident. For Dudley it was a very untoward acci- dent; and that it should just happen when everybody was saying that something would happen, was undoubtedly one of those very extraordinary coincidences which it is not easy to explain to public satisfaction. She was buried by Dudley in St. Marys Church, Oxford, with great expense and magnificence, a number of ladies attending as mourners, followed by the University dignitaries, and Dudleys friends, some of them of the Privy Coun- cil. The expenses of the funeral are mentioned in one of the account-books at Longleat. The exact site of the vault had been forgotten, but it has lately been as- certained and an inscription ordered to be cut upon the top step of the three steps rising into the chancel. Another feature in this case favorable to Dudley is, that distinguished men of the day who were familiar with him har- bored no suspicion of unkind feelings on his part towards the wife of his youth: among them particularly, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, ambassador at Paris, of a party wholly opposed to Dudley in reli- gion, being a Roman Catholic; also Sir Henry Sydney, father of the famous Philip. Sir Henry told the Spanish am- bassador that the death he was quite sure was accidental. He had examined into the circumstances with the greatest scruple, and could discover nothing like foul play, however the public mind was possessed with the opposite opinion. This evidence comes from official Eliza- bethan correspondei~ce, discovered among the archives at Simancas, in Spain; and it is corroborated by evidence at Longleat, not less valuable because non-gfflcial. A common letter about sending venison pasties, and apologizing for the possibly bad baking of them, is hardly a document in which one would have expected to find anything to help in forming an opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the husband of Amye Robsart. The letter was written to Robert Dudley by Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntingdon, his brother-in-law. He was one of a few of blood royal who were in turn named for the succession to the crown in case of Elizabeths death, being a candidate of the house of York, descended (through the Pole family) from George, Duke of Clarence, brother of King Richard the Third, not, as it would appear, being himself ambitious of the honor, but the nominee of a certain politi- cal party. Lord Huntingdons letter was written from the town of Leicester on the 17th of September, 1560, nine days after the death of Amye, and the news reached him whilst he was writing it. He then added a postscript. Henry Hastings, Earl of Huntin~don, to Lord Robert Dudley. My very good Lord. After my most harty commendations. Although I am sure you are not without plenty of Red deer, yet I am bold to send you half a dozen pies of a stag which was bred in the little garden at Ashby (de Ia Z~ouche). I would be glad to understand how the baking doth like you, for I am in some doubt my Cook hath not done his part, but you must pardon this fault, and it shall be amended: for if you love to eat of a stag, I will have one ready for you any time (I trust) this winter. It shall be as fat as any forest doth yield & within 4 days warning he shall be sent to you. Thus my good lord and brother I take my leave, wishing to you in all things as to myself. From Leicester the 17 of Sept. Your assured brother to the end H. HUNTYNGDON. As I ended my Letter, I understood by Letters the death of my Lady your wyfe. I doute not but long before this tyme you have considered what a happy hour it is, which bringeth man from sorrow to joy, from mortality to immor- tality, from care and trouble to rest and quiet- ness: & that the Lord above worketh all for the best to them that love him well. I will leave my babbling, & bid the buzzard cease to teach the falcon to fly: & - so end my rude postscrz~. To my very good Lord & Brother, the Lord Robert Dudley. On this letter one remark may be made. It is a fair instance of the value of private andfamiliar documents. Official papers 78 AMYE ROBSART. are always got up with a certain formality of preparation, to meet the public eye, or for a purpose. Here is a simple private letter of the very time, naturally written, on an ordinary subject, not likely to meet any other eye than that of the person written to, and therefore most unlikely to contain any fictitious or misleading senti- ment. Being merely a friendly message about such every-day matters as pies and a cook, it suddenly turns off, on the re- ceipt of serious news, to a tone which would have simply been a piece of sicken- ing hypocrisy, if the writer had ever had the faintest inkling of ill-will or ill-conduct on the part of Dudley towards his wife. If any such feeling had existed, it must have been well known to his own brother- in-law. There would be, if we could only re- cover it, conclusive evidence upon this mysterious story, in the written deposi- tions taken at the coroners inquest, and the full statements of all who were exam- ined. But nothing has hitherto been found in any depository of records in the county of Berks. There remains now only one more item of evidence in Dudleys favor, found (also quite accidentally) among the old letters at Longleat. It is a very important one as bearing upon this story; and it is also another curious instance of the value of secret history. One of our living historians has taken much trouble in dealing with Dudleys case. He has had the benefit of much correspondence and other matters newly brought to light; both among our own records and those of Spain. He has carefully ~veighed and sifted all this, and though Lord Robert is apparently not one of his favorites, still upon this particular question Mr. Froude is, upon the whole, inclined to acquit him personally. But there is one particular document which has yet to be explained before the acquit- tal is quite satisfactory. This is in the large collection of papers at Hatfield. It appears to Mr. Froude (if not explained) to show that Dudley was not so zealous as he seemed to be, that his unhappy wife was indeed murdered, and that with proper exertion the guilty persons might have been discovered. The Hatfield document refers to Mr. John Appleyard, half-brother to Amye Robsart, one of the relatives whom Dud- ley insisted on bringing to Cumnor to watch the proceedings at the coroners inquest. In 1567, seven years after Amyes death, the question of Dudleys marriage with the queen had been again brought forward into public discussion. Of course it ex- cited the vigilant jealousy of some, the religious or political opposition of others. The old suspicions about Amyes death were not forgotten. The substance of the Hatfield document is that it had been reported to Cecil (in 1567) that John Ap- pleyard had been heard, some time before, in a moment of irritation, to let fall words to this effect: that he (Appleyard) had not been satisfied with the verdict of the jury at her death ; but that, for the sake of Dudley, he had covered the murder of his sister. Upon this being reported to Cecil, it became imperative to have the matter inquired into: so Cecil orders Appleyards attendance, and requires him to explain, very precisely, what he had meant by those words. Appleyard ex- plained away his words in this manner: that though he would not exactly say Dudley was himself guilty, yet he (Apple- yard) had thought it would be no difficult matter to find out who the guilty parties were. That is the substance of the only re- maining paper upon which Mr. Froude appears to suspend his judgment. He says: If Appleyard spoke the truth, there is no more to be said. The conclu- sion seems inevitable, that though Dud- ley was innocent of direct influence, the unhappy lady was sacrificed to his ambi- tion, and was made away with by persons who hoped to profit by Dudleys elevation to the throne. But there is another document, acci- dentally found at Longleat, ~vhich shows that Appleyard was not much to be de- pended on, and that he had second thoughts about the language he had used. This is a letter, telling the news of the day in the most inczrt~ficial manner: just like that of the Earl of Huntingdons be- fore mentioned, which began about ven- ison pasties, and ended with condolence on the news just come of the death of the wife. It is from Sir Henry Nevill to Sir John Thynne, the builder of Longleat House. Sir Henry Nevill was a Berk- shire gentleman, a friend of Sir John Thynne, writing to him from London about family news and the events of the day. Sir Henry Nevill to Sir John Thynne. (1567, June 9.) After my herty comendacyons unte yowe & my Lady, & the lyke from awll our wemen who. I thanke God are awlI in helthe. I hay so rare messengers that I may trust that I dare AMYE ROBSART. 79 not ventewr no letters of any importance. Now, havyng Ludlo, I wyll send you seche as here are currant. On Fryday in the Star- Chamber was Apylyeard brought forth, who showed himself a malytyous beast, for he dyd confesse he accusyd my Lord of Lecyster only of ma/yes: & that he hath byn ahout yt thes 3 years, & now, bycausse he cold not go thoroghe ~vith his bysens [business] to promot, he fell in this rage ageynst my lord & wold hay acusid hym of 3 thynges: i. of hyllyng his wlf 2. of sending the Lord Derhy in to Scotland. 3. for letting the quen from maryedge. He cravyd of pardon for awIl thes tbyngs . . . My lord keeper answeryd that . . . in King Henry 7th dayes, there was one lost his ears for slawnder- ing the Cheff Justyce: so as I thinke his end wyl bethe pillyry. [The letter then continues with other miscellaneous matter.] John Appleyards grievance against Dudley (as stated in the letter) was that Dudley had not promoted Appleyards business in some way, but for three years had neglected him ; ~vhereupon Appleyard turned against Dudley and did all he could to revive the slander about the murder of the wife. What the particular business was that Appleyard had expected Dudley to promote, can- not be stated for certain, but it was per- haps this. In another original letter at Longleat, so far back as the i8th of Au- gust, i~6o (the year of Amyes death), Sir Thomas Gresham writes to Lord Robert, requesting him to use his influence in ob- taining for John Appleyard the lordship of Wyndham, Co. Norfolk, for his better maintenance in the service of her Majesty in those parts. Probably Dudley had not done all he could to help his kinsman, and it is not unlikely that this ~vas the dis- appointment that had exasperated Apple- yard, and had caused him to let fall his evil speeches. However, be the provoca- tion what it might, 7ohn A~pleyard had not spoken the truth. At least, he con- fessed in the Star Chamber that he had been a liar; and Sir Henry Neville and the lord keeper clearly had no doubt about it. Such are the few particulars, hitherto wholly unknown, supplied by the Long- leat papers, on the question of Dudleys guilt or innocence in the case of Amye Robsart. They were gleaned one by one at intervals, and after patient scrutiny of a very large mass of faded and difficult handwriting. The documents and letters in whichthey occur are original, contem- porary, and altogether inartificial. With- out any wish to draw forced conclusions from them, but only to weigh their fair bearing upon this celebrated case, they may perhaps be considered sufficient to establish so much as this: viz., that whereas little or nothing had hitherto been known about the married life of Dudley and Amye, it is collected from these documents that she was never un- kindly treated by him. If she was weak and strange in her mind and an unfit companion for him at court and in soci- ety, she was at all events not put away into a lonely house, but lived with friends, and had abundant means supplied for all comforts. Opinions as to the cause of her death will still continue to be divided. Some, struck by the remarkable cir- cumstance of her ordering all her own servants away from the house on the morning of the day on which she was found dead by them on their return, and connecting this with the great probability of rumors of intended mischief having reached her ear and affected her spirits (as appears from the prayers to be de- livered from desperation mentioned by her maid), may think that she destroyed herself. Those who hold to the belief that she was certainly murdered, may at all events be willing to allow that the husband of hpr youth was, with all his faults, not such a monster as to dictate the murder, but that it was the act of officious parti- sans speculating upon some benefit to themselves through Dudleys elevation. Some may agree with Mrs. Pinto, the ladys maid, and the jury, that there was no violence, but chance: a very misfor- tune. She was found lying on the hall floor. Had there been any violence, such as strangling, suffocation, or the dagger, some marks must have been visible on her person or features. The jury must have seen these; but they found none. A murder of any kind could hardly have been committed in a house in the middle of the day without some ones attention being attracted by screams or other dis- turbance. There were three ladies, Mrs. Owen, Mrs. Forster, and Mrs. Odingsell, besides their servants, in some part of the house, yet they could give no account. A fainting-fit may have produced a fall, or a fall have produced a fit. People die in a moment from spasms of the heart, or, from various causes, are found dead in their chair or bed, without any suspicion of murder. Suggestions of this sort may perhaps be received with impatience by readers who have long since made up their minds; but those who care for truth and justice will weigh all that is to be said on 8o THE FRERES. more sides than One. Whatever the im- mediate cause of Amye Robsarts death may really have been, it is certain that the eye and ear of the public are contin- ually refreshed with much that is known to be untrue in the details, whilst the chief scandal itself has never yet been proved to be true in the main. For by what evidence was it ever proved to be a murder? Against her husband we all kno~v there were many other accusations ~vhich ~vere never substantiated. That he was personally responsible for the death of Amye Robsart, the evidence has yet to be produced.* J. E. JACKSON. * All the documents discovered at Longleat to which reference is made in this article are printed in ertenso in the Wiltshire A rcheeological and Natural History Magazine, No. 49. Bull, Devizes. From Temple Bar. THE FRERES. BY MRS. ALEXANDER, AUTHOR OF THE WOOING 0 T. CHAPTER XLIV. OF all the party, Mab was the least moved by the tragedy of Lady Elton~s death. She had formed no particular at- tachment to her sisters friend, of whom, to say the truth, she stood some~vhat in awe, as of an inexorable fate, exacting painful sacrifices in the way of frequent hand-washing and hair-brushing. St ill, she was grave and sorry when Grace told her of the event, and much moved by the rare sight of her sisters tears. Her arms were around Graces neck directly, and she fondled her tenderly, as though an- other and utterly different nature were developed in her by the touch of grief. Of course, she plied both mother and sister with a continuous stream of most difficult questions as to the cause of Lady Eltons death; of deaths in general; as to which side of the table the cork dropped out of the bottle of chloroform; as to the l)robable conduct and opinions of Luigi on the occasion. Was Lady Elton quite dead upon earth? Well, then, what was the real Lady Elton who was inside of her doing now? Could she see them? for peol)le did come back sometimes. There was their great-great-grandfather, Randal de Burgh, who was shot by DArchyof Connemaralze used to walk by the shore on stormy nights! Nurses son saw him twice. And then, in a tone of calm consideration, I dont think I should be frightened if I saw Lady Elton in her own clothes; but I should if she came in a sheet! I wish, Mab, you would not talk in such a dreadfully irreverent manner, said Mrs. Frere, with much displeasure; re- peating nurses ridiculous stories at such a time. She did not mean any disrespect, mother! suggested Grace. No~v, Mab dear, run away to school. Why, must I go to school? My black frock is not ready. Had I not better stay at home, mammy? No; certainly not! cried Grace, shrinking from the notion of a whole day of cross-examination. Mother and I are going to be very busy; and you will be much happier at school. I do not think so, returned Mab. And the entente cordiale between the sisters seemed for a moment in danger of interruption. The entrance of Balfour, however, changed Mabs views. He called thus early to ask if the mornings post had brought any further intelligence; but Mrs Frere had been much disappointed by not receiving any letters. Balfour, seeing Mab in an insurrection- ary attitude, proposed escorting her to school, as she was already late, an offer immediately accepted, with the ulterior view of inducing him to take her round the town, and to a particular chocolate- shop. Though most bureaucratic matters are ~vell and regularly ordered in imperial Germany, occasional variations occur, and erratic letters which should have been de- livered in the morning, appear at an hour when they are not expected. Grace was busy writing to Jimmy Byrne, and Mrs. Frere was doing some nondescript, use- less crochet-work, in an intermittent way, wondering and supposing at inter- vals, in a way