this was her one thought now. She hur-formed thoughts that passed through Caroried out into the garden once more, across line's mind as he came up to her, thoughts the front lawn, round to the back of the of herself, then of Janet, then of self again. house. The air revived her. With the "How do you do?" said Mrs. Rowland. evening the wind had gone down, or if it "I hear you only left to-day. I hoped I blew it came in softer and more comforting should see you, though I was afraid I might gushes. Where the clouds had parted over miss you altogether." She spoke not rethe sea a sunset light was breaking, turning proachfully, but with unaffected interest and grey waters to blue, gilding pale hills with just a little regret in her voice. Caroline heavenly alchemy. What was this? A could make the words she used mean anyquick gleam-a darting fiery stream from thing she liked besides their natural meanbehind the rent cloud. Suddenly the field ing. Hollis, who, to tell the truth, had was in a western blaze; the donkey was browsing in a dazzling, lovely wave of rainbow light. Was this a new created world of cloud and light? Broken, glittering, rainy, divinely fresh, the clouds and the sunlight were parting, drifting, reflecting one another. Here and there the trees stood in the shade; here and there in the sweet sudden radiance the grasses were golden at Janet's feet; a dazzling flame seemed rising from the sea. Janet's hair and clothes were on fire; she felt as if this fresh light were brightening her heavy heart. It stirred with a thrill of gratitude and love for such sweet wonders. As she stood there still, Janet heard the distant stable-clock strike the half-hour. She began to breathe a little more quietly; a few more hours and she would be gone, she thought. Once safe home she would try never to think of this past bit of her life again. * * * By a not very extraordinary chance it was Hollis coming who had been at the front door in search of Janet. He had met the luggage-cart about a mile from the house, having walked back part of the way with the Archdeacon to finish the discussion of some arrangements which they had been talking over. The cart stopped, the driver, knowing Hollis, touched his hat, and saying, "I have a letter for you, sir," put Janet's poor little scrawl into the young man's hand. Poor Janet! had she known that Hollis had come back to answer it himself, no garden end would have been distant enough for her to hide in. I do believe she would have splashed straight into the sea to avoid him. Meanwhile Mr. Hollis had walked into the drawing-room in search of her, and found himself face to face with the very person he had wished to avoid. He thought Mrs. Rowland was not coming till six, and had calculated on a whole half-hour before her arrival. After all it was no very terrible meeting been unfeignedly sorry to see her at first, for her presence jarred upon him just then, felt mollified by her kindness, notwithstanding the implacability of his disposition. "My aunt will be here directly," Mrs. Rowland went on. "Won't you sit down? We have not met since Florence." Caroline' was not kinder than she had been before, but Hollis could not help thinking there was a difference; she was more interested, more agitated, more like the Carry Russell of old days than the gentle, mature, accomplished lady he had seen of late. There was a minute's silence: and Hollis asked after the children, and then Mrs. Rowland began once more: "I am glad to have seen you,' she said. "I have been hearing of you from a friend of mine." Mrs. Rowland felt her heart beat violently for a moment. 66 66 What have you been hearing about me!" Hollis asked, with a smile. Caroline resolutely put her old self back into the corner, and then she became quite calm again, and could look up quietly into his face (he stood with his back to the fire for he would not sit down), and try to read what was written there. Janet was in great trouble, poor child," said Mrs. Rowland. "She had some idea that it was her duty to ask you for something for her father, and that she should forfeit your good opinion for ever." Caroline breathed a long breath as she finished this careless little speech. She had done it. Done her best to help her poor little trouble-hearted sister in her need. Had it been an effort? It hardly seemed to her now that it was one. She blushed, and it was a self-approving little glow from her heart in her face, as she again looked up quietly to see how her speech had been taken. 64 66 My good opinion!" said Hollis, uneasily. "I advised her . . not to ask you," said the widow, going on with her knitting a pretty gentlewoman, with as quietly as she knew how. She put in a kind face and a friendly greeting, a good her needles triumphantly, and travelled on fire burning, a comfortable chair, (the very somehow, but little Tom never wore that one where Janet had been sitting) drawn particular stocking. A girlup to it. Who shall describe the half-young one, I mean, like Janet-cannot 66 a very know life, cannot guess how the simplest | pressed as well as expressed in life. I have and most straightforward actions may be misread and misunderstood, and the Archdeacon is an old schemer. When Janet asked me if she could not trust you, I said that no one was to be trusted." "But I did not know then," Caroline went on," that her instinct was right, that I had done you injustice." And Mrs. Rowland looked up with two bright shining 'orbs. "Something Janet said made me understand it all. Do you know that uncle Brandiscombe told me you were gone, George? but they never gave me any letter. I am glad to meet you, to know how it all happened. I had thought of John before I knew you, but I was very unhappy for a time, though I am not fixed and deep like Janet: but I think my poor John would like you to think better of