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We will now return to Gui de Viole, who, mounted on a stately charger, which he had purchased at Grenoble, pursued his route, one fine morning, from that town to St. Marcelline. The execution of his design was at hand. The butchery of Vassy had already reached his ears, and it seemed that at this crisis of his life the voice of his fellow
countrymen called him to battle. Rabaud had, moreover, brought him news, some days previously, that the Lord of Maugiron was in Dauphiny, levying troops for Coligny's army; and this knowledge decided him at once to carry out his long-cherished purpose. But although the career on which he had just entered was his chosen path, and the realization of his fondest hopes, he was sorrowful and depressed. He could not, even at this moment, forget Gabrielle, and the short dream of love in the Castle of Arbèque. It was a quiet, solitary spot through which he rode. The only sound, indeed, which broke the silence, was the murmur of a little river as it flowed beneath the road; and so far from arousing him from his meditations, it seemed to mingle with his musings as he passed along. His past life, with its late visions of love and joy, was as a thing which should know no renewal, and the future-what was there in his future but death, darkness, and bloodshed? Then came the graceful figure of Gabrielle floating before his mental eye; and love, the only ray of hope in his clouded soul, awoke in him that desire, so often and so nobly struggled against, to see her yet once more, if even but for a moment-to bid farewell, were it for the last time-and to fold her in his arms, as had once been his happiness and pride. But we will not follow the young lover's meditations further. Suffice it to say, that so insensible was he at this moment to the present, that he had suffered the reins to hang loosely on his horse's neck, and the animal had led him within a pace or two of the edge of a declivity, whence, in another moment, he threatened to be precipitated into the rapid stream of the Iser below.
"Look! look before you!" exclaimed a strong voice behind him, proceeding from a horseman who was following him at a brisk trot. "In another moment you will be in the river."
The youth needed the warning and all his self-possession at this crisis, as, seizing the bridle, he forced his steed into the high road, and was soon by the side of his deliverer.
"That was a near struggle for life, my friend," said the horseman, as he looked at the pale face of Gui.
The speaker was a young man of a little more than twenty-eight years of age, of a noble and military bearing. A broad-brimmed hat adorned with feathers was set jauntily on one side of his head, and showed to advantage the beautifully flowing brown hair which floated gracefully on his shoulders. A bright blue scarf adorned his fine figure,
a costly sword hung from his belt, and his expression for the protection of their faith and their liberty of
"You must surely have been thinking of your
Gui had hitherto listened in silence. At length, he asked-" And you-will you fight in the Huguenot ranks?"
Gui colored; but his attempt at a denial was very feeble, and a lie would not pass his lips. He remarked, however, with as much indifference as he could assume, that it was not always a matter of course in the present day, when so many grave subjects were pending, that every young man who was found in a reverie must be in love. The horseman looked shrewdly into Gui's face at these words, and could scarcely reconcile the extreme earnestness and gravity of the speaker with his apparent youth.
"I ought scarcely to answer such a question," returned the other; for we are strangers. To be frank with you, however, my name is Maugiron, and I am trying to enlist here for Coligny and Condé, in whose army, I am proud to say, I hold the rank of captain."
"And you are enlisting for soldiers, then ?" said Gui hastily. "Good; I will join your ranks." Maugiron joyfully accepted the proffered hand. "You are most welcome to us," he replied warmly. "And now that I have informed you of my name, will you favour me with yours?" "I am called Gui de Viole."
"You are right," he rejoined; "but the question is just now what view one takes of public affairs. Have you heard of the deed at Vassy?"
"How should I be ignorant of that which every one speaks about?" replied Gui.
True," returned the other. "And it is a deed which has filled many of the Catholics with horror and indignation. How much more Protestants must feel, who see in this event but a shadowing forth of that which sooner or later awaits their But"-and here his free spirit broke forth
-"the hour is come for all true Protestants to rise
"Viole!" said Maugiron; "Viole d'Arbeque !no, surely not. He has but one child-a pale, delicate maiden-whom I saw a few hours ago. What Viole can you be? I have travelled through Dauphiny and Auvergne; and I know no other family bearing that name."
To be Continued.
