BOOK V. 

CHAPTER I. 

 Envy will be a science when it learns the use of the microscope. 

When leaves fall and flowers fade, great people are found in theircountry-seats. Look!--that is Montfort Court, --a place of regalmagnificence, so far as extent of pile and amplitude of domain couldsatisfy the pride of ownership, or inspire the visitor with the respectdue to wealth and power. An artist could have made nothing of it. TheSumptuous everywhere; the Picturesque nowhere. The house was built inthe reign of George I. , when first commenced that horror of thebeautiful, as something in bad taste, which, agreeably to our naturallove of progress, progressively advanced through the reigns of succeedingGeorges. An enormous fafade, in dull brown brick; two wings and acentre, with double flights of steps to the hall-door from thecarriagesweep. No trees allowed to grow too near the house; in front, astately flat with stone balustrades. But wherever the eye turned, therewas nothing to be seen but park, miles upon miles of park; not acornfield in sight, not a roof-tree, not a spire, only those /latasilentia/, --still widths of turf, and, somewhat thinly scattered andafar, those groves of giant trees. The whole prospect so vast and somonotonous that it never tempted you to take a walk. No close-neighbouring poetic thicket into which to plunge, uncertain whither youwould emerge; no devious stream to follow. The very deer, fat and heavy, seemed bored by pastures it would take them a week to traverse. Peopleof moderate wishes and modest fortunes never envied Montfort Court: theyadmired it; they were proud to say they had seen it. But never did theysay--

 "Oh, that for me some home like this would smile!"

Not so, very, very great people!--they rather coveted than admired. Those oak trees so large, yet so undecayed; that park, eighteen miles atleast in circumference; that solid palace which, without inconvenience, could entertain and stow away a king and his whole court; in short, allthat evidence of a princely territory and a weighty rent-roll madeEnglish dukes respectfully envious, and foreign potentates gratifyinglyjealous. 

But turn from the front. Open the gate in that stone balustrade. Comesouthward to the garden side of the house. Lady Montfort's flower-garden. Yes; not so dull!--flowers, even autumnal flowers, enliven anysward. Still, on so large a scale, and so little relief; so littlemystery about those broad gravel-walks; not a winding alley anywhere. Oh, for a vulgar summer-house; for some alcove, all honeysuckle and ivy!But the dahlias are splendid! Very true; only, dahlias, at the best, aresuch uninteresting prosy things. What poet ever wrote upon a dahlia!Surely Lady Montfort might have introduced a little more taste here, shown a little more fancy! Lady Montfort! I should like to see mylord's face if Lady Montfort took any such liberty. But there is LadyMontfort walking slowly along that broad, broad, broad gravel-walk; thosesplendid dahlias, on either side, in their set parterres. There shewalks, in full evidence from all those sixty remorseless windows on thegarden front, each window exactly like the other. There she walks, looking wistfully to the far end ('t is a long way off), where, happily, there is a wicket that carries a persevering pedestrian out of sight ofthe sixty windows into shady walks, towards the banks of that immensepiece of water, two miles from the house. My lord has not returned fromhis moor in Scotland; my lady is alone. No company in the house: it islike saying, "No acquaintance in a city. " But the retinue is full. Though she dined alone she might, had she pleased, have had almost asmany servants to gaze upon her as there were windows now staring at herlonely walk with their glassy spectral eyes. 

Just as Lady Montfort gains the wicket she is overtaken by a visitor, walking fast from the gravel sweep by the front door, where he hasdismounted, where he has caught sight of her: any one so dismountingmight have caught sight of her; could not help it. Gardens so fine weremade on purpose for fine persons walking in them to be seen. 

"Ah, Lady Montfort, " said the visitor, stammering painfully, "I am soglad to find you at home. "

"At home, George!" said the lady, extending her hand; "where else is itlikely that I should be found? But how pale you are! What hashappened?"

She seated herself on a bench, under a cedar-tree, just without thewicket; and George Morley, our old friend the Oxonian, seated himself byher side familiarly, but with a certain reverence. Lady Montfort was afew years older than himself, his cousin: he had known her from hischildhood. 

"What has happened!" he repeated; "nothing new. I have just come fromvisiting the good bishop. "

"He does not hesitate to ordain you?" "No; but I shall never ask him todo so. "

"My dear cousin, are you not over-scrupulous? You would be an ornamentto the Church, sufficient in all else to justify your compulsory omissionof one duty, which a curate could perform for you. "

Morley shook his head sadly. "One duty omitted!" said he. "But is itnot that duty which distinguishes the priest from the layman? and howfar extends that duty? Whereever there needs a voice to speak the word, -not in the pulpit only, but at the hearth, by the sick-bed, --there shouldbe the Pastor! No: I cannot, I ought not, I dare not! Incompetent asthe labourer, how can I be worthy of the hire?" It took him long tobring out these words: his emotion increased his infirmity. LadyMontfort listened with an exquisite respect visible in her compassion, and paused long before she answered. 

George Morley was the younger son of a country gentleman, with a goodestate settled upon the elder son. George's father had been an intimatefriend of his kinsman, the Marquess of Montfort (predecessor andgrandsire of the present lord); and the marquess had, as he thought, amply provided for George in undertaking to secure to him, when offitting age, the living of Humberston, the most lucrative preferment inhis gift. The living had been held for the last fifteen years by anincumbent, now very old, upon the honourable understanding that it was tobe resigned in favour of George, should George take orders. The youngman, from his earliest childhood thus destined to the Church, devoted tothe prospect of that profession all his studies, all his thoughts. Nottill. He was sixteen did his infirmity of speech make itself seriouslyperceptible: and then elocution masters undertook to cure it; theyfailed. But George's mind continued in the direction towards which ithad been so systematically biased. Entering Oxford, he became absorbedin its academical shades. Amidst his books he almost forgot theimpediment of his speech. Shy, taciturn, and solitary, he mixed toolittle with others to have it much brought before his own notice. Hecarried off prizes; he took high honours. On leaving the University, aprofound theologian, an enthusiastic Churchman, filled with the mostearnest sense of the pastor's solemn calling, --he was thuscomplimentarily accosted by the Archimandrite of his college, "What apity you cannot go into the Church!"

"Cannot; but I am going into the Church. "

"You! is it possible? But, perhaps, you are sure of a living--"

"Yes, --Humberston. "

"An immense living, but a very large population. Certainly it is in thebishop's own discretionary power to ordain you, and for all the dutiesyou can keep a curate. " But the Don stopped short, and took snuff. 

That "but" said as plainly as words could say, "It may be a good thingfor you; but is it fair for the Church?"

So George Morley at least thought that "but" implied. 

His conscience took alarm. He was a thoroughly noble-hearted man, likelyto be the more tender of conscience where tempted by worldly interests. With that living he was rich, without it very poor. But to give up acalling, to the idea of which he had attached himself with all the forceof a powerful and zealous nature, was to give up the whole scheme anddream of his existence. He remained irresolute for some time; at last hewrote to the present Lord Montfort, intimating his doubts, and relievingthe Marquess from the engagement which his lordship's predecessor hadmade. The present Marquess was not a man capable of understanding suchscruples. But, luckily perhaps for George and for the Church, the largeraffairs of the great House of Montfort were not administered by theMarquess. The parliamentary influences, the ecclesiastical preferments, together with the practical direction of minor agents to the vast andcomplicated estates attached to the title, were at that time under thedirection of Mr. Carr Vipont, a powerful member of Parliament, andhusband to that Lady Selina whose condescension had so disturbed thenerves of Frank Vance the artist. Mr. Carr Vipont governed this vice-royalty according to the rules and traditions by which the House ofMontfort had become great and prosperous. For not only every state, butevery great seignorial House has its hereditary maxims of policy, --notless the House of Montfort than the House of Hapsburg. Now the House ofMontfort made it a rule that all admitted to be members of the familyshould help each other; that the head of the House should never, if itcould be avoided, suffer any of its branches to decay and wither intopoverty. The House of Montfort also held it a duty to foster and makethe most of every species of talent that could swell the influence oradorn the annals of the family. Having rank, having wealth, it soughtalso to secure intellect, and to knit together into solid union, throughout all ramifications of kinship and cousinhood, each variety ofrepute and power that could root the ancient tree more firmly in theland. Agreeably to this traditional policy, Mr. Carr Vipont not onlydesired that a Vipont Morley should not lose a very good thing, but thata very good thing should not lose a Vipont Morley of high academicaldistinction, -a Vipont Morley who might be a bishop. He therefore drew upan admirable letter, which the Marquess signed, --that the Marquess shouldtake the trouble of copying it was out of the question, --wherein LordMontfort was made to express great admiration of the disinteresteddelicacy of sentiment, which proved George Vipont Morley to be still morefitted to the cure of souls; and, placing rooms at Montfort Court at hisservice (the Marquess not being himself there at the moment), suggestedthat George should talk the matter over with the present incumbent ofHumberston (that town was not many miles distant from Montfort Court), who, though he had no impediment in his speech, still never himselfpreached nor read prayers, owing to an affection of the trachea, and whowas, nevertheless, a most efficient clergy man. George Morley, therefore, had gone down to Montfort Court some months ago, just afterhis interview with Mrs. Crane. He had then accepted an invitation tospend a week or two with the Rev. Mr. Allsop, the Rector of Humberston; aclergyman of the old school, a fair scholar, a perfect gentleman, a manof the highest honour, good-natured, charitable, but who took pastoralduties much more easily than good clergymen of the new school--be theyhigh or low-are disposed to do. Mr. Allsop, who was then in hiseightieth year, a bachelor with a very good fortune of his own, wasperfectly willing to fulfil the engagement on which he held his living, and render it up to George; but he was touched by the earnestness withwhich George assured him that at all events he would not consent todisplace the venerable incumbent from a tenure he had so long andhonourably held, and would wait till the living was vacated in theordinary course of nature. Mr. Allsop conceived a warm affection for theyoung scholar. He had a grand-niece staying with him on a visit, wholess openly, but not less warmly, shared that affection; and with herGeorge Morley fell shyly and timorously in love. With that living hewould be rich enough to marry; without it, no. Without it he had nothingbut a fellowship, which matrimony would forfeit, and the scanty portionof a country squire's younger son. The young lady herself was dowerless, for Allsop's fortune was so settled that no share of it would come to hisgrand-niece, --another reason for conscience to gulp down that unhappyimpediment of speech. Certainly, during this visit, Morley's scruplesrelaxed; but when he returned home they came back with greater force thanever, --with greater force, because he felt that now not only a spiritualambition, but a human love was a casuist in favour of self-interest. Hehad returned on a visit to Humberston Rectory about a week previous tothe date of this chapter; the niece was not there. Sternly he had forcedhimself to examine a little more closely into the condition of the flockwhich (if he accepted the charge) he would have to guide, and the dutiesthat devolved upon a chief pastor in a populous trading town. He becameappalled. Humberston, like most towns under the political influence of agreat House, was rent by parties, --one party, who succeeded in returningone of the two members for Parliament, all for the House of Montfort; theother party, who returned also their member, all against it. By one halfthe town, whatever came from Montfort Court was sure to be regarded witha most malignant and distorted vision. Meanwhile, though Mr. Allsop waspopular with the higher classes and with such of the extreme poor as hischarity relieved, his pastoral influence generally was a dead letter. His curate, who preached for him--a good young man, but extremely dull-was not one of those preachers who fill a church. Tradesmen wanted anexcuse to stay away or choose another place of worship; and theycontrived to hear some passages in the sermons--over which, while thecurate mumbled, they habitually slept--that they declared to be"Puseyite. " The church became deserted; and about the same time a veryeloquent Dissenting minister appeared at Humberston, and even professedChurch folks went to hear him. George Morley, alas! perceived that atHumberston, if the Church there were to hold her own, a powerful andpopular preacher was essentially required. His mind was now made up. AtCarr Vipont's suggestion the bishop of the diocese, being then at hispalace, had sent to see him; and, while granting the force of hisscruples, had yet said, "Mine is the main responsibility. But if you askme to ordain you, I will do so without hesitation; for if the Churchwants preachers, it also wants deep scholars and virtuous pastors. "Fresh from this interview, George Morley came to announce to LadyMontfort that his resolve was unshaken. She, I have said, paused longbefore she answered. "George, " she began at last, in a voice sotouchingly sweet that its very sound was balm to a wounded spirit, "Imust not argue with you: I bow before the grandeur of your motives, and Iwill not say that you are not right. One thing I do feel, that if youthus sacrifice your inclinations and interests from scruples so pure andholy, you will never be to be pitied; you will never know regret. Pooror rich, single or wedded, a soul that so seeks to reflect heaven will beserene and blessed. " Thus she continued to address him for some time, heall the while inexpressibly soothed and comforted; then gradually sheinsinuated hopes even of a worldly and temporal kind, --literature wasleft to him, --the scholar's pen, if not the preacher's voice. Inliterature he might make a career that would lead on to fortune. Therewere places also in the public service to which a defect in speech was noobstacle. She knew his secret, modest attachment; she alluded to it justenough to encourage constancy and rebuke despair. As she ceased, hisadmiring and grateful consciousness of his cousin's rare qualitieschanged the tide of his emotions towards her from himself, and heexclaimed with an earnestness that almost wholly subdued his stutter, "What a counsellor you are! what a soother! If Montfort were but lessprosperous or more ambitious, what a treasure, either to console or tosustain, in a mind like yours!"

