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kind satisfaction, otherwise than by a brief The letters were on the breakfast-table "Thank you," the tone of which he did not when she came down, the earliest as usual,


"Was she alone?" she asked.

"Didn't I tell you the young lady was with her, and the brother."

and one was from Honor Charlccote, the first sight striking her with vexation as discomfiting her hopes that it would come by a welcome bearer. Yet that might be no rea

"Robert Fulmort?" and Cilia's heart; son why he should not yet run down.

sank at finding that it could not have been he who had been with Owen.

"Ay, the young fellow that slept at my house. He has taken a curacy at St. Wul'Stan's."

"Did he tell you so!" with an ill-coneealed start of consternation.

"Not he i lads have strange manners. I should have thought, after the terms we were upon here, he need not have been quite so much absorbed in his book as never to speak!"

"He has plenty in him instead of manners," said Lucilla; "but I'll take him in hand for it!"

Though Lucilla's instinct of defence had spoken up for Robert, she felt hurt at his treatment of her old friend, and could only excuse it by a strong fit of shy conscious moodincss. His taking the curacy was only explicable, she thought, as a mode of showing his displeasure with herself, since he could not ask ncr to marry into Whittingtonia, but "That must be all nonsense," thought she, "Iwill soon have him down off his high horse, and Mr. Parsons will never keep him to his engagement—silly fellow to have made it—or if he docs, I shall only have the longer to plague him. It will do him good. Let me see! he will come down to-morrow with Honor's note. I'll put on my lilac muslin with the innocent little frill, and do my hair under his favorite net, and look like such a horrid little meek ringdove that he will be perfectly disgusted with himself for having ever taken me for a fishing eagle. He will be abject, and I'll be generous, and not give another peck till it has grown intolerably Etupid to go on being good, or till ho presumes!"

For the first time for many weeks Lucilla awoke •with the impression that something pleasant was about to befall her, and her wild heart was in a state of glad flutter as she donned the quiet dress, and found that the subdued coloring and graver style rendered her more softly lovely than she had ever seen herself.

She tore it open.

"My dearest Lucy—until I met Mr. Prendergast yesterday, I was not sure that you had actually returned, or I would not have delayed an hour in assuring you, if you could not doubt it, that my pardon is ever ready for you.

(" Many thanks," was the muttered comment. "0 that poor, dear, stupid man, would that I had stopped his mouth! ")

"I never doubted that your refinement and sense of propriety would be revolted at the consequences of what I always saw to be mere thoughtlessness—"

(" Dearly beloved of an old maid is, I told you so!")

"—but I am delighted to hear that my dear child showed so much true delicacy and dignity in her trying predicament—"

(" Delighted to find her dear child not absolutely lost to decorum! Thanks again.")

"—and I console myself for the pain it has given by the trust that experience has proved n better teacher than precept."

("Where did she find that grand sentence ? ")

"So that good may result from past evil and present suffering, and that you may have learnt to distrust those who would lead you to disregard the dictates of your own better sense."

(" Meaning her own self!")

"I have said all this by letter that we may cast aside all that is painful when we meet, and only to feel that I am welcoming my child, doubly dear, because she comes owning her error."

(" I dare say! mous; don't we? could beat you!")

"Our first kiss shall seal your pardon, dearest, and not a word shall pass to remind you of this distressing page in your hislory."

(" Distressing! Excellent fun it was. I shall make her hear my diary, if I persuade myself to encounter this intolerable kiss of peace. It will be a mercy if I don't serve

We like to be magnaniO, Mr. Prendergast! I her as the thief in the fable did his mother when he was going to be hanged.")

"I will meet you at the station by any train on Saturday that you like to appoint, and early next week we will go down to what I am sure you have felt is your only true home."