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
university of Charlottesville, he forgot all his good may be termed the fierce, implacable enemy of God lessons, and his kind old teacher, and the admoni- and the god-like, and does indeed so pollute the HE life of Edgar Poe is among the saddest in tions of his fond guardian, and the wild nature of divine image in man that wherever it obtains there all literary history, and great lessons may be the man burst out in all its power, and hurried him can be no religion, no truth, no peace, no hope—nolearned from it. He was descended from parents, on from dissipation to dissipation, and infamy to thing but a world of despair, peopled, as it were, by one of whom at least, his mother, had a good deal infamy. It is but fair to say, although it is little jibbering apes in the form and fashion of men. And of wild blood, as it is termed, in her veins, which in extenuation, that the general manners of the uni- what was poor Poe, with all his learning and genius, was not likely to be sobered down by the profes-versity were at that time loose and depraved. Poe, but one of these apes?—a man without heart and sion she adopted, namely, that of an actress, of however, must have been a giant of iniquity-a sort principle, who might have been equal to the highest which she was fond. She does not seem to have of chivalrous champion, if we may use such an ex-offices of state or fellowship, had he devoted himself been a woman of much intellect, but rather of pression, in the cause of the devil-setting all law to virtuous courses, instead of to vice and intempevivacity and general attractiveness. David Poe, and morals at defiance; for even his companions rance. Mr. Allan, however, did not abandon him her husband, was a lawyer; but when he married were shocked at his procedure; and so bad and no- yet, but received him at his estate at Richmond, and he gave up his prospects in that direction to join torious did he become at last that he was expelled promised to treat him as a son, if he would only his wife. They "played" together, as it is called, the university. mend his ways. Shortly after Mr. A. married a Miss in various theatres in this country until they died. Paterson, and Poe was ungrateful enough to ridicule Such, then, was the parentage of the poet, and it is the lady. Upon this he was turned out of doors, worthy of record, as elucidating many parts of his and his good guardian died not long after, leaving mind and character. For no man, perhaps, ever three children to share his estate. Poe was disinpartook more of the nature of his parents; their herited. very being seemed to be stamped upon his; he was a sort of Janus reflex of them both. He inherited his wonderful analytical power, his lawyer-like observation of minute details, his faculty of unravelling the most knotty difficulties, as well as his wiry strength, from his father; and he had all his mother's gaiety and love of excitement. He had an individuality of his own, however, was imaginative, and delighted to dwell upon dark and mystic themes. There are touches in his poetry of great pathos; and a wild aerial music gushes out of it which takes the heart captive with an indescribable pleasure.
He subsequently published a volume of poems at Baltimore, which attracted much attention, and he wrote many pieces for the journals of that city, but soon found he could not live by his pen; so he tried to live by the sword, and enlisted as a private soldier. He was recognised by some officers who had previously known him at the military academy, and they kindly tried, without his knowledge, to get him a commission; but just as they were on the point of suceess, his evil genius prevailed again, and he deserted the ranks, and flew no one knew whither.
It is strange enough, that, in spite of these shocking habits, so destructive to the intellect as well as to the moral nature, Poe maintained the first rank of scholarship throughout. He seems to have emulated the career of Crichton, who was posted upon the gates of Padua as a "monster of erudition, whom, if any one sought, he might find at the tavern." He was noted, like Crichton, for his gymnastic feats, his fencing, swimming, as well as for his conversational and declamatory powers. It is related of him that he once swam from Richmond to Warwick, seven miles and a half, against a tide running probably from two to three miles an hour." We doubt, from large experience in this fine art and exercise, the truth of this statement; but it makes a line in the poet's biography, and so we put it down here. It will serve at least to show that he had an extensive fame for performances of this kind among his cotemporaries.