As those words were said, you might have seen at once why Lady Montfortwas called haughty and reserved. Her lip seemed suddenly to snatch backits sweet smile; her dark eye, before so purely, softly friend-like, became coldly distant; the tones of her voice were not the same as sheanswered, --

"Lord Montfort values me, as it is, far beyond my merits: far, " she addedwith a different intonation, gravely mournful. 

"Forgive me; I have displeased you. I did not mean it. Heaven forbidthat I should presume either to disparage Lord Montfort--or--or to--" hestopped short, saving the hiatus by a convenient stammer. "Only, " hecontinued, after a pause, "only forgive me this once. Recollect I was alittle boy when you were a young lady, and I have pelted you withsnowballs, and called you 'Caroline'. " Lady Montfort suppressed a sigh, and gave the young scholar back her gracious smile, but not a smile thatwould have permitted him to call her "Caroline" again. She remained, indeed, a little more distant than usual during the rest of theirinterview, which was not much prolonged; for Morley felt annoyed withhimself that he had so indiscreetly offended her, and seized an excuse toescape. "By the by, " said he, "I have a letter from Mr. Carr Vipont, asking me to give him a sketch for a Gothic bridge to the water yonder. I will, with your leave, walk down and look at the proposed site. Onlydo say that you forgive me. "

"Forgive you, cousin George, oh, yes! One word only: it is true you werea child still when I fancied I was a woman, and you have a right to talkto me upon all things, except those that relate to me and Lord Montfort;unless, indeed, " she added with a bewitching half laugh, "unless you eversee cause to scold me, there. Good-by, my cousin, and in turn forgiveme, if I was so petulant. The Caroline you pelted with snowballs wasalways a wayward, impulsive creature, quick to take offence, tomisunderstand, and--to repent. "

Back into the broad, broad gravel-walk, walked, more slowly than before, Lady Montfort. Again the sixty ghastly windows stared at her with alltheir eyes; back from the gravelwalk, through a side-door into thepompous solitude of the stately house; across long chambers, where themirrors reflected her form, and the huge chairs, in their flauntingdamask and flaring gold, stood stiff on desolate floors; into her ownprivate room, --neither large nor splendid that; plain chintzes, quietbook shelves. She need not have been the Marchioness of Montfort toinhabit a room as pleasant and as luxurious. And the rooms that shecould only have owned as marchioness, what were those worth to herhappiness? I know not. "Nothing, " fine ladies will perhaps answer. Yet those same fine ladies will contrive to dispose their daughters toanswer, "All. " In her own room Lady Montfort sank on her chair; wearily, wearily she looked at the clock; wearily at the books on the shelves, atthe harp near the window. Then she leaned her face on her hand, and thatface was so sad, and so humbly sad, that you would have wondered how anyone could call Lady Montfort proud. 

"Treasure! I! I! worthless, fickle, credulous fool! I! I!"

The groom of the chambers entered with the letters by the afternoon post. That great house contrived to worry itself with two posts a day. A royalcommand to Windsor--

"I shall be more alone in a court than here, " murmured Lady Montfort. 

CHAPTER II. 

 Truly saith the proverb, "Much corn lies under the straw that is not seen. "

Meanwhile George Morley followed the long shady walk, --very handsomewalk, full of prize roses and rare exotics, artificially winding too, --walk so well kept that it took thirty-four men to keep it, --noble walk, tiresome walk, till it brought him to the great piece of water, which, perhaps, four times in the year was visited by the great folks in theGreat House. And being thus out of the immediate patronage of fashion, the great piece of water really looked natural, companionable, refreshing: you began to breathe; to unbutton your waistcoat, loosen yourneckeloth, quote Chaucer, if you could recollect him, or Cowper, orShakspeare, or Thomson's "Seasons;" in short, any scraps of verse thatcame into your head, --as your feet grew joyously entangled with fern; asthe trees grouped forest-like before and round you; trees which there, being out of sight, were allowed to grow too old to be worth fiveshillings a piece, moss-grown, hollow-trunked, some pollarded, --treesinvaluable! Ha, the hare! How she scuds! See, the deer marching downto the water side. What groves of bulrushes! islands of water-lily! Andto throw a Gothic bridge there, bring a great gravel road over thebridge! Oh, shame, shame!

So would have said the scholar, for he had a true sentiment for Nature, if the bridge had not clean gone out of his head. Wandering alone, hecame at last to the most umbrageous and sequestered bank of the widewater, closed round on every side by brushwood, or still, patriarchaltrees. Suddenly he arrested his steps; an idea struck him, --one of thoseold, whimsical, grotesque ideas which often when we are alone come acrossus, even in our quietest or most anxious moods. Was his infirmity reallyincurable? Elocution masters had said certainly not; but they had donehim no good. Yet had not the greatest orator the world ever knew adefect in utterance? He, too, Demosthenes, had, no doubt, paid fees toelocution masters, the best in Athens, where elocution masters must havestudied their art ad unguem, and the defect had baffled them. But didDemosthenes despair? No, he resolved to cure himself, --how? Was it notone of his methods to fill his mouth with pebbles, and practise, manfullyto the roaring sea? George Morley had never tried the effect of pebbles. Was there any virtue in them? Why not try? No sea there, it is true;but a sea was only useful as representing the noise of a stormydemocratic audience. To represent a peaceful congregation that stillsheet of water would do as well. Pebbles there were in plenty just bythat gravelly cove, near which a young pike lay sunning his green back. Half in jest, half in earnest, the scholar picked up a handful ofpebbles, wiped them from sand and mould, inserted them between his teethcautiously, and, looking round to assure himself that none were by, beganan extempore discourse. So interested did he become in that classicalexperiment, that he might have tortured the air and astonished themagpies (three of whom from a neighbouring thicket listened perfectlyspell-bound) for more than half an hour, when seized with shame at theludicrous impotence of his exertions, with despair that so wretched abarrier should stand between his mind and its expression, he flung awaythe pebbles, and sinking on the ground, he fairly wept, wept like abaffled child. 

The fact was, that Morley had really the temperament of an orator;he had the orator's gifts in warmth of passion, rush of thought, logicalarrangement; there was in him the genius of a great preacher. He feltit, --he knew it; and in that despair which only genius knows when somepitiful cause obstructs its energies and strikes down its powers, makinga confidant of Solitude he wept loud and freely. 

"Do not despond, sir, I undertake to cure you, " said a voice behind. 

George started up in confusion; a man, elderly, but fresh and vigorous, stood beside him, in a light fustian jacket, a blue apron, and withrushes in his hands, which he continued to plait together nimbly anddeftly as he bowed to the startled scholar. 

"I was in the shade of the thicket yonder, sir; pardon me, I could nothelp hearing you. "

The Oxonian rubbed his eyes, and stared at the man with a vagueimpression that he had seen him before;--when? where?

"You can cure me, " he stuttered out; "what of?--the folly of trying tospeak in public? Thank you, I am cured. "

"Nay, sir, you see before you a man who can make you a very good speaker. Your voice is naturally fine. I repeat, I can cure a defect which is notin the organ, but in the management!"

"You can! you--who and what are you?"

"A basketmaker, sir; I hope for your custom. " "Surely this is not thefirst time I have seen you?"

"True, you once kindly suffered me to borrow a resting-place on yourfather's land. One good turn deserves another. "

At that moment Sir Isaac peered through the brambles, and restored to hisoriginal whiteness, and relieved from his false, horned ears, marchedgravely towards the water, sniffed at the scholar, slightly wagged histail, and buried himself amongst the reeds in search of a water-rat hehad therein disturbed a week before, and always expected to find again. 

The sight of the dog immediately cleared up the cloud in the scholar'smemory; but with recognition came back a keen curiosity and a sharp pangof remorse. 

"And your little girl?" he asked, looking down abashed. 

"Better than she was when we last met. Providence is so kind to us. "

Poor Waife! He never guessed that to the person he thus revealed himselfhe owed the grief for Sophy's abduction. He divined no reason for thescholar's flushing cheek and embarrassed manner. 

"Yes, sir, we have just settled in this neighbourhood. I have a prettycottage yonder at the outskirts of the village, and near the park pales. I recognized you at once; and as I heard you just now, I called to mindthat when we met before, you said your calling should be the Church, wereit not for your difficulty in utterance; and I said to myself, 'No badthing those pebbles, if his utterance were thick, which is it not;' and Ihave not a doubt, sir, that the true fault of Demosthenes, whom I presumeyou are imitating, was that he spoke through his nose. "

"Eh!" said the scholar, "through his nose? I never knew that?--and I--"

"And you are trying to speak without lungs; that is without air in them. You don't smoke, I presume?"

"No; certainly not. "

"You must learn; speak between each slow puff of your pipe. All you wantis time, --time to quiet the nerves, time to think, time to breathe. Themoment you begin to stammer, stop, fill the lungs thus, then try again!It is only a clever man who can learn to write, --that is, to compose; butany fool can be taught to speak. Courage!"

"If you really can teach me, " cried the learned man, forgetting all self-reproach for his betrayal of Waife to Mrs. Crane in the absorbinginterest of the hope that sprang up within him, "if you can teach me; ifI can but con-con-con--conq--"

"Slowly, slowly, breath and time; take a whiff from my pipe; that'sright. Yes, you can conquer the impediment. "

"Then I will be the best friend to you that man ever had. There's myhand on it. "

"I take it, but I ask leave to change the parties in the contract. Idon't want a friend: I don't deserve one. You'll be a friend to mylittle girl instead; and if ever I ask you to help me in aught for herwelfare and happiness--"

"I will help, heart and soul! slight indeed any service to her or to youcompared with such service to me. Free this wretched tongue from itsstammer, and thought and zeal will not stammer whenever you say, 'Keepyour promise. ' I am so glad your little girl is still with you. "

Waife looked surprised, "Is still with me!--why not?" The scholar bithis tongue. That was not the moment to confess; it might destroy allWaife's confidence in. Him. He would do so later. "When shall I beginmy lesson?"

"Now, if you like. But have you a book in your pocket?"

"I always have. "

"Not Greek, I hope, sir?"

"No, a volume of Barrow's Sermons. Lord Chatham recommended thosesermons to his great son as a study for eloquence. "

"Good! Will you lend me the volume, sir? and now for it. Listen to me;one sentence at a time; draw your breath when I do. "

The three magpies pricked up their ears again, and, as they listened, marvelled much. 

CHAPTER III. 

 Could we know by what strange circumstances a man's genius became prepared for practical success, we should discover that the most serviceable items in his education were never entered in the bills which his father paid for it. 

At the end of the very first lesson George Morley saw that all theelocution masters to whose skill he had been consigned were blunderers incomparison with the basketmaker. 

Waife did not puzzle him with scientific theories. All that the greatcomedian required of him was to observe and to imitate. Observation, imitation, lo! the groundwork of all art! the primal elements of allgenius! Not there, indeed to halt, but there ever to commence. Whatremains to carry on the intellect to mastery? Two steps, --to reflect, to reproduce. Observation, imitation, reflection, reproduction. Inthese stands a mind complete and consummate, fit to cope with all labour, achieve all success. 

At the end of the first lesson George Morley felt that his cure waspossible. Making an appointment for the next day at the same place, hecame thither stealthily and so on day by day. At the end of a week hefelt that the cure was nearly certain; at the end of a month the cure wasself-evident. He should live to preach the Word. True, that hepractised incessantly in private. Not a moment in his waking hours thatthe one thought, one object, was absent from his mind! True, that withall his patience, all his toil, the obstacle was yet serious, might neverbe entirely overcome. Nervous hurry, rapidity of action, vehemence offeeling, brought back, might at unguarded moments always bring back, thegasping breath, the emptied lungs, the struggling utterance. But therelapse, rarer and rarer now with each trial, would be at last scarce adrawback. "Nay, " quoth Waife, "instead of a drawback, become but anorator, and you will convert a defect into a beauty. "

Thus justly sanguine of the accomplishment of his life's chosen object, the scholar's gratitude to Waife was unspeakable. And seeing the mandaily at last in his own cottage, --Sophy's health restored to her cheeks, smiles to her lip, and cheered at her light fancy-work beside hergrandsire's elbow-chair, with fairy legends instilling perhaps goldentruths, --seeing Waife thus, the scholar mingled with gratitude a strangetenderness of respect. He knew nought of the vagrant's past, his reasonmight admit that in a position of life so at variance with the giftsnatural and acquired of the singular basketmaker, there was somethingmysterious and suspicious. But he blushed to think that he had everascribed to a flawed or wandering intellect the eccentricities ofglorious Humour, --abetted an attempt to separate an old age so innocentand genial from a childhood so fostered and so fostering. And sure I amthat if the whole world had risen up to point the finger of scorn at theone-eyed cripple, George Morley--the well-born gentleman, the refinedscholar, the spotless Churchman--would have given him his arm to leanupon, and walked by his side unashamed. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 To judge human character rightly, a man may sometimes have very small experience, provided he has a very large heart. 