that indicated the nervous expectancy of her thoughts, wh enMab returned from school. I never, never knew Maurice so un- kind! she exclaimed, with a pout; he made me go just straight to school. And I was late, after all, so I had to wait an hour in the garden. But Th6r~se von Bistram was there, too, and a beautiful heap of sand and gravel; so we built a fort, and scattered a good deal about. And the Hausmann, he was in a rage! What is that in your hand, Mab? asked Grace. Oh! it is a letter; the postman gave it to me on the stair. I think it is for you, Grace. THE FRERES. I seem to know the writing, and yet I do not! said Grace, examining the stiffly written address Miss Frere, Zittau. Goodness gracious! cried the n?oth- er, rising and reading it over her shoulder; it is from your uncle Frere. Open it at once. Grace obeyed, not heeding a slip of paper which fell from it. My DEAR NIEcE, ran the epistle, You have most probably seen in the public prints an account of the lamentable accident which has caused the death of Lady Elton. Her attendants telegraphed for my son, who is the deceaseds ex- ecutor, and he started at once for Paris. Previous to his departure, he informed me, somewhat, I confess, to my surprise, that my late sister-in-law had made you her sole heir, by a will executed shortly before leaving England for Germany, in April last. In a letter from Max, received this morning, he begs of me to communi- cate with you at once, and request you to return to London as soon as convenient. There ~~ill be much to arrange, which may be greatly facilitated by your presence here. You must allow me to act as your banker for the present; I inclose, tlere- fore, a check for fifty pounds, to meet immediate expenses. Neither Max nor myself know much of the late Lady El- tons affairs; but there is no doubt she has left considerable property. I offer you my best congratulations on your good fortune, and sincerely hope that the re- sponsibility of wealth may bring prudence in its use. Let me know if I shall engage rooms for you at the Langham. With best remembrances to Mrs. Frere, who ~vill, of course, accompany you to London, I am yours very truly, RICHARD FRERE. Miss FRERE, Zi//au, Sazony. Grace ceased reading, and was quite silent, as if stunned or awed. But Mrs. Frere, with an hysterical sob, threw her arms round her. My own darling, you will have your proper position, in spite of them all! But I wish she had not forgotten Randal. Dear mother, it is more than I can believe, said Grace, in a subdued tone. All to me! Ah, she loved me ~vell. If I could but have seen her once more! Why, Grace! cried Mab, who had been an unheeded listener, are you to have everything ? that beautiful draw- ing-roo in, and Luigi, and the gold chate- lame that Lady Elton wore, with all the LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXVIII. 1930 pretty little things hanging to it? And we are to go to London! I shall sit in the balcony all day long. Grace, dear, said Mrs. Frere, you do not seem rejoiced you are trem- blino Grace was silent. It is most wonderful. I did think she might have left you a legacy, but every/lung! it takes away my breath! And, you see, your uncle talks of the responsibility of wealth. If lie talks of wealth, what a quantity of money she must have left! I trust heaven will direct you in the disposal of it. Oh, how delicious it will be to pay Max the last farthing, and return dear Jimmys loan, and make him happy and comfortable! cried Grace, waking out of her surprise and awe to the glorious real- ity of heirship. And Randal might leave that prig- gish Sir Alexander At~vell, and travel on his own accountperhaps with a secre- tary of his own, added Mrs. Frere. We may have a resident governess, too, for Mab; it would be such a comfort. And, Grace, dear, how soon do you think we can be ready to leave Zittau? Ah, I shall be sorry to leave dear Zittau. How tranquil and comfortable it has been, and every one is so kind! And dear Uncle Costello, and dearest Frieda! Oh, pray God we may find as much good as we leave behind! cried Grace, the strange a~ve and trouble ~vhich oppressed her finding natural relief in tears. My own love, I do not wonder at your feeling upset by such overwhelming news, said Mrs. Frere sympathetically. I will get you a glass of wine, and then we must see what is to be done. First, we must have a little fresh mourning; and there is no such thing as crape to be had here I will come back directly, mother, returned Grace, rising. I feel as if I must be quite quiet for a few minutes, and she left the room, unable either to suppress or explain the real source of her agitation. How would Maurice Balfour take these strange tidings? Would he fly from her? Would he seek her? She dreaded the effect they might produce on her fate her happiness. But this passed over. It is not possible to buoyant youth to dis. trust itself and high fortune; and soon Grace rose above the first tremulous fears and doubts induced by her uncles start- ling letter, and soared into the regions of bright anticipations and imaginative schemes. 82 THE FRERES. At this point of her meditations, a sud- den clatter and hubbub of voices from the adjoining salon told her that the Dalbers- dorf party had arrived, even had Mab not burst into the room to announce that Un- cle Costello and Cousin Alvsleben, Ger- trud and Frieda, were all there. Grace saw directly on entering that the great news had not yet been communi- cated. Mrs. Frere was sitting on the sofa, Frau Alvsleben beside her, holding one hand, while the count had drawn a chair in front of her, and taken the other; Gertrud and Frieda standing a little back, their handkerchiefs at their eyes. Count Costello looked truly and unaf- fectedly grieved. Du lieber Himmel ! Frau Alvsleben was saying, what a misfortune! The dear and gracious lady! She was so pleased with our home and life, sighed Gertrud. Never to see her more, said Frieda. Acruel loss, put in the count. Irreparable, returned Mrs. Frere, re- leasing her hand from Frau Alvsleben to press her handkerchief to her eyes. And to know how she loved my Grace, and thought of her. We have but just now received the announcement from my brother-in-law, Mr. Frere, that she has bequeathed the whole of her large fortune to my dear child! Grace felt strangely ashamed at this pompous declaration. A sort of dread lest her mother was unwisely exaggerat- ing made her lower her eyes as she ad- vanced, saying, We do not know if it is really very large, dear mother. But the thunderbolt had fallen and the German cousins were in a flutter of ex- citement. Potztausend! cried the count she deserves every thaler of it. Gott in Himmel ! screamed Frau Alvsleben, after a pause of astonishment to take in the immense idea. All, didst thou say, best of cousins? she added, her high tones slightly tempered with awe. Why, Gracechen, thou art a mil- lionaire a princess of ~vealth ! And what will Wolff and Rudolph say? continued Frieda and Gertrud. My child, God bless you and help you, and send you a wise, kind partner to share your life, said the good old count. And Grace, inexpressibly touched by his tone, threw her arms round his neck, and wept silently on his shoulder; Cousin Alvsleben, Frieda and Gertrud using their handkerchiefs freely, and ejaculating: Man kanns nicht glauben! Wun- derbar! Es geht mir ans Herz ! SolIst dich freuen! Well! said Frau Alvsleben at length, pocketing her handkerchief, what is next to be done? We cannot hope to keep you in our little Zittau. Alas, no! cried Frieda; your gain is our loss. What shall we do without you? cried Gertrud, a sort of joyous warmth in her voice not often to be perceived in its tones. Oh, you must come and see us! ex- claimed Mrs. Frere, with affectionate earnestness. I am sure it will give Grace the greatest delight to welcome such kind relatives and friends, as you have proved yourselves, to her house. Ah! and dear Cousin Alvsleben, such a house ! full of the most lovely objects of art, pictures, china everything you can think of! Indeed, it is very kind of my brother-in-law to be so friendly and help- ful, when all these valuables are to go to Grace instead of his son. It would have been such a charming rn~nage for a young man about to marry and I suppose Max will marry. Perhaps he may marry and keep all the beautiful things still ! said Frau Alvsleben, with a significant look at Grace It was this Mr. Max Frere who was coming to pay you a visit, nic/it wa/zr? Oh! you are quite mistaken noth- ing of the kind, returned Mrs. Frere, interrupting her kinswomans look ~vith the most frank unconcern. Max was like a son and a brother in our house. Nevertheless this great inheritance will make a difference in his views and wishes; though no doubt you will now expect a nobleman for Grace. Who, I suppose, is to have no choice in the matter, put in the young lady her- self, with a slight smile, though her face was still sad. She had drawn a chair be. side the count, and passing her arm through his, leaned her head against his shoulder, her attitude and aspect more suggestive of despondency than the ex- ultation natural to a newly-made heiress. Tell me, then, my best of cousins,~~ resumed Frau Alvsleben, how rich was our dear, lost friend? How many thou- sand thalers had she? I never know your pounds and shillings I do not know myself, but I suppose she must have had at least forty or fifty thousand pounds, to live as she did. How much is that in tha lers, Uncle Costello ? THE FRERES. 83 Oh! about three hundred and fifty thousand, said the count, after murmur- ing over a rapid calculation. Du lieber Gott! cried Frau Alvsle- ben; it is a mine of wealth! I wish, my Gracechen, you would wed some good Saxon; there is many a But the door opening to admit Balfour, interrupted her. He stopped short on seeing the group formed by the count and Grace, and then advancing, exclaimed quickly, No more bad news, I hope? Bad news! screamed Cousin Alvs- leben and her two daughters. No, indeed! Come, congratulate our dear Grace; for she is the heir of all Lady Eltons wealth every thaler three hundred and fifty thousand! Think of that ! Balfour stood a moment quite still, as if stunned, repeating in a mechanical way, What, all all - Grace started up, and coming to him, put her hand in his. Oh, Maurice! she said, I cannot believe it it almost frightens me. An agreeable kind of fright, I imag. me, returned Maurice, with rather a con- strained smile, while he pressed her hand almost painfully. Grace was silent a little repelled by this unsympathetic answer, and returned to her seat by the count. Here is my brother-in-laws letter, uncle, if you would like to look at it, and then give it to Maurice.~~ The count drew out his glasses and perused the document with much atten- tion, and then passed it on to Balfour, ob- serving, No mistake about that, faith! I con- gratul ate you, me darlino~ Balfour read and folded up the epistle in silence, which, amid the general clatter, was not noticed by any one save Grace, who, ~vatching him shyly, under her drooped lashes, heard the general con- versation as in a dream. Mrs. Frere was mildly magnificent, though too well-bred and kind of heart to be boastful; but she was unbounded in her proffers of hospitality when Grace should be established in her to~vn house. She looked forward with pleasure to in- troducing her relatives to the circle which would naturally gather round Grace. She only regretted their dear old friend Mau- rice Balfour was going away so soon and so far; otherwise, he well knew he would be a favored guest. Perhaps, indeed, they might be travelling together, for they must get away as soon as possible. I fear I must leave before you can possibly be ready, returned Balfour, looking down and speaking gravely. How! Going too! Ach, we shall be quite deserted! from the Dal- bersdorf ladies; while Grace looking up quickly exclaimed, But I thought you were not obliged to go immediately, Maurice? I have been re-reading Darnells let- ter, and I believe it would be wiser of me to go at once, he replied, still looking down. Oh, pray do come with us! cried Mrs. Frere. It is so nice to have a gentleman to travel with. Grace kept silence. I should of course be most happy to be your escort, said Balfour, rousing him- self with a sort of effort, and possibly I may; it depends on what the post brings. And, my friends, cried Frau Alvsle- ben, come out all of you and take the evening meal with us at Dalbersdorf, and drive back in the moonlight. The day is too far spent to do much, save to answer your letters; and you will be too busy to do more than take a peep at us after. What do you say, Grace? asked Mrs. Frere. I think it ~vould be very nice; and, as Cousin Alvsleben says, we will have scarce time to do more than pay a hurried visit, imagine what a quantity we will have to do, for we must try to leave in a week. Grace said, Oh, let us go, by all means. But why trouble to pack up every- thing? Just go and leave all; you surely can come back again! You do not leave us forever? 1 hope not indeed! cried Grace, warmly. Soon after this the count and his daugh- ter departed in one direction, while Ger- trud and Frieda went to do some shopping in the other; Balfour, somewhat to Graces surprise, offering to escort them, alleging that Mrs. Frere and Grace would like to be left to write their letters in peace. No sooner were mother and daughter alone, than Grace, turning with muTh ani- mation to Mrs. Frere, exclaimed, Mother dear, let us arrange what we are to do at once. I am more anxious than I can tell you to be in London, to settle everything, and know how things really are. Do not think me contradic- tory, but I cannot help feeling that Lady 84 THE FRERES. Elton has not such a quantity of money as Uncle Frere thinks. It will be riches to us, no doubt, whatever she has left; but do not, dear do not expect too much. Will you write to Jimmy Byrne, while I answer Uncle Frere? I will tell him we shall start for London on let me see, this is Thursday on Wednesday next. Oh, Gracey, we shall never manage it. We must try, dear mother. The memory of thatday, its oppressive, painful bewilderment, remained long with Grace. Her happy, joyous anticipations of the freedom wealth confers, of the ben- efits to Mab and Randal, the comfort and repose for her dear mother ~vhich it would now be in her power to besto~v were shadowed by a conviction which pressed upon her with a vague, formless, yet irre- sistible ~veight, that this sudden accession of ~vealth had raised an insurmountable barrier between Maurice and herself. Whatever belief bad arisen in her heart that he loved her with more than a broth- ers love, he would never tell her now. She would scarce wish it. She felt that, in his place, she would not make a first declaration directly the object of her affections had inherited a large fortune; and so must she lose him? Yes; un- less some unforeseen combination of cir- cumstances occurred, she must let him drift away, without stretching forth a hand to stay him. Then she knew how far above rubies, above the highest fortune, was the love, the companionship of Mau- rice Balfour; and yet, through this noble gift of her lost friend, she might, probably would, lose him. The Abend-brod at Dalbersdorf was a repetition of many other evenings some additional health-drinking and glass-clink- ingwarm, hearty, loudly expressed re- joicing in her good fortune. Count Cos- tello, elated and eloquent; Cousin Alvs- leben, Gertrud, and Frieda, loud in conjectures and suggestions; a proud smile of perfect content on the mothers beloved face; scarcely concealed curiosity on the Verwalters part; and an evident struggle, evident to Grace, on Balfours to be lively and agreeable. It was surprising what a charm all the homely, familiar details of supper, the evening routine, the aspect of the house and its simple surroundings, possessed that night for Grace. There she had first risen from the depression which had wrapped her in a gray mist from the day she left Dungar; there she had met with tenderness and sympathy; there she h~d contrived to secure the pleasant, peaceful home which had restored her mother to tranquillity and content. After supper, which had been rather early, Mab, who of course was of the party, begged Frieda to go to the Elfin- weise, and all, save the count and Cousin Alvsleben, agreed to the suggestion. It wasa delicious evening in early June. The fields were fresh and fragrant; the young larches, sycamores, and beeches tenderly green against the sombre pines; the ground beneath the trees richly clothed with an endless variety of leaves and blossoms; the soft evening air trill- ing with occasional strains of s~veetest song from its feathered denizens. Mrs. Frere took Gertruds arm. The Ver~val- ter and Mab gathered wild-flowers; and Grace walked between Frieda and Mau- rice she was very still and silent. At the spring they halted; and Frieda proposed they should climb a small, rocky eminence, at a short distance off, from which a good view of the sunset could be had. And then a change of front occurred Grace at length finding herself alone ~vith Balfour. She had lingered a moment by the ~vell, not quite unintentionally, and Balfour waited for her. How angry he must have been to have forgotten himself so completely! he exclaimed abruptly, as if out of his thoughts. Who what? asked Grace; then coloring, as the memory of their last in- terview in this place came back to her, she added: Yes, yes; I remember. It was strange ! But easy to be explained, returned Balfour. I am glad he, Falkenberg, is away just now, otherwise but I may do him injustice, and I cannot help pitying him. I do not think you need, Maurice: he is fanciful and and sentimental ; but But Grace, you do not know men. You cannot fathom what may cause the deepest sufferingsuffering that must not be shown, for which sympathy must not be asked. Why, Maurice? asked Grace, her heart beating fast, her pulse thrilling. XVhy not ask for sympathy unless in- deed for something you are ashamed of? Ah, I must not let myself talk senti- ment ! said Balfour, trying to rally. I hope life will now have little but sunshine for you. Suffering and mortification and such like disagrecables ought to have no place in your vocabulary. THE FRERES. 