rectly, without swerving now to the right and then to the left. You see that I talk to you very frankly; you have inspired me with confidence, and my thoughts will ever be the more agreeable to me the more they accord with yours." But notwithstanding this extraordinary epistle from an Emperor to a subject, and a very liberal one at that, it soon appeared that Ollivier's foresight and hesitation were justified. What seemed to be the dawn of a new era was but a transient flash. On the 19th of January, the famous and long-promised decree of reform appeared; but it was a bitter disappointment. Even the concessions granted were dearly paid for by the abolition of the right of address to the throne, for this latter always afforded the best opportunity of discussing the measures of the Government in a way to reach the press and the people. But it was still hoped that the liberty of the press and the right of assemblage might become actual truths by the laws in prospect, and in this sense Ollivier thanked the Emperor in the Chambers for what he had granted, but intimated that much more was expected. For this faint praise and faint censure, Ollivier was severely condemned in the liberal journals, and the date on which this decree was issued has become historical. Ollivier adopts it as the title of his last book, "The Nineteenth of JanGary,” which the French naïvely call his 'Confessions." He terms it his autobiography, and during the recent canvass no less than four large editions of it were absorbed. It is to a certain extent also the autobiography and confessions of the Second Empire, as seen in the Emperor's letter.

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Ollivier's enemies now taunted him with the accusation of having become ministerial since he could not be minister; he replied with the proof that he might have been minister had he wished, but declined in the interest of liberty, believing that his true place was as yet on the floor of the Chamber. It is clear that Olivier had no desire to become minister or ministerial, in the sense of being a friend and adherent of Rouher, the man VOL. IX.-20.

who, with the aid of the reactionary influences that surrounded the Empress, had succeeded in turning the Emperor from the liberal path to which he had swayed for a moment, under the influence of Ollivier and Walewski. In short, there was an irreconcilable strife between them, that had hitherto been concealed, but now burst forth in open Chambers on the occasion of the discussion of the new laws presented as the sequel of the famous reform decree. Ollivier accused the Minister of desiring to stifle or throttle the granted reforms so as to make them practically useless, and the latter induced his adherents to refuse to Ollivier the privilege of being chairman of the committee on the press-law, with the opportunity of making the report. But, deprived of his influence here, he labored so much the more vigorously in the debate on the law, whose nature greatly disappointed the people and the liberal press. He delivered no less than seven speeches on this subject, and contended most eloquently that the press should be mainly subject to the common law, and have no special legislation. He did not deny that absolute liberty might be productive of some abuses, but contended that it was a choice between possible license and absolute tyranny. To suppress all license would be to suppress all liberty; better tolerate some license to secure full liberty.

This programme alienated him entirely from the Government, and broke off all personal relations with the Emperor, but it did not deter him from his cherished plan of making the Empire liberal by the aid of popular influence. He at one time seemed on the point of bringing the Empire to a platform that might have insured it strong roots and a firm foothold. It slipped from his fingers and fell back into the mire; but Ollivier, not discouraged, returned to the work, confident of final success. For the last two or three years his position has been doubtful, and circunstances have been unfavorable for him; the radicals have constantly persecuted him since he broke with the "historic five;" for the Third Party, to which

he was so instrumental in giving birth, he is mostly too radical, and the old conservative majority treats him with scorn and bitterness.

In this condition he entered the canvass of the recent elections; his peculiar platform of regeneration for the Empire, rather than an effort to overthrow it, made him to a certain extent the embodiment of the question to the people as to whether they would or would not have the Emperor. No living man ever worked harder to defend himself and define his position. He published his speeches, gave to the world his own story of his connection with the Empire in the most secret phases, even publishing his correspondence with the Emperor, and left no stone unturned in self-defence. Most of the liberal journals defended and supported him with vigor and loyalty, and from the intense excitement in his case one might have thought the question for all France concentred in his election. He presented himself to constituents who had twice returned him to the Chambers by a majority of thousands. But he was defeated now by thousands; and defeated by a Red Republican who had been exiled by the Empire. In this, however, he simply shared the fate of all Liberals and Conservatives in the capital. Paris turn

ed against the Emperor as it had never done before, and Ollivier shared the fate of all who had not radically opposed him. The day after the election Ollivier seemed buried forever, and his radical foes exulted like inadmen. But in a short time his stock began to rise again; news came that he had been elected in a rural district, and as the returns gradually reached the capital, it appeared that the combined opposition would rally a much larger number than in the last Chambers. And although the Red Republicans have elected quite enough representatives to frighten the Emperor, still the real gain is for the Third Party, of which Ollivier, more than any other, is the exponent. And the signs even now show themselves that this is to be the party of the next Chambers; its founders are being daily more and more petted and patted, and even now the Government is claiming the elections of its members as favorable to the dynasty. Prophets are already foretelling that the Emperor will now complete his reforms in unison with the demands of this party, and that, before three years are past, France will have a Parliamentary Chamber, with responsible ministers. This we think more than probable, and, if so, who else can be the coming man and minister of the future but Ollivier ?

seemed to have leaped into intimate friendship, overstepping all preliminary formalities; I had pleasant memories of all, and especially of Mrs. Hartlepool; I wished every English home had some one like her. She was not weakly indulgent; her children feared as well as loved her; Urith as much as any. They did not put her off with eye-service; they would plead in defence of their own cause or opinion, but never rebel against her judgment, for it was held to be based on justice, good sense, and truth.