Numa Pimpilius did not more conceal from notice the lessons he receivedfrom Egeria than did George Morley those which he received from thebasketmaker. Natural, indeed, must be his wish for secrecy; pretty storyit would be for Humberston, its future rector learning how to preach asermon from an old basketmaker! But he had a nobler and more imperiousmotive for discretion: his honour was engaged to it. Waife exacted apromise that he would regard the intercourse between them as strictlyprivate and confidential. 

"It is for my sake I ask this, " said Waife, frankly, "though I might sayit was for yours;" the Oxonian promised, and was bound. Fortunately LadyMontfort quitted the great house the very day after George had firstencountered the basketmaker, and writing word that she should not returnto it for some weeks, George was at liberty to avail himself of herlord's general invitation to make use of Montfort Court as his lodgingswhen in the neighbourhood; which the proprieties of the world would nothave allowed him to do while Lady Montfort was there without either hostor female guests. Accordingly, he took up his abode in a corner of thevast palace, and was easily enabled, when he pleased, to traverseunobserved the solitudes of the park, gain the waterside, or strollthence through the thick copse leading to Waife's cottage, which borderedthe park pales, solitary, sequestered, beyond sight of the neighbouringvillage. The great house all to himself, George was brought in contactwith no one to whom, in unguarded moments, he could even have let out ahint of his new acquaintance, except the clergyman of the parish, aworthy man, who lived in strict retirement upon a scanty stipend. Forthe Marquess was the lay impropriator; the living was therefore but avery poor vicarage, below the acceptance of a Vipont or a Vipont'stutor, sure to go to a worthy man forced to live in strict retirement. George saw too little of this clergyman, either to let out secrets orpick up information. From him, however, George did incidentally learnthat Waife had some months previously visited the village, and proposedto the bailiff to take the cottage and osier land, which he now rented;that he represented himself as having known an old basketmaker who haddwelt there many years ago, and as having learned the basket craft ofthat long deceased operative. As he offered a higher rent than thebailiff could elsewhere obtain, and as the bailiff was desirous to getcredit with Mr. Carr Vipont for improving the property, by revivingthereon an art which had fallen into desuetude, the bargain was struck, provided the candidate, being a stranger to the place, could furnish thebailiff with any satisfactory reference. Waife had gone away, saying heshould shortly return with the requisite testimonial. In fact, poor man, as we know, he was then counting on a good word from Mr. Hartopp. He hadnot, however, returned for some months. The cottage, having beenmeanwhile wanted for the temporary occupation of an under-gamekeeper, while his own was under repair, fortunately remained unlet. Waife, onreturning, accompanied by his little girl, had referred the bailiff to arespectable house-agent and collector of street rents in Bloomsbury, whowrote word that a lady, then abroad, had authorized him, as the agentemployed in the management of a house property from which much of herincome was derived, not only to state that Waife was a very intelligentman, likely to do well whatever he undertook, but also to guarantee, ifrequired, the punctual payment of the rent for any holding of which hebecame the occupier. On this the agreement was concluded, thebasketmaker installed. In the immediate neighbourhood there was nocustom for basket-work, but Waife's performances were so neat, and someso elegant and fanciful, that he had no difficulty in contracting with alarge tradesman (not at Humberston, but a more distant and yet morethriving town about twenty miles off) for as much of such work as hecould supply. Each week the carrier took his goods and brought back thepayments; the profits amply sufficed for Waife's and Sophy's daily bread, with even more than the surplus set aside for the rent. For the rest, the basketmaker's cottage being at the farthest outskirts of thestraggling village inhabited by a labouring peasantry, his way of lifewas not much known nor much inquired into. He seemed a harmless, hard-working man; never seen at the beer-house; always seen with his neatly-dressed little grandchild in his quiet corner at church on Sundays; acivil, well-behaved man too; who touched his hat to the bailiff and tookit off to the vicar. 

An idea prevailed that the basketmaker had spent much of his life inforeign countries, favoured partly by a sobriety of habits which is notaltogether national, partly by something in his appearance, which, without being above his lowly calling, did not seem quite in keeping withit, --outlandish in short, --but principally by the fact that he hadreceived since his arrival two letters with a foreign postmark. The ideabefriended the old man, --allowing it to be inferred that he had probablyoutlived the friends he had formerly left behind him in England, and, onhis return, been sufficiently fatigued with his rambles to drop contentedin any corner of his native soil wherein he could find a quiet home, andearn by light toil a decent livelihood. 

George, though naturally curious to know what had been the result of hiscommunication to Mrs. Crane, --whether it had led to Waife's discovery orcaused him annoyance, --had hitherto, however, shrunk from touching upon atopic which subjected himself to an awkward confession of officiousintermeddling, and to which any indirect allusion might appear anindelicate attempt to pry into painful family affairs. But one day hereceived a letter from his father which disturbed him greatly, andinduced him to break ground and speak to his preceptor frankly. In thisletter, the elder Mr. Morley mentioned incidentally, amongst other scrapsof local news, that he had seen Mr. Hartopp, who was rather out of sorts, his good heart not having recovered the shock of having been abominably"taken in" by an impostor for whom he had conceived a great fancy, and towhose discovery George himself had providentially led (the fatherreferred here to what George had told him of his first meeting withWaife, and his visit to Mrs. Crane); the impostor, it seemed, from whatMr. Hartopp let fall, not being a little queer in the head, as George hadbeen led to surmise, but a very bad character. "In fact, " added theelder Morley, "a character so bad that Mr. Hartopp was too glad to giveup to her lawful protectors the child, whom the man appears to haveabducted; and I suspect, from what Hartopp said, though he does not liketo own that he was taken in to so gross a degree, that he had beenactually introducing to his fellow-townsfolk and conferring familiarlywith a regular jail-bird, --perhaps a bur glar. How lucky for that poor, soft-headed, excellent Jos Hartopp, whom it is positively as inhuman totake in as it would be to defraud a born natural, that the lady you sawarrived in time to expose the snares laid for his benevolent credulity. But for that, Jos might have taken the fellow into his own house (justlike him!), and been robbed by this time, perhaps murdered, --Heavenknows!"

Incredulous and indignant, and longing to be empowered to vindicate hisfriend's fair name, George seized his hat, and strode quick along thepath towards the basketmaker's cottage. As he gained the water-side, he perceived Waife himself, seated on a mossy bank, under a gnarledfantastic thorntree, watching a deer as it came to drink, and whistling asoft mellow tune, --the tune of an old English border-song. The deerlifted his antlers from the water, and turned his large bright eyestowards the opposite bank, whence the note came, listening and wistful. As George's step crushed the wild thyme, which the thorn-tree shadowed, "Hush!" said Waife, "and mark how the rudest musical sound can affect thebrute creation. " He resumed the whistle, --a clearer, louder, wildertune, --that of a lively hunting-song. The deer turned quickly round, --uneasy, restless, tossed its antlers, and bounded through the fern. Waife again changed the key of his primitive music, --a melancholy bellinynote, like the belling itself of a melancholy hart, but more modulatedinto sweetness. The deer arrested its flight, and, lured by the mimicsound, returned towards the water-side, slowly and statelily. 

"I don't think the story of Orpheus charming the brutes was a fable; doyou, sir?" said Waife. "The rabbits about here know me already; and, ifI had but a fiddle, I would undertake to make friends with that reservedand unsocial water-rat, on whom Sir Isaac in vain endeavours at presentto force his acquaintance. Man commits a great mistake in notcultivating more intimate and amicable relations with the other branchesof earth's great family. Few of them not more amusing than we are;naturally, for they have not our cares. And such variety of charactertoo, where you would least expect it!"

GEORGE MORLEY. --"Very true. Cowper noticed marked differences ofcharacter in his favourite hares. "

WAIFE. --"Hares! I am sure that there are not two house-flies on awindow-pane, two minnows in that water, that would not present to usinteresting points of contrast as to temper and disposition. If house-flies and minnows could but coin money, or set up a manufacture, --contrive something, in short, to buy or sell attractive to Anglo-Saxonenterprise and intelligence, --of course we should soon have diplomaticrelations with them; and our despatches and newspapers would instruct usto a T in the characters and propensities of their leading personages. But, where man has no pecuniary nor ambitious interests at stake in hiscommerce with any class of his fellow-creatures, his information aboutthem is extremely confused and superficial. The best naturalists aremere generalizers, and think they have done a vast deal when theyclassify a species. What should we know about mankind if we had onlya naturalist's definition of man? We only know mankind by knockingclassification on the head, and studying each man as a class in himself. Compare Buffon and Shakspeare! Alas, sir! can we never have aShakspeare for house-flies and minnows?"

GEORGE MORLEY. --"With all respect for minnows and house-flies, if wefound another Shakspeare, he might be better employed, like hispredecessor, in selecting individualities from the classifications ofman. "

WAIFE. --"Being yourself a man, you think so: a housefly might be of adifferent opinion. But permit me, at least, to doubt whether such aninvestigator would be better employed in reference to his own happiness, though I grant that he would be so in reference to your intellectualamusement and social interests. Poor Shakspeare! How much he must havesuffered!"

GEORGE MORLEY. --"You mean that he must have been racked by the passionshe describes, --bruised by collision with the hearts he dissects. That isnot necessary to genius. The judge on his bench, summing up evidence andcharging the jury, has no need to have shared the temptations or beenprivy to the acts of the prisoner at the bar. Yet how consummate may behis analysis!"

"No, " cried Waife, roughly. "No! Your illustration destroys yourargument. The judge knows nothing of the prisoner. There are thecircumstances; there is the law. By these he generalizes, by these hejudges, --right or wrong. But of the individual at the bar, of the world-the tremendous world--within that individual heart, I repeat, he knowsnothing. Did he know, law and circumstances might vanish, human justicewould be paralyzed. Ho, there! place that swart-visaged, ill-lookingforeigner in the dock, and let counsel open the case; hear the witnessesdepose! Oh, horrible wretch! a murderer! unmanly murderer!--adefenceless woman smothered by caitiff hands! Hang him up! hang him up!'Softly, ' whispers the POET, and lifts the veil from the assassin'sheart. 'Lo! it is Othello the Moor!' What jury now dare find thatcriminal guilty? what judge now put on the black cap? who now says, 'Hang him up! hang him up!"

With such lifelike force did the Comedian vent this passionate outburstthat he thrilled his listener with an awe akin to that which theconvicted Moor gathers round himself at the close of the sublime drama. Even Sir Isaac was startled; and leaving his hopeless pursuit of thewater-rat, uttered a low bark, came to his master, and looked into hisface with solemn curiosity. 

WAIFE (relapsing into colloquial accents). --"Why do we sympathize withthose above us more than with those below? why with the sorrows of a kingrather than those of a beggar? why does Sir Isaac sympathize with me morethan (let that water-rat vex him ever so much) I can possibly sympathizewith him? Whatever be the cause, see at least, Mr. Morley, one reasonwhy a poor creature like myself finds it better employment to cultivatethe intimacy of brutes than to prosecute the study of men. Among men, all are too high to sympathize with me; but I have known two friends whonever injured nor betrayed. Sir Isaac is one; Wamba was another. Wamba, sir, the native of a remote district of the globe (two friends civilizedEurope is not large enough to afford any one man), Wamba, sir, was lessgifted by nature, less refined by education, than Sir Isaac; but he was asafe and trustworthy companion: Wamba, sir, was--an opossum. "

GEORGE MORLEY. --"Alas, my dear Mr. Waife, I fear that men must havebehaved very ill to you. "

WAIFE. --"I have no right to complain. I have behaved very ill to myself. When a man is his own enemy, he is very unreasonable if he expect othermen to be his benefactors. "

GEORGE MORLEY (with emotion). --"Listen, I have a confession to make toyou. I fear I have done you an injury, where, officiously, I meant to doa kindness. " The scholar hurried on to narrate the particulars of hisvisit to Mrs. Crane. On concluding the recital, he added, "When again Imet you here, and learned that your Sophy was with you, I feltinexpressibly relieved. It was clear then, I thought, that yourgrandchild had been left to your care unmolested, either that you hadproved not to be the person of whom the parties were in search, or familyaffairs had been so explained and reconciled that my interference hadoccasioned you no harm. But to-day I have a letter from my father whichdisquiets me much. It seems that the persons in question did visitGatesboro', and have maligned you to Mr. Hartopp. Understand me, I askfor no confidence which you may be unwilling to give; but if you will armme with the power to vindicate your character from aspersions which Ineed not your assurance to hold unjust and false, I will not rest tillthat task be triumphantly accomplished. "

WAIFE (in a tone calm but dejected). --"I thank you with all my heart. But there is nothing to be done. I am glad that the subject did notstart up between us until such little service as I could render you, Mr. Morley, was pretty well over. It would have been a pity if you had beencompelled to drop all communication with a man of attainted character, before you had learned how to manage the powers that will enable youhereafter to exhort sinners worse than I have been. Hush, sir! you feelthat, at least now, I am an inoffensive old man, labouring for a humblelivelihood. You will not repeat here what you may have heard, or yethear, to the discredit of my former life. You will not send me and mygrandchild forth from our obscure refuge to confront a world with whichwe have no strength to cope. And, believing this, it only remains for meto say, Fare-you-well, sir. "

"I should deserve to lose spe-spe-speech altogether, " cried the Oxonian, gasping and stammering fearfully as he caught Waife firmly by the arm, "if I suffered--suff-suff-suff--"

"One, two! take time, sir!" said the Comedian, softly. And with a sweetpatience he reseated himself on the bank. The Oxonian threw himself atlength by the outcast's side; and, with the noble tenderness of a natureas chivalrously Christian as Heaven ever gave to priest, he rested hisfolded hands upon Waife's shoulder, and looking him full and close in theface, said thus, slowly, deliberately, not a stammer, "You do not guesswhat you have done for me; you have secured to me a home and a career;the wife of whom I must otherwise have despaired; the Divine Vocation onwhich all my earthly hopes were set, and which I was on the eve ofrenouncing: do not think these are obligations which can be lightlyshaken off. If there are circumstances which forbid me to disabuseothers of impressions which wrong you, imagine not that their falsenotions will affect my own gratitude, --my own respect for you!"