85 Ah, Maurice! cried Grace, with a sound as of tears in her voice, do you think that money can buy all I want? It is very, very little money can do for me. Yes; I dont think you care much about grandeur or riches now. But it seems to be your destiny to have both; they will influence you in spite of your- self, and change you. Not to my friends my old friends, dear Maurice, pleaded Grace, the tears starting to her eyes. You do not believe I would change towards you? She brought out the word ~vith a lingering sweetness that made it a caress. I believe there never was a truer, no- bler heart than yours, Grace ; and if we are not to meet again, you will rest in my memory as the dearest, best friend man was ever blest with. Whatever happens, remember that. He caught her hand and kissed it, mak- ing a movement as if to draw her to him, which he arrested by a supreme effort over himself, the result of that mastery of rea- son and consciencethe outcome in one direction of the complicated mechanism of modern training, which sometimes leads to the unwise suppression of natural im- pulse, ~vhen it is innocent and healthy. Had Balfour been less master of himself, his destiny and that of Grace might have been different. Not meet again! Why should we not? she asked, all quivering with fear and expectation. Ay, we may meet again; but never as we are now as friends, comrades, equals. There I cannot trust my own voice; I must remember what is due to you, and to myself. These last words were uttered in a low but resolute tone, as a sudden turn of the road brought them upon Mab and the Verwalter, ~vho were busy gathering some particular ferns which the former wished to take to England. The rest of the evening passed without any opportunity of private conversation. Balfour was some~vhat silent, but amiably complaisant, and parted with Mrs. Frere and her daughters at their own door, with a promise to let them know early the next morning what the post had brought forth. CHAPTER XLV. THE next day, Grace awoke with the same dull sense of impending evil ~vhich had haunted her since her uncles letter had brought tidings of great joy to Mrs. Frere; and yet they were tidings which, but for one consideration, would have charmed and elated her. Grace warmly appreciated all the pleasures and indulgences money could buy, and beyond, the more exquisite delight of sharing her prosperity ~vith those she loved; yet all this sunshine was clouded over by a dread, which was almost certainty, that high fortune brought her bitterest loss. She came forth from solitary musings in her own room, prepared to do battle with the difficulties of the day, and not to give up happiness without an effort to re- tain it. The warfare commenced on the thresh. hold of her chamber, where stood Mab in scanty garments, having sought her sister when but half dressed, to know if it was imperatively necessary for her to go to school that morning, because there was so much to do, and she had to pack her dolls and her dolls things. Oh, indeed, Mab, you must go to school! we could do nothing while you are in the house. Go like a good girl, and a day or two before we start you shall pack all your things yourselfyou shall in- deed; only let the mother and me get over the worst of the work first. You are a nasty, disagreeable, unkind thing! returned Mab, swinging herself round, and setting her back against the wall. I know mammy would have let me stay at home, for she said, Let us ask Grace about it; and it is all your fault. Mab, dear, dont worry; we have so much to do pray be reasonable! No, I will not, cried Mab resolutely. Why should I? I am never let to do anything I like not a single thing! Whether you are or not, Mab, you must go to school to-day and to-morrow and the next day, so there is no use in making a fuss about it. Go and put your clothes on; you ought to be ashamed of running about in your petticoat. Is my mother ready for her coffee ? I dont know. Well, I shall tell them all at school that I am going to live in a grand house in England. Tell them what you like; only, pray dress yourself. Grace ~vent away to get breakfast ready, and Mab retired ,growling, to her moth- ers room. Mrs. Frere was still in a state of ex- citement, and talked more than usual. She wanted to achieve herculean labors of packing and arrangement that very day, and thought Grace provokingly slow, be- cause she went, as soon as Mabwas gone, to the writing-table to make a memoran 86 THE FRERES. dum of what was to be done, and the peo- ple to be seen. We will get on much faster if we work methodically, she returned; and you, dear mother, will fidget yourself into a fever before we are ready to start, if you try to think of everything at once. She had just finished writing, and stood with the paper in her hand reading its contents to Mrs. Frere, ~vhen Balfour entered unannounced. He was very pale, and there was a stern, rigid look about his face, which struck Grace as a confirmation of her worst fears. Ah, Maurice! cried Mrs. Frere cheerfully. Well! said Grace, gazing at him almost with alarm. The post has brought me the sum- mons I expected, returned Balfour, in a somewhat husky voice; I must leave to-day. Grace dropped quietly into her chair, and kept her eyes fixed on the piece of paper which she twisted in her hands. That is too bad, said Mrs. Frere, cordially; I quite counted on you for an escort. Must you go, really? Is it imperative? You may as well sit down and tell us all about it. Balfour complied, throwing himself on the sofa near Mrs. Freres chair. I have had an official despatch this morning, and flndfrom it that I shall have more to do in London than I anticipated, and must not let my time run too short. It is an awful wrench, but the sooner it is over the better. He got up again, and walked to the window and back. \Vhen do you leave England? asked Grace, with a degree of composure that astonished herself. About the first week in July; it is not absolutely fixed some ten days hence. You know Darnells firm have chartered the ship, so it is at their orders. We may see you in London, then? said Grace; we shall start on Wednes. day. I trust we may meet, returned Bal- four, pausing opposite, and letting his eyes dwell on her ~vith inexpressible, wist- ful sadness; let us hope so let us be. lieve it is not quite good-bye. By heav- en, I cant say good-bye! Mrs. Frere, I will see Jimmy Byrne. Should I have sailed before you arrive, I will leave a let- ter for you with him. Do you know I must catch the twelve train; and it is now past eleven. Let me rob you of these, he said, turning hastily to the family pho- tograph-book, and extracting the l)ortraits of the mother and both daughters; you will give them to me, will you not, to keep me company in the bush? And, Mrs. Frere, should we not meet again, you will answer my letters if I write? Dont let me drift quite away from you again. Of course I will write to you, my dear boy, said Mrs. Frere kindly. We can never forget you; can we, Grace? l3ut it is not good-b~-e ! she exclaimed, with a sort ot despairing energy, while she wondered how she kept from crying aloud with anguish; we shall meet again in London. You will wait for us you will ~vait, Maurice? You know I dare not l)romise; but I do hope to see you again, and at any rate to hear of you. Dear Grace taking her hand I must not stay; I have left this visit to the last. But, poor l\Iab! cried Grace, her heart beating to suffocation, while she did not attempt to withdraw her hand, how grieved she will be not to have seen you! I have been to her school, and begged permission to give her a parting kiss. Poor little soul, she began to cry. Now, Mrs. Frere, letting Graces hand go, and turning to her, adieu I hope it is au revozr. Do not forget your promise.~, He took her hand, and the kind-hearted lady offered him her still fair cheek; en- couraged by which, Balfour bestowed a hearty hug upon her, then, again taking Graces hands, he kissed them more than once, and left the room without a word to her. Grace, pale and trembling, stood for a moment quite still, where he had left her; then, by a sudden impulse, she darted through the window to the balcony, and, down, watched Balfour as he issued forth into the street. He paused, and raised his eves to hersa look that never left her memorya look so full of love and sorrow that she could scarce keep in the cry, Come back to me, Mau- ricecome back ! But the force of custom, of pride, of timidity, was too strong for nature; and with a farewell wave of the hand, he passed on his way, and she saw him no more. I am really sorry for Maurice, he is so nice and gentle quite like another son to me. It is amazing he has not lost more of his gentlemanlike style, for his life seems to have been a strange one. I do hope we shall see him again before he leaves; dont you, Grace? But Grace was gone. THE FRERES. The days which intervened between this abrupt parting and their own journey were exceedingly like a nightmare dream to Grace. There was the same haunting sense of breathless hurry the same almost agonized dread of being too late the same desperate strain to find things, and arrange things, and accomplish im- possibilities, which are peculiar to the class of visions in which ones all depends on, say, being presented to some potentate ~vho is only waiting to be gracious and, bY no efforts of mind or magic can evoke a court dress. But the exertions and experiences of Grace Frere were more real and more successful. Largely helped by dear, kind Frieda, who quite devoted herself to the friends she was about to lose, Grace con- trived to be quite ready to start a day earlier than she hoped, in spite of cruel interruptions on the part of the high offi- cial ladies who persisted in paying cere- monious visits of condolence and con- gratulation combined. Mrs. Frere hun- gering after the flesh-pots of Egypt, which may be modernized into rooms at the Langham, and all that is implied by that expression was wonderfully active; and even Mab, relieved from her fears of be- ing again shut up in Miss Timbss lodg- ings, was less obstructive than Grace anticipated. In the midst of packing, paying, and leave-taking, came a letter from Max to Mrs. Frere, friendly and judicious in tone. Grace felt pleased with him for address- ing her mother instead of herself. After a few cordial words of congratulation, he went on, At present I am quite unable to say what amount of property Lady Elton has left. She appears to have been singu. larly reticent as regards her investments and business matters; and I have not yet had time even to attempt an examination of the mass of papers through which I must wade; some, I see, are only to be opened by Grace. By the time you ar- rive, I shall, I hope, have some more def- inite information. Let me have a line to say what day and hour you propose arriv- ing in London, and I will be at the station to meet you. The sooner you are here the better. Lady Eltons rooms are, you know, let to the end of next month, after ~vhich Grace will probably wish to reside there for the remainder of the unexpired term. Let me know if I can do anything for you; and believe me, etc., etc. How nice and sensible Max always is! said Mrs. Frere, with a sigh; I am sure it is very fortunate for us to have such an executor. Of course, Grace, you will reside in those charming rooms? The two small ones near the entrance would make a nice bed and sitting room for Randal, when he returns. XVhen do you think will our letters reach him? It is impossible to say; he may be moving about. Will you write at once to Max, mother? Yes, dear; but couldnt you write? I am going with Frieda to settle about the school, and pay those accounts. Very well, mother; then I can stay at home all day. As soon as Mrs. Frere and Frieda had departed, Grace sat down to ~vrite a few. hasty lines to her cousin, intending when they were despatched to devote herself to packing the personal effects which were to accompany them, as there remained but two more days before their departure. Her brief epistle was quickly finished, and she was in the act of giving it to Paulina, who was constantly in tears since the break-up of the little household had been announced, when the door-bell rang sharply. Ah, Paulina! I really cannot see another visitor; you must say I am very busy. Gewiss, meine Fr~ulein, replied the damsel, hastening to the door, and the next instant she called out: Ach, Gott! it is the Herr Baron, meine gn~dige Frau- lein! and before the words were well uttered, Falkenberg came in hastily, his sword clattering behind him, instead of being hung up in the corridor with his usual deliberate care. He looked fierce and sombre, and had almost an alarming aspect. Ach, du liebe, liebe Grace! he cried, throwing aside his cap and seizing her hand. What is this that I hear? thou art suddenly become rich rich beyond our dreams, and you leave us! How in- exorably cruel is destiny! He let her hand go, and threw himself on the sofa. Grace felt exceedingly un- comfortable and embarrassed. This is an unexpected visit, she said, trying to smile pleasantly; I thought we should have been obliged to leave without seeing you. Thought! returned Falkenberg, starting up, walking to the window and back, and again throwing himself on the sofa hoped, yuu had better say! You must know what my feelings must be at this most unexpected freak of fortune! To think that all my self-sacrifice has 88 THE FRERES. been in vain that if I had followed the impulse of my heart to win yours, all would have prospered with me; and now it is absolute frenzy to know that I have perhaps lost you! Falkenberg, who spoke in German, covered his face in his hands, while his chest heaved. Dont talk so foolishly, Wolff! you know it is wrong wicked, to speak like that. We have never been anything but friends, and never could have been any- thing else. According to your customs you are almost married to Gertrud, and it is an insult to make such speeches to me. If you intend to make a scene, I wish you would go away. But I am not married to Gertrud may never be married to her; and I have loved you and suffered (ach, Gott, what suffering!) for you, till I nearly hated you for the misery you caused meand you knew it. No woman could be near a man that loved her as I love, and not be con- scious of it. Hear me, best beloved! you were not quite indifferent to me when you rode so boldly to bring me help. If there is a chance that I might touch your heart, by heaven I will burst my bonds! You do not know the self-sacrificing devotion of German women, he went on hurriedly, suddenly changing his place to one be- side her, and catchino- h she struo-o-led to ~ er hand which withdraw. If Gertrud knew that a union with her would be fatal to my happiness, she could rise to heights of\vhich you do not dream! She would set me free, and then my head reels at the possibility of the bliss that You shall not go on, cried Grace, in- dignantly wrenching her hand from him. How dare you suppose, Baron Falken- berg, that even if I cared for you which indeed 1 do not I would consent to con- duct so base and dishonorable! I wish you would understand that I am not and never was in love with you. And though I did like you very well, I am compelled to despise you for talking such wicked nonsense! Go away, and recover your senses. You ought to be thankful to find a kind, true-hearted girl like Gertrud, will- ing to give you herself and all she has. Ay! returned Falkenberg, with cyn- ical effrontery; but I want you and all you have! You must know that what I feel for you is real passion, apart from every thought of wealth. Had I been rich enough to indulge my own wishes, do you think I would have hesitated about seeking you for my wife? You are a crea ture for whom I would commit a crime! and you are cold and unmoved hard as your nation ever is; but, pacing the room to and fro, I know the secret of your in- difference. Balfour! from the moment you first named his name, I felt he would be my rival my successful rival. There could be no rivalry between you, said Grace, with dignity; your position rendered, or ought to have ren- dered, rivalry impossible. I will seek out Balfour, continued Falkenberg, still pacing furiously to and fro. I will tell him that mine is a prior claim. I loved you from the first, while he, no doubt, from his intimacy with Lady Elton, knew of her intentions. You cannot seek him, returned Grace, coolly. He has left Zittau for London on his way to Australia, and probably we may not see him for years. Is this true? cried Falkenberg, stop- ping short and apparently much struck. You do not love him then, if you let him go! now when you could give him wealth as well as joy, you are not the woman to hold your hand, if you loved. But you are right, eyeing her closely; what could you know of his life for the long years passed out of your sight? How can you tell what entanglement may ham- per him what ties in distant lands may hold him, and account for his extraordi- nary self-control and coldness? Wolff, said Grace, in a voice low and concentrated, which yet seemed to touch and silence him, if in the intimacy which I suppose exists between men, Maurice l3alfour has confided to you more than he could or would tell us, do not betray him do not be a traitor to your friend as well as your fiwc6e. Maurice may not be wiser or more prudent than other men; but he is honest and true, and I will al- ways believe him worthy of esteem and regard, and And, interrupted Falkenberg, turn- ing white, while a gleam of hatred and anger shone in his eyes, you love him! my hint of his possible engagement marriage heaven kno~vs what, struck home; your face tells truth. But he has gone, and I have failed, ~vhile you are wretched ! Yes, I will leave you she had pointed to the door with a gesture of dismissal I will strive to conquer this madness; and the thought that you, too, have thrown away happiness, will be some help. You will not soon find another to love you as intensely as I do.. Adieu, Grace adieu. He flung out of the room, leaving her THE FRERES. 