ence was required to secure our complete | mean so much to hold up the dual monabstention. Beust boasts that Austria- archy as an example to England, as to Hungary was the only one of the neutral suggest that every question of home rule powers which did not profit by the war. in all possible phases, from actual indeItaly obtained Rome, Russia tore up the pendence to a small delegation of powers, Treaty of Paris, England sold war mate- has been fully discussed, if not actually rial to the belligerents, and even the ex-practised in Austria. We have already duke of Tuscany was offered the kingdom seen how difficult it was for the central of Alsace-Lorraine, which he was wise government of Vienna to restrain the cenenough to refuse. trifugal tendencies of Czechs, Galicians, and Slovenes. Simmering discontent broke out into a storm in 1871, and a crisis occurred which arrested the attention of Europe, and which is identified with the name of Hohenwart, as our own crisis is linked with that of Gladstone. One day in February, 1871, Beust was informed by his master of the advent of a new ministry to power. The next morning, February 7, 1871, the Vienna Gazette announced, to the astonishment of every one, that the Potocki ministry had been dismissed, and that a new ministry, no member of which was in Parliament, had been formed under the premiership of Count Hohenwart. Beust, continuing as minister of foreign affairs, was able to take up a position of independence towards the ministry until it touched questions which he considered vital. However anti-German the internal policy of Austria was, the foreign policy continued to be German. Besides the maintenance of armed and watchful neutrality during the FrancoPrussian struggle, Beust had sufficient reasons for anxiety in this disastrous year. The ministry which had succeeded the "citizen ministry" was not more harmonious than its predecessor. Count Potocki, who now became prime minister, was undecided in his policy, and could not agree with his colleagues. The year of the great war was also the year of the Vatican Council, and a chancellor who had been greeted as the darling of the Viennese for having revised the Concordat, could not be in favor of the infallibility of the pope. The answer of Vienna to the decree of infallibility was to declare the Concordat invalid, and altogether at an end. Wide indeed was the contrast between St. Peter's, when it witnessed the meeting of the last great ecumenical council, and a year later when it was in mourning for the occupation of the city by the Italians, and the imprisonment of the pope. The pavement was unswept, the chapels ungarnished, and a single priest was muttering a mass at a solitary altar. Austria was not strong enough to prevent the occupation of Rome, but her good offices were used to lighten the position of the pope, and to improve his relations with the king of Italy. The abolition of the neutrality of the Black Sea had been suggested by Beust long before. It was now offered by Germany to Russia as a price of neutrality, but it was to take effect after the war was over. Gortschakoff thought it safer to secure his reward when the struggle was at its highest point of agony. Bismarck was very angry, and might have been persuaded to maintain the treaty, had the English pressed for it. But our government was very little in earnest about the matter. Lord Odo Russell was a pleasant and a peace-making negotiator, and the incident had no further consequences. Beust's last struggle was concerned with internal questions. When the advocates of Home Rule in Ireland bid us look at Austria, it is probable that they do not Before the storm broke, Beust_passed three weeks with Bismarck at Gastein. He describes him as a most agreeable companion, full of original ideas quaintly and felicitously expressed. At the same time, his tumultuous and unbending temper gave abundant evidence of itself. Once, he told Beust, that leaving the emperor's apartments in a rage, and by accident carrying the key with him, he threw the key into a basin in a friend's room and broke it to fragments. "Are you ill? " said the occupant. "I was ill," he replied, "but I am better now." He boasted that during the negotiations with Thiers and Jules Favre about the terms of capitulation, when Bismarck had become weary with their repetition of the same arguments, he said, "Now, M. Thiers, I have listened to your eloquence for an hour, and can have no more of it. I warn you that I shall speak no more in French, but confine myself to German." But, sir," said Thiers, 66 we don't understand a word of German." "That is the same to me,' he replied; "I shall only speak German.' Thiers made a magnificent speech, Bismarck answered in German. The French emissaries walked up and down the room wringing their hands for half an hour, and | finance, were alone left to the central then did exactly what Bismarck had re- government; everything else, education, quested. Upon this he consented to justice, taxation, police, administration, speak French again. He also said that he had opposed the acquisition of Metz, but had yielded to the representations of the military authorities, who said that it was worth a hundred thousand men. He made two other important revelations, that in 1859 he would have supported the Austrians against the French, if he could have secured in Germany the constitution of two federations, a northern league under Prussia, and a southern under Austria; and that in 1864, if Austria would have ceded Schleswig-Holstein to Prussia, he would have assisted her in reconquering Lombardy from the Italians. He told Beust that he had no desire to possess the German provinces of Austria, and that he would rather annex Holland. About the same time he informed the Dutch minister at Berlin that he had no appetite for Holland, but that he would rather have the German provinces of Austria. posts, and the militia, were to be within the competence of the Bohemian Diet. Common affairs were to be treated by delegations, the Bohemian members