and kindness with which I have been treated by them one and all, I would have refused to repay their hospitality with a deceit, however innocent.'

'It is not a deceit, darling; it is only a concealment, and even that would be unnecessary if we had only them to deal with. I say, if my uncle and his people were alone concerned, I would make a clean breast of it to-day, and leave the question of my love to be judged by their own good hearts. But did I not warn you that I have an enemy here? Do you know who it is?'

'Of course I do,' she answered, smiling sweetly; if I did not I might hope that I was fancy free.' (Elise, like others of her race, had learnt her English with Shakespeare's aid). 'But because you have won my heart, my senses are keen to all that concerns you. Oh yes, I have seen that man's face fixed on yours when you knew it not, and it means mischief-ruin, if he can compass it.'

'You have read him like a book. There are some natures which we must combat in their own way, or submit to be overcome by them. We must meet the serpent with the wisdom of the serpent. He has not heard you talking English, I trust.'

'No; but I have heard him,' answered she, naïvely. He has persuaded Lady Arden that Sir Robert's invitation to your friend which seemed to give you such pleasure this morning should be revoked. However, there is some one coming; what will be thought of our walking together thus?'

'No matter; Frankie will explain it. It is my uncle himself and his

shadow.'

ter with the boy? He looks as pale as death.'

'There is nothing the matter,' cried Frank, with the same anxious earnestness. Indeed there is not; oh pray don't tell him there is.'

'Very good, I'll be as dumb as that fir cone. But in return, Frankie, you must tell my uncle how you came to be here with Miss Hurt; else he will think, perhaps, she has been straying out of bounds; don't you see?'

'Yes, yes,' answered the boy, evidently not troubling himself with the reason for this request; 'I will say anything you please to Papa. And George, dear George, if Mr. Walcot should wish me to go to school, don't let Mamma or my sisters vex him any more by their objections. I would rather, much rather, go to school.'

Gresham stared at the boy in astonishment-it was clear that he was in a state of terror; but his own concerns were just then too pressing to admit of any questioning. The two men were now drawing very near; Sir Robert as usual with him, partly from a certain hypochondriacal idea that his steps wanted support, and partly from the sense of dependence always experienced in the other's society, was leaning on his brother-in-law's arm, who apparently was speaking rapidly in his ear.

'Don't forget what you are to say Frankie,' whispered Gresham, hurriedly, and then the two parties met.

Sir Robert looked grave, but, with a courtesy that never forsook him when speaking to one of the opposite sex, expressed his hope that the Wilderness had found another admirer in Miss Hurt.

'It is very, very beautiful, sir,' said she, and was about to add that she was indebted to Master Frank for her introduction to it; but her pride forbade it. If her employer chose to impute any other cause for her presence in that spot, he might do so.

Sir Robert attributed her hesitation

to her imperfect knowledge of the English tongue.

That is a curious way of taking horse exercise, George,' observed he, drily; ' to go on foot, and lead your nag.'

I had been out for a ride, sir, on the moor, and meeting Miss Hurt and Frankie in the wood, I joined them.'

'It was I who brought Miss Hurt to see the Wilderness,' said Frank, his delicate face flushing from chin to brow; I was showing her over the grounds.'

'Quite right, lad, quite right,' said Sir Robert, patting his head, but speaking absently. He had got something unpleasant to say, a circumstance which always weighed upon his mind till it was done with. By the bye, George, I have got something to say to you, which I fear will cause you disappointment. It is with regard to your friend Mayne-the fact is, I' here he looked uneasily towards his brother-in-law.

'I am sure it will not be necessary Arden, to go into particulars with your nephew,' put in Mr. Walcot, smoothly. The fact is, Mr. Gresham, your uncle is far from well, and the presence of any visitor just now-being a stranger too

'No, no,' interrupted Sir Robert, petulantly, it is not that; I am well enough. But perhaps at some other time, if it's the same to Mr. Mayne; it isn't as if he knew about it, and we were putting him off, you see.'

'Well, unfortunately, sir, he does know about it,' answered Gresham, drily. Directly you were so good as to ask him-knowing what pleasure he would have in coming to Halcombe, and also that his movements are apt to be sudden-I telegraphed to him at Boulogne, from which place he has wired back to say he will be at Archester in two days.'

Mr. Walcot turned pale with pas

sion.

'Quick as may be your friend, Mr. Mayne's, movements, I suppose a mes

sage could still reach him by the wire to put off his coming?'

"Not unless the wire was attached to his yacht,' returned Gresham, coolly, as you may see for yourself' And he drew from his pocket the return telegram, and placed it in Mr. Walcot's hands.

Was about to start for Folkestone, but am now off for Archester, which is the nearest port to Halcombe. A thous and thanks to your uncle. Shall be with you on Friday with great pleasure,'

'You seem to be somewhat precipitate in your invitations,' said Mr. Walcot, biting his lip.

'Not at all; if I had been an hour later I should have missed my friend." 'I did not mean that, sir

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Well, well, no matter,' broke in Sir Robert, there is no harm done, George. Your friend will be very welcome. Mr. Walcot, let us go on.' And he lifted his hat to the governess, and moved slowly away.

'It is horrible,' ejaculated Gresham, when the pair were out of earshot; 'my uncle is growing a dotard before his time, thanks to that sycophant and scoundrel. However, he has been done this time; the electric telegraph is certainly a great institution.'

Elise glanced at the boy, and then reprovingly at Gresham.

'Oh, Frankie knows what I think of Uncle Ferdinand,' he answered, lightly.

Here a sharp, authoritative cry of 'Frank, Frank,' was heard behind them. It was Mr. Walcot's voice.

