(so to say) the persons we paint, and hence it is that people who forget this, so often accuse others of drawing from themselves, who have either not done so at all, or done it quite unconsciously. In Burton's case however I felt as I say great difficulty-I could not be Burton-I could be the broken-hearted brother. I could be the daringly and intensely wicked man. But the combination of them remained an insoluble problem, an inscrutable mystery. However I have nothing to do with reflection, I have but to narrate. The next day, as he was talking to one of his servants, Burton broke a blood-vessel, and though he recovered from the accident, his days were numbered. A day or two afterwards he expressed a wish to see me alone. "I wish to say a few words to you before I go," he said, "and my strength will not allow them to be many, about myself and my own character, which I am vain enough to think is rather curious." He then told me that very early in life he had admired the character of Count Cenci in Shelley's drama, and brooded over it, until he felt a desire to reproduce it, with such modifications as the nineteenth century rendered necessary. It must be delightful, he thought, to feel, not like a man, but like a fiend, appointed to chastise the world. The times rendered an assumption of gentleness indispensable to his plan. Under this mask he had gone about doing evil, and every fresh instance of folly and wickedness which he made people commit, added to his scorn and contempt for mankind, and his wish to plague such despicable beings. Some of his details were appalling. Crawford and Helen he had destroyed, not because he peculiarly disliked them, but because love was folly, and to have relented on the ground that one of them was his sister, would have been pitiable K weakness. "I am myself an instance," he said, "of the perfect justice of my feelings-I am falling a victim to a sorrow I despise. Count Cenci was a fine fellow, but I am only a poor imitator. I hope I know how to scorn myself for having these feelings, but he really had them not. I am dying broken-hearted, an object, for that very reason, of my own utter hatred, and contempt, and scorn." "If," he continued, "you should ever mention me, I have no objection to your adding that I can hardly recommend others to follow my example. I can hardly say that I have experienced perfect felicity. I do not know that it has been quite so pleasant as I expected. I do not mean to imply that I think other lines of life would have been better, but I rather suspect that this one has turned out a failure."-" And now, Churchill," he said, after a pause, " you must go. I am obliged to you for having listened so long to words, with which I can hardly think you have much sympathy. I must not exhaust myself with talking-not that it much matters, perhaps, when I die, yet still I would not unnecessarily shorten my stay-good evening to you-I hope my servants make you comfortable." He died the same night. I "he Did he repent then? I cannot tell. It may be so. hope he did. I believe he did not-at all events, died and made no sign." Crawford died some years afterwards in Australia. He bore a high character there, and his letters evinced a beautiful spirit. Of course I cannot say farther, as I never saw him again. The three lie buried many miles away from each other. Burton in Staffordshire, Helen in London, Crawford in Australia. But they will meet one day together, and supreme authority will decide upon their merits. I shall not anticipate that judgment. Each one may do it for himself if he pleases—I shrink from it. So ends my tale. The characters will nized, yet the record is simple and true. been told in vain. hardly be recogMay it not have THE CHRISTENING OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. 1.. God speed thee! noble child, On whom the church hath smiled Her hopeful smile of stern encouragement; Now by this festal rite Panoplied for the fight In the world's battle-field, go pitch thy tent. 2. Hard is the spirit's strife, Deep is the love of life, And few be they that fathom their own being; But be thou early wise, And in thy people's eyes, Bear arms of faith with this thy cross agreeing. 3. We would not have thee shame, Prince of a princely name, The golden memory of those men of old, Whose blazoned armour gleams With lustre, that redeems Scores of the bale-fires false of passion Satan-sold. 4. Brave child! it is our prayer That thou may'st be the heir Of our Confessor's grave, our Black Knight's sword, His skill, who shaped our laws, Their zeal, who judged our cause At Cressy's fight, and Windsor's council-board. 5. Saints greet thee from the grave, Proud banners o'er thee wave, And thine each graven name, each sheathed blade, And waiting on thy wants, Heaven's viewless pursuivants Shall guide thee onward, strong and undismayed. 6. Edward of England! rise Up to thy destinies; Gird thee the soldier's duty to fulfil, Rise high in deed and thought, And when the fight is fought, Join them that have achieved their Captain's will. SONNET I. Contempt. Bold Pilgrim, hurry on-straight be thy ways; Walk on-the shifting clouds are nought to thee; Shall meet anon, some rough yet friendly bough, Το SONNET II. Caution. Surely they erred, who rudely did assay In its free outline-but, when meddlers snapt We are apt Officiously to pull at hearts of men, Stripping quaint growths of venial prejudice |