We need not speak of the "Raven," given in this number, in proof of Poe's originality, and conCovered with debt and infamy, he applied to Mr. sequent individuality What his parents possessed Allan for money, drew upon him, and when at last he possessed, and, besides this, genius, and that too he could get no more from his generous friend, he of a very high order. What he wanted most was wrote an abusive letter to him, and left America with strength of will, and a good guide and monitor. the intention of joining the Greeks against the But the very occupation of his parents in a great Turks. The dissipation to be found in the capitals measure prevented the possibility of guidance; in- of Europe, however, held him back, and his drinking asmuch as a life of dissipation and theatrical bustle and gambling habits strangled his infant ideas of and excitement are incompatible with family discip-liberty and glory in the cradle. He found his way line. This was Poe's misfortune, and very sorrow- to St. Petersburg; but his first and last adventure fully did he suffer for it. For although he was but there was a drunken riot, from the consequences of five years old when he was taken under the guar- which he had to be rescued by the American dianship of an excellent merchant, Mr. Thomas minister. Allan, who indeed adopted him as his son-still the red seed of the wild life had been sown, and finding a soil adapted to its growth, it grew long and silently, until it was matured into one of the saddest harvests ever cut down by criminality and
The unhappy man returned once more to this
shrieks of mandrakes, and the orgies of devils. In-
He next appeared as a competitor for two prizes offered by the "Baltimore Saturday Visitor," and won them by his good writing, because, as the wise adjudicators said, he was "the first of geniuses who had written legibly." Good friends followed this success. He was introduced by the publisher to a gentleman who saw him well clad and made decent to appear in respectable society. For he was at this juncture "thin and pale even to ghastliness; his whole appearance indicated sickness and the utmost destitution. A well-worn frock concealed the absence of a shirt, and imperfect boots disclosed the want of hose. But the eyes of the young man were luminous with intelligence and feeling." Through the efforts of these new friends he obtained the editorship of a magazine at Richmond, but soon fell into his ancient habits, and, getting drunk for a week, lost his situation. The proprietor of the magazine, who was a worthy man, was reconciled to him again, however, on his promise of amendment, and wrote so affectionate and judicious a letter on the occasion that one would have thought it must have affected him for good. But all was of no use. Again he fell, and in 1837 quitted his employer. He was married, too, at this time, to his cousin, Virginia Clemm, who is reputed to have been both a beautiful and amiable girl; and now he had to suffer the pain of finding that she also must want, through his excesses and follies. He is said to have loved his wfe, and perhaps he did; but he took a strange way of showing it.
After visiting Baltimore and New York in scarch of literary employment, we find him settled in Philadelphia in the year 1838, editing a magazine, which was started by Mr. Burton, a literary amateur of that city, and a kind-hearted, high-principled, and honorable man, who, like Mr. Allan, was a true
friend to Poe, and did all in his power to save him the New York magazines. He attained the climax self into a fever which put an end to his life. It from those terrible vices to which he knew he was of his reputation as a writer by the publication of the was on a beautiful Sabbath evening in October, in addicted. As usual, during the first few weeks of " 'Raven," the history of which, in its idea and struc- the calm and beautiful twilight, when people were his new employment, he was steady and assiduous ture, he has recorded in one of his essays. It is a worshipping God in his holy places and hearing the in the performance of its duties; thought himself wierd and wonderful poem, full of high mystic ima-message of his love, that Poe's rebellious spirit took entitled to say that he had conquered "the seduc-gination and a strange melody. His habits, how-its flight for doom. tive and dangerous besetment" of drink, that he was ever, soon destroyed his prospects; and as he became a “model of temperance," etc.; but alas! the sum- more dissipated, so also he became more depraved. mer glory of that year had scarcely vanished, ere Once he borrowed fifty dollars of a lady of South his glory vanished also, and again he relapsed into Carolina, distinguished for her literary abilities, and intemperance and horrid vice. The magazine was when asked to return them, or give an acknowledgneglected, and Poe was dismissed. By this time, ment of the loan, so that she might show it to her however, he had gained a considerable reputation husband, he basely denied the debt; and only conin the chief cities of the Union, both as a prose fessed to it through the cowardly fear of chastisewriter and a poet, and it became a matter of deep ment by her brother. regret with all his friends that a man of so much talent should so recklessly throw himself away. Mr. Burton was anxious to reclaim him if possible; and agreed to receive him once more as his editor upon the old conditions, urging him to be less caustic and severe in his criticisms upon the writings of his brother authors, and telling him that he would rather lose his money than wantonly inflict injury upon the feelings of honorable men. Poe was too apt, in his morbid moods, to indulge in bitter sarcasms, and use the pen with a slashing hand, "because," as he said, this manner of writing "was successful with the mob." Mr. Burton replied, "I am truly much less anxious to make a
In 1846 Poe was living at Fordham, some miles from New York, in a state of great destitution. His wife was dying; and he and his mother-in-law were attending her last days. When his miseries were known in New York-which they shortly were through the newspapers-money came rapidly in; too late, however, to rejoice the heart of that beautiful and unhappy wife, for she was dead before the first relief came. And then there was for a time silence and sorrow and bitterness and contrition in the house; and mother and husband both yearned with unspeakable yearnings to have their loved one back again. But the Omnipotent had spoken, and His minister had executed, and the curtain of eter
monthly sensation, than I am upon the point of nity had dropped its starry folds down between
them all for ever.
fairness." An admirable rebuke!