(" Have I? Oh! she has heard of their journey, and thinks this my only alternative. As if I could not go with them if I chose—I wish they would ask me though. They shall! I'll not be driven up to the Holt as my last resource, and live there under a system of mild browbeating, because I can't help it. No, no! Robin shall find it takes a vast deal of persuasion to bend me to swallow so much pardon in milk and water. I wonder if there's time to change this spooney simplicity, and come out in something spicy, with a dash of the Bloomer. But, may be, there's some news of him in the other sheet, now she has delivered her conscience of her rigmarole. Oh! here it is—")

"Phoebe will go home with us, as she is, according to the family system, not summoned to her sister's wedding. Robert leaves London on Saturday morning, to fetch his books, etc., from Oxford, Mr. Parsons having consented to give him a title for holy orders, and to let him assist in the parish until the next ember week. I think, dear girl, that it should not be concealed from you that this step was taken as soon as he heard that you had actually failed for Ireland, and that he docs not intend to return until we are in the country."

• (" Does he not? Another act of coercion! I suppose you put him up to this, madam, as a pleasing course of discipline. You think you have the whip hand of me; do you? Pooh! See if he'll stay at Oxford !")

"I feel for the grief I'm inflicting—" (" Oh, so you complacently think ' now I have made her sorry!'")

"—but I believe uncertainty, waiting, and heart sickness would cost you far more. Trust me, as one who has felt it, that it is far better to feel one's self unworthy than to learn to doubt or distrust the worthiness or .constancy of another."

(" My father, to wit? A pretty thing to *ay to his daughter! What right has she to te pining and complaining after him? He,

the unworthy one! I'll never forgive that conceited inference! Just because he could not stand sentiment! Master Robert gone! Wont I soon have him repenting of his out'break ? ")

"I have no doubt that his feelings are unchanged, and that he is solely influenced by principle. He is evidently exceedingly unhappy under all his reserve—"

(" He shall be more so, till he behaves himself, and comes back humble! I've no notion of his flying out in this way.")

"—and though I have not exchanged a word with him on the subject, I am certain that his good opinion will be retrieved with infinite joy to himself as soon as you make it possible for his judgment to be satisfied with your conduct and sentiments. Grieved as I am, it is with a hopeful sorrow, for I am sure that nothing is wanting on your part but that consistency and sobriety of behavior of which you have newly learnt the necessity on other grounds. The Parsonses have gone to their own house, so you will not find any one here but two who will feel for you in silence, and we shall soon be in the quiet of the Holt, where you shall have all that can give you peace or comfort from your ever-loving old

"H. C."

"Feel for me! Never. Don't you wish you may get it? Teach the catechism and feed caterpillars till such time as it pleases Mrs. Honor to write up and say 'the specimen is tame!' How nice! No, no. I'll not be frightened into their lording it over me! I know a better way! Let Mr. Robert find out how little I care, and get himself heartily sick of St. Wulstan's, till it is, 'turn again Whittington indeed!' Poor fellow, I hate it, but he must be cured of his airs, and have a good fright. Why don't they ask me to go to Paris with them? Where can I go, if they don't? To Mary Cranford's? Stupid place, but I will show that I'm not so hard up as to have no place but the Holt to go to! If it were only possible to stay with Mr. Prendcrgast, it would be best of all! Can't I tell him to catch a chaperon for me? Then he would think Honor a regular dragon, which would be a shame, for it was nobody's fault but his! I shall tell him, I'm like the Christian religion, for which people are always making apologies that it doesn't want! Two years! Patience! It will be very good for Robin,

and four-and-twenty is quite soon enough to bite off one's wings, and found an ant-hill. As to being bullied into being kissed, pitied, pardoned, and trained by Honor, I'll never •ink so low! No, at no price."

Poor Mr. Prcndcrgast! Did ever a more innocent mischief-maker exist?

Poor Honora! Little did she guess that

take up -with these new pets of her's and cheat you."

"ThoFulmorts? Stuff! They have more already than they know what to do with."