of which were to be chosen by the Diet from among its members. When the emperor had sworn to observe this Magna Charta of the Czechs, he was to be crowned at Prague with the diadem of St. Wenceslaus. The matter came for final discussion before the Grand Council of the empire, that is a Cabinet council in which the emperor himself presided. Here Beust withstood Hohenwart to the face, as in the outset of his career he had withstood Belcredi. The emperor had been gradually changing his mind with regard to the imperial constitution. The balance was turned by the arrival of Andrassy from Pesth, who reported that the Magyars were strongly opposed to an arrangement which would give so much preponderance to the Slavs. The imperial decision was given against Hohenwart, and on October 30 the resignation of his ministry was accepted. The more serious negotiation between the two chancellors tended to create a friendly feeling between the countries which they represented, to allow Austria It might have been supposed that the some freedom of action in the East, and triumph of Beust on so important a questo take common precautions against revo- tion would have secured him a new lease lutionary movements. Before Beust left of power and influence, that he would have Gastein, the emperor William arrived been regarded not only as the friend of there and had some interesting conversa- Prussia, but as the bulwark of German tions with him, and shortly afterwards interests. However, to the surprise of both emperors met at Salzburg; their in- Europe, he fell by the same blow which terviews had strengthened the chancellor's had routed his antagonists. Baron Braun, opinion, that he must satisfy the discon- who had been the bearer of his appointtent of the Germans in Austria, as there ment in 1866, now brought him the news would be a danger of their looking for of his dismissal. The only reasons asassistance to Berlin. Meanwhile, under signed were that the title of chancellor the guidance of Professor Schäffle, nego- of the empire gave rise to difficulties, and tiations had been going on with the that Beust had too many enemies. When Czechs for a recognition of independence next he saw the emperor he was greeted similar to that which had been conceded with these words: "I thank you for havto Hungary. The emperor was evidently ing made things easy for me. It has cost in favor of a federalist policy. On Sep-me a severe struggle, but I must do withtember 12, 1871, an imperial rescript was out your further services." No other issued to the Bohemian Diet, adding to the existing constitution the recognition of the rights of the kingdom of Bohemia, and the promise of a coronation oath. The Diet, although recommended to use moderation, was deserted by its German members, who would take no part in the new constitution, while the Czechs who were left, one hundred and forty-three in number, appointed a committee of thirty to draft the articles. They were presented on October 7, and went much further than any one had anticipated in the direction of independence. Diplomacy, war, and words of explanation passed between them. At the same time Beust was appointed Austrian ambassador in London. The blow of dismissal fell on Beust like a thunderbolt from a cloudless sky. He was much hurt by the secrecy in which the stroke had been prepared. Some sacrifice was needed to cover the retreat of the emperor, who had been obliged to issue two rescripts to the Bohemian Diet of diametrically opposite characters. At this point we must close our review of Beust's career. An account of his embassies at London and Paris would it seems as if the door of an unseen world were opened wide. Unseen hands undo the silent latch, and wondering eyes look in once more at all that never again may lead us too far afield; besides, he no longer plays a prominent part in politics. His memoirs have been received, both in France and in Prussia, with something like ridicule. His bad French verses be theirs. But the sound of a voice, and which he had the misfortune to print, the door is swiftly closed again. The illustrate the foppishness and the frivol- music does but bring them here; they ity of his nature, while the nickname know it well, for it was once their own; of the chancellor, à la minute, hits off and through the gloom they steal with felicitously the minister ready with expe- soundless steps to hear it once again. I dients, who could serve up at a moment's have seen their faces many a time, have notice advice or remonstrance, a king's heard the soft trailing of their garments speech or a constitution. It is a misfor- as they departed, have stood up gently on tune for Beust that he has to be con- tiptoe not daring to go forward a single trasted with Bismarck, the supple extem-step, have watched them hurry farther and porizer of momentary measures with the farther away, grey and indistinct, till they man of iron will and far-sighted pre- have vanished altogether. science; the champion of lost causes with the creator of a new empire. Yet his character gains by study; he was eminently honest, courageous, and good-tempered; he averted some calamities both from Germany and from Austria, and the dual monarchy, the majority of which he almost lived to see, will probably be spared to ripen into a dignified old age. From Temple Bar. IN AN OLD CHATEAU. BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD. OFTEN in the twilight, as I sit here alone thinking it all over, the door opens and there enters the tall woman with the faded hair and tired face. She goes to the piano, an old carved piano, that is crazy with age and memories. As she sits down her face is even with a window; she has but to turn her head and she can see through the diamond-shaped panes of glass into the dark wood beyond the garden. The trees wave to and fro, backwards and forwards, touching each other with their long branches, as if with the shadows there had come to them strange messages of which they must whisper till all the black copse knows them. She puts her cold