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Thank you, I don't think I can go down to Brighton." "Why?"

at the village. The stranger got in behind. | people because they might be of use to Perhaps Lady Sylvia would, in other cir- me. I wanted you to go down to Brighton cumstances, have entered into conversa- merely to please you." tion with a gentleman who was a friend of her father's; but there was a primness about his whiskers, and a certain something about his dress and manner, that spoke of the City, and of course she could not tell whether his visit was one of courtesy or of commerce. She continued to talk to her husband, so that neither of the two people behind could overhear.

"Because I cannot leave papa at present," she said.

"What's the matter with him?" said Balfour, getting from mystery to mystery.

"I cannot tell you now," she said, in a low voice. "But I don't wish to leave the Lilacs, so long as he is at the Hall; and he has been going very little up to London of late."

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"Very well; all right," said Balfour, cheerfully. If you prefer the Lilacs to Brighton, so do I. I thought it might be a change for you - that was all."

And Balfour had not the slightest consciousness of caution or restraint in talking to this bright and beautiful young wife of his. It seemed to him quite natural now that he should cease to bother this loving and sensitive companion of his about his anxieties and commonplace labors. He chatted to her about their favor- But why should she seem annoyed beite horses and dogs; he heard what pheas- cause he had proposed to take her down ants had been shot in Uphill Wood the to Brighton? And why should she speak day before; he was told what invitations despitefully of a number of friends who to dinner awaited his assent; and all the would have given her a most hearty welwhile they were cheerfully whirling through come? Surely all these people could not the keen, exhilarating air, crossing the be in league with the British House of broad bars of sunlight on the glittering Commons to rob her of her husband. road, and startling the blackbirds in the In any case, Balfour took no heed of hedges, that shook down the powdery these passing fancies of hers. He had snow as they darted into the dense holly-registered a mental vow to the effect that,

trees.

"You have not told me," said Lady Sylvia, in a somewhat measured tone, though he did not notice that, "whether your visit to Englebury was successful."

“Oh," said he, carelessly, "that was of no importance. Nothing was to be done then. It will be time enough to think of Englebury when the general election comes near."

Instead of Englebury, he began to talk to her about Brighton. He thought they might drop down there for a week before Christmas. He began to tell her of all the people whom he knew who happened to be at Brighton at the moment; it would be a pleasant variety for her; she would meet some charming people.

"No, thank you, Hugh," she said, somewhat coldly; "I don't think I will go down to Brighton at present. But I think you ought to go."

I?" said he, with a stare of amaze

ment.

"Yes; these people might be of use to you. If a general election is coming on, you cannot tell what influence they might be able to give you."

"My dear child," said he, fairly astonished that she should speak in this hard tone about certain quite innocent people in Brighton, "I don't want to see those

whenever he could not quite understand her, or whenever her wishes clashed with his, he would show an unfailing consideration and kindness towards this tender soul who had placed her whole life in his hands. But that consideration was about to be put to the test of a sharp strain. With some hesitation she informed him, as they drove up to the Hall, that her uncle and aunt were staying there for a day or two. Very well; there was no objection to that. If he had to shake hands with Major the Honorable Stephen Blythe, was there not soap and water at the Lilacs? But Lady Sylvia proceeded to say, with still greater diffidence, that probably they would be down again in about ten days. They had been in the habit of spending Christmas at the Hall; and Johnny and Honoria had come too; so that it was a sort of annual family party. Very well; he had no objection to that either. It was no concern of his where Major Blythe ate his Christmas dinner. But when Lady Sylvia went on to explain - with increasing hesitation - that herself and her husband would be expected to be of this Christmas gathering, Mr. Balfour mentally made use of a phrase which was highly improper. She did not hear it, of course. They drove up to the Hall in silence; and when they got into

the house, Balfour shook hands with otherwise. Come, Sylvia, let's talk about Major Blythe with all apparent good- something else. Have you seen the Von Rosens lately?"

nature.

For an instant she hesitated, eager, disappointed, and wistful; but she pulled her courage together, and answered with seem

Lord Willowby had wished the stranger to follow him into the library. In a few moments he returned to the drawingroom. He was obviously greatly dis-ing good-will. turbed.

"You must excuse me, Sylvia; I cannot possibly go over with you to lunch. I have some business which will detain me half an hour at least-perhaps more. But your uncle and aunt can go with you.'

That was the first Balfour had heard of Major Blythe and his wife having been invited to lunch at his house; but had he not sworn to be grandly considerate? He said nothing. Lady Sylvia turned to her two relatives. Now, had Lord Willowby been going over to the Lilacs, his brother might have ventured to accompany him; but Major Blythe scarcely liked the notion of thrusting his head into that lion's den all by himself.

"My dear," said the doughty warrior to his wife, "I think we will leave the young folks to themselves for to-day-if they will kindly excuse us. You know I promised to walk over and see that mare at the farm."

"Oh, yes," she said, "Mr. Von Rosen called yesterday. And the strangest thing has happened. An uncle of his wife has just died in some distant place in America, and has left a large amount of property to Mrs. Von Rosen, on condition she goes out there some time next year, and remains for a year at the house that has been left her. And she is not to take her children with her. Mr. Von Rosen declares she won't go. She won't leave her children for a whole year. They want her to go and live in some desert place just below the Rocky Mountains."