"The very reason she will leave them the more. I declare, Cilly," he added, half in jest, half in earnest, " the only security for you and Owen is in a double marriage. Per

the letter written in such love, such sympa-1 haps she projects it. You fire up as if she

thy, such longing hope, would only excite had!"

"If she had, do you think I should go back?" said Cilly, trying to answer lightly, though her cheeks were in a flame. "No, no, I'm not going to let slip a chance of Paris."

She stopped short, dismayed at having committed herself, and Horatia coming down, was told by acclamation, that Cilly was go

fierce rebellion.

Yet it was at the words of Moses that the king's heart was hardened; and what was the end? He was taken at his word. "Thou shalt see my face no more."

To be asked to join the party on their tour had become Lucilla's prime desire, if only that she might not feel neglected, or driven back to Hiltonbury by absolute necessity; and when the husband and wife came down, the wish was uppermost in her mind.

Eloisa remarked on her quiet style of dress, and observed that it would be quite the thing in Paris, where people were so much less outre than here.

"I have nothing to do with Paris."

"Oh! surely you go with us!" said Eloisa; "I like to take you out, because you are in so different a style of beauty, and you talk

and save one trouble! Charles?"


"Of course she is," said forgiving and forgetting Rashe. "Little Cilly left behind, to serve for food to the Rouge Dragon? No, no! I should have no fun in life without her."

Rashe forgot the past far more easily than Cilia could ever do. There was a certain guilty delight in writing

"MY Deaii Honok,—Many thanks for your letter, and intended fondnesses. The

"You see, Lolly wants you for effect!" he said, sneeringly. "But you are always welcome, Cilly, we are wofully slow when you aint there to keep us going, and I should like to show you a thing or two. I only did

Will not she go, scene must, however, be deferred, as my cousins mean to winter at Paris, nnd I can't

resist the chance of hooking a marshal, or a prince or two. Rashe's strain was a great sell, but we had capital fun, and shall hope for more success another season. I would send you my diary if it were written out fair. We go so soon that I can't run up to London,

"Your affectionate

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not ask you, because I thought you had not I so I hope no one will be disturbed on my achit it off with Rashe, or have you made it i count, np?"

"Oh! Rashe and I understand each other," •aid Cilly, secure that though she would never treat Rashe with her former confidence, yet as long as they travelled en grand seigneur, there was no fear of collisions of temper.

"Rashe is a good creature," said Lolly, "but she is so fast and so eccentric that I like to have you, Cilly, you look so much younger, and more ladylike."

"One thing more," said Charles, in his character cf head of the family, "shouldn't you look up Miss Charlccotc, Cilly? There's Owen straining the leash pretty hard, and you must look about you, that she does not

No need to say how often Lucilla would have liked to have recalled that note for addition or diminution, how many misgivings she suffered on her peculiar mode of catching Robins, how frequent were her disgusts with her cousin, and how often she felt like a captive. The captive of her own self-will.

"That's right!" said Horatia to Lolly, "I was mortally afraid she would stay at home to fall a prey to the incipient parson, but now he is choked off, and Calthorp is really in earnest, we shall have the dear little morsel doing well yet.


From The Examiner.

Poems and Essays. By the late William Caldwell Roscoe. Edited, with a Prefatory Memoir, by his Brother-in-Law, Richard Holt Hutton. In Two Volumes. Chapman and Hall.

These volumes contain all that was written for the public by a man of singular worth and refined taste, who died last summer at the early age of thirty-five. They will share with the Essays and Remains of Alfred Vaughan a permanent place among the unobtrusive books that lie about our literature, with the beauty and truth of a short life of promise perfectly expressed in them. The subject of Mr. R. H. Hutton's delicately shaded Memoir, which says all that can complete a human interest in the collected Poems and Essays which it introduces, was the grandson of the biographer of Leo X., by form of faith a Unitarian, and trained to the bar, which, for defect of health and other reasons, he exchanged for partnership in a stone quarry and literary ease. Alfred Vaughan, born in the same year with the younger Roscoe, and living to a like age, had begun his labor in the world as a Nonconformist minister. The two men, however, differing in theological impressions, were kindred in their characters. In both we find delicacy of spiritual aspiration, activity of criticism at once honest and subtle, a play of winning humor, a sense of poetry, and a marked tendency rather to reflection than to action. Alfred Vaughan was the richer in acquired knowledge, William Roscoe applied to the reading that he shared with the million, individual reflection, always interesting, often new. His character 'is thus carefully summed up by his brotherin-law, Mr. Hutton, in the Prefatory Memoir :—