"Nay, sir! they ought; they must. Perhaps not your exaggerated gratitudefor a service which you should not, howover, measure by its effects onyourself, but by the slightness of the trouble it gave to me; not perhapsyour gratitude, but your respect, yes. "

"I tell you no! Do you fancy that I cannot judge of a man's naturewithout calling on him to trust me with all the secrets--all the errors, if you will--of his past life? Will not the calling to which I may nowhold myself destined give me power and commandment to absolve all thosewho truly repent and unfeignedly believe? Oh, Mr. Waife! if in earlierdays you have sinned, do you not repent? and how often, in many a lovelygentle sentence dropped unawares from your lips, have I had cause to knowthat you unfeignedly believe! Were I now clothed with sacred authority, could I not absolve you as a priest? Think you that, in the meanwhile, I dare judge you as a man? I, --Life's new recruit, guarded hitherto fromtemptation by careful parents and favouring fortune, --I presume to judge, and judge harshly, the gray-haired veteran, wearied by the march, woundedin the battle!"

"You are a noble-hearted human being, " said Waife, greatly affected. "And, mark my words, a mantle of charity so large you will live to wearas a robe of honour. But hear me, sir! Mr. Hartopp also is a maninfinitely charitable, benevolent, kindly, and, through all hissimplicity, acutely shrewd; Mr. Hartopp, on hearing what was said againstme, deemed me unfit to retain my grandchild, resigned the trust I hadconfided to him, and would have given me alms, no doubt, had I askedthem, but not his hand. Take your hands, sir, from my shoulder, lest thetouch sully you. "

George did take his hands from the vagrant's shoulder, but it was tograsp the hand that waived them off and struggled to escape the pressure. "You are innocent! you are innocent! forgive me that I spoke to you ofrepentance as if you had been guilty. I feel you are innocent, --feel itby my own heart. You turn away. I defy you to say that you are guiltyof what has been laid to your charge, of what has darkened your goodname, of what Mr. Hartopp believed to your prejudice. Look me in theface and say, 'I am not innocent; I have not been belied. "'

Waife remained voiceless, motionless. 

The young man, in whose nature lay yet unproved all those grand qualitiesof heart, without which never was there a grand orator, a grandpreacher, --qualities which grasp the results of argument, and arrive atthe end of elaborate reasoning by sudden impulse, --here released Waife'shand, rose to his feet, and, facing Waife, as the old man sat with faceaverted, eyes downcast, breast heaving, said loftily, "Forget that I may soon be the Christian minister whose duty bows his earto the lips of Shame and Guilt; whose hand, when it points to Heaven, nomortal touch can sully; whose sublimest post is by the sinner's side. Look on me but as man and gentleman. See, I now extend this hand to you. If, as man and gentleman, you have done that which, could all hearts beread, all secrets known, human judgment reversed by Divine omniscience, forbids you to take this hand, --then reject it, go hence: we part! Butif no such act be on your conscience, however you submit to itsimputation, --THEN, in the name of Truth, as man and gentleman to man andgentleman, I command you to take this right hand, and, in the name ofthat Honour which bears no paltering, I forbid you to disobey. "

The vagabond rose, like the Dead at the spell of a Magician, --took, as ifirresistibly, the hand held out to him. And the scholar, overjoyed, fellon his breast, embracing him as a son. 

"You know, " said George, in trembling accents, "that the hand you havetaken will never betray, never desert; but is it--is it really powerlessto raise and to restore you to your place?"

"Powerless amongst your kind for that indeed, " answered Waife, in accentsstill more tremulous. "All the kings of the earth are not strong enoughto raise a name that has once been trampled into the mire. Learn that itis not only impossible for me to clear myself, but that it is equallyimpossible for me to confide to mortal being a single plea in defence ifI am innocent, in extenuation if I am guilty. And saying this, andentreating you to hold it more merciful to condemn than to question me, --for question is torture, --I cannot reject your pity; but it would bemockery to offer me respect!"

"What! not respect the fortitude which calumny cannot crush? Would thatfortitude be possible if you were not calm in the knowledge that no falsewitnesses can mislead the Eternal Judge? Respect you! yes, --because Ihave seen you happy in despite of men, and therefore I know that thecloud around you is not the frown of Heaven. "

"Oh, " cried Waife, the tears rolling down his cheeks, "and not an hourago I was jesting at human friendship, venting graceless spleen on myfellow-men! And now--now--ah, sir! Providence is so kind to me! And, "said he, brushing away his tears, as the old arch smile began to playround the corner of his mouth, "and kind to me in the very quarter inwhich unkindness had so sorely smitten me. True, you directed towards methe woman who took from me my grandchild, who destroyed me in the esteemof good Mr. Hartopp. Well, you see, I have my sweet Sophy back again; weare in the home of all others I most longed for; and that woman, yes, Ican, at least, thus far, confide to you my secrets, so that you may notblame yourself for sending her to Gatesboro', --that very woman knows ofmy shelter; furnished me with the very reference necessary to obtain it;has freed my grandchild from a loathsome bondage, which I could not havelegally resisted; and should new persecutions chase us will watch andwarn and help us. And if you ask me how this change in her was effected;how, when we had abandoned all hope of green fields, and deemed that onlyin the crowd of a city we could escape those who pursued us whendiscovered there, though I fancied myself an adept in disguise, and thechild and the dog were never seen out of the four garret walls in which Ihid them, --if you ask me, I say, to explain how that very woman wassuddenly converted from a remorseless foe into a saving guardian, I canonly answer 'By no wit, no device, no persuasive art of mine. Providencesoftened her heart, and made it kind, just at a moment when no otheragency on earth could have rescued us from--from--"

"Say no more: I guess! the paper this woman showed me was a legal formauthorizing your poor little Sophy to be given up to the care of afather. I guess! of that father you would not speak ill to me; yet fromthat father you would save your grandchild. Say no more. And yon quiethome, your humble employment, really content you?"

"Oh, if such a life can but last! Sophy is so well, so cheerful, sohappy. Did not you bear her singing the other day? She never used tosing! But we had not been here a week when song broke out from her, --untaught, as from a bird. But if any ill report of me travel hither fromGatesboro' or elsewhere, we should be sent away, and the bird would bemute in my thorn-tree: Sophy would sing no more. "

"Do not fear that slander shall drive you hence. Lady Montfort, youknow, is my cousin, but you know not--few do--how thoroughly generous andgentle-hearted she is. I will speak of you to her, --oh! do not lookalarmed. She will take my word when I tell her, 'That is a good man;'and if she ask more, it will be enough to say, 'Those who have knownbetter days are loth to speak to strangers of the past. '"

"I thank you earnestly, sincerely, " said Waife, brightening up. "Onefavour more: if you saw in the formal document shown to you, or retain onyour memory, the name of--of the person authorized to claim Sophy as hischild, you will not mention it to Lady Montfort. I am hot sure if evershe heard that name, but she may have done so, and--and--" he paused amoment, and seemed to muse; then went on, not concluding his sentence. "You are so good to me, Mr. Morley, that I wish to confide in you as faras I can. Now, you see, I am already an old man, and my chief object isto raise up a friend for Sophy when I am gone, --a friend in her own sex, sir. Oh, you cannot guess how I long, how I yearn, to view that childunder the holy fostering eyes of a woman. Perhaps if Lady Montfort sawmy pretty Sophy she might take a fancy to her. Oh, if she did! if shedid! And Sophy, " added Waife, proudly, "has a right to respect. She isnot like me, --any hovel is good enough for me; but for her! Do you knowthat I conceived that hope, that the hope helped to lead me back herewhen, months ago, I was at Humberston, intent upon rescuing Sophy; andsaw--though, " observed Waife, with a sly twitch of the muscles round hismouth, "I had no right at that precise moment to be seeing anything--LadyMontfort's humane fear for a blind old impostor, who was trying to savehis dog--a black dog, sir, who had dyed his hair--from her carriagewheels. And the hope became stronger still, when, the first Sunday Iattended yon village church, I again saw that fair--wondrously fair--faceat the far end, --fair as moonlight and as melancholy. Strange it is, sir, that I--naturally a boisterous, mirthful man, and now a shy, skulking fugitive--feel more attracted, more allured towards acountenance, in proportion as I read there the trace of sadness. I feelless abased by my own nothingness, more emboldened to approach and say, 'Not so far apart from me: thou too hast suffered. ' Why is this?"

GEORGE MORLEY. --"'The fool hath said in his heart that there is no God;'but the fool hath not said in his heart that there is no sorrow, --pithyand most profound sentence; intimating the irrefragable claim that bindsmen to the Father. And when the chain tightens, the children are closerdrawn together. But to your wish: I will remember it. And when mycousin returns, she shall see your Sophy. "

CHAPTER V. 

 Mr. Waife, being by nature unlucky, considers that, in proportion as fortune brings him good luck, nature converts it into bad. He suffers Mr. George Morley to go away in his debt, and Sophy fears that he will be dull in consequence. 

George Morley, a few weeks after the conversation last recorded, took hisdeparture from Montfort Court, prepared, without a scruple, to presenthimself for ordination to the friendly bishop. From Waife he derivedmore than the cure of a disabling infirmity; he received those hintswhich, to a man who has the natural temperament of an orator, so rarelyunited with that of the scholar, expedite the mastery of the art thatmakes the fleeting human voice an abiding, imperishable power. Thegrateful teacher exhausted all his lore upon the pupil whose genius hehad freed, whose heart had subdued himself. Before leaving, George wasmuch perplexed how to offer to Waife any other remuneration than thatwhich, in Waife's estimate, had already overpaid all the benefits he hadreceived; namely, unquestioning friendship and pledged protection. Itneed scarcely be said that George thought the man to whom he owed fortuneand happiness was entitled to something beyond that moral recompense. But he found, at the first delicate hint, that Waife would not hear ofmoney, though the ex-Comedian did not affect any very Quixotic notion onthat practical subject. "To tell you the truth, sir, I have rather asuperstition against having more money in my hands than I know what to dowith. It has always brought me bad luck. And what is very hard, --thebad luck stays, but the money goes. There was that splendid sum I madeat Gatesboro'. You should have seen me counting it over. I could nothave had a prouder or more swelling heart if I had been, that great manMr. Elwes the miser. And what bad luck it brought me, and how it allfrittered itself away! Nothing to show for it but a silk ladder and anold hurdy-gurdy, and I sold them at half price. Then when I had theaccident, which cost me this eye, the railway people behaved sogenerously, gave me L120, --think of that! And before three days themoney was all gone!"

"How was that?" said George, half-amused, half-pained, --"stolen perhaps?"

"Not so, " answered Waife, somewhat gloomily, "but restored. A poor dearold man, who thought very ill of me, and I don't wonder at it, --wasreduced from great wealth to great poverty. While I was laid up, mylandlady read a newspaper to me, and in that newspaper was an account ofhis reverse and destitution. But I was accountable to him for thebalance of an old debt, and that, with the doctor's bills, quite coveredmy L120. I hope he does not think quite so ill of ine now. But themoney brought good luck to him, rather than to me. Well, sir, if youwere now to give me money, I should be on the look-out for some mournfulcalamity. Gold is not natural to me. Some day, however, by and by, whenyou are inducted into your living, and have become a renowned preacher, and have plenty to spare, with an idea that you will feel morecomfortable in your mind if you had done something royal for thebasketmaker, I will ask you to help me to make up a sum, which I amtrying by degrees to save, --an enormous sum, almost as much as I paidaway from my railway compensation: I owe it to the lady who lent it torelease Sophy from an engagement which I--certainly without any remorseof conscience--made the child break. "

"Oh, yes! What is the amount? Let me at least repay that debt. "

"Not yet. The lady can wait; and she would be pleased to wait, becauseshe deserves to wait: it would be unkind to her to pay it off at once. But in the meanwhile if you could send me a few good books for Sophy, --instructive, yet not very, very dry, -and a French dictionary, I can teachher French when the winter days close in. You see I am not above beingpaid, sir. But, Mr. Morley, there is a great favour you can do me. "

"What is it? Speak. "

"Cautiously refrain from doing me a great disservice! You are going backto your friends and relations. Never speak of me to them. Neverdescribe me and my odd ways. Name not the lady, nor--nor--nor--the manwho claimed Sophy. 

