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“ Quite so,

Miss Epperton, It was then that Maud stepped your observation is of the most 'in and offered to play Providence just. Also, it would be prefer- to Hal and his nurse. She had no able if, instead of going to Noles- special engageinents for the next worth, he were to

fortnight; would Lady Euphrosyne " Ah, I know what you trust her? Lady Euphrosyne not going to say,” broke in Maud; only trusted her, but took her in

go to the seaside. Was not her arms and kissed her, so dethat it, Sir Ambrose ? I know lighted was she at her own escape; that you always prescribe salt air and she ended by leaving the arfor nerves."

rangements for the expedition, and “ Your observation is just,” even the choice of the place, ensaid Sir Ambrose Cathcart, glibly, tirely in Maud's hands. For two wincing just a little under the days Maud appeared to be studyvolley of “Epperton glances” ing this question, and then she which Maud was firing down spoke to Lady Euphrosyne about upon him. “My usual prescription a delightful little village on the of course; and if the feeling of sea-coast which she had heard of. the patient

“Quite a simple, lovely little fish“ Hal,” said Maud, gaily, draw. ing village, you know; not at all ing the pale boy towards her, a fashionable place, but so free "what is your feeling about going and healthy and retired. Does it' to the seaside ?

not sound charming ?” The patient thus consulted, aged Lady Euphrosyne thought it eight, confessed to feelings which sounded very dull; but, after all, entirely favoured the seaside plan. it was not she who was expected How could it be otherwise, after to go there. She was very fond of all the delightful things about star- little Hal, but she was not fond of fish and cockle-shells, and pink-and- tiresome details. In fact she did lilac sea - anemone which he had not clearly understand where exheard of last night when “ Cousin actly was situated this romantic Eppy

”-as the little Wyndhursts fishing village to which her playfully called Maud—had come youngest cherub was to be taken ; to sit on the side of his bed, and but she left everything to Miss put him to sleep with stories ? Epperton, Miss Epperton was 80

As the great thing was to go by sensible. one's own feeling, the matter was Maud felt pleased with herself. here clenched. Lady Euphrosyne It was, in fact, a masterly coup. looked rather perplexed when she It was killing two very pretty heard of the doctor's decision. birds with one neat little stone. She had been out during the visit. It was gaining the object she had What was she to do? Give up just then at heart, and it was at her visits in order to take Hal to the same time retaining, nay, even the seaside ? Send down the whole improving, her position in Lady colony of eleven to eat their heads Euphrosyne's household — a ciroff at Brighton at a ruinous ex- cumstance which, considering the pense ? Send Hal down alone uncertainty of that object, was not with a nurse? No nurse was to to be despised. For Maud never be trusted at a place of that sort; for a moment forgot that her at Nolesworth it was a different theory had yet to be proved, and thing. What on earth was to be she had no mind whatever to fall done?

between two stools.



“There! Take the world !” Jove from his skyey throne

To mortals cried : “For you and for your heirs A heritage for ever-all your own :

But see that each with each like brothers shares !”

Then straight to work all that had fingers went,

All busy, all alert, both young and old; The farmer was on fruitful harvests bent,

A-hunting sped the squire through wood and wold.

The merchant fills his stores from near and far

The abbot culls the choicest oldest wine, The king on bridge and highway sets his bar,

And says, “The tenth of everything is mine :

Long after all and each had ta’en his share

The poet comes—he had been far away; He looks, and looks in vain, for everywhere

Nought could he see, but owned a master's sway.

“Woe's me! Shall I, of all thy sons the best,

Shall I, then, be forgotten, I alone ?”.
Thus his complaint he to great Jove addressed,

And flung him down before the Thunderer's throne.

“Not mine the blame," the god replied, “I trow,

If in the Land of Dreams thy life was led !
When earth was being parcelled, where wert thou ?”

“I was with thee, with thee,” the poet said.

“Mine eye upon thy face in rapture gazed,

Thy heaven's full harmonies enchained mine ear: Forgive the soul that, by thy radiance dazed,

Let go its hold upon the earthly sphere."

