ful social distinction between civilised man and the naked and brutal savage. We shall not all of us rejoice in the announcement that our "beefeaters" are to be stripped of their quaint historical costume, though it is to save the public, we are told, a matter of some pounds per annum. The "clothed embodied justice that sits in Westminster Hall, with penalties, parchments, tipstaves, very visible"*. -to Mr Carlyle's disgust do we really think she would be purer or more impressive, lolling in her shirt-sleeves, as she is said to do elsewhere, with a cigar in her mouth, and her legs elevated on two separate chairs? These showy externals are but make-believes, you say. Well, "populus vult decipi" in more senses than the worst. The most popular form of our abundant cheap literature, it is now admitted on all hands, is not "useful and entertaining knowledge,”-science-and-water, or moral tales, or even immoral but the grandiloquent, the imaginative, the romantic, and the horriblethe unreal, in short. Nay, it has even been suggested by some social reformers, that one reason why our public executions here, in England, fail to impress the vulgar mind beneficially is, that they are so horribly matter-of-fact; that you strangle a man with little more ceremony than you would a dog; and that, if you would produce the due effect of awe and solemn warning upon the multitude-the only reasonable purpose which such exhibitions can serve you must adopt the sort of ceremonial used in some Roman Catholic states-you must put on a little tinsel; not merely Mr Calcraft in his top-boots, the respectable deputy-sheriff in black, and the unimpressive policemen, but soldiers, vested priests, black hangings, and what not. Say what we will of this suggestion, it has at least as much reason in it as another and quite opposite proposal which has respectable supporters-that we should put our great criminals out of the way quietly, before certain chosen witnesses. There have been periods in the history of our own, as well as of

other countries, when this zeal for the destruction of so-called shams became the ruling principle; but the substance which it brought to light was scarcely edifying. The French revolutionists of 1789 voted royalty, and titles of nobility, and forms of religion-shams; and the realities whom they worshipped were a cowardly dictator in a sky-blue coat, with a perpetual nosegay, and a goddess of reason in-nothing at all. Sansculottism-truth without breeches! it was hardly a step in advance even of the ruffles and periwigs of the Bourbons. The English republicans of 1647 in like manner protested against crowns and mitres, and all such conventional gear: they could only recognise "the man Charles Stuart;" they whined and droned to each other in a formula of scriptural cant, ten thousand times more ridiculous, and more disgusting to any healthy mind, than the most fawning compliments which flunkyism ever dictated to Stuart or Bourbon; and were brought up at last, under "the man Oliver," by a despotism which was a reality stern enough, whatever other things might be. If any one supposes that the tutoyer style of language involves primitive innocence and simplicity, let him try to get a bargain out of a Quaker. "I told thee, friend, the mare had no faults-broken wind is her misfortune." By all means let us be careful to call things by their right

THE stately homes of England! They have no equals. It may be right to carp at their architectural defects. As edifices, as masses of stone and mortar, they may be incongruities, defiances of art; but see them as homes set in the midst of nature-take them with their accompaniments of tree and shrub and park, their accessories of garden, covert, stream, woodland, and wilderness, of glade, grove, and dell-and they present a harmony, a whole, a perfectness of pictorial effect, a unison, a community between man and creation, which seldom characterises palazzo, Rhine castle, château, quinta, casino, villa, or kiosk. Their association with nature, too, is no off-hand connection, no arm's-length meeting. Up to their very threshold sweeps the green turf; the boughs of trees hang over their roof-tops; the light breezes breathe on their casements, and bear with them the song of birds and the smell of flowers. The narrow gravelled walk or carriage-drive, the light palings, make no line of demarcation, raise no barrier; the eye passes straight from window to portico, to turfy terraces, grassy slopes, clumps of trees, and the waving shades of giant oaks, the moving forms of grazing herds, and the passing flight of wings; the ear takes in at once the caw of rook, the carol of the throstle, the gentle symphonies of the wind passing through the grasses and leafy branches, the sound of " some rejoicing stream,"

or the murmuring of a brook; the sense inhales at once odours from flower-beds, fragrance from shrub, freshness from surrounding verdure.

The man in his home stands face to face with Nature; his life goes forth to mingle with her life, his soul hourly and daily feels her pre

sence.

As the homes are, so mostly are the men who live in them. Not moulded by conventional art or form, perhaps, but fresh, strong, and useful, hearty and heartful, drawing from nature the culture which many seek only in social refinements, and dashing the mannerism of breeding and ton with the free impulses caught from fellowship with the outer world.

Such a home was Penhaddoc Park such a man was old Squire Grenfell.