"I never knew nny other man whoso death could have made so deep a rent in the hearts and lives of oilier men outside the circle of his own family. Ills ricli humor, his singular harmony of character, his social case and insight, tho ideal depth and patient incditntivcncss of his judgment, his public spirit and manly political interests, tho sincerity and trustfulness of his friendship, the refined and human character of his tastes, the perfect veracity and light fresh beauty of his imagination, and the true humility of his faith, liad made him an object of hope as well as love to many of his companions. There were several, I believe, who would have been really more elated l>y his success than by their own; who, had he gained a poet's fame, would liavo felt their own life brighter; and who have lost in him one of tho main vital springs of their own happiness."

We arc tempted to illustrate the character

* the mind that speaks in these two vol

8 by one or two more extracts from Mr.

Hutton's Memoir. It is a piece of biography aased upon private affection, partial and yet judicious in its tone, that within a little space las reproduced with a singular delicacy the chief lights and shades of the character it represents. From a letter to himself Mr. Hutton furnishes one illustration of the tone of his friend's humor.

"He wrote to me from Wales a year or two ago: 'Farming prospers in the main; it is a very good thing to combine with literature, and has an excellent tendency to make one covetous of trifling gains. I always insist on seeing every day tho large parcels of copper produced by the sale of milk. I ask with interest whether there is twopence more than yesterday ; I am dejected when thero is a falling off of fourpcnce. All < tho money wo get is made into five-shilling packets of coppers, and stowed away in a cupboard. This gives a ponderous sensation of wealth, makes it impossible for thieves to take it all away at once, and prevents people calling to have their bills paid until they have an opportunity of bringing a horse and cart.'"

And there is a trait of character nicely observed in the remark upon Mr. Roscoe's delight in amusing children with tales "of which pelicans, puffins, grasshoppers, crickets, ponies, or dogs were the heroes."

"Reynard the Fox was one of his favorite books as a iliild; and it almost 'broke his heart,' he said, when in later life, he met with a beautifully illustrated edition of it which was fitted with n 'moral conclusion.' It was, he said, 'like tho wicked doctor who put pills instead of plums into his pudding.'

"Tho true charm of the animal world for him was, that it had independent life enough of its own to call much fancy and insight into ploy in interpreting it, and yet was so completely tinmornl. It gave a free range and sufficient hints to excite the imagination, without calling out that exhausting eflbrt by which tho spirit reaches into a world above itself. Mr. Eoscoo says in his essay on ghosts, that tho occupation which tho new spirit-media attribute to tho world of angels is about as noble as it would be for man to occupy himself in breathing into the mind of a dog tho suggestions 'bark,' 'smell a rat,' or 'in dictating the dreams and waking thoughts of a growing litter of pigs.' This remark brings with inexpressible humor and force before tho mind the real existence of a quasi-mental world in tho lower creation, on tho conscious life of which moral and spiritual law has no bearing whatever, nay, with which it stands in grotesque contrast. And henco exactly its attraction for him. Tho facts of natural history give a kind of glimpse of the pleasures, and domestic occupations, and politics, so to fay, of such a world —hints which his imagination could expand to almost any extent without any of that tension which its higher tasks require. The effort to conceive the cares and aims of the weasel and tho water-rat was not only a plunge into a fresh and independent world, but one beyond tho reach of those haunting moral and spiritual lights and shadows, which sometimes strained Mr. Roscoc's imagination beyond a healthy temper."