89 quivering with anger, with outraged feel- ing, and above all with a sharp terror lest the entanilement at which he hinted might be a fact of which he was cogni- zant. Still the dominant idea, to get away to London as soon as possible, had force enough to goad her into action again, and she was hard at work when her mother and Frieda returned. They had met Falkenberg, who told them he was obliged to go to the Caserne on regimental business, and feared he could not be at Dalbersdorf till next morning, when he would accompany Gertrud to pay a farewell visit to Mrs. Frere, for he had only forty-eight hours leave. At last, the trying week of haste and nervous eagerness was over, the last box strapped, the last flying visit to pleasant Dalbersdorf paid Grace feeling vexed with herself that the absorbing desire to be on the wing stifled the wish she would otherwise have had to take a more delib- erate farewell of the old house and its pic- turesque surroundings ;but there seemed no room for anything in her heart save the craving to reach London before Mau- rice left it: and if he bad hurried away sooner than she expect~ed, it would be strong presumptive evid~r*e that Falken- bergs insinuations were nO random shots. That gentleman had paid the promised visit in company with his Braut and mother-in-law elect, on which occasion he had been kindly courteous all that he ought to be yet tinged perceptibly (at least to Grace) with a degree of coldness and want of ease. Gertrud, however, was gay and even gushing; while Frau Alvsleben announced with evident satisfaction that the wedding was now fixed for the 1st or 2d of Au- gust, about six weeks off. And, meine Liebe! you must come back to be with us then, said Gertrud, putting her arm around Grace. Imagine a wedding at Dalbersdorf without you! and what is the cost of a journey to a mu- lionaire like you? Grace made a complaisant but evasive answer, and was infinitely relieved when both Braut and Brautigam departed. The real grief was to part from Uncle Costello. The kind old man, too, was greatly affected, and ardent were the promises exacted and given that he would come and visit them in England. Graces last look and wave of the hand, as they steamed slowly out of the station, were for him. CHAPTER XLVI. IT was a damp, heavy, drizzling day, when, after a journey only a shade less trying than her last, Grace and her charges arrived in London. Doubly wea- ried by the toil of travel, and the constant ebb and flow of hope and fear in the cur- rent of her thoughts, Grace never be- lieved she would be so pleased to see Max Frere as she ~vas on first catching sight of him among those persons who were awaiting the train. Welcome back to England, aunt, he said, pleasantly1 as he handed Mrs. Frere out of the carriage. Ah, Mab! why you have grown a great girl! Grace, you look very tired. Do you expect any one? for she looked round undisguis- edly, as if in search of something. Oh, no! Only I thought, perhaps, Jimmy Byrne might be here! I dont fancy he could get away in the morning; but I saw him yesterday, and lie will call upon you this evening. Now, let us see after your luggage. This was not difficult, as Mrs. Frere had left all the heavier part of her bag- gage to be sent vid Hamburg; and Max soon secured the services of a couple of porters, with the nonchalant command he generally exercised over his inferiors, while he gave his arm to Mrs. Frere and did not bestow too much attention to Grace, who was greatly moved at the sight of him, remembering how they had last met in the presence of the dear friend she should never see again; and Max seemed to understand her. How will you manage about the cabs? he said, as the porters had called up two. Mrs. Frere, you and Mab had better go together, and I will accompany Grace as far as the Mansion House. I am sorry to say I am too much engaged to go farther with you; but I shall see you this evening. Very well; and thank you, dear Max. Will you tell the man where to go the Langham? No; the Hyde Park Hotel. It is quieter, and close to us. 1 thought you would like it better. Follow, said Max to the driver, and stop at the corner of Kino William Street. He jumped in, and they were off Grace absolutely dizzy with anxiety and repressed feeling. If Maurice was in London, lie would have come to meet them; if he wa~ not Chaos was come again. And she must wait till Jimmy 90 THE FRERES. Byrne came before the terrible question could be solved. So absorbed was she that she scarcely felt the awkwardness of being alone with Max. She did not no- tice how intently, but guardedly, he watched her. She only thought of what that evening would bring forth. The roar of the mighty life-stream on ~vhich their vehicles was borne along chilled and appalled her; for to no one does the immensity of London seem so immense as to an inhabitant who has been absent long enough to get unaccus- tomed to it; and during her late visit Grace had scarcely seen the city. Then it was so awfully desolate to think that there was no Lady Elton to welcome and befriend her; only the dread of showing weakness before Max kept her from the relief of tears. That she was rich and independent she could not realize as she sat silently beside her cousin, neither able to hear the other, even had they tried to speak, so great was the roar of the human tide. At length, on reach- ing a short stretch of asphalt, Max ex- claimed, You look awfully cut up, Grace; what has been the matter? Oh, nothing; but I feel so keenly, on coming here, that I shall never see her more, as if I had no friend in this crrea fearful town. b But you have, said Max gently. My father and myself wish to be your best, as we are your nearest, friends. Ah! if Max had thought it worth while to have met her and spoken such words to her some fifteen months ago, how dif- ferent everything might have been I This idea flashed across her, but it ~vas of no importance now. You are very good, she returned; but no friend can ever be to me what she was. But you are not elated at the fortune that has fallen to your share? You seem more like a mourner than one who has in- herited well, a good property. I am very, very glad to have escaped poverty, I assure you, Max, though ~ve have really always been quite comforta- ble; but, then, it is well to be rich for others as well as for ones self. Perhaps so; but you must not be re- gardless of yourself. I am going to give you heaps of good advice. Come, Grace, will you have me for your friend and con- sulting counsel, if for nothing else? You see I am reads to accept xour terms. Thank you, Max; I shall be grateful for your help in many ways. Very good; I understand the compact. I am sorry to see you look so depressed, dear cousinY He took her hand and pressed it lightly, and then they got on rough pavement again. Would you like to get into your moth- ers cab? asked Max, as that vehicle stopped at the place indicated. No, thanks; I prefer being alone. I will be with you about nine; mean-. time, do rest yourself. You look terribly done up. He raised his hat, and pausing to say a word to Mrs. Frere, he passed out of sight into the ciowd. The long drive to the neighborhood of the Marble Arch was at once tedious and rapid to Grace: and she was thankful to escape from herself, though it ~vas by her own wish she had made the transit alone. This arrival in London was very dif- ferent from the last. So soon as they stopped at the door of the quiet, private hotel which Max had selected, forth came obsequious waiters to assist the ladies to alight,to carry the bags and packages, to pay the drivers with generous readiness, to wave the new-corners with reverential gestures into the interior, where stood the master or manager, bland, benign, white-chokered impressively respectful, enough to ~ inexperienced guests feel an awe of themselves. And then what dainty, comfortable bed- chambers, and what a cheerful sitting- room adjoining, with a pleasant peep of the Park. Mr. Freres butler was around here just now, maam, to know if you had ar- rived. If these rooms do not answer, in, there is a suite on the other side of the staircase _____ These ~vill do very ~vell, interrupted Mrs. Frere. What do you say, Grace are you satisfied? Yes, quite. And I am very hungry, suggested Mab. Of course, dear; pray let us have breakfast or luncheon as soon as you can.~~ Yes, in. Cold fowl and tongue, in cutlets or cold lamba little fruit? That will be nice, ejaculated Mab, who was enthralled by the view of the busy street beneath. Mother, said Grace, who, after in- specting their rooms, had stopped quite still in one of the windows gazing away into vacancy, I should like to send a note to Jimmy Byrne, to make sure of his coining this evening. You know how modest and unassuming he is, and if he THE FRERES. 9 thinks Max is to be here he will not come. Very well, dear, returned Mrs. Frere placidly, in the plenitude of her content she would have said Very well to almost any proposition I must say this seems a most comfortable house, and a very agreeable coming back. I dare say ~ve shall be better here than at the Langham. Are you too tired, my love, to go out after luncheon? because I am very anxious to get proper mourning, and see about securing a maid. You must have a maid, and indeed I should like a French bonne for Mab; perhaps they might rec- ommend us a nice maid here. Perhaps so, returned Grace vaguely. She had found her writing materials, and ~vas scribbling a few lines in haste to Jimmy; yet, though feverish with anxiety, she could not write the name which was perpetually sounding in her heart; but she knew that Jimmy would not answer without saying if Maurice Balfour had sailed or not perhaps he would enclose Balfours letter, if he had one. Ah what an if! The note signed, sealed, and des. patched, Grace escaped to the quiet of her own room to make the toilette so necessary after their night journey. After luncheon or breakfast, Mrs. Frere was gently persistent in her determination to have nice mournino~ but as Grace pleaded headache and extreme fatigue, she suggested going with Mab, observing that she was afraid of the crossings and she supposed they need not think of every penny now she would like to drive, and probably the best and most economical plan would be to have a brougham from the hotel. She therefore started cheerfully, leaving Grace to do battle alone. For a long time she sat with clasped hands, living over the past six weeks, recalling all the subtle indi- cations of regard and tenderness which Balfour had permitted to escape him; wondering, if he really cared for her, why he forsook her, yet half understanding it; wondering if it could be possible that Wolff von Falkenbergs cruel insinuations were true. At the moment they were first uttered, she rejected them as utterly false; but the curse of calumny is that it clings: though the insect cloud of insin- uation can be waved out of sight in an instant, it is but to gather and sting afresh. It was quite possible that in those four or five years of separation anything might have occurred. The best of men were at times weak or wild or stupid; and if Mau rice thought himself bound in honor to do anything, he ~vould do it at any risk. If he was hopelessly entangled she could but grieve for him and pray that he might outlive his trammels; but A knock at the door enter the waiter. If you please, in, the gentleman was out; but as soon as he returns he shall have the note. Thank you, said Grace mechanically. It was in vain then, her attempt to cur- tail her time of probation; she must ~vait and endure. So, with a sort of desperate resolution, she drew forth her ~vriting ma- terials, and indited a general epistle to Cousin Alvsleben. She felt ashamed of being so absorbed in her own selfish feel- ings. It was so weak, just what she would despise in Frieda dear, kind, simple Frieda. And so she battled with herself till Mrs. Frere returned, followed by the obsequious waiter laden with neat, small, light- brown paper parcels, and Mab looking radiant. It is quite a treat to do shopping here, said Mrs. Frere, untying her bon- net-strings, and sitting down on the sofa; they have such lovely things at Jays most tempting. But we have been very prudent, have we not, Mab? I ordered a black silk for myself, just trimmed with crape not too deep, you know, that would look affected. And I saw such a lovely costume, black silk grenadine, with crape and bugles, and a bonnet to match; the whole thing not quite fifteen guineas the very thing for you, Grace. I told the man to bring it up this evening for you to try on. You are really too indif- ferent to dress, my love and now you need not stint yourself. Do you know, I dare say the people here can tell us of a maid. Yes, mother dear; but before we do anything, let us hear what Max has to tell, and ascertain what we may really spend, returned Grace, looking through her letter, crossing her ts and dotting her is, and putting it into its envelope. You are always such a prudent puss, said Mrs. Frere complacently; you will hardly know how to conduct yourself as becomes an heiress. I quite long to see Max this evening. By-the-bye, had we not better order dinner, or a meat tea, or something? It is past five oclock; Mr. Byrne will not have dined. Yes, yes, dear mother. Ring the bell, Mab. Let us have tea after our old Al- bert Crescent style. I am afraid they will think us very shabby eh, dear? 92 THE FRERES. Oh, no; ladies are not expected to feast. I wonder, said Mrs. Frere, when the order had been given, and the ~vaiter dis- missed I wonder if Maurice Balfour is still in London? I should think he would hardly have started yet? Hardly so soon, said Grace with a sigh. If he has, Jimmy will have a let- ter for you. Oh, lie may have forgotten to write, in the hurry of departure. It was still early when Jimmy Byrne was ushered in, and he was received with the utmost warmth. Ah, Mrs. Frere, maam, I am proud and delighted to see you! Miss Grace, dear, sure there never was one would grace a fortune better or deserve it more than yourself! But you are not looking so well as I would wish. Well, Miss Mabel; why you are quite a young lady! And how glad we are to see you, Jim- my, cried Grace, holding his hand in both hers. Now that poor dear Lady Elton is gone, I feel more than ever that you are our only friend in London. Bedad, Miss Grace, you will find friends enough now; indeed, you always found them at your need, and no won- der Then, after exchanging a few sentences respecting the sudden turn of fortunes wh\eel, the sense of which scarce reached Graces comprehension, Jimmy broke out with, Oh, Mrs. Frere, maam, I quite forgot I have a letter here from your friend Mr. Balfour! Poor fellow, he sailed this afternoon. XVhere is it? rummaging one pocket after another. No, it isnt there. XVeII, now, its not often I do such a stupid thing, but in the flurry of coining out 1 have just left it shut up in my desk; but Ill post it for you, maam, the first thing to-morrow morning. Oh, thank you, that will do very well. I dare say it is just a word of good-bye; he told me lie would write. Ay, indeed; I declare he is an elegant young man, but greatly changed since I saw him before with Mr. Randal he was so white and downcast! Deed I doubt if its a healthy place over there in Germany. Miss Grace doesnt look like herself. What was the matter with Maurice Balfour? asked Grace, forcing herself to speak, and hearing her own voice as if it belonged to somebody else. Faith, I dont know! He used to come up to my place every evening, and sit there dead quiethe that was the height of good company; and I am sure he was always that kind. Before he went, he gave me an elegant pil)e and a lot of books new ones, faith ! Freeman s Essays and some of Maines works, just a treasure of reading; and made me promise to write to him. I cant tell you how kind and friendly he was. But he is gone! said Grace, and started at the despair in her own tones, wondering that the others too did not recognize in it the wail of expiring happi- ness. He is so, Miss Grace, returned Jim- my, stealing a curious, loving, uneasy glance at her from under his shaggy brows; and a capital appointment lie has got for a young fellow that has to ~vork his way. He will have to be there three or four years maybe settle alto- gether; yet I cannot help feeling sorry lie is gone. Then they sat down to tea. Mrs. Frere was livelyand hospitable; Mabin uproar- ious spir~ts; and Jimmy joyful over the good fortune of his adored young lady; while Grace, as usual, poured out, and said a few words from tinie to time to avert notice, while her brain seemed sud- denlyconverted into a mechanism incapa- ble of producing any other idea, any other form of words, except He is gone! And her heart seemed dying, dying hopeless! This afternoon, this very afternoon why it was possible they might have met that morning, had he willed it! She could have screamed aloud in her agony. And in another hour Max would be there; and she ~zust be composed, and hear and understand all his explanations about her fortune, and make plans, and evade Max Freres keen and curiously sympathetic observation. Mother, my head is so bad; I must go and bathe it with eau-de-Cologne. You know I must get it clear for Max this evening. I have no idea as yet, Jimiiiy, ~vhat I have inherited, and I feel all in the dark. Ahem !just so; and Im told her ladyships investments were all in foreign stocks, so nobody knows much about them, which is awkward. But you have two uood men at your back in Mr. Frere and his son, Jimniy said, as Grace passed out of the room. A short quarter of an hour in silence and solitude gave Grace a chance of ral- lying her forces. The fact that all uncer- tainty was ended, though so miserably, THE FRERES. 