"Your friends might not hurt me; others might. Talk travels. The hare isnot long in its form when it has a friend in a hound that gives tongue. Promise what I ask. Promise it as 'man and gentleman. '"

"Certainly. Yet I have one relation to whom I should like, with yourpermission, to speak of you, with whom I could wish you acquainted. Heis so thorough a man of the world, that he might suggest some method toclear your good name, which you yourself would approve. My uncle, Colonel Morley--"

"On no account!" cried Waife, almost fiercely, and he evinced so muchanger and uneasiness that it was long before George could pacify him bythe most earnest assurances that his secret should be inviolably kept, and his injunctions faithfully obeyed. No men of the world consulted howto force him back to the world of men that he fled from! No colonels toscan him with martinet eyes, and hint how to pipeclay a tarnish! Waife'sapprehensions gradually allayed and his confidence restored, one finemorning George took leave of his eccentric benefactor. 

Waife and Sophy stood gazing after him from their garden-gate, thecripple leaning lightly on the child's arm. She looked with anxiousfondness into the old man's thoughtful face, and clung to him moreclosely as she looked. 

"Will you not be dull, poor Grandy? will you not miss him?"

"A little at first, " said Waife, rousing himself. "Education is a greatthing. An educated mind, provided that it does us no mischief, --which isnot always the case, --cannot be withdrawn from our existence withoutleaving a blank behind. Sophy, we must seriously set to work and educateourselves!"

"We will, Grandy dear, " said Sophy, with decision; and a few minutesafterwards, "If I can become very, very clever, you will not pine so muchafter that gentleman, --will you, Grandy?"

CHAPTER VI. 

 Being a chapter that comes to an untimely end. 

Winter was far advanced when Montfort Court was again brightened by thepresence of its lady. A polite letter from Mr. Carr Vipont had reachedher before leaving Windsor, suggesting how much it would be for theadvantage of the Vipont interest if she would consent to visit for amonth or two the seat in Ireland, which had been too long neglected, andat which my lord would join her on his departure from his Highland moors. So to Ireland went Lady Montfort. My lord did not join her there; butMr. Carr Vipont deemed it desirable for the Vipont interest that thewedded pair should reunite at Montfort Court, where all the Vipont familywere invited to witness their felicity or mitigate their ennui. 

But before proceeding another stage in this history, it becomes a justtribute of respect to the great House of Vipont to pause and place itspast records and present grandeur in fuller display before thereverential reader. The House of Vipont!--what am I about? The House ofVipont requires a chapter to itself. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 The House of Vipont, --"/Majora canamus/. "

The House of Vipont! Looking back through ages, it seems as if the Houseof Vipont were one continuous living idiosyncrasy, having in itsprogressive development a connected unity of thought and action, so thatthrough all the changes of its outward form it had been moved and guidedby the same single spirit, --"/Le roi est mort; vive le roi!/"--A Vipontdies; live the Vipont! Despite its high-sounding Norman name, the Houseof Vipont was no House at all for some generations after the Conquest. The first Vipont who emerged from the obscurity of time was a rudesoldier of Gascon origin, in the reign of Henry II. , --one of the thousandfighting-men who sailed from Milford Haven with the stout Earl ofPembroke, on that strange expedition which ended in the conquest ofIreland. This gallant man obtained large grants of land in that fertileisland; some Mac or some O'----- vanished, and the House of Vipont rose. 

During the reign of Richard I. , the House of Vipont, though recalled toEngland (leaving its Irish acquisitions in charge of a fierce cadet, whoserved as middleman), excused itself from the Crusade, and, by marriagewith a rich goldsmith's daughter, was enabled to lend moneys to those whoindulged in that exciting but costly pilgrimage. In the reign of John, the House of Vipont foreclosed its mortgages on lands thus pledged, andbecame possessed of a very fair property in England, as well as its fiefsin the sister isle. 

The House of Vipont took no part in the troublesome politics of that day. Discreetly obscure, it attended to its own fortunes, and felt smallinterest in Magna Charta. During the reigns of the Plantagenet Edwards, who were great encouragers of mercantile adventure, the House of Vipont, shunning Crecy, Bannockburn, and such profitless brawls, intermarriedwith London traders, and got many a good thing out of the Genoese. Inthe reign of Henry IV. The House of Vipont reaped the benefit of itspast forbearance and modesty. Now, for the first time, the Vipontsappear as belted knights; they have armorial bearings; they areLancasterian to the backbone; they are exceedingly indignant againstheretics; they burn the Lollards; they have places in the household ofQueen Joan, who was called a witch, --but a witch is a very good friendwhen she wields a sceptre instead of a broomstick. And in proof of itsgrowing importance, the House of Vipont marries a daughter of the thenmighty House of Darrell. In the reign of Henry V. , during the invasionof France, the House of Vipont--being afraid of the dysentery whichcarried off more brave fellows than the field of Agincourt--contrived tobe a minor. The Wars of the Roses puzzled the House of Vipont sadly. But it went through that perilous ordeal with singular tact and success. The manner in which it changed sides, each change safe, and most changeslucrative, is beyond all praise. 

On the whole, it preferred the Yorkists; it was impossible to be activelyLancasterian with Henry VI. Of Lancaster always in prison. And thus, atthe death of Edward IV. , the House of Vipont was Baron Vipont of Vipont, with twenty manors. Richard III. Counted on the House of Vipont, when heleft London to meet Richmond at Bosworth: he counted without his host. The House of Vipont became again intensely Lancasterian, and was amongstthe first to crowd round the litter in which Henry VII. Entered themetropolis. In that reign it married a relation of Empson's, did thegreat House of Vipont! and as nobles of elder date had become scarce andpoor, Henry VII. Was pleased to make the House of Vipont an Earl, --theEarl of Montfort. In the reign of Henry VIII. , instead of burningLollards, the House of Vipont was all for the Reformation: it obtainedthe lands of two priories and one abbey. Gorged with that spoil, theHouse of Vipont, like an anaconda in the process of digestion, sleptlong. But no, it slept not. Though it kept itself still as a mouseduring the reign of Bloody Queen Mary (only letting it be known at Courtthat the House of Vipont had strong papal leanings); though during thereigns of Elizabeth and James it made no noise, the House of Vipont wassilently inflating its lungs and improving its constitution. Slept, indeed! it was wide awake. Then it was that it began systematically itsgrand policy of alliances; then was it sedulously grafting its olivebranches on the stems of those fruitful New Houses that had sprung upwith the Tudors; then, alive to the spirit of the day, provident of thewants of the morrow, over the length and breadth of the land it wove theinterlacing network of useful cousinhood! Then, too, it began to buildpalaces, to enclose parks; it travelled, too, a little, did the House ofVipont! it visited Italy; it conceived a taste: a very elegant Housebecame the House of Vipont! And in James's reign, for the first time, the House of Vipont got the Garter. The Civil Wars broke out: Englandwas rent asunder. Peer and knight took part with one side or the other. The House of Vipont was again perplexed. Certainly at the commencementit, was all for King Charles. But when King Charles took to fighting, the House of Vipont shook its sagacious head, and went about, like LordFalkland, sighing, "Peace, peace!" Finally, it remembered its neglectedestates in Ireland: its duties called it thither. To Ireland it went, discreetly sad, and, marrying a kinswoman of Lord Fauconberg, --theconnection least exposed to Fortune's caprice of all the alliances formedby the Lord Protector's family, --it was safe when Cromwell visitedIreland; and no less safe when Charles II. Was restored to England. During the reign of the merry monarch the House of Vipont was a courtier, married a beauty, got the Garter again, and, for the first time, becamethe fashion. Fashion began to be a power. In the reign of James II. The House of Vipont again contrived to be a minor, who came of age justin time to take the oaths of fealty to William and Mary. In case ofaccidents, the House of Vipont kept on friendly terms with the exiledStuarts, but it wrote no letters, and got into no scrapes. It was not, however, till the Government, under Sir Robert Walpole, established theconstitutional and parliamentary system which characterizes modernfreedom, that the puissance accumulated through successive centuries bythe House of Vipont became pre-eminently visible. By that time its landswere vast; its wealth enormous; its parliamentary influence, as "a GreatHouse, " was a part of the British Constitution. At this period, theHouse of Vipont found it convenient to rend itself into two granddivisions, --the peer's branch and the commoner's. The House of Commonshad become so important that it was necessary for the House of Vipont tobe represented there by a great commoner. Thus arose the family of CarrVipont. That division, owing to a marriage settlement favouring ayounger son by the heiress of the Carrs, carried off a good slice fromthe estate of the earldom: /uno averso, non deficit alter/; the earldommourned, but replaced the loss by two wealthy wedlocks of its own; andhad long since seen cause to rejoice that its power in the Upper Chamberwas strengthened by such aid in the Lower. For, thanks to itsparliamentary influence, and the aid of the great commoner, in the reignof George III. The House of Vipont became a Marquess. From that time tothe present day, the House of Vipont has gone on prospering andprogressive. It was to the aristocracy what the "Times" newspaper is tothe press. The same quick sympathy with public feeling, the same unityof tone and purpose, the same adaptability, and something of the samelofty tone of superiority to the petty interests of party. It may beconceded that the House of Vipont was less brilliant than the "Times"newspaper, but eloquence and wit, necessary to the duration of anewspaper, were not necessary to that of the House of Vipont. Had theybeen so, it would have had them. 

The head of the House of Vipont rarely condescended to take office. Witha rent-roll loosely estimated at about L170, 000 a year, it is beneath aman to take from the public a paltry five or six thousand a year, andundergo all the undignified abuse of popular assemblies, and "a ribaldpress. " But it was a matter of course that the House of Vipont should berepresented in any Cabinet that a constitutional monarch could be advisedto form. Since the time of Walpole, a Vipont was always in the serviceof his country, except in those rare instances when the country wasinfamously misgoverned. The cadets of the House, or the senior member ofthe great commoner's branch of it, sacrificed their ease to fulfil thatduty. The Montfort marquesses in general were contented with situationsof honour in the household, as of Lord Steward, Lord Chamberlain, orMaster of the Horse, etc. , --not onerous dignities; and even these theyonly deigned to accept on those special occasions when danger threatenedthe star of Brunswick, and the sense of its exalted station forbade theHouse of Vipont to leave its country in the dark. 

Great Houses like that of Vipont assist the work of civilization by thelaw of their existence. They are sure to have a spirited and wealthytenantry, to whom, if but for the sake of that popular character whichdoubles political influence, they are liberal and kindly landlords. Under their sway fens and sands become fertile; agricultural experimentsare tested on a large scale; cattle and sheep improve in breed; nationalcapital augments, and, springing beneath the ploughshare, circulatesindirectly to speed the ship and animate the loom. Had there been noWoburn, no Holkham, no Montfort Court, England would be the poorer bymany a million. Our great Houses tend also to the refinement of nationaltaste; they have their show places, their picture galleries, theirbeautiful grounds. The humblest drawing-rooms owe an elegance orcomfort, the smallest garden a flower or esculent, to the importationswhich luxury borrowed from abroad, or the inventions it stimulated athome, for the original benefits of great Houses. Having a fair share ofsuch merits, in common with other great Houses, the House of Vipont wasnot without good qualities peculiar to itself. Precisely because it wasthe most egotistical of Houses, filled with the sense of its ownidentity, and guided by the instincts of its own conservation, it was avery civil, good-natured House, --courteous, generous, hospitable; a House(I mean the head of it, not of course all its subordinate members, including even the august Lady Selina) that could bow graciously andshake hands with you. Even if you had no vote yourself, you might have acousin who had a vote. And once admitted into the family, the Houseadopted you; you had only to marry one of its remotest relations and theHouse sent you a wedding present; and at every general election, invitedyou to rally round your connection, --the Marquess. Therefore, next onlyto the Established Church, the House of Vipont was that Britishinstitution the roots of which were the most widely spread. 

