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fine autumn morning shortly after our the village. Between their bordering of meeting with Mr. Weston, Alice came very trees, now lightened of half their wealth of early to our house to say that he had ar-leaves, I caught glimpses of the Great rived at the Refuge late the night before. Farm. But in the field immediately facing I thought her visit rather odd, as her the house (it was the one behind the Low brother would be sure to announce himself Meadow), I almost started to see him a few hours later. It was the first time we whose apparent negligence had thus put had seen her since Mr. Weston's tidings, me out of temper. He stood, leaning and despite her joy at Ewen's visit, she against a tree upon a slight elevation. His looked rather pale and grave, and so re-l arms were folded, and he was so rapt in called all my first impressions of her. gloomy reverie, that he did not observe my When she prepared to go away, Ruth fol- approach. When he did so, he started, lowed her from the room, and presently I and then stepped forward to meet me. All heard them in the next apartment, speak- my pique vanished when I saw his face. If ing in earnest whispers. At last the hall- | it struck me as sharpened and wan when I door closed, I saw Alice go down the gar- saw him in his twilight garret, after a day den path, and then my sister re-appeared. spent in crowds of faded London faces, it

"Can you guess why she came !" she now seemed tenfold so, as I saw it under inquired.

the trees, facing the glowing sunset. Nay, "No," I answered, “but I can guess more, he wore a look of acute pain, no she did not come without an object." mere fleeting expression, but one which

“She came to ask us not to name Mr. had lasted long enough to fix a hard line Weston to Ewen,” replied my sister, in about his mouth, which was not even broken that whisper which comes so naturally when by his smile. His face recalled the face of any secrecy is enjoined.

a companion of my early manhood, who "I can understand all her reasons," I underwent a severe surgical operation. said. “It is a beautiful piece of unselfish- The sufferer endured without groan or ness. But I wish she had forgotten to en- sigh, but his countenance bore the stamp join our silence, for then I should have spok- of that anguish till the day he died, years en. Now we must decidedly yield to her afterwards, wishes."

" Alice has told me about the knife which " And the poor girl is fretting dreadfully | George Wilmot found in this field,” he reabout the change in her brother,” Ruth marked presently. went on. “It makes me quite anxious to I glanced at him, thinking that perhaps see him."

| the revival of painful associations had "Oh, Alice forgets that he has been liv. something to do with the look he wore, but, ing a sedentary town life," I replied; "and on the contrary, his face seemed to clear as besides Ewen's is not the style of face he went on, which ever displays robust health, once the “I am very glad of its discovery," first bloom of boy hood is past.”

“Why so, in particular?" I asked, quiSo all the morning I sat at home waiting etly. for him. But he did not come. When « Every little detail throws light on the dinner time came and passed, without his story," he answered, rather dreamily. appearance, I grew a little vexed. And This does not enlighten me at all,” I when Ruth broadly took his part, and in- said. vented such good reasons for his non-ar- "No," he replied, “but any item may rival, I grew vexed with her also.

tend to disprove or to prove anything that "You would not like it if I fidgeted you is said." because Agnes Herbert neglects me," " What is said?" I inquired, testily. said Ruth pointedly. " And she has nev- “Oh nothing," he answered, in some er been here to tea since the night when confusion. Alice showed us those pictures."

His manner perplexed me. If he had I had no answer to make, but after dinner spoken with such 'embarrassment during I went out, saying to myself that if every-our first interview on the hill overlooking body had forgotten the old man, he would the river, I should have doubted his innoat least take care of himself, and get a lit. cence, Even now, my confidence shook tle fresh air. That is not often my train of just a little, and we walked side by side in thought, and I am very glad of it, for I silence, found it was not at all condueive to happi- "That is the door of the Great Farm," dess, and I went along grumbling to my- he said suddenly, turning in its direction as self at a fine rate. I took my usual route, a slight sound met my ear, so trilling and through the meadows flanking the road to distant that I scarcely noticed it.