me than you can have done," said Mrs. Rowland, smiling through her tears. "And you know when I did not hear, I thought you had never . . ." She could not finish her sen tence. Caroline's tears were coming faster and faster. Hollis touched, and surprised, and embarrassed, had taken her hand and kissed it. He was still standing by the fire and looking at the gentle bent head: 66 You mustn't think me better than I am,” said he, reddening. "I guessed there had been some false play: but your cousin had told me of Mr. Rowland's admiration. I was too proud to ask for an explanation. I don't deserve, I shall never forget your goodness." As he spoke the sun was setting and the evening lights were shining in, and reflected from the western window with dazzling abruptness from one angle to another in the many dim glasses, For one instant the past was present again to the widow, but only for an instant. With an effort she put it all from her. No-she would be true to Janet and to her own new instincts. She would not try now to take advantage of his old feelings. been happier than I deserve, and this will make my past life dearer to me. But I like to think that I shall do you justice at last, and that you are not one of those who would willingly inflict pain on a true-hearted girl." The next instant she was thankful she had so spoken, for Hollis began again with some emotion. "I don't know how to thank you now," he said, "but I assure you I understand your real and most friendly meaning." And then he added, "If ever I may speak for Janet as well as for myself; for to you I will confess that I love her A sound of carriage-wheels, of doors, of approaching voices in the hall, made them both stop short. "It is my aunt come in from her drive," said Mrs. Rowland hastily. “I saw Janet in the garden just now, - if you like you can go out through that window." Hollis thanked her with a look, and hurried across the room to the western window, which he opened, and through which he stepped out into the evening gleam. Caroline went to close it after him, and stood for an instant watching him as he went striding across the grass. Was this all? It seemed a tame conclusion to her few minutes' excitement. He had forgotten her great explanation already, and was hurrying across the field to where Janet was standing quite still in the gleam of the sudden lights. She seemed gazing seawards at the dying reflections there. Caroline could watch her old youthful visions striding away with a more tranquil spirit than in former days. He had loved her once - now he would be her friendand so she was content. And so with sad yet gentle eyes she watched the two young people that were to live her life, feel her feelings, taking up the thread of her existence where she had left it broken. Meanwhile out in the field the end of my story, such as it is, is being told in the bright falling radiance, which poor Janet cannot find it in her heart to admire much; she has no presentiment that all may be well, only shame at her heart. The donkey is browsing beside her, but it takes to its heels and scampers off when Hollis comes into the field. Janet does not even look round; she stands quite still, looking at drifting lights, and clouds, and rainbow "I suppose," said Caroline, wiping her beams with a pale, scared face. It shocks eyes, and faltering and smiling, "there George Hollis when he gets near enough to would be no good in living on if one did see it. He has never seen her before withnot every now and then understand things out her sweet natural roses. He comes that seemed strange, and learn to be just near and calls her name. As for Janet, to old friends, and to guess at things unex-seeing him, she stares for an instant it is so inconceivable and unexpected. Why to do anything to serve you. I had already has he come? Janet thinks where shall she proposed the exchange to your uncle when escape, and then all her strength goes; she I got your note. Dear Janet, don't look so stands quite still like a maiden of stone or overwhelmed," Hollis continued, touched a pillar of salt; it is no use trying to speak by the sudden rush of light and happiness as usual or to look unconscious, she can and sweetness in her face; only give me only stand still. a right to serve you always, and then you can ask me what you will." I came back to speak to you," said Hollis, in his usual voice, trying to reassure her. "I met the carrier just now, and he gave me your letter. I hope you don't regret having written it," he said, hurriedly. You don't know what pleasure it gives me When Caroline came to the window again she saw the two walking, slowly, arm-inarm towards the house, and then she knew what Janet's answer had been. nant race, to subjugate and absorb inferior ones. MOSLEM AND COPTIC ANTIQUITIES IN CAIRO. | languages, analogous to the power of a domi- At last we reached the mosque of Azan, which is also the great Mohammedan college, not only of Cairo, but of the Moslem world, being reckoned the centre of Islam learning and bigotry. Alas for the mistake of those who say Islamism is dying out! Again laying aside our shoes, we passed across a vast square marble quadrangle with massive pillars of the same. On the floor were laid strips of matting, on which numerous groups of white-turbaned men and lads were seated cross-legged on the ground, in little knots of threes and fours, some with books or sheets of manuscript in their hands, some with tin or zinc plates (the substitute for slates), on which they write with pen and ink. All seemed busied in studying or conning tasks. There appeared to be no regular teacher; they seemed to be helping each other mutually, some talking together, or showing their works to each other, some writing on leaves of paper, or sheets of tin, on their hands (desks seem unknown here); and in most groups one