Now the Viponts had for long generations been an energetic race. Whatever their defects, they had exhibited shrewdness and vigour. Thelate Marquess (grandfather to the present) had been perhaps the ablest(that is, done most for the House of Vipont) of them all. Of a grandioseand superb mode of living; of a majestic deportment; of princely manners;of a remarkable talent for the management of all business, whetherprivate or public; a perfect enthusiast for the House of Vipont, andaided by a marchioness in all respects worthy of him, --he might be saidto be the culminating flower of the venerable stem. But the presentlord, succeeding to the title as a mere child, was a melancholy contrast, not only to his grandsire, but to the general character of hisprogenitors. Before his time, every Head of the House had done somethingfor it; even the most frivolous had contributed one had collected thepictures, another the statues, a third the medals, a fourth had amassedthe famous Vipont library; while others had at least married heiresses, or augmented, through ducal lines, the splendour of the interminablecousinhood. The present Marquess was literally nil. The pith of theViponts was not in him. He looked well; he dressed well: if life wereonly the dumb show of a tableau, he would have been a paragon of aMarquess. But he was like the watches we give to little children, with apretty gilt dial-plate, and no works in them. He was thoroughly inert;there was no winding him up: he could not manage his property; he couldnot answer his letters, --very few of them could he even read through. Politics did not interest him, nor literature, nor field-sports. Heshot, it is true, but mechanically; wondering, perhaps, why he did shoot. He attended races, because the House of Vipont kept a racing stud. Hebet on his own horses, but if they lost showed no vexation. Admirers (noMarquess of Montfort could be wholly without them) said, "What finetemper! what good breeding!" it was nothing but constitutional apathy. No one could call him a bad man: he was not a profligate, an oppressor, amiser, a spendthrift; he would not have taken the trouble to be a bad manon any account. Those who beheld his character at a distance would havecalled him an exemplary man. The more conspicuous duties of his station--subscriptions, charities, the maintenance of grand establishments, theencouragement of the fine arts--were virtues admirably performed for himby others. But the phlegm or nullity of his being was not, after all, socomplete as I have made it, perhaps, appear. He had one susceptibilitywhich is more common with women than with men, --the susceptibility topique. His /amour propre/ was unforgiving: pique that, and he could do arash thing, a foolish thing, a spiteful thing; pique that, and, prodigious! the watch went! He had a rooted pique against hismarchioness. Apparently he had conceived this pique from the very first. He showed it passively by supreme neglect; he showed it actively byremoving her from all the spheres of power which naturally fall to thewife when the husband shuns the details of business. Evidently he had adread lest any one should say, "Lady Montfort influences my lord. "Accordingly, not only the management of his estates fell to Carr Vipont, but even of his gardens, his household, his domestic arrangements. Itwas Carr Vipont or Lady Selina who said to Lady Montfort, "Give a ball;""You should ask so and so to dinner;" "Montfort was much hurt to see theold lawn at the Twickenham villa broken up by those new bosquets. True, it is settled on you as a jointure-house, but for that very reasonMontfort is sensitive, " etc. In fact, they were virtually as separated, my lord and my lady, as if legally disunited, and as if Carr Vipont andLady Selina were trustees or intermediaries in any polite approach toeach other. But, on the other hand, it is fair to say that where LadyMontfort's sphere of action did not interfere with her husband's plans, habits, likings, dislikings, jealous apprehensions that she should besupposed to have any ascendency over what exclusively belonged to himselfas /Roi faineant/ of the Viponts, she was left free as air. No attemptat masculine control or conjugal advice. At her disposal was wealthwithout stint, every luxury the soft could desire, every gewgaw the vaincould covet. Had her pin-money, which in itself was the revenue of anordinary peeress, failed to satisfy her wants; had she grown tired ofwearing the family diamonds, and coveted new gems from Golconda, --asingle word to Carr Vipont or Lady Selina would have been answered by acarte blanche on the Bank of England. But Lady Montfort had themisfortune not to be extravagant in her tastes. Strange to say, in theworld Lord Montfort's marriage was called a love-match; he had married aportionless girl, daughter to one of his poorest and obscurest cousins, against the uniform policy of the House of Vipont, which did all it couldfor poor cousins except marrying them to its chief. But Lady Montfort'sconduct in these trying circumstances was admirable and rare. Fewaffronts can humiliate us unless we resent them--and in vain. LadyMontfort had that exquisite dignity which gives to submission the graceof cheerful acquiescence. That in the gay world flatterers should gatherround a young wife so eminently beautiful, and so wholly left by herhusband to her own guidance, was inevitable. But at the very firstinsinuated compliment or pathetic condolence, Lady Montfort, so meek inher household, was haughty enough to have daunted Lovelace. She was thusvery early felt to be beyond temptation, and the boldest passed on, norpresumed to tempt. She was unpopular; called "proud and freezing;" shedid not extend the influence of "The House;" she did not confirm itsfashion, --fashion which necessitates social ease, and which no rank, nowealth, no virtue, can of themselves suffice to give. And this failureon her part was a great offence in the eyes of the House of Vipont. "Shedoes absolutely nothing for us, " said Lady Selina; but Lady Selina in herheart was well pleased that to her in reality thus fell, almost without arival, the female representation, in the great world, of the Viponthonours. Lady Selina was fashion itself. 

Lady Montfort's social peculiarity was in the eagerness with which shesought the society of persons who enjoyed a reputation for superiorintellect, whether statesmen, lawyers, authors, philosophers, artists. Intellectual intercourse seemed as if it was her native atmosphere, fromwhich she was habitually banished, to which she returned with aninstinctive yearning and a new zest of life; yet was she called, evenhere, nor seemingly without justice, capricious and unsteady in herlikings. These clever personages, after a little while, all seemed todisappoint her expectations of them; she sought the acquaintance of eachwith cordial earnestness; slid from the acquaintance with weary languor, --never, after all, less alone than when alone. 

And so wondrous lovely! Nothing so rare as beauty of the high type:genius and beauty, indeed, are both rare; genius, which is the beauty ofthe mind, -beauty, which is the gen ius of the body. But, of the two, beauty is the rarer. All of us can count on our fingers some forty orfifty persons of undoubted and illustrious genius, including those famousin action, letters, art. But can any of us remember to have seen morethan four or five specimens of first-rate ideal beauty? Whosoever hadseen Lady Montfort would have ranked her amongst such four or five in hisrecollection. There was in her face that lustrous dazzle to which theLatin poet, perhaps, refers when he speaks of the--

 "Nitor Splendentis Pario marmore purius . . . Et voltus, niminm lubricus adspici, "

and which an English poet, with the less sensuous but more spiritualimagination of northern genius, has described in lines that an Englishreader may be pleased to see rescued from oblivion, --

 "Her face was like the milky way i' the sky, A meeting of gentle lights without a name. " (Suckling)

The eyes so purely bright, the exquisite harmony of colouring between thedark (not too dark) hair and the ivory of the skin; such sweet radiancein the lip when it broke into a smile. And it was said that in hermaiden day, before Caroline Lyndsay became Marchioness of Montfort, thatsmile was the most joyous thing imaginable. Absurd now; you would notthink it, but that stately lady had been a wild, fanciful girl, with themerriest laugh and the quickest tear, filling the air round her withApril sunshine. Certainly, no beings ever yet lived the life Natureintended them to live, nor had fair play for heart and mind, whocontrived, by hook or by crook, to marry the wrong person!

CHAPTER VIII. 

 The interior of the great house. --The British Constitution at home in a family party. 

Great was the family gathering that Christmas-tide at Montfort Court. Thither flocked the cousins of the House in all degrees and of variousranks. From dukes, who had nothing left to wish for that kings andcousinhoods can give, to briefless barristers and aspiring cornets, ofequally good blood with the dukes, --the superb family united its motleyscions. Such reunions were frequent: they belonged to the hereditarypolicy of the House of Vipont. On this occasion the muster of the clanwas more significant than usual; there was a "CRISES" in theconstitutional history of the British empire. A new Government had beensuddenly formed within the last six weeks, which certainly portended somedireful blow on our ancient institutions; for the House of Vipont had notbeen consulted in its arrangements, and was wholly unrepresented in theMinistry, even by a lordship of the Treasury. Carr Vipont had thereforesummoned the patriotic and resentful kindred. 

It is an hour or so after the conclusion of dinner. The gentlemen havejoined the ladies in the state suite, a suite which the last Marquess hadrearranged and redecorated in his old age, during the long illness thatfinally conducted him to his ancestors. During his earlier years thatprincely Marquess had deserted Montfort Court for a seat nearer toLondon, and therefore much more easily filled with that brilliant societyof which he had been long the ornament and centre, --railways not thenexisting for the annihilation of time and space, and a journey to anorthern county four days with posthorses making the invitations even ofa Marquess of Montfort unalluring to languid beauties and goutyministers. But nearing the end of his worldly career, this long neglectof the dwelling identified with his hereditary titles smote theconscience of the illustrious sinner. And other occupations beginning topall, his lordship, accompanied and cheered by a chaplain, who had a finetaste in the decorative arts, came resolutely to Montfort Court; andthere, surrounded with architects and gilders and upholsterers, redeemedhis errors; and, soothed by the reflection of the palace provided for hissuccessor, added to his vaults--a coffin. 

The suite expands before the eye. You are in the grand drawing-room, copied from that of Versailles. That is the picture, full length, of thelate Marquess in his robes; its pendant is the late Marchioness, hiswife. That table of malachite is a present from the Russian EmperorAlexander; that vase of Sevres which rests on it was made for MarieAntoinette, --see her portrait enamelled in its centre. Through theopen door at the far end your eye loses itself in a vista of otherpompous chambers, --the music-room, the statue hall, the orangery; otherrooms there are appertaining to the suite, a ballroom fit for Babylon, alibrary that might have adorned Alexandria, --but they are not lighted, nor required, on this occasion; it is strictly a family party, sixtyguests and no more. 

In the drawing-room three whist-tables carry off the more elderly andgrave. The piano, in the music-room, attracts a younger group. LadySelina Vipont's eldest daughter, Honoria, a young lady not yet broughtout, but about to be brought out the next season, is threading awonderfully intricate German piece, "Link'd sweetness, long drawn out, "

with variations. Her science is consummate. No pains have been sparedon her education; elaborately accomplished, she is formed to be thesympathizing spouse of a wealthy statesman. Lady Montfort is seated byan elderly duchess, who is good-natured and a great talker; near her areseated two middle-aged gentlemen, who had been conversing with her tillthe duchess, having cut in, turned dialogue into monologue. 

The elder of these two gentlemen is Mr. Carr Vipont, bald, with clippedparliamentary whiskers; values himself on a likeness to Canning, but witha portlier presence; looks a large-acred man. Carr Vipont has aboutL40, 000 a year; has often refused office for himself, while taking carethat other Viponts should have it; is a great authority in committeebusiness and the rules of the House of Commons; speaks very seldom, andat no great length, never arguing, merely stating his opinion, carriesgreat weight with him, and as he votes vote fifteen other members of theHouse of Vipont, besides admiring satellites. He can therefore turndivisions, and has decided the fate of cabinets. A pleasant man, alittle consequential, but the reverse of haughty, --unctuouslyoverbearing. The other gentleman, to whom he is listening, is our oldacquaintance Colonel Alban Vipont Morley, Darrell's friend, George'suncle, --a man of importance, not inferior, indeed, to that of his kinsmanCarr; an authority in clubrooms, an oracle in drawing-rooms, a first-rateman of the beau monde. Alban Morley, a younger brother, had entered theGuards young; retired young also from the Guards with the rank ofColonel, and on receipt of a legacy from an old aunt, which, with theinterest derived from the sum at which he sold his commission, allowedhim a clear income of L1, 000 a year. This modest income sufficed for allhis wants, fine gentleman though he was. He had refused to go intoParliament, --refused a high place in a public department. Singlehimself, he showed his respect for wedlock by the interest he took in themarriages of other people; just as Earl Warwick, too wise to set up for aking, gratified his passion for royalty by becoming the king-maker. TheColonel was exceedingly accomplished, a very fair scholar, knew mostmodern languages. In painting an amateur, in music a connoisseur; wittyat times, and with wit of a high quality, but thrifty in the expenditureof it; too wise to be known as a wit. Manly too, a daring rider, who hadwon many a fox's brush; a famous deer-stalker, and one of the few Englishgentlemen who still keep up the noble art of fencing, --twice a week to beseen, foil in hand, against all comers in Angelo's rooms. Thin, well-shaped, --not handsome, my dear young lady, far from it, but with an airso thoroughbred that, had you seen him in the day when the opera-househad a crushroom and a fops' alley, --seen him in either of those resorts, surrounded by elaborate dandies and showy beauty-men, dandies and beauty-men would have seemed to you secondrate and vulgar; and the eye, fascinated by that quiet form, --plain in manner, plain in dress, plain infeature, --you would have said, "How very distinguished it is to be soplain!" Knowing the great world from the core to the cuticle, and onthat knowledge basing authority and position, Colonel Morley was notcalculating, not cunning, not suspicious, --his sagacity the more quickbecause its movements were straightforward; intimate with the greatest, but sought, not seeking; not a flatterer nor a parasite, but when hisadvice was asked (even if advice necessitated reproof) giving it withmilitary candour: in fine, a man of such social reputation as renderedhim an ornament and prop to the House of Vipont; and with unsuspecteddepths of intelligence and feeling, which lay in the lower strata of hisknowledge of this world to witness of some other one, and justifiedDarrell in commending a boy like Lionel Haughton to the Colonel'sfriendly care and admonitory counsels. The Colonel, like other men, hadhis weakness, if weakness it can be called: he believed that the House ofVipont was not merely the Corinthian capital, but the embattled keep--notmerely the /dulce decus/, but the /praesidium columenque rerum/--of theBritish monarchy. He did not boast of his connection with the House; hedid not provoke your spleen by enlarging on its manifold virtues; hewould often have his harmless jest against its members, or even againstits pretensions: but such seeming evidences of forbearance or candourwere cunning devices to mitigate envy. His devotion to the House was notobtrusive: it was profound. He loved the House of Vipont for the sake ofEngland: he loved England for the sake of the House of Vipont. Had itbeen possible, by some tremendous reversal of the ordinary laws ofnature, to dissociate the cause of England from the cause of the House ofVipont, the Colonel would have said, "Save at least the Ark of theConstitution! and rally round the old House!"