The old man in his home was a portrait well set. It was a bright gladsome place, stately enough, but with more of beauty than stateliness. All other effects were sacrificed here to beauty. All the rules of landscapemaking were violated again and again to let in the sunshine, to preserve an old tree, to encourage a wilderness of wildlings and briers, to retain an old moss-grown bridge, an old knowe, where early flowers grew, or to keep the old road winding under mossy banks, and betwixt old oaks and beeches, or through a deep dingle. The house had in itself no especial character, came under no particular denomination of style; was merely substantial and handsome. The

wings, with their bay mullioned windows, were connected by a rather heavy colonnade, from which a short flight of granite steps led down to the gravelled path. Whatever there was of formality or coldness in the structure was toned by the white smoothness of the stone, and the invasion of ivy and Virginian creeper, which were allowed free swing and play for their luxuriant fancies. In front stretched a fair wide vista of park scenery, intercepted only by an old oak which stood before the library window. It was an old tree, but as an oak had scarcely passed its première jeunesse, and was lusty and burly in the full strength of gnarled trunk and vigorous spreading boughs. Artists, landscape-gardeners, formalists, hygeists, had again and again spoken its doom. It spoiled the view, destroyed the perspective, darkened the windows, made the walls damp; spite of all, it had stood. It had roots deeper and stronger than its own-old memories, early-day associations and recollections, which were twisted and twined around the Squire's heart-these made its safety. On the other side, near the drawingroom, was a Portugal laurel, in which a nightingale had built its nest. This was also sacred; and at night, when the mellow rich "jug, jug heard, the piano and harp and song would be hushed in deference to the natural melody, which poured in through the open casements. To the right, a narrow path ran through a shrubbery, thick and luxuriant with thorn, syringa, laurel, arbutus, acacia, and the hundred-and-one plants which in English ruralism vary every shade of green and every shape of blossom. In the midst, a rhododendron had annexed a large share of the sward by throwing up shoots in every direction, which spread around in masses of flower and leaf, sloping downwards, tent-like, in folds of foliage from the parent stem. Beneath this covert the rabbits had formed a colony; and it was curious enough, ever and anon to see a broad leaf move upward mysteriously, and then a head and ears protrude themselves. or a tail and legs disappear suddenly. After a while, the path, growing narrower and more mazed by the grass

was

and underwood, would be lost altogether in tangles of brier and bushes. The drive wound, as has already been said, in most meandering turns, avoiding all broad and straight effects, and leading suddenly on glimpses and unexpected touches of beauty. Another and shorter road led towards the gardens and stables, through what was called the Lady's Meadow. There the grass grew in long thick tufts, and along the hedge the turkeys, in their season, sat brooding in state; and there also stood an oak, lone and solitary, an eremite, without companion or kind, and subject, from its isolation, to the degradation of having carrion for the hounds suspended from it by hooks. Garden-trees threw their shade over the meadow, and a tiny stream trickled through it, stagnating here and there in tiny pools. From a tragic legend attached to one of these the meadow had its name. It was said that a lady of the Grenfell race and her lover had wandered forth into the meadow on a moonlight night. They were seen last linked arm and arm, strolling towards the streamlet. In the morn she was found lying on her face in the water; her lover was never seen or heard of again. Of course, her spirit haunted the spot, and had been seen again and again by domestics who loved the moon. Quamino, on one of his visits to the butler, had seen with his own eyes the thin white form floating on the pond, and could never be persuaded that it was one of the swans making a moonlight Voyage.

If there was some pretence to regularity in the front of the house, the back denied it altogether; scoffed at, repudiated, and set it at naught entirely. It had been witness and residuary legatee to every vagary and whim which every successive Grenfell had conceived. There was a sort of family sacredness about the front, but here every wicked will had worked itself out most recklessly. A bow had been thrown from a study, and projected like the back of an oven; a latticed window had been set in a boudoir, a small balcony thrust from a nursery, and a verandah over the bower-room faced the garden-house, a quaint old place,

built of spars and unhewn stones, and covered with mosses, ivy, and periwinkle. It looked as if some of the minor designs and sketches in books on architecture had been pasted together, and placed side by side. These eccentricities, however, looked forth on a scene consistent and perfect in its prettiness. Beds of verbena and heliotrope, baskets of roses and carnations, groups of sweetwilliam and pansies were set and shaped on the green sward, o'er which trailed many a wildling bough and bud; old stumps, from which fell clusters of rich red creepers, stood here and there, and there was a row of them with bright festoons hanging from one to the other; lilacs, box, privet and guelder roses, lightly fenced in the sides of this gardenplot; and at the top, a low hedge of brier and eglantine, with hop-tops fantastically wreathing and shooting out above, only half hid the clover and corn fields beyond. In different corners were turf or wooden seats placed, so as to catch the changes of the sunlight, and a wide vista opened to the setting sun. Twas a summer eve, and old Squire Grenfell loitered about on the gravelled path in front of his house, now stopping to pat a dog, now to take a look across the park, and now to give a passing word to his lady, who sat beneath the colonnade. He was the squire of other days, so often portrayed, so well remembered by all who can look back beyond this age of utilitarianism. Ripe as an old wine, ruddy as an autumn, sturdy as an old tree, he was the very type of his class. locks were partly grey, which fell behind his ears, and the clear blue eye was calm and steady; the face was fresh and unwrinkled, and the form was falling from its muscular set into that half looseness, which, ere it degenerates into bulkiness or obesity, looks well and comely with old age. The Squire seemed attired for a ride. Judging by the brown tops, the cords, the blue coat with plain brass buttons and broad flaps, the double-breasted kerseymere waistcoat, the hat low-crowned and broadbrimmed, and the whip stuck in the pocket, he was always conceiving that intent, for this was his invari

The

able out-door dress. Invariable, out door and in, was the white cravat laid in full loose folds, and fastened by an old diamond-brooch, and the long watch-chain, with a massive bunch of seals at the end.