He subsequently returned to New York, in diffi-
forsook him, as we said, but devoted her whole life
There is no space here to make a resumé of his character and life; but surely it is full of sorrow and warning to all. May God help us to profit by the terrible example which he presents; and preserve us from those degrading habits of drinking and dissipation which sooner or later destroy both body and soul.
AN "a portable pent-house to carry in a person's
N Umbrella is described in early dictionaries as hand to screen him from violent rain or heat." Umbrellas are very ancient; it appears, by the carvings at Persepolis, that umbrellas were used at very remote periods by the Eastern princes. Niebuhr, who visited the southern parts of Arabia, informs us that he saw a great prince of that country returnsoldiers, and that he and each of the princes of his ing from a mosque, preceded by some hundreds of numerous family caused a large umbrella to be carried by his side. The old China-ware in our
pantries and cupboards shows the Chinese shaded by an umbrella.
It is said that the first person who used an I umbrella in the streets of London was the benevolent Jonas Hanway, who died in 1786. For a without incurring the brand of effeminacy. long while it was not usual for men to carry them At
first, a single umbrella seems to have been kept at
a coffee-house for extraordinary occasions-lent as a coach or chair in a heavy shower, but not com
And now will it be credited that, after Poe had
cations, "amid all her tears and recitals of distress,
The Female Tattler" advertises, "the young
been sent to the printer's, nor could he get his manuscripts back. All he did get was insult. In short, suffering one syllable to escape her lips that could gentleman belonging to the custom-house, who, in the only period of Poe's life which was at all credita-/ convey a doubt of him, or a complaint, or a lessen-fear of rain, borrowed the umbrella from Wilk's ble, was that during which he was connected with ing of trust in his genius and good intentions.”
"Graham's Magazine." His Penn project was a failure, as it deserved to be, and he now wrote for Graham "some of his finest pieces and most trenchant criticisms, and challenged attention by his papers entitled "Autobiography," and those on cryptology and cyphers. After a year and a half of brilliant and active literary life, he once more sunk into the dread and fiery abyss in which he was destined at last to perish. Miserable and most unhappy man! whom no kindness could touch, no experience teach wisdom. And yet when he was sober, he was quiet and gentlemanly in his manners and deportment. His little cottage home on the outskirts of Philadelphia was marked by elegance and a refined taste; and his mother-in-law loved him, and never forsook him. There was a strange fascination about him; it was drink that blotted truth and love and honor out of his heart. His whole life was a disease, although a self-inflicted one; and it would have been a mercy to him could he have been treated as an insane person, and put under moral restraint.
In 1848, Poe delivered a lecture at the Society Li-coffee-house, shall the next time be welcome to the maid's pattens." afterwards published under the title of "Eureka," who wrote his own life, informs us that he had a brary, on the cosmogony of the universe, which was As late as 1788, one John MacDonald, a footman, a prose poem. It was a fine effort and full of power" fine silk umbrella, which he brought from Spain: -a new theory of nature. but he could not with any comfort to himself use it, About this time he became acquainted by accident the people calling out-Frenchman! why don't with one of the most beautiful women in New Eng-you get a coach?" " The fact was, the hackney land; she was highly gifted also, and adorned with coachmen and chairmen joining with the true esprit many virtues. Poe might have married this lady, de corps, were clamorous against this portentous and everything was arranged to this end. A friend rival. The footman, in 1788, gives us some further congratulated him on his prospects. "I am not information. "At this time, there were no umbrelgoing to be married," he said; "I shall not marry." las worn in London, except in noblemen's and gen He left New York, determined to break off the en-tlemen's houses, where there was a large one hung gagement; went to the lady's house drunk, on the in the hall to hold over a lady, if it rained, between eve which ought to have been the bridal eve, and the door and her carriage." This man's sister was conducted himself with such brutal violence that he compelled to quit his arm one day, from the abuse was ejected by the police. And thus ended that he drew down on himself and on his umbrella. But chapter. he adds, that "he persisted for three months, till they took no notice of this novelty. Foreigners began to use theirs, and then the English. Now it is become a great trade in London."