93 gave her a certain amount of courage and composure. Nothing now remained but patient endurance; to fold the robe of concealment with dignity close around the wounded, desolate, but not slaugh- tered, love which she yet could cherish, because she never doubted the worth of its object. Gracie, dear, are you better? Do come in and see Max. Jimmy is just go- ing, too. Grace rose without answering, gave a touch or two to her hair, saw that her face only looked pale. She had shed no tears, and followed Mab to the sitting-room, where she found Max in the act of plac- ing some papers on the table, and Jimmy taking leave. Come again soon, said Grace, giving him her hand. Remember, I want you more than ever; come to-morrow even- Well, theres no knowing what you may be wanting to do to-morrow, Miss Grace, dear, so dont you wait in, on no account; but Ill call round about seven, anyhow; and I wish you a good evenino Mrs. Freregood-bye, Miss Mab. Mab darted to his side, away from Max, with whom she had been talking, and dre~v Jimmys head down.to her, whisper- ing something eagerly in his ear. Ay, to be sure; I will, never you fear Jimmy was in audi- ble tones, when a small hand was imperi- ously pressed against his mouth, and Mab escorted him to the door, in order to ex- change some last words on the landing. Are you sure you are not too tired for business to-night, Grace? asked Max, with a sharp look at his cousin, after the door closed on Jimmy Byrne. I am far too much interested to feel the fatigue, Max; remember, I am as yet all in the dark. Mother, had not Mab better ~o to bed, as we are going to talk of business, and it is past nine? I am not a bit sleepy; why may I not hear? I wilJ not say a word. But the sense of the house was against her; even Mrs. Frere was anxious she should go, and to facilitate matters, ac- companied her to her room. Grace, said Max, directly they were alone, let me tell you before my aunt re- turns that I am afraid she will be awfully disappointed. I say she will be, for I see you are in a present condition of doubt, and by no means elated. Do you know, we begin to think that Lady Elton has left little or nothing except her furniture, jewels, and clothes; for the last ten days we have been looking through her papers, and we find no trace of property, except one small investment. She has left no debts, apparently, and her affairs seem in perfect orderbut He paused. I am very sorry, on my mothers ac- count, returned Grace quietly, and it seems very strange Here Mrs. Frere re-entered the room, smiling in anticipation of the delightful revelations about to be made of riches far beyond even her great expectations~ Now, then, suppose I read the will to you, said Max, as his aunt seated herself in an easy-chair. It is short and simple enough, and he proceeded to skim rap- idly the technical preamble, dwelling ~vith clear enunciation on the absolute and succinct bequests. After a small legacy to Luigi, another to her maid, an antique ring to Mr. Frere, a cabinet and pair of vases, which he had al~vays admired, to her nephew, Maxwell Frere, as a token of regard, Lady Elton bequeathed the whole of her property, real and personal, to Grace Frere, eldest daughter of the late Colonel Joscelyn Frere. That is the gist of the matter, said Max, laying down the paper, and con- stitutes you residuary legatee. A true friend a good woman, said Mrs. Frere, a good deal affected, and put- ting her handkerchief to her eyes. Grace, who kept very still and quiet, asked to look at the document, and ob- served: It was signed, then, while I was in London last April. Yes about a week before she start- ed with you for Germany. And did you know? That I was her executor? Yes, but not that you were her residuary legatee till the day she left. And now, dear Max, said Mrs. Frere, beaming out upon them from the temporary eclipse of her handkerchief, Grace would like to know, at least to have an idea of, the probable amount of property our dear friend has left what income, for instance. I am sorry to say, began Max, as his aunt paused in the effort to put a leading question, that we can find little or no property of any description. There are two thousand pounds in Indian railway debentures, bought many years ago, so they pay a very good percentage; there is a balance of something over two hun- dred and fifty at the bankers. There are a lot of things in her rooms that will sell pretty well, some furnitureand there THE FRERES. 94 dont seem to be any debts but beyond this I dont think there is a farthino- Mrs. Freres face had grown more and more dismayed and horror-struck while Max spoke, and now indignation lit up her eyes with unusual fires. But, Max, she could not have spent less than a thousand or fifteen hundred a year! Where has all that gone to? It is too soon to get to the bottom of every- thing, but it is impossible that there is not a large fortune somewhere. Just what I thought, returned Max kindly. But I am afraid I can partly explain the reason. It seems from what Messrs. Greenwood, her solicitors, tell me, (which is fully corroborated by entries in her cash-book), that some time ago she sunk nearly all her capital in a life annu- ity. I remember she had been very ill, somewhere in the north of Italy, about that time; but even allowing for this, she must have got rid of a great deal of money somehow. I am exceedingly sorry for Graces disappointment, my dear aunt, but she cannot count on more than be- tween three and four thousand, taking everything into consideration. Itis most extraordinary; my father cannot make it out; he is dreadfully shocked. In short, is inclined to doubt, that having been guilty of such mysterious crimes against the Majesty of Mammon, the deceased was deserving of Christian burial. There may be some explanation in the papers directed to you specially, Grace. It is too cruel and wicked, cried Mrs. Frere, her delicate cheek flushing. There has been some frightful conspir- acy to defraud my dear Grace. Depend upon it, those horrid solicitors have jug- gled away a quantity of money. I feel convinced they have. No one else had anything to do with it, and it is your duty, Max, both as executor and nearest of kin, to unmask their villainy and recover my poor, plundered childs property. Max looked at her half amused, half in pity, slightly elevating his eyebrows. I am not surprised that you are vexed, he said, but I think you will find that no one is to blame except Lady Elton herself. Who had certainly a right to do what she liked with her own, said Grace, who had listened in singular silence, consider- ing that it ~vas her own fortune that was under discussion. I do not know why, but I never anticipated riches from this bequest. What do these two thousand pounds yield, Max 1 mean, what in- come? They pay six per cent. To think, resumed Mrs. Frere, car- ried quite out of her ordinary quiet and soft composure, of being dragged away from our happy, comfortable home in Germany for a miserable trifle like this! deluded with hopes too bright to last ! It is our fate, I sul)pose; poverty and ob- scurity seem to be our lot and I can bear it, if it is the will of heaven. But not to see the man who ought to be her friend and champion, sitting down tamely, to let Grace be robbed by unprincipled wretches without striking a blow in her defence! And what a disappointment to my poor Randal, who has not yet received my joyful letter! Gad! you all seem to appropriate Graces fortune so completely, cried Max, a little impatiently, that I do not wonder at her indifference in the mat- ter. It is theirs as much as mine, Max, and I am not indifferent, only I feel ill and tired; I think I have caught cold my chest pains me. What will they say in Zittau? con- tinued Mrs. Frere. They will think us all impostors. Why, ~ve are very little better off than we were. It is too cruel, after all my hopes. The poor lady burst into real tears, and sobbed aloud. Dear mother, said Grace, coming to her side, gently, lovingly, yet with a cer- tain listlessness which struck Max as a new and strange characteristic in her manner, I cannot bear to see you so grieved. Had we not imagined great wealth, how delighted we should have been with what really is ours; it is an important addition to our income, and be- sides there will be much that is useful and do try to look at the best side. Best! cried poor Mrs. Frere, there is no best! but I am not fit company for two such philosophers as you and your cousin. I am only fit to be by myself, rising, so good-night, Max,~and remem- ber, I solemnly charge you to defend the cause of the fatherless against the machi- nations of villains, with which tremen- dous peroration Mrs. Frere hastily left the room. My poor, dear mother, said Grace, looking after her; it is more than she can bear! I hope, Max, you do not mind anything she has said in the bitterness of her disappointment? Not I; not the very least. I am deucedly sorry myself; but, Grace, I am much more concerned at your unconcern~ THE FRERES. 95 than anything else. I am afraid you are very unwell, or something has hap- pened Oh, no! she returned, with a smile, which sent a curious thrill of pain through her self-possessed, worldly cousin ; I think I have a bad cold. I shall keep in bed to-morrow. I suppose I need not see any one. You can do everything without me? and after, we must leave this hotel, Max, it is too costly, you know, her pale face flushing crimson and then growing white again. I have debts, too, of my own to pay. Do not think of thatat least, do what will make you most content; above all, look on me as your friend, trust me, believe in ~ I think you are very good to me, but I really do not feel as if I could speak or understand any more! The day after to- morrow, if you can spare time, let us talk over everything. Good-night, Max. Good-night. CHAPTER XLVII. THE cold of which Grace complained was sufficiently bad next morning to en- title her to a mustard plaster, and the privacy of her bedroom. Consequently, when Max, who felt dimly uneasy about his cousin, called to inquire for her on his way to the City, he could not see any of the party. Miss Frere was reported to be very unwell, and Mrs. Frere ~vas vi-ith her. The long spell of quiet and silence thus secured was invaluable to Grace. In the semi-darkness of her own chamber she made her moan to herself; she gazed long and fondly on the dead form of love and joy, shown to her a moment, and then snatched away probably forever; her aching grief s~ve etened, even while it was rendered more poignant, by the conscious- ness that he, too, was suffering that perhaps some barrier other than his ~vill existed between them, and that, therefore, he had sought safety in flight. Had it indeed been the inequality of their fortunes which had frightened Mau- rice away? How cruel to think that a natural mistake might have lost her what no wealth could purchase; and even now the ~vinds and ~vaves were wafting him further and further, and she must stay still and let all go all, and so ~vith many a wreath of tender memory, with loving tears of fondest regret, with the incense of loyalest faith, she buried her dead love deep in the innermost vault of her heart, gently but firmly closing the door upon it, and turning resolutely, patiently to face the living world. Jimmy Byrne ~vas dreadfully distressed to find his darlin young lady so un- well. But Grace, eager to be up and do- ing, with an energy slightly feverish, rose and dressed to receive him. Mrs. Frere ~vas still in a state of the highest indigna- tion against some person or persons un- known, ~vho had with malice prepense conspired to defraud her child; nor did she hold Max unblamed there had been culpable neglect somewhere, but they would never find it out. The widow and the fatherless were at the mercy of un- principled worldlings. Would to heaven, my dear Mr. Byrne, that we had been in the hands of really re- spectable people your firm, for instance. There is no knowing what havoc those Greenwoods (who appear to be inferior persons) have made with poor, dear Lady Eltons property. Is it not too bad? Faith, it is so, Mrs. Frere, maam; but I must say, there always was whispers reports, in a manner of speaking, about her ladyships investments. No one ever knew where her money was indeed, Mr. Gregg said to me, not long after she came back from Italy, when Mr. Frere had to sign some document connected with a transfer of stock, or some such thing, Mark my words, Byrne, says he, shes making ducks and drakes of her money, as Mr. Maxwell will find out. To be sure, when she lived in such good style, yet never extravagant, people began to think she had a power of money. I consider it cruel, absolutely cruel, not to have explained matters to Grace to let us imagine we were wealthy, and then to hurl one into poverty again. And no doubt Lady Elton would have told me, but she was snatched from us so soon, said Grace gently. Indeed, mother, we ought to be very thankful to have as much as Max says remains. He told us last night, Jimmy, that there were two thousand pounds in Indian railways, and two hundred and fifty pounds in the bank. Then all the beautiful furniture and things, and some jewels why, a month ago we would have thought this riches. True, for you, Miss Grace, dear; one thing with another, you may set the sum total at, maybe, four thousand pounds, besides picking out enough furniture to set up a pretty little house of your own, if you like. That would be very nice, said Grace thoughtfully. 