A traditionary character had descended with the Grenfells from generation to generation. Men of the open air, men of the field, men of the home, men of narrow spheres and large sympathies, of few duties and strong feelings, of simple lives and single purposes; they were ever behind their age in fashion; in advance of it in feeling; below it in enlightenment and intellectual culture; before it in moral impulses and truthfulness; laggards, perhaps, in political wisdom, but honest, faithful administrators of their several functions. The character, as it passed downwards, though preserving its nature originally, took a tone from the different ages. The father of our Squire was of the thorough sporting class, and on returning thanks, when the health of the newborn son and heir was drank, was reported to have said, "That he hoped to bring him up as a good sportsman and a good Christian." The son inherited the love of fieldsports, but refined them by other pursuits and acquirements. He was still, however, earnest in the belief that a gentleman should be also a man, that he should support the superiority of his class by manly attributes, as well as by mental endowments or conventional graces; and held, that to acquire these, other nurture was required than that of the closet or salon. Now and then, however, he showed a taint of the old leaven, especially on the judgment-seat; there he enacted the laws of the field like a very Draco, though in other cases his sentences might have been written in milk. Once he astonished the bench of brother magistrates, by inveighing bitterly and violently against a poor wretch who stood in the box for some petty offence of trespass or poaching, and shouting out, when asked what he knew against him, "Know against him! Why, that fellow would murder his father, would rob a churchdo anything; last week he giuned a

fox." One of his peculiarities was, to perform all his journeys on horseback, a servant riding behind with the saddle-bags; and he had never been seen inside a carriage, except on the occasion of his being sheriff, and then he fidgeted and tossed on his seat, to the great discomposure of ermined dignity. Ofttimes such homes and such men are marred by mesalliances. A fine lady-a vulgar or artificial one-a fashionable lioness or an amazon, would have jarred on the harmony of the whole. Luckily, like met like here. Of an old country stock like his own, the wife could sympathise with his pursuits, his principles, and even his fancies. Feminine, but not delicate, healthful in mind and spirit, she could participate in most of his tastes, could understand all; could listen to the details of a fox-chase, or the killing of a salmon; could give advice on laying out the grounds or cutting down a tree, and ever administered the details of charity, as women alone can do. Gentleness, the gentleness of the heart, was her charter of ladyhood, a gentleness which repudiated falsetto tones, or the acted mannerism of phrase or gesture, and reposed on an innate tranquillity and nobility of soul. Gentleness! most beautiful of the moral attributes; most pleasant of the social! Blessed be its presence! Blessed ever be that spirit which garbs itself in love and charity; which looks even on error with sweetest pity, and has courtesy for all and every one; which shrinks not only from words and thoughts which wound or sting, as philanthropists would turn from a worm in their path, but will not even harshly rub the down from such butterfly wings as foibles and prejudices. In this gentleness she was educated for the mission of almoner, a friend to the poor. In those times such missions were supposed to need education and training. It was then thought a necessary preparation to learn the language of the hearts, feelings, and habits of the people, for whom the mission was meant; not to rush upon them as on a tribe of Ashantees, or, with the zeal of Crusaders, fiercely enforce it on the masses of ignorance and sin. So it was then, so it

will be again, when the enthusiasm of missions has subsided, and the theories of regeneration and development have fallen back into the old beaten world-worn tracks. Gentle she looked as the evening sunlight fell on the soft face, which yet retained the autumn shade of bloom, and on the soft silky hair, streaked here and there with silvery braids, and on the full figure, sunk now in graceful repose. She was reading and knitting by turns, or indulging in that musing reverie which habi tués of the world would call dulness, but which, perhaps, are among the most delicious of life's calmer pleasures: a few summer plants grouped around filled in the picture.

The dog, the sporting dog, was largely represented there and then by patriarchs of tribes. Under the old oak lay an old Talbot, the last of a race, with his huge head stretched between his paws, and his large ears hanging down like the leaves of a giant cactus. With half-shut eyes he followed his master's movements, watching for signs of a start. Old Grouse the pointer, of the old breed and old time, when steadiness and strength were more thought of than fleetness, deep-chested, broadnosed, and strong-legged, took turn and turn with the Squire, pacing when he paced, halting when he halted, and seeming to take the same interest in the view. A small Blenheim gambolled about his mistress, or made sudden rushes on a stray rabbit, arousing from their corners or explorations spaniels and terriers, and drawing them on by his noise to join him in a melée razzia, in the fastnesses of the rhododendron.

Presently the Squire's face brightened as he exclaimed, "By Jove, bere they come!" And then, like a bright gleam, Rose on her pony was seen through the intervals of the shrubs. through the branches of the great trees, and by the dancing, leaping water, as she cantered up the park. Behind her, very unlike a bright gleam, came Quamino, sorely tried by the cantrips of Pepperpot, sorely tried by his gold-laced hat. That hat was to him what crown and sceptre are to some monarchs, what