"A desert!" he cried. "Why, don't you know that the neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains has been my ideal harbor of refuge, whenever I thought of the two worst chances that can befall one? If I were suddenly made a pauper, I should go out there and get a homestead free from the government, and try my hand at building up my own fortunes. Or if I were suddenly to break down in health, I should make immediately for the high plains of Colorado, where the air is like champagne; and I would become a stock-raiser and a mighty hunter in spite of all the bronchitis or consumption that could at"Hugh," said Lady Sylvia, somewhat tack you. Why, I know a lot of fellows timidly, "I think you are prejudiced out there now — - they live the rudest life against my uncle - I am very sorry "all day long-riding about the plains to "I don't look on your uncle," said Balfour, with much coolness, "as being at all necessary to my existence; and I am sure I am not necessary to his. We each of us can get on pretty well without the other."

Balfour said nothing at all. He was quite content when he got into the phaeton, his wife once more taking the reins. He bade good-by to Willowby Hall without any pathetic tremor in his voice.

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look after their herds, making hunting excursions up into the mountains, and so forth; and in the evening they put on dress coats to dinner, and have music, and try to make themselves believe they are in Piccadilly or Pall Mall. Who told her it was a desert?"

"I suppose it would be a desert to her without her children," said Lady Sylvia, simply.

"Then we will go over after lunch and reason with that mad creature," said he. "The notion of throwing away a fortune because she won't go out and live in that splendid climate for a single year!"

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PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY
LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON.

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For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage.

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Like thine, my child, our terrors and our cares Are of mere trifles, sickness, want, and pain. A holier fear, in answer to our prayers,

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Alike, yet all unlike as blight and bloom. For the first holds fair lady Gwendoline, Whom I have never seen; The second bonnie Kate, Whom I nor love nor hate;

Give, Lord, and light to make the highway But the third house holds in its heart for me

plain;

Light, as we need it, step by step to tread
The road to us allotted, strait and steep,
The thorny waste with cloud and storm o'er-

spread,

My little Dorothy.

My lady, dost thou bind thy bright brown

hair,

Or dost thou steal adown the noiseless stair?

Then death's drear pass, and heaven's all- Love, thou art in the house, and gazing there

crystal keep.

Sunday Magazine.

GEORGE S. OUTRAM.

I turn to thee. Blackwood's Magazine.

J. R. S.

From The Quarterly Review.
POLITICAL BIOGRAPHIES.

771

period now become historical in their true perspective. Above all, by that time the whole truth may be told. The frail

HORACE thought that certain poems would be all the better for being withheld ties, the follies, the intrigues of statesmen from the public for nine years, and Talleyand of kings may be divulged without rand extended the period of literary reserve wounding sensibilities or endangering for political memoirs to at least two gen-nalism, and the idle and often malignant political relations. The figments of jourerations. There was much good sense in both suggestions. Obviously they were

aimed neither at true poets, nor at wise biographers. A good poem is good from the first; so is a good biography. For as genius, which in its mood of inspiration puts pregnant thought or true emotion into perfect words, goes to the one, so does that sound judgment, which knows not only what to say, but also more important still what not to say, go to the other. Could we suppose a happy land, in which the canons of these two excellent judges were enforced, how many books, that are in truth no books, would never see the light!

Adopt Horace's rule, and it is at least possible that the poems of amateurs of the Piso stamp, at the end of the prescribed period, might have lost even for their authors much of their fascination. Misgiving might have taken the place of those raptures of self-gratulation which only poetasters feel. The world might be made richer by one book the less, and the author's friends and where is the fortunate man who cannot appreciate this boon?-be spared the inward shame of feigning admiration, where they feel only pity or regret.

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Again, apply the aphorism of Talleyrand, and see how admirably it would work. After fifty years how very unimportant many matters will appear, which once seemed of portentous moment; how many names be all but forgotten, which in their day were in every man's mouth; how many, whose influence was noiseless but penetrating, have risen into well-deserved prominence! Time, the great winnower, will have cleared away the chaff. The forces which governed events will have made themselves clearly felt, and we shall be able to see all the salient features of a

gossip of social and political busybodies, can then be blown to the winds by the revelation of authentic documents, and chief actors in the great movements of the contemporaneous testimony of the European progress. Disclosures heretofore withheld from motives of self-respect, or forbearance to others, may then with propriety be made, which will place the characters of public men and the course of public events in their true light. The such disclosures how true was the saying time will have come to demonstrate by of M. Van de Weyer, kindliest and wisest of scholars and diplomatists, that " en fait de l'histoire contemporaine, le seul vrai est ce qu'on n'écrit pas." Memoirs of the to their true proportions. The misrepretype we have lately had will then shrink malevolence, will be corrected by authensentations of ignorance, or passion, or tic evidence; and those who undertake to tell the story either of an individual or of an epoch will know that they do so with to make themselves masters of the facts the certainty that, unless they take pains and documents upon which history must ultimately rest-still more, if they wil

fully conceal or misrepresent the materials tion are sure to be both swift and sweepopen to their use detection and retribuing. Curiosity, especially in an age like it is so constantly content, even in grave ours, when, rather than not be fed at all, matters of State, to be fed and stimulated by fiction, may resent being told that it of its own times. But the sooner it reconcan scarcely expect to learn the true story ciles itself to the fact, the better; and in doing so, it may assimilate the further useful lesson, not to put its faith too largely scient writers of enterprising journals, but in the "own correspondents," or omnito believe that there are important factors The Life of Henry John Temple, Viscount Palmerston, 1846-1865. By the Hon. Evelyn Ashley, in international policy, of which only the statesmen are cognizant, to whose charge

M.P. Two Vols. London, 1876.

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