The boy started off like a dog that hears its master's whistle.

When he overtook the two men, Walcot held out his hand, in a kindly manner, as it seemed; but when his fingers closed over the lad's, they gave a warning grip.

'Look here, Frankie; you said just now that it was you who asked Miss Hurt to take a walk in the wood: did anyone tell you to say that?'

IT

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T is a little odd, and shows how superficially average people think, that one so often hears it observed with surprise that quarrels should arise or friendships be broken up by such apparently inadequate causes. Undoubtedly some people are in the habit of magnifying every trifle which concerns themselves, till they resemble nothing so much as a wild gooseberry, which you cannot touch without suffering from its prickles; and there are comparatively few who are free from at least a touch of the same tendency. But we all know that character comes out as strongly in trifles as in greater things, perhaps more strongly, as these will often elude the power of a strong will, which for obvious reasons will often keep disagreeable traits well covered, unless beguiled into forgetfulness in some small matter that does not seem worth minding. And where a friendship has any foundation in esteem, and is not a mere outgrowth of accident or habit or propinquity, the discovery of an unworthy trait in a trifling matter, is just as painful and just as likely to undermine the mutual regard, as if the occasion were in itself far more important. The man who over-reaches us in a matter of a few cents, we are hardly likely to trust in a transaction where thousands of dollars are involved; and so the friend whom we find ungenerous or treacherous, or selfishly absorbed in his own interests in a small matter of every day life, is hardly more likely to retain the esteem which was the inspiration of our friendship, than if the same trait had come out in an affair of far greater intrinsic consequence. In the latter

case

our selfish sense of material loss would be far greater, but in the

other we have just as much reason for disappointment in our friend, and for the change of opinion which can hardly fail to impair any friendship worthy of the name. And it is quite reasonable that it should be so. A straw will show the direction of a current quite as well as a plank. And if friendship be, as Jeremy Taylor tells us, the greatest union of minds of which brave men and women are capable,' then the discovery-be the occasion ever so slight that our supposed friend's mind (by which I mean moral sympathies) is quite incompatible with our ownmust make it impossible that the friendship can long survive.

F.

-There is no tax on the time of busy people so annoying as the incursions of idle people, a fact which idle people whose time often hangs heavy on their hands, find it difficult to realise. You are in the midst of a

busy morning-every hour and half hour filled up in anticipation with work that has to be done, yourself in good working order and getting on briskly when the door opens and your friend, Mr. Drone, enters leisurely, good humoured and conversational, and you inwardly groan, for you know you are in for half an hour's gossip on his part, and impatiently patient civility on yours. He is a man full of the liveliest interest in his neighbour's affairs, which, having nothing particular to do this morning, he is able to discuss with a fulness of detail, which in other circumstances might amuse you, but which, at this particular time, when the clock's hand tells you of your shortening morning and your undone work, is inexpressibly

fretting. By-and-by your friend seems to come to the end of his flow of discourse, not much stimulated, it is to be feared, by your brief and distrait replies; and you begin to breathe more freely and hope for speedy relief. Not so; your friend calmly remains seated, and, all unwarned by a silence which you feel awkward but will not break, he begins again presently on a new subject this time, perhaps, a pet grievance, on which he can easily go on for an hour, although you know beforehand all he has to say. Perhaps, in sheer desperation, you break away, at last, on plea of pressing engagements, a thing you wish you could have summoned courage to do long before. You try to apply yourself to your work again-not so easy a task however, after the fretting process to which you have been subjected-when in walks another visitor, a lady this time, Mrs. Limpet, who wants your assistance in some new scheme she has devised, and, by way of disposing you favourably towards it, comes to rob you of another half hour of your precious morning. Indeed, you are fortunate if you can get rid of her so soon, as she is one of those women who love to linger over their subject, adorning it with all manner of episodes, which they give with the minutest circumstantial detail, which you find it impossible to cut short. By the time she has run her story out to the last thread, your busy morning that was to be, is all but gone; your mind is wearied and distracted, and you are hardly in a condition to take up again the dropped threads of thought and begin anew. Such interruptions are particularly distracting to people whose work is pure brainwork, demanding, before all things, concentration of thought and freedom from distracting influences. None probably suffer from them so much as clergymen, who, while everybody knows that they are expected to prepare every week two carefully considered sermons on the most import

ant of all subjects, are yet, besides all the necessary and multifarious demands upon their time, supposed to be the legitimate prey, at all hours, of every idler or busybody who imagines he has business with them, or a subject of importance to bring under their notice. A preacher has, perhaps, just got into a happy vein of thought and flow of composition, when, in the middle of a paragraph, thought out with great care, Mr. Discursive 'drops in,' and bores him for an hour with miscellaneous talk, which puts his carefully collected ideas to ignominious flight, and yet which, if a sensitive man, he cannot bear to cut short. One wonders why the idle people can't inflict their superfluous time on each other, and let busy people alone.

X.

-Few things are more unaccountable than the apathy and indifference with which the people bear the evils connected with the administration of the law in this country. We ask for Government interference in a great many things; we look to it to make or unmake trade, to encourage some kinds of industry by premiums of protective and prohibitory duties, and in the same degree to discourage others, to draw people away from the cultivation of the soil, the business which the country has special facilities for, encouraging them to engage in mercantile business, by releasing them from their contracts through an Insolvent Law. We look to Government to educate our children to inspect and stamp the products of our industry, to make people sober by prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors ; in short we look to it to do many things which it ought not to do, while we do not demand of it the discharge of its chief function-the administration of justice. This, which ought to be the first business-and, in the opinion of many, the sole business-of a Government, and on which social wellbeing so intimately depends, it turns

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