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“You seem to know it well,” I ob-l “Does Mr. Ralph illustrate too?” I asked. served.

“Yes, and he does it beautifully,” Ewen "You remember I once worked round answered. the house, sir," he replied, with almost a “Yet the gentleman did not notice his dash of haughtiness in his manner. “I think work,” I said, slyly, “and so Mr. Ralph Miss Herbert and her dog Griff are coming had to wait for his invitation till he made this way, sir."

his personal acquaintance." So we stood still and waited for them. I wanted to put the young man on his The great, substantial grey dog, her con- mettle in defence of his friend, and I did stant attendant, came bounding towards us, not fail. but instead of paying his usual compliments “His oversight was only an accident," to me, he leaped upon Ewen, and over- he answered eagerly. whelmed him with the most demonstrative “Did he see Mr. Ralph's drawings when professions of regard.

he visited you?” I inquired. His mistress came up almost breathless. “Mr. Ralph did not offer to show them," “Oh, it is you,” she said when she saw said Ewen. Ewen, and there was a disappointed sound “Very well, my boy," I returned; "but in her voice which was not at all compli- whether it was his own fault or not, your mentary to the young man. “Griff seems invitation was earned and his was only honto recognise you,” she added more gra- orary.” ciously.

“The gentleman could see Mr. Ralph “ He recognises something,” he replied, was his equal,” returned Ewen, with his caressing the dog. “Griff, Griff, poor, strange new dignity of manner. “His faithful old fellow?"

presence at his house would not need the " And how are you going on in London, explanation that he had drawn this, or my boy?" I asked presently; "as well as written that." before, I hope.”

“And how is Mr. Ralph ?" I inquired “Oh, yes, sir,” he answered. “I wrote presently. you that my salary was raised at Midsum “He is much better, sir, and he sent his

most dutiful regards to you," he replied, "Yes," I returned, “and I knew it be- returning to his old simple manner. forchand. But what are you doing as an “ I'm afraid Miss Herbert thinks us rathartist?"

Jer rude," I said ; “our conversation must Ewen was on my right hand, and Miss be a riddle to her. Let me explain, my Herbert on my left. She bent a little for- dear, that Mr. Ralph is a young artist who ward as I asked this question, and he rather lives with our friend here, and who seems drew back, and replied very precisely: to have seen a great deal of trouble."

“I succeed better than I hoped. I bave “ Indeed !” said Agnes. “Griff, Griff, illustrated one or two poems in some jour- come away, sir. You are quite troublepals."

some to Mr. M'Callum. Really, sir, she “I hope they pay you well,” I said. added, bending forward and addressing

“I am satisfied, sir," he answered, with Ewen," he seemis as if he thought you had a slight smile.

seen some friend of his, and so leaped up to "Beginners often fare badly," I said, whisper inquiries in your ear. See, up he shaking my wise head; “however well goes again! Griff, Griff, come away! * they work, they are generally paid only, as Her words were simple and natural enough, beginners."

| though she seldom said as much to a com* Then there's something to look for- parative stranger; but she spoke with a sinward to," replied the young man, with one gular formality and emphasis, and presentof those quick turns by which he sometimes ly, as if she thought she had not shown reminded me of my sister.

sufficient interest in my explanation, she “Oh, I find people very kind," he went remarked on, " and they are more ready to notice “Ralph'sounds odd for a surname. It things than one would believe. A gentle- is much more natural as a Christian one." man whose poem I illustrated asked about “Yes, certainly it is," replied Ewen, me, and invited me to his house, and then with a warmth of assent quite beyond the he called on me and looked over all my subject. drawings, and then he asked us to a little “And how do you like London?" she party of young artists and authors. He is asked in a few minutes, and without waita well-born, wealthy gentleman, who can ing for a reply, added another question. afford to show these kindnesses."