hands down on the keys, a little shudder goes through me as they meet. The fire burns low while she plays, the darkness gathers closer and closer, as though it came from a world that was full of it, and must cover all the indistinct space left in the empty room. But except the music there is silence "Mother," she says, "shall I play to everywhere. The notes are like the tones you a little while before it grows quite of a passionate voice from which time has dark?" She has always called me mother taken the joy and freshness, yet left the since he went away; always since, but fire behind. I cannot see her eyes, but I before it seemed as if her lips were too know there is no expression in them as stubborn to say the word. Sometimes I she goes on playing, as she stares vacantly fancy it is his voice that says it now. I out at the wood unconsciously watching look up at her for a moment as she stands for one she never will see again. All the there waiting. Poor soul! I think you life left in her has crept to the ends of her should be young still; sorrow has taken fingers and finds expression there. But away your youth and brought age to take she does not know even this, for she is a shelter before you had made ready for it. stranger still to some other self that has But her eyes are dull, she does not know been hers, that waits and pleads to be hers my thoughts nor wonder concerning them; again, but, silent and dogged, she will not she does not think or care, or even grieve listen. But, oh! my dear, if ever you now, but only waits and dreams of all that awake, you will perhaps some day sit here has been once, and never shall be again. alone as I sit now, and remember all that stood beside you, that cried out longing to be heard and understood, while you were blind and dumb. You will think of it bitterly, you will sit there awaking the dead, calling back once more those who have all been dust these many years. "Yes, dear," I answer; "go and play before it grows quite dark; but do not speak again till you have finished-it sends them all away, and leaves me quite alone." For in the twilight, when no human voice breaks through the darkness gathering round as though it were a veil to hide what mortal eyes might not behold, At last her fingers tire, the sounds grow fainter and fainter, as though they were following some one away into the distance. I crouch down nearer to the fire, I who am left behind, without power to move one single step onward into the country that is but just beyond the nearest shadow. "Oh! it is too much," I cry, "too much to ask, that I should bear all this alone." The woman who has been playing gets up, closes the piano, and with one last look out towards the wood departs. The sound of her footsteps dies away. She has gone to the little room at the end of the long corridor where his books are kept, where his portrait hangs, and his chair stands in the corner. It is all the same, just as it used to be when he was here; even his fishing-rod hangs on the two nails against the wall, though it has not been used since he was a boy. I hear the door shut, and know she is within, that she sits down and looks round, half afraid, wondering what the strange knowledge is that hangs about the room and makes her cower and shiver. I cannot go to her, I am too old; but my heart cries after her, "He will never come back, never never. Just as the father went, so has the boy gone; just as you look out to-night, so did I look out all those years ago. As you sit and wait for him who will never return, so do I sit and wait even still-oh, my dear, my dear, who never will come again, and never will hear me more!" If she had only cared, in the days that are gone, for that which came to her, for all that she threw away - if she had only cared! But her heart was as cold as December sun, as his hands that now are folded on his breast. I knew it from the first hour I saw her on the day he brought her home five years ago. Five years or ten? I cannot tell, for in my heart it is a hundred. He brought her in, and before I had never seen her face nor heard her voice. He had thrown one arm round her shoulder, and in his voice there was the old boyish ring of happiness. to me. "Mother, here is my wife," he cried. "I have brought her home, and you and she will love each other." He stooped and kissed her, while he put out his hand I looked at her for a moment before I folded her to my heart, and my lips felt stiff and cold. In that one moment it all flashed through me, I saw in her eyes what the end would be. I could have sat down and wept, but that it seemed too terrible for words. I kissed her first on one chilly cheek and then on the other, feeling the while that she shuddered and shrank from me. "My son's wife," I said gently, holding the thin fingers that seemed trying to slip through mine; "how happy you must be, how happy you will be all your life long!" It was as if some false voice said the words, for I knew that in mine there could have been but sorrow and dismay. They lived here together in the old home-the home in which his ancestors had lived for many a generation, from which his father had gone forth in the full of youth and strength, never to enter more. They lived here and waited for the rest of life, she silent and sad-looking, little enough like a bride; he happy as the birds, and, like them, now and again in the early morning breaking out into snatches of song. I made ready to go, thinking that they were young and would be better alone. There was the stone house twenty miles away, the lonely house with the squarewalled garden to which the widows of many of our race had gone when the young ones mated. But the boy would not hear of my leaving the home in which I had lived my life, and the white-faced bride looked up and entreated me to stay, seeming as though she feared to be left alone with him, though he loved her so. And at last I gave way and stayed, having my rooms given me and living alone in them, glad to be quiet, to think of the past, to wonder what the future would