96 THE FRERES. As to me, observed Mrs. Frere, I cannot forget my hopes and expectations as readily as Grace; youth is naturally volatile, but when I think of the disap- pointment to my dear Randal, to whom I wrote in the first flush of my hopes, I cannot help feeling bitterly. The conversation then fell to Grace and Jimmy Byrnes share, and turned, as it generally did, on domestic and financial arrangements. Let me see the letter, said Grace to her mother, when Jimmy had left them, for Mrs. Frere had been too full of her grievances to do more than glance through Balfours epistle and lay it aside. She handed it to her daughter, and Grace opened it with an indescribable thrill of sad pleasure, which the sight of lines so lately traced by the hand she might never touch again naturally aroused. The letter was short, and somewhat constrained. On reaching London he found that his friend Darneli was anxious to be off as soon as possible, but till the day before, they ~vere not sure they could start on the first. He thanked Mrs. Frereforthe hap. piest days he had ever spent, and said he would write on reaching Melbourne. Finally, he sent his best wishes to Grace, and earnestly hoped her good fortune would bring her all the happiness she so well deserved. Something had been writ- ten after and scratched out, and Grace strove to decipher it till her eyes ached; she could only make out, or thought she made out, the word tell. Then came love to Mab, and the conclusion. A strain of sadness seemed to per- vade the whole letter, though Grace could hardly have pointed out any positive indi- cation. And this, then, was the last link of the chain that had been so rudely snapped. Mrs. Frere did not seem to remember the letter, or the writer, so Grace slipped it into her pocket to place it among the few treasures she possessed, while her mother was saying, Do not be in too great a hurry, dear, to write to Dalbersdorf; let us understand matters a little first, and then make the best of it. I must say, I am thankful Cousin Alvsleben is not here to cross-ex- amine us as to the amount of your inher- itance; it is dreadfully mortifying to be obliged to confess such a falling off. We must really make the best of it. That troubles me very little. And, dearest mother, when everything is set- tled, you ~vill find that we shall be quite comfortably off, and much easier than we were, so do pray cheer up. It makes me miserable to see your face. Perhaps the highest tribute to the in- fluence of his late sister-in-law was paid by Mr. Frere, when he spared a quarter of an hour of his valuable time to make a morning, or, rather, afternoon call upon his relatives, the third day after their ar- rival, on his way home from the City. Mrs. Frere and Mab were out on an expe- dition to find apartments, and Grace re- ceived him alone. She felt inwardly amused at the calm indifference with ~vhich she took his visit, comparing it ~vith her condition of mind on their first interview, ~vhen he was the all-powerful father of Max. Now she felt pleasantly grateful to him for the timely help he had afforded them, but perfectly at ease. The absolute money value be- queathed by her friend might be small, but she felt that the status conferred upon her by being constituted Lady Eltons sole legatee was considerable. Grace was writing to Randal, explain- ing the state of affairs they had found on reaching London, when Mr. Frere was solemnly announced, and expecting Max, she was a good deal surprised to see the cold, strong features and stiff fio~ure of her uncle. Uncle Frere, she exclaimed, rising to meet him, the color coming into her pale cheek, I am very glad to see you. You are welcome back to England, he said, ~vith a polite smile. I regret to hear you are indisposed, and he took the chair she offered. After the exchange of some common- places, he broached the subject upl)ermost in his thoughts, and spoke in atone of stern indignation of the mysterious man- ner in which Lady Eltons fortune had disappeared, hintirg at the painful sur- mises to which it gave rise, and lamenting it chiefly on his nieces account. Do not trouble about me, said Grace. You know what an important addition the little she has left will be to us. I have no feeling save the warmest grati tudeto dear Lady Elton for her kind thought of me, and for thus lifting us above the ex- treme pressure of too limited an income to say nothino~ of the joy of paying my just debts, and amongst them, dear uncle, I reckon what you so kindly and gener- ously gave my mother, without which she could not have joined me in Germany. I have always wished to thank you for it. And she held out her hand to him with her usual frank impulsiveness. Mr. THE FRERES. 97 Frere was a good deal put out by so un- conventional a proceeding; nevertheless, he took the fair, soft hand not unkindly. You are a young lady of unusually correct principles, I perceive, he said, a little less coldly than usual. I do not, however, wish for repayment of what was a free gift. I always intended to assist my brothers widow, so do not mention that matter again, if you please. In ar- ranging your affairs and future system of life, both Max and myself will be most happy to give you every assistance. I am greatly obliged, and must not, then, contradict you. But, uncle, Max tells me there is a packet of papers to be opened by me only; this may throw some light on l)OO~ Lady Eltons past history. Max promised to bring it this evening. I shall be glad to know what you gather from its contents; and now I must bid you goodmorning. If your cold per- mits, perhaps you and Mrs. Frere will do me the pleasure of dining at my house to-morrow? Thank you; I have no doubt I shall be much better. Mr. Frere bowed himself out with his usual stiff politeness, and Grace, after a few minutes thought, returned to her letter. Dear me! so Richard Frere abso- lutely condescended to call ? cried the mother, as she sat down and received Graces report of the visit. I suppose, if you had inherited all Lady Eltons money, your uncle would have paid his respects every day. The adoration of Mammon in some people is amazino- Uncle Frere helped us very much, mother, we must allow. Yes, he did he did, indeed! re- turned Mrs. Frere, smiling. I am, per- haps, too sensitive. The men whose society I have been accustomed to were so high-minded, so superior to the influ- ence of filthy lucre, that I am probably spoiled for others. I cannot say I care for going to dine with Richard Frere. I am sure I remember our last, our only dinner there ~vith unspeakable horror! Never shall I forget the cruel way he spoke to my dear boy; and, indeed, Max ~vas not much better. No, I never can forget it! and poor Mrs. Frere actually shuddered at the horrible recollection. But, mother dear, we really must not take Mab. You know there will be busi- ness to talk over, and Mr. Frere would not like it. How can we leave her alone? and we have no one to leave ~vith her! LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXVIII. t93 I I know. But for once, Mab, you will not mind going to bed early; antI I dare say, that nice chambermaid you like will give you 3-our tea. Oh, I do not want to go! said Mab scornfully. I dont want to be sat upon by Uncle Frere; and I know he hates children ! You are getting out of childhood now, dear Mab; you are nearly eleven. The memory of her first dinner at Un- cle Freres was vividly before Graces mind. All through her second she thought how much more assured was her position how much calmer her feelings; and yet she would almost willingly have gone back to that day of dread could she have the bright bits in the tessellated pavement of her life to tread over a~,ain she felt so wonderfully older, so strangely hopeless and resigned. She was, in Uncle Freres opinion, so far as he could recall his first impressions, immensely improved; while to Max, the slight change in her look and voice and mannera change so subtle that it en- tirely escaped her mother was infinitely interesting and puzzling. He, of course, attributed it to regret for some German lover; and, from ~vhatever motive, he ap- parently accepted the position of friend and adviser, without betraying a tinge of tenderness or admiration, as if he, too, was anxious to bury the outburst, of which perhaps he was ashamed, in oblivion. The dinner was less terrible than Mrs. Frere anticipated. While the servants ~vere in the room, the conversation turned chiefly upon Germany, and Mrs. Frere took a fair share in it; nor was Grace dull or silent. Indeed, once interested in any topic, her intellect and fancy quickly woke up, to sparkle on the surface, even. when her heart ached. As a beam oer the face of the waters may- glow, While the tide runs in darkness and coldness. below. Afterwards in the drawing-room the business uppermost in all their minds ~vas. fully discussed, while Grace was often~ obliged to steady her voice by an effort as her first meeting ~vith Lady Elton in that room came back to her mind. Ma~ was most judicious in his advice and sug-- gestions, and ~vithout uttering a word of overt sympathy, conveyed to Grace, she knew not how, a sense of comfort and comprehension. Still she heard in a kind of dream, as if 98 THE FRERES. she had not yet rallied all her mental pow- ers, proposals for getting the landlord to remit the remainder of Lady Eltons lease, which, as rents were rising, he no doubt would; for selling off what furni- ture and ornaments Grace did not require. by auction, for owing to the late owners reputation as a connoisseur, high l)rices might be realized; of possible in vest- ments for the proceeds, etc,, etc., into all of which Mrs. Frere entered with much zest; and when Grace somewhat languidly suggested taking a small house in or near London, both Mr. Frere and Max highly approved. So the evening passed quick- ly, and the par/i cam! separated well pleased with each other. Before Grace slept she opened the packet which Max had given her at part- ingopened it with a thrill of tender- ness and anticipation. Would it solve the mystery of her dear friends life? No. The parcel contained manuscript sketches of places and people, legends picked up in out-of-the-way corners of France and Germany; and with these a memo ad- dressed to Grace, in which the writer stated that she had collected these scrib- blings of past idle hours, thinking they might perhaps be of use to Randal, or even to herself, should she ever take up the pen which, she added, you are much more capable of wielding This message from the grave touched Grace profoundly, and sunk into her mind, to bring forth fruit hereafter. its sparkling treasures was most consola- tory to her and exciting to Mab. Meantime Randal gave no sign. It was now a month since Lady Eltons death, and he had not written. Mrs. Frere, from vague wondering why Randal did not write, grew gradually more and more uneasy, and Grace at last showed her anxiety. Not even the interesting event of tak- ing possession of Lady Eltons rooms, nor the question of choosing an abode, could still the disquiet which each day in- creased as morning after morning came and brought no letter. It was about six weeks after Mrs. Frere and her daughter had returned to Lon- don. Grace had begun to chafe a little at the laws delay; so many small prelim- inaries were to be gone through before they could take steps to settle themselves definitely, and she longed to be in a quiet home, for, in spite of her literary procliv- ities, she had a true, housewifely taste. The weather had been rather chill and ~vet for the last week, but this particular morning had risen clear and bright, tempt- ing Grace to rise early and write a long letter to Frieda before her mother and Mab descended to breakfast. It was little more than seven oclock when she set forth her writing-things in place of the looking-glass which she re- moved from her little dressing-table, and she had accomplished the first page of her letter when she heard a tap at the door. Removed into modest but comfortable Is it you, Emma? lodgings, and settled pro /e;n., Mrs. Frere Yes, in, and the servant of the house had time to develop intense eagerness for entered. If you please, miss, theres a the moment when she could range through gentleman down-stairs wants to see you. the beautiful rooms which now belonged A gentleman at this hour! Who is to her daughter, and her conversation ~vas he? largely interspersed with such interjec- He will not give his name, miss; he tions and interpolations as: Grace, that says youll know him well enough when writing-table in Lady Eltons study would you see him. do admirably for Randal; or, Do you A sudden shiver went through her veins, remember, dear, the small sofathat stood as Grace thought: Could it be Mau- near the fireplace? It will suit the sort of rice Balfour, recalled by some strange room we shall have exactly; or, Those chance! but the idea was ridiculous; so squares of Persian carpet will fit any ~vithout further remarks she followed the house, and the smaller china ornaments girl to the dining-room, where, arrayed in would make the most ordinary villa ele- a correct travelling suit, with the strap of gant. In short, Mrs. Frere furnished a his courier-bag across his chest, and look- score of houses in her mind, by which ing very brown, stood,Randal. agreeable occupation the poignancy of her j Of course Grace was startled, yet gen- disappointment was considerably blunted. I uinely glad to see him. What brought Then came a delightful episode, when himback so unexpectedly? Lady Eltons jewel-case ~vas brought from Well, they had been knocking about the bank to be valued and inspected. It Hungary, he said, having come up the was more richly supplied than either Max T)anube to while away the hot season, or Mrs. Frere expected, and the sight of and enable Sir Alexander to publish Some Thoughts on the Social, Political, and Industrial Condition of Hungary; for the fellow fancies he is a universal genius. It was rather slow work, as I spoke neither German nor Hungarian; and it was only in the towns that French was any good. When we got to Pesth, I had a pretty severe touch of low fever; and Sir Alexander 51)Oke rather brutally, hinting at my being a hindrance to his making a searching examination of the Carpathians. So I just told him not .to trouble about me; I preferred returning. Then I found he had picked up a seedy German, who ~vas able to murder every European language more or less En- glish especially and ~vho gave his valu- able services for something like twenty J)Ounds a year and the baronets old clothes. I wished him joy of the bargain, and as soon as I was strong enough, started off home. So here I am, my darling! I suppose you can get me a room? I told the girl to pay the cab, and take in my traps, for to tell you the truth, I havent much more than thirteen or fourteen shillings about me; and, by-the- bye, Grace, I must lodge twenty-five pounds to Sir Alexanders credit to-day or to-morrow. I was obliged to ask him for an advance, for you see, what with being ill and one thing or another, I was run aground. Very well, Randal, was all Grace could say to this voluble speech, which was rattled out with the most complete self-content, I will see about a room for you, and let my mother know you are here. How goes the mother and Mab? asked Randal. As to you, Grace, I cant say you are looking first-rate. But Grace had gone to rejoice her mothers heart with the news of his ar- rival, and great was the commotion which ensued. Mrs. Frere, ~vho was but half dressed, impeded her own progress by her excessive haste; and Mab came rush- ing down, her hair flying about and her boots unbuttoned, fully expecting that Randal had brought home the Sphinx, or at least a mummy. The day which ensued was disturbed, but on the whole pleasant. Randal was very lively, amusing, and Grace thought improved. It was rather too early to mention plans, beyond their general scheme of taking a house and settling themselves in London, of which Randal highly approved, and mentioned en las- sant that he himself had serious thoughts, now that their circumstances were a little THE FRERES. 99 easier, of studying for the bar. It was a gentleman-like profession; it fitted in well with literary pursuits, and the Mar- chioness of Uppinham had strongly rec- ommended it. Mrs. Frere was quite enchanted with this suggestion, and Grace let it pass. They had quite an exhila- rating little dinner, to ~vhich, out of his remaining thirteen shillings, Randal con- tributed a bottle of champagne with the air of a prince. The dear fellow was always so generous, as his mother said. He was not so much affected by the sad falling off in Lady Eltons fortune as Mrs. Frere; for, owing to his moving from placeto place, he received both her letters on the subject at the same time. So he dismissed the matter by observing that it was a deuced shame of the person or persons unknown, who had robbed Grace. Randal, said his sister hesitatingly, with her eyes bent down, when they hap- pened to be a few moments alone, I ought to warn you that we are obliged to see a great deal of Max Frere. He may come in this evenino- Indeed ! returned Randal, moving a little uneasily in his chair, and paused an instant. Well, Grace, he resumed, as we must meet, why the sooner the better. I am not going to let myself be awkward and uncomfortable on account of an un- lucky mistake which after all has cost him nothing; and I fancy he forgives me, for the sake of my pretty sister. Eh, Grace, Max has always been a bit spoons about you.,~ Grace was too mortified by his callous- ness to answer or notice the conclusion of his speech. What matter what Randal thought? lie was hopelessly dead to all the motives which would spur her on. She foresaw he would be on her hands all the days of his life. I am glad it will not cost you too much to meet him; he has been ver good and generous, she said coldly. For which you have my full l)ermis- sion to reward him, replied Randal, with an uneasy laugh. Really, Grace, it would not be a bad winding-up to marry Max Frere. That is my affair, she said carelessly; and then changed the conversation. But Max did not come till the following evening. And as Grace thought it better to let the meeting take place unprepareclly, he was somewhat surprised to meet Ran- dal somewhat, though by no means overwhelmingly. He had always expected that his sisters accession of property and THE FRERES. I00 the prospect of home comfort would j Freres establishment in Osborne Villas. draw Randal as certainly as the mag- At first, owing to the exigencies of the net does iron. executorship, he generally dined with his Max conducted himself admirably on aunt twice a week. This proved too the occasion; no allusion to topics nearer pleasant a habit to be given up, and home than Egypt, the Principalities, and Grace was surprised, when she thought Hungarian politics were. touched upon. of it, to find how he had made himself No irritating sneers, or mocking recoin- one with them. And yet not two years mendations were indulged in; indeed, had elapsed since Max had deserted them Grace noted that never again did Max in their time of trouble! The recollection address Randal, save in a tone of corn- of that uncomfortable period no longer monplace politeness, which to her was called forth indignation, but it was never most expressive of the estimation in forgotten. Still, now that she was able which he held him, and for which she was to pay Max to the last farthing, she liked grateful even while it wounded her deeply. him better. That was also a happy day when she returned Jimmys generou~s loan Time, which arranges all things, rolled which, at the time he made it, was almost on with its weighty swiftness ; and the a gift. What pleasure