“Have you ever met any one you knew Agnes listened with intense interest. before ? *

I answered for him. “I know he has fine evening, without that autumnal mirk met one, for he had some old acquaintance and chill which makes artificial light and arwith this very Mr. Ralph."

tificial heat alike grateful. The young “Yes, I knew Ralph before,” he as- man seemed to have recovered his spirits, sented, for the first time naming his friend and consequently his face had lost that hagwithout the prefix " Mr.”

gard hunger which had so startled me at “Ralph thinks of going abroad next our first meeting. Nevertheless, when the spring," he stated presently.

| lamp was at last brought in, and Ruth took "Going abroad!” exclaimed Agnes, so up her knitting, I saw she stole many a sharply that I started.

glance at him, as we sat conversing about "Does he think he will find more scope his promotions, and the cheerful prospect in a new country?" I inquired.

before him. Suddenly she said Ewen shook his head. “I fear he will “Don't let the bustle of London life go only because he is weary of the old make you an old man before your time, country," he replied. “Poor fellow, I Ewen. own he acted foolishly in some things, but He laughed a little constrainedly. “Do he has been punished as if folly were a sin, you see any symptoms, ma'am! " he queried and the shadow of all he has lost hangs | lightly. constantly over him. He fancies he will "Yes," answered my candid sister. escape it. I think it will go with him. “ You are nearly ten years older since this But, as he says, at any rate Australia or time last year. Now I should not speak of Canada will be as home-like as England is this, if it were anything you could not now, and there is not one who will suffer help, but I believe it can be helped. Noby his departure."

body has any right to be spendthrift in his “ But suppose he is mistaken in all this !” energies and emotions." exclaimed Agnes, in a voice full of tears. “But, Ruth," I said, “business somePoor girl, I knew her sympathetic and times compels — " emotional nature!

"I don't say any one is not to be diliI tell him he is mistaken,” said Ewen gent in business,'" she interrupted. “But with earnest solemnity, “ but I only wish II believe the methodical exercise energy could prove it to him.”

gets in business proves only strengthening And then we wandered on in silence, till development, at least while energy is young I broke the spell by claiming Ewen's com- and fresh. And besides, if it be spent for pany for my sister's tea-table, and inform- any adequate return, it is well spent. If a ing Miss Herbert that Ruth made certain clock wear out in keeping time, it has done comments about her long absence from our its work. But if it be worn out by the house. Agnes replied that she should hands whirling round the dial sixty times a come to see us in a day or two, and she day, then it is wasted. And so is all energy was sure she would come oftener only she expended in emotion." feared to be troublesome. She made this * Ruth," I exclaimed, "do you mean answer with a bright, eager look on her that one may prevent himself suffering ?” sweet face, and then she turned to Ewen “Yes, I do," she answered; “ at least to a and said in that pretty petitioning tone certain degree. Mental pain is subject to which women use when they have some the same conditions as bodily pain, which dear little trifling request to make - any one can either alleviate or aggravate.

"Mr. M'Callum, I have long wished to If a man unbinds a wound, and thinks write to a dear friend in London, but I do about it, and reads about his disease, and not know the exact address. If I direct twists the hurt limb to test the extent of it as well as I can, and send it to the Ref- the injury, he suffers for it. So if a man nge under cover to you, will you, if possi- sets up a sorrow as a shrine where he may ble, supply the omissions of my superscrip- worship, and walks round it to survey it tion? I think you will be able."

from all sides, and draws all his life about "Certainly I will do what I can," he an- it, and reads fiction and poetry to see what swered as if he sincerely felt the common-others say of the same, then he also suffers place commission to be an honour and a for it." pleasure. Then they shook hands, -a “But sorrow should scarcely be shunned regular bearty, honest shake. And she like a sin,” I said. turned away, calling the reluctant Griff to “And it should not be courted as a virfollow her.

tue," she returned. “God-sent sorrow is It was nearly tea-time when Ruth wel- an angel in mourning. But any sorrow comed our young guest. We partook of which we may rightfully escape, is not the meal in the twilight, for it was a very God-sent. Sometimes, in old days, I've wished to cry, but couldn't, because I had! But I met him in my walks, and one day, to go into the shop. And by the time the as we were strolling down a lane, rather sishop was closed I was braver, and did not lently, it occurred to me to inquire if Miss want to cry."