“What now ?” said Jove; “On earth I've nought to give,

Field, forest, market, they no more are mine ; But in my heaven if thou with me wouldst live,

Come when thou wilt, a welcome shall be thinc !”



Mallet. Have you a bit of string? have understood, everything which

Belton. Of course I have. It is was written to him, and this of itmy particular meanness. Every- self, gave him a certain power in body has a little personal ridicu- public life. If any man denied he lous meanness, and that is mine. had ever expressed certain opinI cannot bear to cut a string which ions, or mentioned certain facts, or I can untie,—not that I want it; been engaged in certain transacnot that I expect it to be of any tions in public life which he had special use ; not that I take care forgotten or would fain conceal, to put it aside, so as to find it there was sure to be a record in when I want it; but that it goes Mr Adams's papers,

in case there against me to cut it. I carefully had ever been any correspondence undo it, roll it up, put it away, between the two. After all, in the and never find it again. What is correspondences of public or of your meanness :—for of course you private men there is often much have one.

which is of far greater importance Mal. Mine is paper.

I have an

in elucidating questions, characters, Arabian feeling against tearing up and opinions of the day, than is to letters and destroying scraps of be found in their formal writings. paper, -not from the fear that. What is called gossip often throws prompts the Arabs, lest the name great light upon public events, and of Allah may be inscribed upon letters are a minor and truer hisit-not for any really good reason, tory of the time than is contained

- but from an unreasoning im- in the elaborate pages of historians. pulse. It goes against my grain. I cannot bear to destroy a letter; This habit entails a good deal of nor do I ever see a person reckunnecessary work and loss of time lessly tear one to pieces and throw afterwards—for notes and letters it in the waste-basket without a so accumulate that one must clear chill. Not that I know what I them out and destroy them at shall do with them; not that I some time, – but still I go on have

any intention of using them practising it.

for any

purpose; and, If one could bring one's worst of all, fter laying them mind to file away all the notes away I forget all about them, and and letters one receives, and put who wrote them, and what they them in order, with easy cata- contain-still, from some strong logues of reference, much that is unreasoning impulse I keep them. very valuable would be preserved It is very foolish, I know; but one which is now destroyed, and which does so many such foolish things. to after generations would be most Bel. What surprises me is that precious. Think of Shakespeare's editors and printers do not preletters, for instance. They were serve the manuscript copy by disof no value to his correspondents tinguished writers from which at the time, and were probably all their works are printed—not only torn up; but what would we not because of its interest to them give for them ?

personally as autograph, but beMal, John Quincy Adams fol cause they are throwing away lowed this rule. He kept, as I

He kept, as I what has to others often a high

marke value. Besides, it is in- author. Yet almost no printer or structive as well as amusing to publisher preserves them, while see an original manuscript by a they would scrupulously keep any great author; it lets one into the little gift by him which was worthprivate laboratory of his thoughts; less in itself. When Dickens's it shows how he worked—whether things were sold the other day, he was facile in his productions or everybody flocked to the sale to laboured over them. His very obtain a memorial of him, and the changes and corrections would stuffed raven brought a great show the growth of the subject price. in his mind, and the value he Mal. I know one

man who put upon expressions and phrases. showed me, as a precious possesFragments are often printed in sion, two American cents which facsimile to give the character of had been given him by Mr George the handwriting and the altera- Peabody, "The great American tions of words and phrases ; but philanthropist, you know, sir. I these only give us a slight glimpse was his valet, sir, and I took care through a crevice into a region of him during a long illness; and which we all would like to have when I left him, sir, he gave me entirely open to "expatiate” in. these two American coins as a reThere is a reckless wastefulness membrance, sir, you know;"'and in throwing away such manuscripts he added, “I value them very which I cannot understand. highly ; nothing would induce me