she took in inclos- Freres gradually settled down to their ing it in a beautiful ~or/e-rno;zuaie, painted fresh life, and found all they required. by her o~vn hands, and wrapped in per- With Jimmys aid, a pretty little semi- fumed paper inscribed ~vith a few loving detached villa in the XVestbourne district words! was secured. Need it be said that all the And so the months sped on, autumn excellent mans legal knowledge was deepened into ~vinter, and winter softened brought to bear on the provisions of the into spring. lease, and never was landlord more rigidly In due course a letter from Maurice bound to favorable terms. The arrange- Balfour reached Mrs. Frere. It was ment of this new home was probably the pleasantly and affectionately written. He occupation most calculated to interest described a few incidents of his outward Grace and draw her out of herself; and voyage, and gave ~ sketch of his pros- next to this, the search for a good school pects and work. He sent friendly rues- for Mab. For as the business of realiz- sages to Grace and Mab, ending with a ing Lady Eltons estate progressed, it was hope, not too eagerly expressed, that Mrs. agreed between her and Max, who nat- Frere would write to him. Still Grace urally became her chief counsellor in fancied there was a restraint an inde- larger matters, that for a couple of years scribable suppression in its tone; it dis- she might indulge her great desire to give appointed her, and chilled effectually any lVIab the advantage of a regular and sys- budding hope that might have sprung up tematic education. Max made himself again in her heart. both useful and agreeable in an unobtru. Mrs. Frere was by no means prompt to sive way; never seeming to take much reply. She was slightly indolent; she trouble, and never infringing the sort of found many pleasing occupations. There undemonstrative friendship which had es- was Mabs wardrobe to keep in order, and tablished itself between them from the Mab herself to be escorted to and from first. school on the monthly holiday, and visited Max sometimes wondered if she had on many other occasions. Nor did the quite forgotten their stormy interview in Freres lack a mild measure of suburban Lady Eltons study, scarce more than four society besides that of some former friends months ago, and which now seemed to of Lady Eltons, who, some from curiosity, have gone away so far back in the realms some from interest, called upon her young of memory. Better so if she had. For legatee. At last Randal undertook to an- himself, he scarce knew what he ~vished swer Balfour, as he piqued himself on his or wanted. Chiefly perhaps to know what skill in letter-writing, and Mrs. Frere and wherefore the change in his cousin, added a gracious postscript. which he recognized but could not define Grace watched long in silent anxiety a something that had come into her for a reply, but months rolled on, and and made her older, gentler, more patient, none came. Gradually the name she more indifferent, but more companionable. loved ceased to be familiar; other topics For the time Max Freres ambition and people put him out of Mrs. Freres slumbered. Perhaps he never had been head, and save for a chance inquiry in so quietly happy as during the first seven Friedas letters, Maurice Balfour was or eight months which followed Mrs. rarely mention~d. With her Dalbersdorf THE FRERES. cousins Grace kept up a steady corre- spondence; even the Frau Baronin Falk- enberg wrote occasionally, and seemed completely content; but though polite messages were always sent in his name, the baron himself gave no sign. Before the return of summer Frieda wrote with infinite delight to say that her mother and the count had agreed that her engagement with Otto Sturm should be formally an- nounced, and she earnestly hoped that in due time her beloved Gracechen would visit them when the final ceremony was fixed. As to Randal, he found much to do. He collected a few law-books, and read a few pages every day. He ~vrote a good deal, and, no doubt improving by practice, his papers and poems occasionally gained admission into the lighter periodicals. He went out frequently, and renewed many pleasant acquaintances made on his travels; lie was even favored with a card to one or two great balls at Uppinham House, where he had the mortification to find that the marchioness was not quite sure of his identity, though exceedingly gracious when he had succeeded in recall- ing himself to her memory. And Grace ~vas quiet and content; she enjoyed the simple prettiness of her home; she was happy in the improvement of Mabin the serene satisfaction of her mother in the exchange of ideas with intelligent people in the indulgence of drawing with a good master in going to see a fine play occasionally. But at twenty she felt that the sparkle, the intensity, the glow of her first youth was past; and though her sky was serene and unclouded, its hue was more the soft gray of evening than the vivid opal tints of daybreak. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE shortening days and wintry aspect of the third November since the Freres had left Germany was closing over them, and Grace was settling to her winter routine after the refreshment of a short visit to the seaside with Mab and her mother. Mab had returned to school for her third and last winter, and Randal, whose circle of acquaintance was ever widening, was looking forward to many entertain ments, including some private tlieatricals of which he was the mainstay. It was a fine, crisp Sunday, and Max Frere had come in to luncheoii, as lie often did after church. Mrs. Frere had yielded to Mabs request, and taken her to pay a visit to a schoolfellow now eman- cipated and living in the neigh borhood; to and Randal, who was never able to throw off a sort of depression in his cousins presence, had lit a cigar on leaving the table, and observing that he had to call on some fellows at the other side of the Park, put on his hat and departed. Grace ~vas therefore left to entertain Max. She was so accustomed to his presence, and had grown to like his society so well, that it ~vas without a shadow of embarrassment that she sat down in a conifortable chair, screen in hand, before the fire to have a t~te-ci-te~ie talk with him. He too drew a chair beside the chim- ney, but in the shadow, while the light fell fully on his cousins profile. There was a short but perfectly unembarrassed silence after Mrs. Frere and Mab were gone,. then Max observed, Mab is wonderfully improved in every way. Yes, wonderfully; she is quite rea- sonable and companionable. I look for- ward with pleasure to having her at home. When does she leave school ? In July next. I do not th-ink she is at all anxious to come home herself. She is very happy; and then she is with us once a month, as to-day. Why dont you leave her another year, till she is fifteen? wishes is rather expensive, and my mother for her. Another pause. And then Max, resting his arm against the mantel-shelf, and his head upon it, said with a smile, I am going to make a rude speech. Make it, returned Grace carelessly, and looking ~t the fire. What is it that has niade you so much older since you returned from Zittau? Older? Yes, I suppose so! Well, I am older, Max, turning her eyes full upon hiini with a grave smile. Years do not account for it, Grace; and I have built up a dozen theories on the subject. Dont you think I am de- serving of confidence now, after these years of quiet, kindly intercourse? Tell me, what is it that has tamed you, or so- bered I will not say saddened you? I did not think you were so fanciful, Max, she said frankly. I do not think I am changed beyond the inevitable change that time is always workin~. No; it is no fancy. I have watched you since the morning I met you on your arrival froni Germany. You are greatly changed, and the only reason that sug- gests itself is the old hackneyed source of all a womans troubles at least her chief THE FRERES. 502 troubles that you left your heart with Grace, who at the beginning of his speech some Saxon. I am awfully curious to had leaned her cheek upon her hand, re- know if I am right. mained silent and motionless. And if I had, she returned, with You might break the spell, Grace much composure, do you think I should you might give me fresh life. If I had tell you, Max? Do you think you are the your love, the scale would turn, and I sort of person to whom one would confide might know the blessedness of content. a tender secret ? you who mock at sen- You see 1 do not attempt to disguise that timent, and love, and all that? I am a selfish, wor~dly fellow; but I love Then you have one to tell? you as I never loved ,anything else. Grace laughed. He spoke very quietly, and did not at- You may form what theories you like, tempt to come nearer to her, yet some- Max. I have no secret to tell. thing in his voice touched Grace. I see I am a fool for my pains. I I am so grieved to hear you say so ought to have known that your confidence so sorry to give you pain, she said hes- is not to be forced or surprised. But I itatingly. But I have grown to look feel you are very different from the bright upon you so much as a friend and broth- creature that turned my head at Dun- er, that I do not think I could love you gar. in any other way, Max; still I do like you Different! ah yes, how different! very much, and I earnestly pray you to let The words were uttered more to herself us rest friends. than him, and there was a slight quiver of Ab, Grace ! you have seen the man to her lip as she spoke them. whom you will give those loving kisses to Grace! exclaimed Max, who had make up for what I stole. I have not for- been watching her intently, do you know gotten your words. Come! for the sake I often wish I had never known you? of old days, tell me, are you engaged or Indeed! Why, Max? she returned, entangled with any fellow? roused and interested. I am not indeed, Max; I am perfectly Because you have been the ingredient free. of my life that will not mix with the rest, She raised her head, and looked at him ~vhich neutralizes and disturbs the natural with clear, truthful eyes. A light came current of my ambition of my life. into Max Freres. How can that be ? asked Grace, Enough, he said ; I will trouble turning to him with more eagerness than you no more. Let me remain your friend, he had noticed in her for a long time. your nearest kinsman. In time you will Let me speak to you frankly I feel need me more and more. Sweetest cous~ impelled to confess myself. That last in, you do not deny me all hope? visit to Dungar! it cost me a good deal. He held out his hand, and many I was desperately hit, Grace. I did not thoughts swept over her brain while know how hard till you came to London. Grace hesitated. He certainly loved her But I never ~vas a sentimental fellow. I hewas nice and kind, and far superior have always thought, and in my sane mo- to the Max of three years ago; but her ments I still think, that love, or whatever heart did not beat a throb quicker, as she the j)assion may be called, is but the acci- put her hand in his, saying, dent of a mans life; it should never influ- For friendships sake, think of noth- ence his career, or interfere with the ing more; you will yet find a marriage far graver considerations of his marriage, more suited to your wants and true wishes And so I steeled myself against you and than with your obscure and poorly dow- avoided you; but you haunted me the ered cousin.~~ want of you spoiled everything made Max pressed her hand lingeringly, with me indifferent to other women took the a long lookinto her eyes, and then relin- edge off my life. Then, when the passion quished it without a word. you inspired overcame me, there in the Grace half expected him to go away, office when you came to me in your grief, but he only took a turn up and down the conquered but not subdued, and you re- room, and then returned to his seat. jected me, I tried to think it was better I dined with Darnell last night, he so that save for yourself, there was no said; next resuming in a different tone, advantage to me in such a marriage. Still He was asking about you, and was quite you haunt me; gradually the old ideas and interested to hear of Lady Eltons be- desires are becoming~distasteful. I seem quest. to lose my relish for the world, yet the I am much obliged to him, said world holds me fast. He paused, and I Grace. is his wife as pretty as ever? THE FRERES. 103 Lady Mary is exactly the same as when I first kne~v her a complete doll. Darnell told me he met Randal the other night at supper at some mans rooms, where they had songs and cards; and I am sorry to tell you Randal played, for I fancy the play ~vas high Indeed, I am greatly distressed, cried Grace, I must speak to Randal; and yet I cannot say I heard it from you. No. Has he been drawing heavily on you lately? He has not. You know he gets all the money he wants from my mother. ~ And you make up her deficiencies, I understand, said Max. No, not that. Randal has been very prudent lately. He has been winning then, returned Max; the reverse will come. If this is not put a stop to, he will ruin you, Grace. I will do what I can. I did hope he would never touch a card again. Then hope told a flattering tale. I wish we could get him out of London. He is getting into a bad set. I wish oh, how I wish we could! said Grace, clasping her hands. Ah, Max! whenever I see you together, I al- ways feel humiliated! Do not let such thoughts cross your mind. I have forgotten all about past unpleasantness. Well, I must leave you, Grace ; I dare say you are wishing me away. We are close friends, then, for the present, and I suppose I must let the fu. ture take care of itself? I think so, Max. Once more he took her hand, holding it for a moment, and then turned away with a sigh. When he was quite gone, Grace drew nearer the fire, and sat still and motion- less for a long while in the gathering gloom, thinking thinking. She felt very kindly and tenderly towards Max. She seemed to understand the picture he gave of his own nature; she was heartily sorry she could not love him, and then she thought of Maurice, and her heart went out to him with such boundless trust and tenderness. He would have had no hes- itation, had he been in Max Freres place; he would have been unmoved by any small ambitions. But he was gone; probably she would never see him more. He had never answered Randals letter, ~vritten nearly a year and a half ago ;and Jimmy rarely had a line and yet he loved her. Would it be her destiny after all to marry Max Frere? He was per- severing and resolute, and she was con- scious of a certain power in him. For the moment, she felt helpless and depressed; but to-morrow Grace, are you here alone in the dark? I can scarcely see, said Mrs. Frere, com- ing in from her walk; and Grace came back to the comfortable present. The following Sunday, Jimmy Byrne, who regularly dined at Osborne Villas on that day, was a little late, and of course full of apologies. Who should I meet coming alon gby Hyde Park Gardens but Mr. Maxwell Frere! He was mighty civil, and made me go in with him to his fathers house a l)alace, faith! no less. We had a deal of talk. He is a very sensible young man, very; and lord, Mrs. Frere, maam, what a man o business! He was speak- ing of an investment for that five hundred pounds we couldnt settle about last May. What dodge is Max up to? said Randal, laughing. It is not every day that one gets a sight of the inside of the Frere mansion. Well, Mr. Randal, said Jimmy grave- ly, you must allow that your cousin spares neither time nor trouble for Miss Grace. Whats mines my own, said Randal, significantly, with a look at his sister. I assure you /consider mine my own, said Grace, a little startled by his tone, as hitherto Randal had taken no heed of Max Freres doings. I dont doubt it, returned Randal pleasantly; still, exchange is no rob- bery, especially if you get more than you aive. b And indeed, began Jimmy, with a certain awkward energy, some has to give all. Im sure I have been quite heart-broken about one of our clerks, a nice, steady young fellow, the son of a widow. He has an elder brother, a civil, well-spoken young man too; but as ill- luck would have it, he got into a wild set, and he has gambled and bedeviled him- self if youll pardon the word and whats worse, he ruinated his mother and brother. First he won wonderful, and was quite free with his cash; then the luck turned, and I dont know what he did not do to get hold of money. Any- how, the poor mother had to give up ev- ery farthing she had, and now he has taken to drink! What a terrible story! said Mrs. Frere, while Grace looked at the speaker 104 THE FRERES. in silence, seeking for the reason of his I hope Balfour did not build it, said dragging in such a conk without sufficient Randal, who was beginning to recover provocation. Surely Max had been warn- himself. ing Jimmy of Randals fresh departure It ~vill be a heavy expense to all con- on the downward way. And Randal re- cerned, said Jimmy. These railway turned carelessly, disputes are making quite a practice of He was a fool to give up so soon! their own. It would not be a bad line for Luck turns and turns, and the next turn you to take, Mr. Randal, if you do go to might have brought him a golden har- the bar; the precedents are fewer and vest. fresher. Not it, Mr. Randal. Mark my words, Not I ! Ill have nothing to do with sir! Its nothing but misery, and