Herbert had forwarded her promised letter. “But the tears would have been a relief,” “Yes," he answered so briskly that I I said, “ and you certainly suffered no less thought he was about to make some further because they might not come.”

remark, but he did not. “But I was stronger for the self-con- “And I hope you can help her with the trol,” she answered, and you remember address ?" I said.

“ The letter has reached its destination • Not enjoyment and not sorrow Is our destined end or way:

by this time," he replied.

"I am glad of it," I observed, just for But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day.'

the sake of politeness.

“So am I,” he responded, rather dryly. But though I quote poetry," she added, “Miss Herbert is a very lovely girl," I turning to Ewen with a smile, “I don't ad-went on in my prim old-fashioned way,

vise you to read it. It's not that you want “ but having spent so much of her life in · now. Build with granite before you clothe London, I almost think she suffers from the with creepers. Read Bacon, and Mon-monotony of country existence." taigne, and Rollin, and Shakspeare. He's “Perhaps she does," said Ewen, “but a poet, you say? Yes, my dear, but he's a though one can see when something is dramatist. He does not tell us how bitterly wrong, it is hard to guess rightly what it is. he feared Anne Hathaway would reject Now, I see there is something amiss with him. He says nothing about himself. "He Alice, and yet I supposed Ålice was so was above it, he had better things to happy!” say. So he don't make us, his readers, “And so she is," I answered, “only, as think of ourselves, rather he lifts us out of the healthiest are sometimes ailing, so the self. But leave all other poets till you are happiest are sometimes sad. Life, like a growing bald, then you will want them to portrait, must have its shadows. But the remind you of what you were. If they good are never miserable, though they may moisten your eyes then, it will do you suffer very keenly through the sins of others, good. Why, Mr. M'Callum," she said, or for their sakes." pointing to our bookcase, “there are books “Ay, and how far may that suffering exon those shelves which I have never dared tend?" he asked rather bitterly. to read since I was eighteen until - not “Never farther than the valley of the very long ago!"

shadow of death,” I answered. My dear, enduring sister!

That was the last time I saw. Ewen beEwen staid with us that night until nine fore he returned to London. On the day o'clock, and we saw him two or three times of his departure, I proposed that we should afterwards during his brief holidays. But take a walk towards the station, and so that visit was the only lengthened one have a chance of seeing the last of him. which he paid us. For I would not give But Ruth said “No, leave him to his own him a set invitation, as I knew his punctil- relations. Partings are long remembered, ious conscientiousness would accept it, and so they may like to remember they had however much he might prefer the society it all to themselves.” of his grandfather and sister.

SIR JAMES BROOKE, better known as Rajah mies, and he reigned in Sarawak an unquesBrooke, died on Thursday, at his house in Dev- tioned despot, without a European soldier at his onshire, his dream of conquering Borneo, and back. Fifty years ago he would have added turning it into an English Java, still unfulfilled. second India to the Empire, and even as it was He was a bold, upright, and somewhat over-stern he gave the British name a prestige in the Aradventurer, with a talent not only for conquer-chipelago which makes the Dutchmen writhe. ing, but for conciliating Eastern races. The Worse men and feebler have ere this been laid Dyaks, whom he smote so pitilessly to put down in Westminster Abbey, but we suppose no claim piracy, rose at his summons when he was at- will be made for the last Englishman who has tacked by the Chinese, and extirpated his ene. 'waged and won a private war.

Spectator, 18 June.