He came to New York in 1844, and was received with more honor than he deserved by the literary men of that city. His fame had gone before him, and he added to it by many brilliant productions in
Shortly after he joined the temperance society in Richmond, and commenced lecturing in various towns. During his travels he fell in with a lady whom he had known in his youth, and engaged to marry her. At Baltimore, however, where he was, on his way to Philadelphia, to fulfil his engagement, JEAN PAUL says, love may slumber in a he met with some old companions, and drank him- 'lady's heart, but it always dreams.
Moreover, the healthy spirits who had mounted to this sublime height were attractive to many of the Gradgrind school. They liked fine gentlemen; they pretended that they did not, but they did. They be
came exhausted in imitation of them; and they yawyawed in their speech like them; and they served out, with an enervated air, the little mouldy rations of political economy, on which they regaled their disciples. There never before was seen on earth such a wonderful hybrid race as was thus produced. Among the fine gentlemen not regularly belonging to the Gradgrind school, there was one of a good family and a better appearance, with a happy turn of humor which had told immensely with the House of Commons on the occasion of his entertaining it with bis (and the Board of Directors') view of a railway
accident, in which the most careful officers ever known, employed by the most liberal managers ever heard of, assisted by the finest mechanical contrivances ever devised, the whole in action on the best line ever constructed, had killed five people and wounded thirty-two, by a casualty without which the excellence of the whole system would have been positively incomplete. Among the slain was a cow, and among the scattered articles unowned, a widow's cap. And the honorable member had so tickled the House (which has a delicate sense of humor) by putting the cap on the cow, that it became impatient of any serious reference to the Coroner's Inquest, and brought the railway off with cheers and laughter. Now, this gentleman had a younger brother of still better appearance than himself, who had tried life as a Cornet of Dragoons, and found it a bore; and had afterwards tried it in the train of an English minister abroad, and found it a bore; and had then strolled to Jerusalem, and got bored there; and had then gone yachting about the world, and got bored everywhere. To whom this honorable and jocular member fraternally said one day, 'Jem, there's a good opening among the hard Fact fellows, and they
derby, Esquire, Banker, Coketown. Specially to Mr. Bounderby, it would have been this very circum-
Within an hour of the receipt of this dispatch and
"So now," said Bounderby, "we may shake hands on equal terms. I say, equal terms, because although I know what I am, and the exact depth of the gutter I have lifted myself out of, better than any man does, I am as proud as you are. Having now asserted my independence in a proper manner, I may come to how do you find yourself, and I hope you're pretty well."
"My name, sir," said his visitor, "is Josiah Bounderby of Coketown."
Mr. James Harthouse was very happy indeed (though he scarcely looked so), to have a pleasure he
had long expected.
This story was commenced in the May number.
"Coketown, sir," said Bounderby, obstinately taking a chair, "is not the kind of place you have been accustomed to. Therefore, if you'll allow me —or whether you will or not, for I am a plain man -I'll tell you something about it before we go any further."
Mr. Harthouse would be charmed.
"Don't be too sure of that," said Bounderby. "I
By way of "going in" to the fullest extent, Mr.
"I am glad to hear it," said Bounderby. "Now,
Lastly," said Bounderby, "as to our Hands.
Mr. Harthouse professed himself in the highest
Jem, rather taken by the novelty of the idea, and a gold spoon. And now you know the place."
The better, Mr. Harthouse gave him to understand as they shook hands, for the salubrious air of Coketown. Mr. Bounderby received the answer with favor.
Perhaps you know," said he, "or perhaps you don't know, I married Tom Gradgrind's daughter. If you have nothing better to do than to walk up town with me, I shall be glad to introduce you to Tom Gradgrind's daughter,"
"Mr. Bounderby, said Jem, "you anticipate my dearest wishes."