Mr. Roscoe's skill in verse—and the first volume cf his Remains consists entirely of two tragedies and many poems—is illustrated, together with much of his character, in these lines :—


"Come my beauty, come my bird;
We two will waiidcr, and no third
Shall mar that sweetest solitude

Of a garden and n child,
When the fresh elms arc first in bud,

And western winds blow mild.

"Clasp that short-reaching arm about a neck Stript of a deeper love's moro close cmbrace,

And with the softness of thy baby-cheek
Press roses on a cnrc-distaincd face.

"What ? set thec down, because tho air
Ruffles too boldly thy brown hair?
Walk then, and as thy tiny boot

Presses the grccnnc'ss of the sod,
Teach me to sec that tottering foot
Uplifted and set down by Uod;

"Teach mo a stronger, tend«rer hand than


Sways every motion of thy infant frame;

Bid me take hold, like thcc, and not repine,—

Weak with my errors and deserved shame.

"How? homo again ? ah, that soft laughter
Telia me what voice thou hankcrcst after.
Run, run, with that bright shining face,

And little hands stretched forth apart,
Into a mother's fond embrace,

Close, closer to her heart.

"I too will turn, for I discern a voice

Which whispers me that I am far from


Bids me repent, and led by holier choice
Back to a Father's open bosom come."

In relation also to the best of his two plays, YMcmia, wliich contains many a fine touch of natural emotion, Mr. Hutton illustrates another of the points in his friend's character.

"Of the profound, and perhaps exaggerated respect which Mr. lioscoo cherished lor strict constitutional forms, as the signs of habitual self control in a political society, there is a curious example in las tragedy of Violciizia. Almost •11 his friends joked him abont the trial scene,

in which tlio king, who would have been most fitly, as well as most justly, crushed nt once as a monster of guilt, is put on his trial, and pronounced by the judges beyond their jurisdiction. Not till then will Ethel consent to take it on his own responsibility solemnly to avenge the hideous crime which had wrecked his own life. No duubt the purpose of the dramatist was to bring out very strongly the- scrupulous pelf-distrust which makes Ethel's 'tardy mid diffident spirit' fear lest personal revenge should enter into his motives. The author was responsible, as ho says, for the denouement'as a poet only,' not as a moralist. But there was something more than this, I believe, in the tenacity with which Mr. Roscoe clung to this turn in the plot. lie had so deep-rooted a reverence for duo forms and conventions as the bulwarks of political and social order, that though one of his friends remarked on the unsatisfactorincss of n result which insured to the king ' his costs,' and all, I think, regarded this extreme legality as a great blot on the play, he never wavered in his adherence to it.

And the same characteristic came ont in many other ways. Ho not only disliked but despised any conventionalism wliich seemed to represent false ideas, and was ofien extremely bold in setting it at defiance. But I think he disliked still moro any thing spasmodic that indicated a want of self-rcgnlating power. 'What do you mean,' ho onco wrote to his sister, 'by raving about the shackles of society in that Carlylian fashion 1 We're too methodical, nre wo 1 What would you have us do 1 Wear our hoots on our heads, or sleep in coal-scuttles? Eat our dinner off wheelbarrows, or always use superlatives'! Should we then be "Realities in the age of Shams <'"

Thoroughly real himself, Mr. Roscoe attacked aflcctation in all forms, and not with least relish when it took the form of scorn for the accepted usages of life. Of all shams there was none that seemed to anger apart from the living truth of individual cxhim more than the sham of eccentricity, pression. The Essays gathered from the National and other Reviews which occupy the second volume of the Remains abound in genuine expression of a mind that labored unobtrusively to penetrate to the essential truth of what it studied. Even where his decision as a critic is most open to exception, he sets wholesome independent thought before his readers, and excites them to the exercise of their own faculties. A body of consistent reasoning and feeling may be said even to bind his essays upon modern poets into an instructive study of their art.

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