The country looked very pretty in the twilight, and almost more so when lights began to glimmer in cottages, and turnpike-houses, and small shops, and wayside inns. It was quite dark when we rattled over the London stones, which were shining with wet mud that reflected the lamps and costermongers' lanterns. The noise, movement, and bustle, exhilarated me, though I had only been away from it a month; and there was something homelike and familiar in the dirty but cheerful face of the old city, that made me think, "London, with all thy faults I love thee still." To be sure, the air was raw and foggy, but that "mighty heart" made even my individual pulse beat quicker. Here, people crowding into a theatrethere, into a chapel-poor housewives bargaining for a cheap supper-grand shops brilliantly lit up-feeble rays from some solitary candle in kitchen or garret-taverns with flaming lights-I can see them all in the fire.

I wonder if anybody but myself can take the least interest in all this. What does it signify? it interests me, so I shall continue to put it down. Some of these days my memory may fail; then I may be glad to read these trivial, fond records. But what if my sight should fail too? what if I outlive my interest in them? No matter; I have not done so yet.

My father, finding I had not returned at the usual tea hour, had gone to his old crony Mr. Tremlett, a fellow-clerk and an old bachelor, with whom he occasionally played cribbage; so my mother and I had a long talk by ourselves; and how we did enjoy it! First, she exclaimed at my im

proved looks, and at the many kind country presents Mrs. Hartlepool had sent her: then she busied herself about my tea; then, with a pretence of work in her hand, but I with not even a pretence, we sat close to each other and to the fire and talked over everything, more especially that noteworthy deed without a name! It quite excited her-she amused me immensely. "What did you say? what did he say? what did she say? how did you look? how did you feel? were you not utterly surprised? had you the least inkling? Oh, those boys!—the impudence of their trick!-how they could ever look you in the face again!—what a good thing Mr. Hartlepool took it up so !—And what is Mr. Liddell like? describe him exactly." I did so as faithfully as I could.

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Oh, I cannot think that. Depend on it, he liked you from the moment he saw you through the window."

"I'm positive he didn't," said I, laughing. "His look was anything but flattering."

"You couldn't see well through the glass--and, besides, looks are not to be depended on. I daresay he thought it very good-natured of you to play, that Miss Hartlepool might dance."

"Really, mother, that was very little to build a liking on."

"But it made a beginning, and first impressions go a great way. Very likely the Hartlepools talked a good deal about you when you were out of the room."

"Not the least likely," said I, laughing; "not a bit in their way. They had plenty of more interesting things to talk about."

"But, my dear! here was the effectwhere was the cause? there must have been one somewhere."

"That we never shall know, and it is not of the least consequence. It was very droll, certainly-and embarrassing."

แ That, it must have been," said my good mother, laying her hand on mine and letting it rest there. After a pause, "We don't want to get rid of you."

"Dear me, no, mother, I'm sure you don't," and I stroked her hand fondly. "That encouraged me to be so decided." Looking earnestly into the fire, she said, "It would have been a great lift for you."

"A lift I did not want;" and I was just going to add, “don't let us say anything to my father about it to-night," when in he walked.

"Soho, Miss Bessy! here you are," said he, very cheerfully. "All the better for your holiday, I suppose--?”

"Peter!" interrupted my mother, "such a surprise!—Bessy has had an offer!-a very good one--"

Hoity-toity," said he, and began to whistle, with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets. "And who is the

swain?"

So then it had to be all gone over again, and I had quite enough of it before I went to bed; but it was as well to have it over. My father was greatly tickled; he saw it differently from my mother-thought less of the lads' impertinence and more of their fun. He was almost more surprised than she was, at “a moneyed man's” acting in such a precipitate way, but set the idea of Demerara aside with decision; and there was an end of it—he hardly named it again. It was not so with my mother; I am sure she brooded on it. Well, and so did I; it did neither of us any good, except that it made us sensible of our affection for each other, and that no merely worldly advantages would have reconciled us to the wrench that had been proposed to me.

would be Mrs. Hartlepool sedulously packing her husband's sandwich-case; the two youngest girls at their lesson, Helen practising, Marianne taking a run round the garden and returning in a glow --Urith in the study on the stairs, which was now dignified by the name of the Scriptorium,-ah! that reminded me I was her chargée d'affaires.

I was delighted to have something to do for her that she could not do for herself. So as soon as my father was off to the brewery and my mother was at her housewifery, I dressed myself with some care and told her I had a commission to execute for Miss Hartlepool.

My mind was pre-occupied by it, so that I did not notice anything unusual as I went along, though I afterwards remembered one or two little things that did not strike me at the time. At length I reached the neighborhood of St. Paul's, where it had been pre-arranged that my first inquiries should be made, though the firm had only been chosen at random. I easily found the shop; inquired if I could speak to Mr. So-and-so, and was told he was engaged. I thought there could be no harm in waiting; and waited a good while. Other people came and went, and seemed to laugh and gossip rather than transact business. Presently two gentlemen passed through the shop and went out. I said, "Was that Mr. So-and-so?" and was told it was. I was disappointed, and went away, soon to come to another bookseller's. Here again I went in, and inquired if I could see one of the gentlemen of the firm. The shopman replied very civilly, "Mr. Frederick is at home-what name?" I thought it was no use withholding it, and said, rather drily, "Miss Lyon." He bowed, went away, and presently returned, saying, "Will you step into the counting-house?"

In the counting-house a gentlemanlike young man on a tall stool at a tall desk, bowed and looked inquiringly at me. I felt rather fluttered, and said I had come to obtain some information concerning the publication of a manuscript. He asked

A story. In three volumes? Was the author known to the