They went out without further discourse; and Mr. Bounderby piloted the new acquaintance who so strongly contrasted with him, to the private red brick dwelling, with the black outside shutters, the green inside blinds, and the black street door up the two white steps. In the drawing-room of which mansion, there presently entered to them the most remarkable girl Mr. James Harthouse had ever seen. She was so constrained, and yet so careless; so reserved, and yet so watchful; so cold and proud, and yet so sensitively ashamed of her husband's braggart humility-from which she shrunk as if every example of it were a cut or a blow; that it was quite
a new sensation to observe her. In face she was no
less remarkable than in manner.
From the mistress of the house, the visitor glanced to the house itself. There was no mute sign of a woman in the room. No graceful little adornment, no fanciful little device, however trivial, anywhere expressed her influence. Cheerless and comfortless, boastfully and doggedly rich, there the room stared at its present occupants, unsoftened and unrelieved by the least trace of any womanly occupation. As Mr. Bounderby stood in the midst of his household gods, so those unrelenting divinities occupied their places around Mr. Bounderby, and they were worthy of one another and well matched.
“Why, you see,” replied Mr. Bounderby, "it suits my disposition to have a full understanding "This, sir," said Mr. Bounderby, "is my wife, with a man, particularly with a public man, when I| Mrs. Bounderby Tom Gradgrind's eldest daughter. make his acquaintance. I have only one thing more Loo, Mr. James Harthouse. Mr. Harthouse has to say to you, Mr. Harthouse, before assuring you joined your father's muster-roll. If he is not Tom of the pleasure with which I shall respond, to the Gradgrind's colleague before long, I believe we shall utmost of my poor ability, to my friend Tom Grad- at least hear of him in connexion with one of our grind's letter of introduction. You are a man of neighboring towns. You observe, Mr. Harthouse, family. Don't you deceive yourself by supposing that my wife is my junior. I don't know what she for a moment that I am a man of family. I am a bit saw in me to marry me, but she saw something in of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine scrap of tag, rag, and me, I suppose, or she wouldn't have married me. bobtail." She has lots of expensive knowledge, sir, political
If anything could have exalted Jem's interest in and otherwise. If you want to cram for anything,
I should be troubled to recommend you to a better And what more could I possibly do, if I did believe home. Tom, love, I am telling Mr. Harthouse that adviser than Loo Bounderby." it!" he never saw you abroad." "No such luck, sir," said Tom.
To a more agreeable adviser, or one from whom he would be more likely to learn, Mr. Harthouse could never be recommended.
"Come!" said his host. "If you're in the complimentary line, you'll get on here, for you'll meet with no competition. I have never been in the way Mr. Bounderby, who had been in danger of burstof learning compliments myself, and I don't professing in silence, interposed here with a project for to understand the art of paying 'em. In fact, postponing the family dinner to half-past six, and I despise 'em. But, your bringing-up was different taking Mr. James Harthouse in the meantime on a from mine; mine was a real thing, by George round of visits to the voting and interesting notabiYou're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be one.lities of Coketown and its vicinity. The round of I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, and that's visits was made; and Mr. James Harthouse, with a enough for me. However, though I am not influ- discreet use of his blue coaching, came off triumphenced by manners and station, Loo Bounderby may antly, though with a considerable accession of borebe. She hadn't my advantages-disadvantages you dom. would call 'em, but I call 'em advantages—so you'll not waste your power, I dare say."
"Mr. Bounderby," said Jem, turning with a smile to Louisa, " is a noble animal in a comparatively natural state, quite free from the harness in which a conventional hack like myself works."
In the evening, he found the dinner-table laid for four, but they sat down only three. It was an appropriate occasion for Mr. Bounderby to discuss the flavor of the hap'orth of stewed eels he had purchased in the streets at eight years old, and also of the inferior water, specially used for laying the dust, with which he had washed down that repast. He likewise entertained his guest, over the soup and fish, with the calculation that he (Bounderby) had eaten in his youth at least three horses under the guise of polonies and saveloys. These recitals,
"You respect Mr. Bounderby very much," she quietly returned. “It is natural that you should." He was disgracefully thrown out, for a gentleman who had seen so much of the world, and thought, "Now, how am I to take this?"
"You are going to devote yourself, as I gather Jem, in a languid manner, received with "charmfrom what Mr. Bounderby has said, to the service of ing!" every now and then; and they probably your country. You have made up your mind," said would have decided him to go in for Jerusalem again Louisa, still standing before him where she had to-morrow morning, had he been less curious refirst stopped-in the singular contrariety of her specting Louisa. self-possession, and her being obviously so very ill at ease "to show the nation the way out of all its difficulties."