From The Dublin University Magazine. and was introduced to Collins, the poet, JOHN HOME, THE AUTHOR OF “DOUG

who, on his return to Scotland, addressed

to him his “ Ode on the Popular SuperstiLAS."

tions of the Highlands, considered as the The Rev. John Home was a native of Subject of Poetry.” In the opening stanza, Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, he speaks prophetically of his new friend's in Roxburghshire, in 1724. His father was future worship of Melpomene, of which, at Alexander Home, town-clerk of Leith, and that time, he may have indicated prospecta lineal descendant of Sir James Home, of ive germs, in private, although no public Coldingknowes, ancestor to the Earls of fruit had yet appeared : Home. The poet, as is natural in a man of imagination, was tenacious of his birth.

“Home, thou return’st from Thames, whose

Naiads long In some early verses — quoted by Sir Wal

Have seen thee ling'ring with a fond delay, ter Scott - he says of himself: –

'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some

future day “Sprung from the ancient nobles of the land,

Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic Upon the ladder's lowest round I stand."

song." It was once reported that he set forward Mr. Home had, in his leisure hours, culsome pretensions to the title of Earl of Dun- tivated the belles lettres; and, notwithbar; on what ground we are unable to say. standing the rigour of the Church of which He was also tenacious on the pronunciation he was a member and pastor, finding in his of his name, which is usually called in Scot- natural genius a bent to poetry, and not beland Hume, but he insisted that Home was lieving that tragedy, in which is comprised right. Once, in high controversy with the principles of virtue, morality, filial duty, David Hume, the historian and philosopher, patriotic zeal, and reverence for an overon this point, who stood for the u, the lat- ruling Power, could be inconsistent with ter proposed to settle the question by a cast the tenets of a religion in which all these of the dice, the winner to decide: “Nay, are in the strongest manner inculcated and Mr. Philosopher," says John; “this is a enjoined, he conceived and wrote the tragmost extrordinary proposal indeed; for, if edy of “Douglas," which he offered for you lose, you take your own name, and if I representation to the managers of the thealose, I take another man's name."

tre in Edinburgh. The stage in the ScotBeing intended for the Scots Presbyterian tish metropolis was, at that time, in a more Church, John Home received a suitable ed- flourishing condition than it had known for ucation, and was in due time ordained, and a long series of years, and vieing, in every inducted to the living of Athelstane-ford, in respect, as far as comparative circumstances which he succeeded Mr. Blair, author of would permit, with that of London. The The Grave, a melancholy, soul-depressing managers saw the merit of the play at once, poem, as the title implies, tending to pro- accepted it without hesitation, put it into duce depression of mind and body; but rehearsal, and prepared for the performance which, nevertheless, obtained, at the time in such a manner as might do honour to the of publication, much celebrity and many author, and bring both credit and emolureaders. We suspect few of the living gen- ment to themselves. eration have cast their eyes on it, and a Thus, so far, all was plain sailing on a still smaller number have read it through. fair and promising sea. But these matters

When the rebellion of 1745 broke out, coming to the knowledge of the elders of the temporary success of the insurgents the Kirk, they, in their mistaken bigotry, or under Prince Charles Edward induced Mr. zeal, told the author, in blunt terms, that Home to suspend his clerical pursuits, and no clergyman who respected his calling take up arms in defence of the existing ought to enter the doors of a theatre; and Government. He was present at the battle that the minister who wrote a play was diof Falkirk, where there was more running rectly inspired by the devil. They conaway than fighting, on both sides; but dis- cluded by advising him to pause before he daining to fly, he submitted to be taken committed the heinous sin in contemplation. prisoner, and, with five or six other gentle-But he, not so thoroughly convinced of the men, contrived to escape from the Castle of iniquity of the act itself, unconscious of any Doune. The rebellion being finally quelled ill intention, and with a strong impression at Culloden, in the year following, Mr. that his play would meet with success, atHome abandoned the sword, and resumed tended both by fame and profit, was unwillthe more peaceable duties of his normal ing to desist suddenly, and with his own profession. In 1749, he visited England, hands pull down a fabric he had been rearing

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