Mal. My feeling goes with yours 'to part with them.” He seemed in this matter. I feel as if there a little jealous even of allowing were in the manuscripts of an au me to see thein, lest I should carry

nor an almost sensible part of him- them away with ine. But there self-that, so to speak, it is mate are other things I care more for, rially possessed by his spirit. There and I was not tempted, as I might are, indeed, those who claim to pos- have been had they been a letter sess the power of nervously appre- of Shakespeare's. hending the character and quality Bel. We were speaking of little of an author's mind by holding in meannesses, and agreeing that their hands his handwriting — I everybody had them. They curido not mean by a study of the ously lie in some minds close behandwriting, but by a mesmeric side great generosities. I have

Whether this be so I will known people who would bestow not undertake to say ; but inde a thousand pounds on a public pendent of this there is a pleasure charity, and yet grudge and in looking at the original manu- cheapen the wages of their washerscripts fresh from the mind and women. I have known -others hand of the writer. But does any ready to make a liberal present to person of sensitive organisation a friend, who would stop to haggle take into his hand an important over the five per cent discount for letter without a certain recogni- ready money ; not out of miserlition of its contents before he ness either.

If five per cent or reads it?

twenty per cent had been added Bel. Not to go into the mesmeric to the original cost, they would question, on which we might not not have considered it a moment. agree,


suppose we should all ad- But so trifling and miserly a meanmit the interest we have in an ness as that which I saw related original manuscript of a celebrated of Turner, the landscape-painter,


the other day, is rarer and more no man has ever enough if he is astonishing. The story is told by rich, and, generally speaking, the Charles Julian Young in his jour- poor are the generous in this world. nal, and is as follows: Mr Leader, Some people have a pride in leavthe father of the former M.P. for ing behind them a great sum of Westminster, had commissioned money, and no really wealthy man Turner to paint him a picture on gets anything like its true value a given subject, and the price was out of his fortune. fixed at three thousand guineas.

Mal. Some wealthy persons seem Turner himself brought the picture to get what is to me a quite unwhen it was finished to the house, intelligible pleasure out of the and Mr Leader gave him a cheque thought that they will be able to for the three thousand guineas; surprise the world, on their death, on which Turner reminded him by the unsuspected amount of the that there was still 3s. 6d. due to fortune they leave, and that on him for the hackney-coach in which 'Change some such conversation as he had brought the picture to this will take plac?: “Have you Putney.

heard that old B. is dead, and has Mal. That is scarcely credible, left—what do you think know and yet it is probably true. Turner guess.” “Well, £100,000.” “No, was a great miser, though at times no — £400,000. Think of it he could be very generous. Artists £400,000 ! Who would have are, as a rule, I think, generous thought it?” “No! impossible !” as well as extravagant; but there “I assure you it's a fact.” are some striking exceptions. Nol- Bel. Do you remember that other lekins, for instance, was a notorious old B., who was so rich, and who miser. (Do you remember, by the died the other day; and this conway, our friend who described his versation occurred about him : “So cat in the same terms, as "a great old B. is dead at last. He must miser," meaning mouser ?) He was have left a pot of money. Have as bad almost as Ellsworth, living you an idea what he left ?”. “Oh in the meanest and wretchedest yes Everything!way, and denying himself the al- Mal. Precisely – everything! most absolute necessities of life. All his life had been given to Yet he died, it is said, worth making money that never made nearly £400,000. What can be him happy, and did no good to the pleasure of this?

the world, and when he died he Bel. Chi sa ? It is quite unin- left behind him simply everything. telligible to me, and all the more Bel. Who was it — some very unintelligible in these days of paper rich man why was buying some money. While one's money was cigars one day. When the tradesall in chinking and glittering gold, man offered him some of an extra there might have been a material quality, and very expensive, “Oh pleasure in gloating over it, and no,” he said, “I cannot afford to handling it, and hearing it ring. smoke such costly cigars.” “But It was something positive, and these are the same cigars that we real, and tangible; but to have it supply to your son. Ah, that only in printed paper-or worse, may be," was his answer.

“ But laid away in a bank or invested in he may be able to afford them. shares, with only a record of it in He has a rich father; I have not." an account-book-this is even more Mal. I should have a fancy, inexplicable. But however it be, were I rich, and with overflowing

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