The Colonel had none of Guy Darrell's infirmity of family pride; he carednot a rush for mere pedigrees, --much too liberal and enlightened for suchobsolete prejudices. No! He knew the world too well not to be quiteaware that old family and long pedigrees are of no use to a man if he hasnot some money or some merit. But it was of use to a man to be a cousinof the House of Vipont, though without any money, without any merit atall. It was of use to be part and parcel of a British institution; itwas of use to have a legitimate indefeasible right to share in theadministration and patronage of an empire, on which (to use a novelillustration) "the sun never sets. " You might want nothing for yourself;the Colonel and the Marquess equally wanted nothing for themselves butman is not to be a selfish egotist! Man has cousins: his cousins maywant something. Demosthenes denounces, in words that inflame every manlybreast, the ancient Greek who does not love his POLIS or State, eventhough he take nothing from it but barren honour, and contribute towardsit--a great many disagreeable taxes. As the POLIS to the Greek, was theHouse of Vipont to Alban Vipont Morley. It was the most beautiful, touching affection imaginable! Whenever the House was in difficulties, whenever it was threatened by a CRISIS, the Colonel was by its side, sparing no pains, neglecting no means, to get the Ark of the Constitutionback into smooth water. That duty done, he retired again into privatelife, and scorned all other reward than the still whisper of applaudingconscience. 

"Yes, " said Alban Morley, whose voice, though low and subdued in tone, was extremely distinct, with a perfect enunciation. "Yes, it is quitetrue, my nephew has taken orders, --his defect in speech, if not quiteremoved, has ceased to be any obstacle, even to eloquence; an occasionalstammer may be effective, --it increases interest, and when the right wordcomes, there is the charm of surprise in it. I do not doubt that Georgewill be a very distinguished clergyman. "

MR. CARR VIPONT. --"We want one; the House wants a very distinguishedclergyman: we have none at this moment, --not a bishop, not even a dean!all mere parish parsons, and among them not one we could push. Very odd, with more than forty livings too. But the Viponts seldom take to theChurch kindly: George must be pushed. The more I think of it, the morewe want a bishop: a bishop would be useful in the present CRISIS. "(Looking round the rooms proudly, and softening his voice), "A numerousgathering, Morley! This demonstration will strike terror in DowningStreet, eh! The old House stands firm, --never was a family so united:all here, I think, --that is, all worth naming, --all, except Sir James, whom Montfort chooses to dislike, and George--and George comesto-morrow. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"You forget the most eminent of all our connections, --the one who could indeed strike terror into Downing Street, were hisvoice to be heard again!"

CARR VIPONT. --"Whom do you mean? Ah, I know! Guy Darrell. His wife wasa Vipont; and he is not here. But he has long since ceased tocommunicate with any of us; the only connection that ever fell away fromthe House of Vipont, especially in a CRISIS like the present. Singularman! For all the use he is to us, he might as well be dead! But he hasa fine fortune: what will he do with it?"

THE DUCHESS. --"My dear Lady Montfort, you have hurt yourself with thatpaper cutter. "

LADY MONTFORT. --"NO, indeed. Hush! we are disturbing Mr. Carr Vipont!"

The Duchess, in awe of Carr Vipont, sinks her voice, and gabbles on, whisperously. 

CARR VIPONT (resuming the subject). --"A very fine fortune: what will hedo with it?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"I don't know; but I had a letter from him some monthsago. "

CARR VIPONT. --"You had, and never told me!"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Of no importance to you, my dear Carr. His lettermerely introduced to me a charming young fellow, --a kinsman of his own(no Vipont), --Lionel Haughton, son of poor Charlie Haughton, whom you mayremember. "

CARR VIPONT. --"Yes, a handsome scamp; went to the dogs. So Darrell takesup Charlie's son: what! as his heir?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"In his letter to me he anticipated that question in thenegative. "

CARR VIPONT. --"Has Darrell any nearer kinsman?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Not that I know of. "

CARR VIPONT. --"Perhaps he will select one of his wife's family for hisheir, --a Vipont; I should not wonder. "

COLONEL MORLEY (dryly). --"I should. But why may not Darrell marry again?I always thought he would; I think so still. "

CARR VIPONT (glancing towards his own daughter Honoria). --"Well, a wifewell chosen might restore him to society, and to us. Pity, indeed, thatso great an intellect should be suspended, --a voice so eloquent hushed. You are right; in this CRISIS, Guy Darrell once more in the House ofCommons, we should have all we require, --an orator, a debater! Very odd, but at this moment we have no speakers, --WE the Viponts!"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Yourself!"

CARR VIPONT. --"You are too kind. I can speak on occasions; butregularly, no. Too much drudgery; not young enough to take to it now. So you think Darrell will marry again? A remarkably fine-looking fellowwhen I last saw him: not old yet; I dare say well preserved. I wish Ihad thought of asking him here--Montfort!" (Lord Montfort, with one ortwo male friends, was passing by towards a billiard-room, opening througha side-door from the regular suite) "Montfort! only think, we forgot toinvite Guy Darrell. Is it too late before our party breaks up?"

LORD MONTFORT (sullenly). --"I don't choose Guy Darrell to be invited tomy house. "

Carr Vipont was literally stunned by a reply so contumacious. LordMontfort demur at what Carr Vipont suggested? He could not believe hissenses. 

"Not choose, my dear Montfort! you are joking. A monstrous cleverfellow, Guy Darrell, and at this CRISIS--"

"I hate clever fellows; no such bores!" said Lord Montfort, breaking fromthe caressing clasp of Carr Vipont, and stalking away. 

"Spare your regrets, my dear Carr, " said Colonel Morley. "Darrell is notin England: I rather believe he is in Verona. " Therewith the Colonelsauntered towards the group gathered round the piano. A little timeafterwards Lady Montfort escaped from the Duchess, and, minglingcourteously with her livelier guests, found herself close to ColonelMorley. "Will you give me my revenge at chess?" she asked, with her raresmile. The Colonel was charmed. As they sat down and ranged their men, Lady Montfort remarked carelessly, "I overheard you say you had lately received a letter from Mr. Darrell. Does he write as if well, --cheerful? You remember that I was much withhis daughter, much in his house, when I was a child. He was ever mostkind to me. " Lady Montfort's voice here faltered. 

"He writes with no reference to himself, his health, or his spirits. Buthis young kinsman described him to me as in good health, --wonderfullyyoung-looking for his years. But cheerful, --no! Darrell and I enteredthe world together; we were friends as much as a man so busy and soeminent as he could be friends with a man like myself, indolent by habitand obscure out of Mayfair. I know his nature; we both know something ofhis family sorrows. He cannot be happy! Impossible!--alone, childless, secluded. Poor Darrell, abroad now; in Verona, too!--the dullest place!in mourning still for Romeo and Juliet! 'T is your turn to move. In hisletter Darrell talked of going on to Greece, Asia, penetrating into thedepths of Africa, --the wildest schemes! Dear County Guy, as we calledhim at Eton! what a career his might have been! Don't let us talk ofhim, it makes me mournful. Like Goethe, I avoid painful subjects uponprinciple. "

LADY MONTFORT. --"No; we will not talk of him. No; I take the Queen'spawn. No, we will not talk of him! no!" The game proceeded; the Colonelwas within three moves of checkmating his adversary. Forgetting theresolution come to, he said, as she paused, and seemed despondentlymeditating a hopeless defence, "Pray, my fair cousin, what makes Montfort dislike my old friendDarrell?"

"Dislike! Does he! I don't know. Vanquished again, Colonel Morley!"She rose; and as he restored the chessmen to their box, she leanedthoughtfully over the table. 

"This young kinsman, will he not be a comfort to Mr. Darrell?"

"He would be a comfort and a pride to a father; but to Darrell, sodistant a kinsman, --comfort!--why and how? Darrell will provide for him, that is all. A very gentlemanlike young man; gone to Paris by my advice;wants polish and knowledge of life. When he comes back he must entersociety: I have put his name up at White's; may I introduce him to you?"

Lady Montfort hesitated, and, after a pause, said, almost rudely, "No. "

She left the Colonel, slightly shrugging his shoulders, and passed intothe billiard-room with a quick step. Some ladies were already therelooking at the players. Lord Montfort was chalking his cue. LadyMontfort walked straight up to him: her colour was heightened; her lipwas quivering; she placed her hand on his shoulder with a wife-likeboldness. It seemed as if she had come there to seek him from an impulseof affection. She asked with a hurried fluttering kindness of voice, ifhe had been successful, and called him by his Christian name. LordMontfort's countenance, before merely apathetic, now assumed anexpression of extreme distaste. "Come to teach me to make a cannon, Isuppose!" he said mutteringly, and turning from her, contemplated theballs and missed the cannon. 

"Rather in my way, Lady Montfort, " said he then, and, retiring to acorner, said no more. 

Lady Montfort's countenance became still more flushed. She lingered amoment, returned to the drawing-room, and for the rest of the evening wasunusually animated, gracious, fascinating. As she retired with her ladyguests for the night she looked round, saw Colonel Morley, and held outher hand to him. 

"Your nephew comes here to-morrow, " said she, "my old play-fellow;impossible quite to forget old friends; good night. "

CHAPTER IX. 

 "Les extremes se touchent. "

The next day the gentlemen were dispersed out of doors, a large shootingparty. Those who did not shoot, walked forth to inspect the racing studor the model farm. The ladies had taken their walk; some were in theirown rooms, some in the reception-rooms, at work, or reading, or listeningto the piano, --Honoria Carr Vipont again performing. Lady Montfort wasabsent; Lady Selina kindly supplied the hostess's place. Lady Selina wasembroidering, with great skill and taste, a pair of slippers for hereldest boy, who was just entered at Oxford, having left Eton with areputation of being the neatest dresser, and not the worst cricketer, of that renowned educational institute. It is a mistake to suppose thatfine ladies are not sometimes very fond mothers and affectionate wives. Lady Selina, beyond her family circle, was trivial, unsympathizing, cold-hearted, supercilious by temperament, never kind but through policy, artificial as clock work. But in her own home, to her husband, herchildren, Lady Selina was a very good sort of woman, --devotedly attachedto Carr Vipont, exaggerating his talents, thinking him the first man inEngland, careful of his honour, zealous for his interest, soothing in hiscares, tender in his ailments; to her girls prudent and watchful, to herboys indulgent and caressing; minutely attentive to the education of thefirst, according to her high-bred ideas of education, --and they reallywere "superior" girls, with much instruction and well-balanced minds, --less authoritative with the last, because boys being not under herimmediate control, her sense of responsibility allowed her to displaymore fondness and less dignity in her intercourse with them than withyoung ladies who must learn from her example, as well as her precepts, the patrician decorum which becomes the smooth result of impulserestrained and emotion checked: boys might make a noise in the world, girls should make none. Lady Selina, then, was working the slippers forher absent son, her heart being full of him at that moment. She wasdescribing his character and expatiating on his promise to two or threeattentive listeners, all interested, as being themselves of the Vipontblood, in the probable destiny of the heir to the Carr Viponts. 

"In short, " said Lady Selina, winding up, "as soon as Reginald is of agewe shall get him into Parliament. Carr has always lamented that hehimself was not broken into office early; Reginald must be. Nothing sorequisite for public men as early training; makes them practical, and nottoo sensitive to what those horrid newspaper men say. That was Pitt'sgreat advantage. Reginald has ambition; he should have occupation tokeep him out of mischief. It is an anxious thing for a mother, when ason is good-looking: such danger of his being spoiled by the women. Yes, my dear, it is a small foot, very small, --his father's foot. "

"If Lord Montfort should have no family, " said a somewhat distant andsubaltern Vipont, whisperingly and hesitating, "does not the title--"

"No, my dear, " interrupted Lady Selina; "no, the title does not come tous. It is a melancholy thought, but the marquisate, in that case, isextinct. No other heir-male from Gilbert, the first marquess. Carr saysthere is even likely to be some dispute about the earldom. The Barony, of course, is safe; goes with the Irish estates, and most of the English;and goes (don't you know?) to Sir James Vipont, the last person who oughtto have it; the quietest, stupidest creature; not brought up to the sortof thing, --a mere gentleman-farmer on a small estate in Devonshire. "

"He is not here?"