“Mrs. Bounderby,” he returned laughing, "upon my honor, no. I will make no such pretence to you. I have seen a little, here and there, up and down; I have found it all to be very worthless, as everybody has, and as some confess they have, and some do not; and I am going in for your respected father's opinions-really because I have no choice of opinions, and may as well back them as anything
"You are a regular politician," said Louisa.
Yes! By Jupiter, there was something, and here it was, in an unexpected shape! Tom peared. She changed as the door opened, and broke into a beaming smile.
A beautiful smile. Mr. James Harthouse might not have thought so much of it, but that he had wondered so long at her impassive face. She put out her hand-a pretty little soft hand; and her fingers closed upon her brother's, as if she would have carried them to her lips.
was very remarkable that a young gentleman who had been brought up under one continuous system of unnatural restraint, should be a hypocrite; but it was certainly the case with Tom. It was very strange that a young gentleman who had "Is there nothing," he thought, glancing at her never been left to his own guidance for five conseas she sat at the head of the table, where her youth-cutive minutes, should be incapable at last of governful figure, small and slight, but very graceful, looked ing himself; but so it was with Tom. It was as pretty as it looked misplaced; "is there nothing altogether unaccountable that a young gentleman that will move that face?" whose imagination had been strangled in his cradle, should be still inconvenienced by its ghost in the form of grovelling sensualities; but such a monster, beyond all doubt, was Tom.
"Ay, ay?" thought the visitor. "This whelp is the only creature she cares for. So, so!"
The whelp was presented, and took his chair. The appellation was not flattering, but not unmerited.
"When I was your age, young Tom," said
"Never mind that now," said Bounderby.
There was little enough in him to brighten her face, for he was a sullen young fellow, and ungracious in his manner even to her. So much the greater must have been the solitude of her heart, and her need of some one on whom to bestow it. "So much the more is this whelp the only creature she has ever cared for," thought Mr. James Harthouse, turning it over and over. "So much the more. So much the more."
This vicious assumption of honesty in dishonesty -a vice so dangerous, so deadly, and so commonseemed, he observed, a little to impress her in his favor. He followed up the advantage, by saying in his pleasantest manner: a manner to which she might attach as much or as little meaning as she "Mrs. Bounderby," said Harthouse, perfectly pleased: "The side that can prove anything in a hearing this under-strain as it went on; "your line of units, tens, hundreds, and thousands, Mrs. brother's face is quite familiar to me. Can I have Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun, and seen him abroad? Or at some public school, perto give a man the best chance. I am quite as much haps?" attached to it as if I believed it. I am quite ready "No," she returned, quite interested, "he has to go in for it, to the same extent as if I believed it. | never been abroad yet, and was educated here, at
Both in his sister's presence, and after she had left the room, the whelp took no pains to hide his contempt for Mr. Bounderby, whenever he could indulge it without the observation of that independent man, by making wry faces, or shutting one eye. Without responding to these telegraphic communications, Mr. Harthouse encouraged him much in the course o he evening, and showed an unusual liking for him. At last, when he rose to return to his hotel, and was a little doubtful whether he knew the way by night, the whelp immediately proffered his services as guide, and turned out with him to escort him thither.
"Do you smoke?" asked Mr. James Harthouse, when they came to the hotel.
"I believe you?" said Tom.
He could do no less than ask Tom up; and Tom What with a cooling could do no less than go up. drink adapted to the weather, but not so weak as
cool; and what with a rarer tobacco than was to be
bought in those parts; Tom was soon in a highly free and easy state at his end of the sofa, and more than ever disposed to admire his new friend at the
Tom blew his smoke aside, after he had been smoking a little while, and took an observation of his friend. "He don't seem to care about his dress," thought Tom, "and yet how capitally he does it. What an easy swell he is !"
Mr. James Harthouse, happening to catch Tom's eye, remarked that he drank nothing, and filled his glass with his own negligent hand. "Thank'ee," said Tom. "Thank'ee. Well, Mr.
Harthouse, I hope you have had about a dose of old Bounderby to-night." Tom said this with one eye shut up again, and looking over his glass knowingly at his entertainer.
"A very great fellow indeed!" returned Mr. James Harthouse.
To be Continued.