reading aloud, and rocking himself to and fro as he read the universal practice with Orientals. Through this outer court we passed into the mosque itself, which was the largest we had yet seen. The whole spacious area was entirely filled up with groups of learners like those we had seen outside; a side room or vestibule was occupied in the same manner. Wherever there was space for them, groups were seated, all intent on their studies; and a hum of busy voices resounding through the building. To the Christian eye it was a very painful sight. Here we saw assembled a multitude of zealous and attentive students, devoting all their powers and their time, with an earnestness and perseverance which might be an example to many well-instructed European A POLYGLOT dictionary in eleven languages is youths to what? to the thorough understand-in course of publication by Signor Calligaris, ing of a false and corrupt religion. These Mo- at Turin. It comprises French, Latin, Italian, hammedan scholars are often exceedingly learned Spanish, Portuguese, German, English, modern in their own way. They devote much time and Greek, written Arabic, spoken Arabic (in Roattention to the cultivation of their own language, man letters), and Turkish, with the pronunciathis remarkable Arabic tongue, which possesses tion. a power of superseding and driving out other Golden Hours. From Blackwood's Magazine. COUNT CHARLES DE MONTALEMBERT. genial kindness. But it is early yet for such softened thoughts; now and then a sob THERE is something very sad in the dying must come in, a pang of farewell, and that out of a generation of the leaders and rulers intolerable sense that nothing more can be of the world. Nothing marks so clearly the said to him, nothing more heard from him, passage of time, the succession of one age which is the soul of grief. Was it only the to another, as this dropping, one by one, other day that he wrote, "let me hear of the familiar names which have been often from you?" and careless life went on, sounds of authority and pre-eminence for and a world of petty affairs prevented the half or quarter of a century. New necessi- response. What matter? one would do it ties, new difficulties, new combinations of to-morrow or to-morrow; and now in all circumstances, have stolen upon us un-heaven and earth there is no way of doing awares, and we are conscious, practically, it, no means of answer. There is no sadder that new men have come in to guide the for- consciousness in life. tunes of nations; but nowhere are the It was in the winter of '65-66 that Monepochs of contemporary history so clearly talembert's last illness, from its beginning marked out as by graves. One cycle has a very painful one, first attacked him. He ended, another has begun. The old men was so ill in the spring of '66 as to be comwho linger like leaves upon the topmost pelled to give up for a time the work on branches, but emphasize the universal pass- the completion of which he had so much set ing away of all with whom they have been his heart, his great and favourite work, associated. The old order changeth, giv- "Les Moines d'Occident." Early in '67 ing place to new. he described himself as "in a very sad and In such a case as that of Count de Mon- precarious state;" and before the summer talembert the ending has been softened by of that year his physicians had dreaded that a long preliminary chapter of retirement his malady, if cured at all, must yet be a from the world. softened to his friends, very lingering one. His strength was then not to himself. And yet to how many of so far reduced that he had to be carried to his friends will the closing up of that cham- his carriage on the days he was permitted ber in the Rue du Bac, which was the abode an airing; but still every day about five of so much pain, yet of so much vivacious o'clock in the afternoon, his room was full interest in the world, and animated discus- of guests, friends of his life, who called the sion of all its affairs, be like the extinction worn statesman and author by his Christian of a friendly light in the midst of the dark-name, and could enter with him into full For a great part of these years, the discussions of all his life-long pursuits and little simple bedroom which the author of convictions; and, on the other hand, strangthe "Figaro" described the other day to ers from all quarters, whom his illness and his readers, with a particularity more Amer- suffering did not prevent him from receivican than French, has been an audience- ing with all the courtly kindness and genial chamber to which crowds have flocked. grace of his nature. Your countrymen Like a dream, the writer recalls, as he do not come to see me as much as I could writes, the half-mournful half-smiling con- wish," he wrote not three months before his versation of two or three gentlemen, all of death, notwithstanding the numbers who European name, who were waiting in the sought him continually. His interest was large drawing-room, which formed a kind as fresh in everything that everybody was of antechamber to Montalembert's recep- doing, while he lay there on his weary tion, one afternoon now nearly three years couch, with the close-capped sister in conago. The room was darkened because of stant attendance upon him, as if he had still the summer glare outside, and the animated been in the full current of life. It was a voices came as from ghosts half seen. They relief and help to this rapid, ever-active inwere talking of Cousin, then not long dead; telligence, thus suddenly confined within discussing those peculiarities which are de four walls, and shut out from personal exfects in a man as long as he lives, but after ertion, to participate, at least by way of his death become, as being habits of his, sympathy, in the work and thought of others. more dear to his friends than