be, to shut my eyes and live over the long years again, and the day on which the boy's father went forth never to return. Years and years ago it all happened, the longest years that ever time dragged over the world, yet in a moment I can cross them all and see my best-loved's face. Many a time in thought have I wandered down the paths again that my feet have not dared to tread since my world's sun set. All the fields I know, and every primrosebank, and the corner where the rose-leaves always fell first and fast - their perfume stole past the place where the spring flowers died. They made me shudder afterwards, those same roses that once had seemed like a part of my own life; the sight of them now is but another sting of pain, like the blinding flashes of morning sunshine, or the woods thick with the flowers of spring. It has been so swift, as I sat alone, to get back to the happy years, so long the return journey to the end. The end? There has been none, only I know what it will be, though time goes slowly, as if it hesitated and held back, trying to hide that which it took in its arms all the weary while ago. They said he would return, he who went away | since she was the cause of all this, how laughing to hide his sorrow at parting, could I help but love her, even though her kissing his hand till he and the distance manner forbade me to make a sign? She were one, while I stood watching him go never came to me alone; never once did farther and farther away-he who she sit down beside me and talk, as happy never by shadow or shine my eyes would women will, in laughing whispers, or look look on more. I sat and thought of the up at me as though she remembered that ship that sailed, of the strange port at between us lived the life with which her which he would land, of the brave deeds own was bound. If he had but married a he would do, of the long days beneath the happy woman, I used to think; if he had burning sun, and of how at last, with the but taken some bright young life to join to victory won, he would set his face towards his- -a girl with a merry laugh on her home again, counting the days till we lips, with gladness looking out from her should meet. I sat and thought, while eyes, with strength in her straight young the ship went on and on over an endless limbs, who would have walked among us sea to a strange far land beyond. That proudly, yet laughed at our old-world ways, is all I know. Never a sign came, never and loved us- -a girl who would have a word or token; only at last the knowl- filled the house with snatches of song edge that he must have found the path and bits of sunshine, who would have along which for human feet there is no made the stairs over which so many of our returning, or my listening ears would have dead had walked awake and creak with heard his footstep, my longing eyes would life as her quick glad feet ran down them have seen his face. But no, waiting and -a girl who would have hung on his arm, forever waiting, and never an end to it; looking up at his face to read her own by the rose-corner that makes my heart life's history! He and she-the pretty fail; through the woods that have mocked bride I gave him in my dreaming-how me all these years with their springing happy they were together! I sat over the flowers; beneath the dark firs that whis- smouldering ashes many a twilight hour, per and know; day after day, till the days hearing all they said to each, leaning forhave become years, and the years a life- ward to see more clearly into her sweet time that has been a death-time. Some young face, and laughed in their happiday when I am dying, it,cannot be far off ness, till with a start I awoke and looked now, for I have grown old in the waiting round, and shuddered at my dream, and years, shall I hear the eager step and the covered my face, and dreaded what might tender voice? Will he come and hold come of that which was no dream at all, out his arms at last, or will it be all a but a sad and strange reality. mockery still? For months they lived their quiet life together here, the boy and his strange bride. Every day I heard their footsteps coming down the long corridor, he and she together. They entered and stayed with me a little space, telling of all they had done or meant to do. They seemed happy enough, or he did, for if her face was sometimes sad, I did not think of it much; I knew so little of her or of her history. In my thoughts she was still a stranger, and though my heart had love for her, yet it seemed as though its door shut as she drew dear. So I troubled little about the sadness on her face. I knew it could not stay there long, that happiness must find her soon, seeing that she was the boy's wife, and would spend her whole life by his side. Yet as the days went by there was no change; her eyes were dull, and in them there were sometimes tears, as though she had memories of sorrow. But he was always glad, on his face there was a look of great content, in his voice a ring of happiness; and The months went by, and then came the beginning of that which from the first had but been waiting to chase away the foolish make-believe of happiness that had made the house feel half ashamed, though it never once put off its sadness or was duped. The months went by, and gradually the happiness went from his face and left him grave and silent. Not all at once did it go, but slowly and surely, as a thing that is dying out of the world. He seemed at first as one awaking from sleep who feels his dream slipping away and dreads the returning to sorrow; yet he said nothing. My heart tried in vain to divine the reason of it all, and his lips had none to give. It was as if between him and her there had grown up a silence, a knowledge that neither could help, but that had quenched a light, had broken a promise, and for him had put an end to many things that in the future he had meant to do and had left him suddenly sad and silent, fac ing some terrible truth from which there was no appeal. Then as the summer passed her face changed, over it there |