"No. Lord Montfort does not like him. Very natural. Nobody likes hisheir, if not his own child; and some people don't even like their owneldest sons! Shocking; but so it is. Montfort is the kindest, mosttractable being that ever was, except where he takes a dislike. Hedislikes two or three people very much. "

"True; how he did dislike poor Mrs. Lyndsay!" said one of the listeners, smiling. 

"Mrs. Lyndsay, yes, --dear Lady Montfort's mother. I can't say I pitiedher, though I was sorry for Lady Montfort. How Mrs. Lyndsay ever took inMontfort for Caroline I can't conceive! How she had the face to think ofit! He, a mere youth at the time! Kept secret from all his family, evenfrom his grandmother, --the darkest transaction. I don't wonder that henever forgave it. "

FIRST LISTENER. --"Caroline has beauty enough to--"

LADY SELINA (interrupting). --"Beauty, of course: no one can deny that. But not at all suited to such a position, not brought up to the sort ofthing. Poor Montfort! he should have married a different kind of womanaltogether, --a woman like his grandmother, the last Lady Montfort. Caroline does nothing for the House, --nothing; has not even a child, --most unfortunate affair. "

SECOND LISTENER. --"Mrs. Lyndsay was very poor, was not she? Caroline, Isuppose, had no opportunity of forming those tastes and habits which arenecessary for--for--"

LADY SELINA (helping the listener). --"For such a position and such afortune. You are quite right, my dear. People brought up in one waycannot accommodate themselves to another; and it is odd, but I haveobserved that people brought up poor can accommodate themselves less tobeing very rich than people brought up rich can accommodate themselves tobeing very poor. As Carr says, in his pointed way, 'It is easier tostoop than to climb. ' Yes; Mrs. Lyndsay was, you know, a daughter ofSeymour Vipont, who was for so many years in the Administration, with afair income from his salary, and nothing out of it. She married one ofthe Scotch Lyndsays, --good family, of course, with a very moderateproperty. She was left a widow young, with an only child, Caroline. Came to town with a small jointure. The late Lady Montfort was very kindto her. So were we all; took her up; pretty woman; pretty manners;worldly, --oh, very! I don't like worldly people. Well, but all of asudden a dreadful thing happened. The heir-at-law disputed the jointure, denied that Lyndsay had any right to make settlements on the Scotchproperty; very complicated business. But, luckily for her, VipontCrooke's daughter, her cousin and intimate friend, had married Darrell, the famous Darrell, who was then at the bar. It is very useful to havecousins married to clever people. He was interested in her case, tookit up. I believe it did not come on in the courts in which Darrellpractised. But he arranged all the evidence, inspected the briefs, spenta great deal of his own money in getting up the case; and in fact hegained her cause, though he could not be her counsel. People did saythat she was so grateful that after his wife's death she had set herheart on becoming Mrs. Darrell the second. But Darrell was then quitewrapped up in politics, --the last man to fall in love, and only lookedbored when women fell in love with him, which a good many did. Grand-looking creature, my dear, and quite the rage for a year or two. However, Mrs. Lyndsay all of a sudden went off to Paris, and thereMontfort saw Caroline, and was caught. Mrs. Lyndsay, no doubt, calculated on living with her daughter, having the run of Montfort Housein town and Montfort Court in the country. But Montfort is deeper thanpeople think for. No, he never forgave her. She was never asked here;took it to heart, went to Rome, and died. "

At this moment the door opened, and George Morley, now the Rev. GeorgeMorley, entered, just arrived to join his cousins. 

Some knew him, some did not. Lady Selina, who made it a point to knowall the cousins, rose graciously, put aside the slippers, and gave himtwo fingers. She was astonished to find him not nearly so shy as he usedto be: wonderfully improved; at his ease, cheerful, animated. The mannow was in his right place, and following hope on the bent ofinclination. Few men are shy when in their right places. He asked afterLady Montfort. She was in her own small sitting-room, writing letters, --letters that Carr Vipont had entreated her to write, --correspondenceuseful to the House of Vipont. Before long, however, a servant entered, to say that Lady Montfort would be very happy to see Mr. Morley. Georgefollowed the servant into that unpretending sitting-room, with its simplechintzes and quiet bookshelves, --room that would not have been too finefor a cottage. 

CHAPTER X. 

 In every life, go it fast, go it slow, there are critical pausing- places. When the journey is renewed the face of the country is changed. 

How well she suited that simple room; herself so simply dressed, hermarvellous beauty so exquisitely subdued! She looked at home there, as if all of home that the house could give were there collected. 

She had finished and sealed the momentous letters, and had come, with asense of relief, from the table at the farther end of the room, on whichthose letters, ceremonious and conventional, had been written, --come tothe window, which, though mid-winter, was open, and the redbreast, withwhom she had made friends, hopped boldly almost within reach, looking ather with bright eyes and head curiously aslant. By the window a singlechair, and a small reading-desk, with the book lying open. The short daywas not far from its close, but there was ample light still in the skies, and a serene if chilly stillness in the air without. 

Though expecting the relation she had just summoned to her presence, I fear she had half forgotten him. She was standing by the window deepin revery as he entered, so deep that she started when his voice struckher ear and he stood before her. She recovered herself quickly, however, and said with even more than her ordinary kindliness of tone and mannertowards the scholar, "I am so glad to see and congratulate you. "

"And I so glad to receive your congratulations, " answered the scholar insmooth, slow voice, without a stutter. 

"But, George, how is this?" asked Lady Montfort. "Bring that chair, sit down here, and tell me all about it. You wrote me word you werecured, --at least sufficiently to re move your noble scruples. You didnot say how. Your uncle tells me, by patient will and resolutepractice. "

"Under good guidance. But I am going to confide to you a secret, if youwill promise to keep it. "

"Oh, you may trust me: I have no female friends. "

The clergyman smiled, and spoke at once of the lessons he had receivedfrom the basketmaker. 

"I have his permission, " he said in conclusion, "to confide the servicehe rendered me, the intimacy that has sprung up between us, but to youalone, --not a word to your guests. When you have once seen him, you willunderstand why an eccentric man, who has known better days, would shrinkfrom the impertinent curiosity of idle customers. Contented with hishumble livelihood, he asks but liberty and repose. "

"That I already comprehend, " said Lady Montfort, half sighing, halfsmiling. "But my curiosity shall not molest him, and when I visit thevillage, I will pass by his cottage. "

"Nay, my dear Lady Montfort, that would be to refuse the favour I amabout to ask, which is that you would come with me to that very cottage. It would so please him. "

"Please him! why?"

"Because this poor man has a young female grandchild, and he is soanxious that you should see and be kind to her, and because, too, heseems most anxious to remain in his present residence. The cottage, ofcourse, belongs to Lord Montfort, and is let to him by the bailiff, andif you deign to feel interest in him, his tenure is safe. "

Lady Montfort looked down, and coloured. She thought, perhaps, how falsea security her protection, and how slight an influence her interest wouldbe; but she did not say so. George went on; and so eloquently, and sotouchingly did he describe both grandsire and grandchild, so skilfullydid he intimate the mystery which hung over them, that Lady Montfortbecame much moved by his narrative; and willingly promised to accompanyhim across the park to the basketmaker's cottage the first opportunity. But when one has sixty guests in one's house, one has to wait for anopportunity to escape from them unremarked. And the opportunity, infact, did not come for many days; not till the party broke up, save oneor two dowager she-cousins who "gave no trouble, " and one or two bachelorhe-cousins whom my lord retained to consummate the slaughter ofpheasants, and play at billiards in the dreary intervals between sunsetand dinner, dinner and bedtime. 

Then one cheerful frosty noon George Morley and his fair cousin walkedboldly /en evidence/, before the prying ghostly windows, across the broadgravel walks; gained the secluded shrubbery, the solitary deeps of park-land; skirted the wide sheet of water, and, passing through a privatewicket in the paling, suddenly came upon the patch of osier-ground andhumble garden, which were backed by the basketmaker's cottage. 

As they entered those lowly precincts a child's laugh was borne to theirears, --a child's silvery, musical, mirthful laugh; it was long since thegreat lady had heard a laugh like that, --a happy child's natural laugh. She paused and listened with a strange pleasure. "Yes, " whispered GeorgeMorley, "stop--and hush! there they are. "

Waife was seated on the stump of a tree, materials for his handicraftlying beside neglected. Sophy was standing before him, --he raising hisfinger as if in reproof, and striving hard to frown. As the intruderslistened, they overheard that he was striving to teach her the rudimentsof French dialogue, and she was laughing merrily at her own blunders, andat the solemn affectation of the shocked schoolmaster. Lady Montfortnoted with no unnatural surprise the purity of idiom and of accent withwhich this singular basketmaker was unconsciously displaying his perfectknowledge of a language which the best-educated English gentleman of thatgeneration, nay, even of this, rarely speaks with accuracy and elegance. But her attention was diverted immediately from the teacher to the faceof the sweet pupil. Women have a quick appreciation of beauty in theirown sex; and women who are themselves beautiful, not the least. Irresistibly Lady Montfort felt attracted towards that innocentcountenance so lively in its mirth, and yet so softly gay. Sir Isaac, who had hitherto lain /perdu/, watching the movements of a thrush amidsta holly-bush, now started up with a bark. Waife rose; Sophy turned halfin flight. The visitors approached. 

Here slowly, lingeringly, let fall the curtain. In the frank license ofnarrative, years will have rolled away ere the curtain rise again. Events that may influence a life often date from moments the most serene, from things that appear as trivial and unnoticeable as the great lady'svisit to the basketmaker's cottage. Which of those lives will that visitinfluence hereafter, --the woman's, the child's, the vagrant's? Whose?Probably little that passes now would aid conjecture, or be a visiblelink in the chain of destiny. A few desultory questions; a few guardedanswers; a look or so, a musical syllable or two, exchanged between thelady and the child; a basket bought, or a promise to call again. Nothingworth the telling. Be it then untold. View only the scene itself as thecurtain drops reluctantly. The rustic cottage, its garden-door open, andopen its old-fashioned lattice casements. You can see how neat andcleanly, how eloquent of healthful poverty, how remote from squalidpenury, the whitewashed walls, the homely furniture within. Creeperslately trained around the doorway; Christmas holly, with berries redagainst the window-panes; the bee-hive yonder; a starling, too, outsidethe threshold, in its wicker cage; in the background (all the rest of theneighbouring hamlet out of sight), the church spire tapering away intothe clear blue wintry sky. All has an air of repose, of safety. Closebeside you is the Presence of HOME; that ineffable, sheltering, lovingPresence, which amidst solitude murmurs "not solitary, "--a Presenceunvouchsafed to the great lady in the palace she has left. And the ladyherself? She is resting on the rude gnarled root-stump from which thevagrant had risen; she has drawn Sophy towards her; she has taken thechild's hand; she is speaking now, now listening; and on her facekindness looks like happiness. Perhaps she is happy that moment. AndWaife? he is turning aside his weatherbeaten mobile countenance with hishand anxiously trembling upon the young scholar's arm. The scholarwhispers, "Are you satisfied with me?" and Waife answers in a voice aslow but more broken, "God reward you! Oh, joy! if my pretty one hasfound at last a woman friend!" Poor vagabond, he has now a calm asylum, a fixed humble livelihood; more than that, he has just achieved an objectfondly cherished. His past life, --alas! what has he done with it? Hisactual life, broken fragment though it be, is at rest now. But still theeverlasting question, --mocking terrible question, with its phrasing offarce and its enigmas of tragical sense, --"WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?" Dowith what? The all that remains to him, the all he holds! the all whichman himself, betwixt Free-will and Pre-decree, is permitted to do. Asknot the vagrant alone: ask each of the four there assembled on thatflying bridge called the Moment. Time before thee, --what wilt thou dowith it? Ask thyself! ask the wisest! Out of effort to answer thatquestion, what dream-schools have risen, never wholly to perish, --thescience of seers on the Chaldee's Pur-Tor, or in the rock-caves ofDelphi, gasped after and grasped at by horn-handed mechanics to-day intheir lanes and alleys. To the heart of the populace sink down theblurred relics of what once was the law of the secretest sages, hieroglyphical tatters which the credulous vulgar attempt to interpret. "WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?" Ask Merle and his Crystal! But the curtaindescends! Yet a moment, there they are, --age and childhood, --poverty, wealth, station, vagabondage; the preacher's sacred learning and augustambition; fancies of dawning reason; hopes of intellect matured; memoriesof existence wrecked; household sorrows; untold regrets; elegy and epicin low, close, human sighs, to which Poetry never yet gave voice: all forthe moment personified there before you, --a glimpse for the guess, nomore. Lower and lower falls the curtain! All is blank!