the highest His ear was open to everything that was qualities of his character. Are they talking suggested to him; his mind as ready and now more sadly, yet with the smile of rec- vivacious as that of any youth nay, far ollection already beginning to break up the more so: for youth is too much occupied heaviness of grief, of Montalembert? No with its own affairs to give such full unhesit doubt reminding each other of his out- ating attention to those of others. Whatbreaks of characteristic impatience and en- ever might be the special interest of his visergy, of his sharp sayings, his keen wit, hisitor, Montalembert had always some light ness. 66 to throw upon it, some stray glances out of world to accept a specious theory or visthe wonderful treasures of his own knowl- ionary tale. To add after this, as we are edge or experience, or at the best, a cour- inclined to do and yet he was a fervent teous interest, an unfeigned sympathy. Roman Catholic, accepting a hundred things The first feature in him which struck the as absolutely true which to us seem mere stranger was this gracious gift of courtesy. fables of a fond and excited fancy — would His manners were just touched with the have been to himself but another instance elaboration of the old régime, as became the of "unconquerable British prejudice in reson of an émigré, the inheritor of centuries spect to anything Roman; yet it is diffiof courtly French breeding. But we do not cult to restrain the expression of this wonthink that this impression of extreme per- der, be it prejudice or be it justice. The attisonal benignity and politeness was, after tude in which at this moment he appears to the first encounter, the aspect of Count de us as a protestant against the last great atMontalembert's character which made most tempt at self-assertion on the part of the lasting impression upon the mind of a re- Papacy, has a certain compoing effect upon cent acquaintance. It was rather the keen- the general aspect of his religious character; ness of perception, the rapid vision, the and we have to recall to ourselves that it is sharp wit, never failing in absolute grace the young Christian knight who in the pride of expression, but leaving the less ready of his youth gave up at a word from the insular intelligence, with a puzzled sense Church one of the most cherished of his of discomfiture, miles behind. He took the prospects that it is the biographer of St. slow Englishman up, who was saying some- Elizabeth, the historian of the monks, of thing probably sensible enough, and cast a whom we are speaking. Not a miracle in gleaming coil of wit round him, and extin- all those saintly lives, not a prodigy recordguished his half-said perplexed reasonings ed in the ages of faith, disturbed his power on the spot an operation which caused a of belief. He accepted them with the full certain sensation of fright, by no means and frank confidence of the simplest bewithout foundation, to the bystanders. This, liever. He, with his keen wit and quick however, was in his days of health and un-perceptions, his learning and sagacity, an bounded activity, while yet the inherent accomplished writer and brilliant man of impatience of a lively and impetuous nature the world, tingling to his finger-points with survived in certain glimmers and sparkles the new sap and modern vigour of his cenof sarcastic vivacity, such as even perfect politeness could not quite annihilate. The enthusiasm of his character, and its intense love of beauty and appreciation of everything noble and generous, did not, we think, show so plainly in his conversation as this intellectual brilliancy and speed. Keen as daylight, sharp upon any pretence as the steel of Ithuriel's spear-instantly conscious of the presence of polite simulation, and pitiless to it—it was rather the clearness of his judgment than his poetic character which struck the observer. His was the kind of mind one could have supposed quick to sift every belief, less moved by imagination than by reason, more familiar with the processes of thought than the visions of faith. The reader who knows him only by his works will be startled by such a view of his character. But nobody who knew Count de Montalembert will be disposed to deny a fact which adds tenfold to his weight and influence as a believer, and which makes it so much the more difficult to understand many features in his creed and many portions of his work. There could not be found any more clear-sighted observer, or shrewd and able man of the world. In things temporal and intellectual he took nothing for granted, and was the last in the tury, yet received everything which the hoary past brought to him in the name of religion with the tender faith of a child. Such a phenomenon is to be seen now and then in the world, and when it appears it is always full of attraction, full of interest one of the finest yet strangest combinations of human character. And such was Charles de Montalembert. It is not yet time to enter upon any full account of his life or estimate of his influence. The existence which has just ended must be a little further off before it can 66 orb into the perfect star" of completed being. He had lived about sixty years in the world, when he was suddenly called out of it. For thirty of these years his life was full of activity, and spent very much in the eye of the public. During this time many changes had taken place in France, and none greater than those religious changes into which he threw himself heart and soul. In the spring of '67, the writer, then in Paris, attended by his advice several conferences of the Retraite des Hommes, ir Notre Dame, during the holy week - a most impressive and wonderful sight, such as it would be difficult to find any parallel to in this country, with all its boasted gravity. Somewhere about four thousand |