shame, these navvy fellows, who havent shaken and ruin, to yourself and all belonging to the yellow clay off their high-low boots you, that play brings! Dont you ever yet, returned Randal, still crossly. give in to it. Its a disgrace to an honest Theres mighty pretty pickings to be man. Barring a hand at ~vhist for the made of them for all that, Mr. Randal. love of the game, have nothing to do with When is the trial to come off? asked cards for the love of Grace, interested in everything that in What the deuce are you talking the remotest way touched her dear old about? cried Randal angrily. Do you think you are haranguing this gambling friend of ~-ou rs, or do you fancy I am los- ing vast sums nightly? God forbid! ejaculated Jimmy, ~vise- ly replying to the latter part of the speech; I think better of you than that, Mr. Randal, knowing as you do thats its play- ing with your mothers and sisters hearts youd be. Then what are you preachifying for? I wish you would not take such liberties. Randal, returned Grace, Jimmy Byrne could hardly take liberties here; and whatever may move him to speak, I am certain the motive is sound and kind. By George! I think you are both out of your minds, said Randal, ~vith lofty disdain, yet with a look of extreme annoy- ance. I am sure Randal has a perfect hor- ror of l)lay, observed Mrs. Frere bland- iv. Of course when he first came to London it was different; now he has more experience and Is there anything new in the papers, Mr. Byrne? with a desperate effort to change the subject. It is such a beautiful afternoon, Well, no, maam; its a dead time. Grace, said Mrs.. Frere, the day but one I see Parliament is prorogued till the 5th after this conversation; I wish you of February; but I see theres a trial ~vould come out with me, and walk in coming on between the directors of the Kensington Gardens. Then I want to Wilcannia and Macquarie Railway and call on poor old Mrs. Newenham. I have the contractors. not been near her for a week. That is Maurice Balfours line, is it Very ~vell, dear, returned Grace, not? asked Grace. cheerfully putting away her drawing. It is, Miss Grace dear; and I was But I suppose I need not go in with you asking about it yesterday. It seems the to Mrs. Newenhams? inspecting engineer has complained about Not if you do not like, said Mrs. a bridge, and says it wont stand the traf- Frere, leaving the room to put on her fic, and the contractors say it will; and walking-dress. the directors want it built over again, and The lady in question was a decayed so on. gentlewoman of high birth and Irish ex playfellow. Next week, I think. It was post- poned for witnesses or something of that kind. I trust nothing will come out of it to injure Maurice, said Mrs. Frere. I dont think there will, returned Jimmy. Its a long time since I had a letter from him. Maybe I shall have one to-morrow, for the Australian mail is due. The conversation then turned to other subjects, and it was not till just before his departure that Grace had a moments pri- vate talk with Jimmy. Max has been telling you something, Jimmy? Faith he has, me dear young lady, and its grieved I am to hear it. \Vhat can I do, Jimmy? I dont know; only get him out of London. There are gamblers elsewhere. Ay, but it takes some time to find them. And then they exchanged good-nights. THE FRERES. 105 traction, who had adopted brevet rank. She was an object of much coinmisera- tion and kindly attention from Mrs. Frere; but she was profoundly evangelical, and bent on converting Grace from the error of her waysa fact which made that young lady a little averse from frequent visits. On the present occasion, after leaving her mother to mount to the third pai.r front occupied by the descendant of the ould ancient kings of Connaught, Grace proceeded homewards, thinking, rather uncomfortably, of Randals fresh outbreak, and meditating how she could best approach the subject ~vithout betray- ing Max. Deep in these reflections, she turned into the neat road, bordered by pretty villas and well-kept gardens, in which their own was one of the pretti- est. It was, as usual in the afternoon, somewhat deserted, the male portion of the inhabitants being away at their re- spective offices, and the ladies out shop- ping Away in the distance, near her own dwelling, was a solitary figure coming to- wards her; and without breaking the chain of her thoughts, she watched its approach with a vague but increasing rec- ognition which made her heart throb and her eyes grow dun. The figure was that of a gentleman of middle height, broad- shouldered, with a firm, deliberate step; then a bronzed, strong-featured face gre~v clearer to her anxious gaze, and next a pair of large, soft-brown eyes, all aglow with irrepressible delight as their owner sprang forward to meet her, and her hand was clasped by Balfour. Grace! Maurice ! was all they could utter: the joy and astonishment sending the blood back to her heart, and leaving her cheek so pale that Maurice thought she ~vould faint. Oh, Maurice! Where how what has brought you back? I have come to give evidence in this dispute between Darnells firm and the company. I arrived yesterday. I saw Jimmy Byrne this morning. He told me what gave me courage to come and see you. But you were out. They had turned as he spoke, and walked towards the house, almost in si- lence, with hearts too full for words. My mother ~vill soon return. You will stay and see her? said Grace, as he follo~ved her into the comfortable, grace- ful drawing-room; and she stood near the fireplace, in a slant of evening li~ht from the ~vest window, which touched her brown hair with gold and threw the out- lines of her rich, rounded figure into- strong relief. Stay!~~ repeated Balfour, carried away by the joy of this reunion. Ah, Grace! how shall I ever leave you again? I have borne a living death since we part- ed! And I too! said Grace, low but dis- tincther sweet, frank e~-es beaming forth to his with all the love and truth she had stored up for him. With an indistinct exclamation of de- light, Balfour caught her hands, raising them to his neck, and clasping his arms round her, he held her to him in a long, rapturous embrace heart throbbing against heart, lips clinging to lips, with the sudden fervor which swept away all restraint and all reserve. My love ! my life ! said Balfour, as she gently extricated herself from him. I did not think I should have lost the reins of my self-control so completely; but since I heard from Jimmy Byrne that you were neither married nor engaged to Max Frere, I have been dizzy witb hope and doubt. Max Frere! What made you imag- ine such a thing? Randal: his letter all but declared it. He said but you shall see what he said; and I dreaded such an ending to our early friendship too much not to believe it. And now, what have I to offer you, my darlino? My lot is, as yet, but a poor one. And Grace, passing her arm through his in the delicious familiarity with which old friendship tempers the startling warmth of love whispered, You have yourself I want no more! LONDoN, Februa;y tlz. My last letter from England must be to you, dearest Frieda. I have left yours so long unanswered because I waited for time to say all my last words. Now everything is in readiness, and to-morrow we sail for the antipodes. I can imagine Cousin Alvslebens horror of such an uprooting. I should have once thought the same myself, but I carry my all with me, and anticipate only what is bright and good. You who know my dear mothers timid nature will understand how she shrank from the suggestion of such an exile; and Randal, too, strongly objected to be torn from civilized society. But I could not leave them, nor could Maurice part with me; so be overcame all difficul io6 RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTION. ties, and I trust and believe that he is guiding us well. His prospects as regards his profession are good, and he has in- vested his small patrimony in the colony, so Australia must be our home. Nor do I doubt that my dear friend and husband has a most useful, if not prominent, ca- reer before him. His peculiarly calm, unselfish disposition gives him an unusual breadth of view and soundness of judg- ment that cannot fail to give his opinion weight with his employers and fellow- workmen. There, in the large plenty and roomy surroundings of a new country, a few inmates more or less do not create the difficulties and petty annoyance which make them dreaded in our narrower homes. And Maurice loves my mother and Mab for their own sakes. He rejoices in the thought of having dear familiar faces round our hearth. Randal talks of studying for the bar in Melbourne, and also of writing a history of the colony. He will certainly be better there than in London. 1 was sorry, dearest Frieda, that I could not be at your wedding, nor you at mine; but it was well that yours was sufficiently in advance to permit Uncle Costello to be with us. How curious that both our times of trial should end togeth- er! I can well imagine your happiness, for I measure it by my own. My kind love to the dear professor, and all fond wishes for your prosperity. The count was looking remarkably well, and, I think, enjoyed his visit; but oh, how hard it was to bid him good-bye! He will have told you all the details of our very quiet wedding. Afterwards we made a pilgrimage to take a last look at Dungar. January is an unpromising month for such an expedition; but even winter is kindly on that southwestern coast, and we were fortunate in the weather. The dear old place looked gray and sad. I could not have borne to look at it alone, but with Maurice beside me, it was different. Together we lingered in every ~vell-known spot, drawn nearer to each other by each freshly awakened memory, and giving many a tender thought to the dear ones we have both lost. Then we turned away, content to bid it farewellcontent to face our new life together the past and present of both blended in this sweetest, closest tie of love and friendship. I wish I could see you all in pleasant Dalbersdorf once more; but I will one day. We are young and strong, and a voyage to Europe will be nothing a few years hence, and then we shall see you again. But dear Uncle Costello! it cost me bitter tears to part with him, for it may be forever. Yet there is another parting before me to-morrow that I dread even more. You have heard me speak of Jim- my Byrne, our faithful, loving friend! He has all a womans tender sympathy and delicate tact under a quaint, unattrac- tive exterior; and what he was to me in the first desolation c4 our stay in London, no words of mine .can convey. Your grandfather has a kindly family circle, who value and cherish him, but poor Jimmy has no one to replace us me, I may say. Yet, I must leave him; and he is so good, so utterly devoid of self that he seems only to rejoice in my happiness ! All I can do is to be the best of correspond- ents, and try my best to lighten his loneli. ness. One other person I regret, to my own surprise, much more than I antici- pated, and that is my cousin Max. MY time, however, is nearly exhausted, and I must end. Adieu, dear, kind Frieda. Often in our fireside talk we will live over again our happy days in Saxony, and ever hold in our hearts the warmest recollec- tion of you and yours. I sent letters yesterday to Gertrud and my uncle. My mother and Mabwho is grown out of all memory inclose each a farewell word. Thus ends this first chapter of my life. Maurice desires his warmest good wishes. Do not fail to write; and so, good.bye a lingering, fond good- by e. From yours, GRACE UALFOUR. FRAU PROFESSOR STURM, From Macmillans Magazine. RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTiON. THE one great fact which a Western traveller has to learn in Russia is the in- conceivability of a popular revolution. We who are familiar with Western politi- cal life, and derive our notions of danger- ous discontent from French or even from German or Italian precedents, must forget all these things if we would tinderstand Russia. These populations ~vith which we are familiar are made up of men who have a political history behind them. The French peasant, conservative or revolu- tionary, has inherited traditions ~vhich extend from the civilized Gauls, whom RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTION. 107 C~esar organized into a Roman society, through the Frankish invaders, and the empire of Charlemagne, and the Bour- bons, down to the great Revolution. The German socialist is a man of theories, which generations of philosophical pro- fessors and students have worked out for him. His ancestors had to deal, as best they could, with feudal castles, and the first corporate towns, and prince-bishops, and trade guilds; and however ignorant he may be, he cannot have helped hearing some thing of the Reformation times, and of all the frantic attempts to make the Reich a political reality, down to the Na- poleonic wars and the troubles of 1848. The Italian of to-day may be a beggar or a bandit, but at any rate he has great memories of Rome republican, imperial, and papal; of Florence, with its polity and its culture; of Venice and the mer- chant oligarchy, and the struggle with the later Austrian tyrannies. Such things are the pabulum of agitation. All these men are possible revolutionaries, because they have a political past and can imagine a political future. Ideas are no new thing. Their fathers made and unmade polities, and why not they also? But of all this there is no trace in Rus- sia. What we sum up glibly under that name is a mass of eighty millions of men, not only destitute of ideas, but incapable of seeking them; who live on monoto- nously in a simple-minded acceptance of things as they are; orthodox in religion, without any thought of inquiry; docile to any master, and long-suffering under great privation; and, above all, worshipping the czar with a blind and passionate devotion as a power second only to the providence of God. The full meaning and outcome of such a difference is not easily comprehended, until one has seen the people themselves and lived among them; and as the aver- age tourist has not time to penetrate into Russia, we suffer from a chronic misun- derstanding. Even Irish politics are little enough understood in England, where every one reads the newspaper out- rages, and very few ever visit the country or attempt to mAke any intimate acquaint- ance with its peculiar people. By a simi- lar law, from Russia we hear only the terrible rumors from time to time of plots and assassinations and deportations wholesale to Siberia; and we are natu- rally horrified and set a-thinking what an awful country that must be to live in, and how certainly some great catastrophe is rhawino on. Whereupon, for more abun dant caution, we write to our broker and direct him to sell our Russian bonds while there is yet time. All this is pure misun- derstanding. It would be, in truth, as reasonable to expect a bloody revolution in England, because of the attempted out- rages at Salford and the Mansion House, as it is to despair of the State in Russia because the czar was murdered. And the reason is in both cases plain. It is be- cause, granting the existence of ugly and even dangerous social elements which may and will do much incidental mischief, there remains, nevertheless, on the side of political stability, an aggregate of forces so enormous that by nothing short of a miracle could these sporadic conspirators succeed in achieving a real revolution. It was with such reflections that the writer stood one evening in October on the quays of the Basili Ostrov and saw the sun, as it came out before its setting on a rainy day, light up first the gilt nee- dle-spire of the Fortress Church, and then across the Neva the red mass of the Win- ter Palace and the long line of the Admi- ralty, and at last the flashing dome of the Isaac Cathedral. Presently, upon the background of dark cloud to the east, stood out a perfect rainbow, and rested with one foot on the fortress, where the last batch of Nihilists had just been locked away, and with the other upon the palace roofs, where the imperial flag was floating. The friends with whom I was living were Russians, chiefly of the court party, and I found them for the most part not at all disinclined to discuss politics as among friends. My o~vn presuppositions were distinctly against the government, and I did not hesitate to say so, and to cross- examine them accordingly; but with the friendly good nature of the Sclav, they disclaimed the least offence, and did their best to teach me the error of my ways. How far they succeeded, I cannot judge; but I will ask leave to set down the sub- stance of their teaching for the benefit of such as have not yet gone to seek it at the fountain head. And first, let me indicate the character and situation of my chief instructors. I shall select four, ~vhom I shall call for convenience Feodor, Magnus, Olga, and Michael. Feodor was a pure Russian, and an excellent fellow throughout. He was the aide-de-camp and devoted attend- ant of one of the grand dukes. I met him in the country, where he was living in a quaint little box by the sea ~vith his young wife and a small family, amusing himself i o8 RUSSIA AND THE REVOLUTION. by hunting and shooting the country from various sources, I believe myself round. He was a small-made, active man, to have carried away a very fair idea of eager and impulsive in his manner, and certain general facts. And the fore