CONTENTS Another Episode in the Life of Miss Tabitha Trenoodle Bric-a-brac Hunting:-Quest the Fifth: Berlin Book the First :-De Profundis. Chaps. I.-IV. Book the Second:-Downhill. Chaps. 1.-III. Book the Third :-The Horatiad. Chaps. I.-V. 462 466 XXV. The Disappointments of Dion" XXVI. "Infinite riches in a little room" Diana Gay. A Novel. By the Author of "Bella Donna," แ III. St. James's-Carlton House-Buckingham Palace 184 323 v. Palaces that have passed away: The Savoy-Bride- Manchester Men Hall 399 41, 162 63 BELGRAVIA MARCH 1868 DEAD-SEA FRUIT A Nobel BY THE AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," ETC. ON CHAPTER XXIII. BETWEEN EDEN AND EXILE N the last night of Eustace Thorburn's abode in his uncle's lodgings the two men sat even longer than ordinary talking, the elder watching the face of the younger with more than usual tenderness. "I daresay the future seems a little dark to you, dear lad," he began softly, after they had talked of all things except that which was nearest to the hearts of both. "I won't try to comfort you with the usual philosophical truisms about the foolishness of youthful fancies. I won't preach the vanitas vanitatum of worn-out middle age to hoping, dreaming, despairing youth. Keep the dream, boy, even if there is a bitter flavour of despair mingled with the sweetness of it. Keep the dream. Such dreams are the guardian angels of youth, the patron saints of manhood. I have my patron saint, and I pray to her sometimes, and confess my sins to her, and receive absolution, and am comforted. To my eyes Mademoiselle de Bergerac would most likely be only a pretty young person with blue eyes-I think you said blue eyes -and a white muslin frock. But if she seem an angel to you, enthrone her in your heart of hearts. A man is all the better for carrying an angel about with him, even if it be only an angel of his own making." "About your future And then, after a pause, Daniel went on. career as a man of letters I think you need have no misgiving. Those little verses which you submitted to me in such fear and trembling have made their mark. They have gone straight to the hearts of the people. The rising generation always elects its own poet. The students of the Quartier Latin knew Alfred de Musset's verses by heart, and spouted and sang them, before they were reprinted from the magazine where they first appeared. M. de Lamartine thought very small things VOL. V. 3 B of the youngster, just as Byron thought very small things of Monsieur Lamartine himself; for since the world of letters began, the public has had a way of choosing its own favourites, and has been ever indulgent to faithful servants. No, Eustace, I have no fear for your future. When you leave Greenlands, it shall not be for the smoke and riot of London. You must take a lodging at some pretty village by the river, and write your book or your poem as your guardian angel directs; and if your heart is broken, and you put it into your book, so much the better. Your heart can be patched up again by and by; and in the mean time the public likes a book with a genuine broken heart in it. Byron used to break his heart once a year, and send Murray the pieces." "I could not trade upon my sorrows as Byron did." "Because you are not Byron. He did not trade upon his sorrows. That is a true saying of Owen Meredith's, 'Genius is greater than man. Genius does what it must, and talent does what it can.' I quote from memory. Byron's was genius-the real fire; the supernatural force that is given to a man to use, but seldom given to him to govern. Byron was the Ajax of poets,-abused, distraught, roaring like a bull in his mighty pain,-and a demigod." After this there came a long and animated discourse upon Byron and his successors. Of all things Eustace loved best to talk of poetry and poets, from Homer to Tennyson. What mortal creature does not like to talk "shop"? And then, when the two men had wearied themselves with the pleasant excitement of debate, there was a silence of some minutes, which was broken abruptly by Daniel Mayfield. "I made a discovery the other day, Eustace," he said. "I have had half a mind to tell you nothing about it; but perhaps it is as well you should be told." "What kind of discovery, uncle Dan?" "A discovery about-well-about the author of Dion." "What? Have you found out who he is?" "No," replied Daniel very gravely; "I am no wiser as to his name and status; but I have found out that he was a villain, and is a villain still if he lives, I daresay; for I don't think so base a wretch as that would be likely to mend with age. I doubt if it will ever be any good to you to know more of your father than you knew when your poor mother died; but you have wished to be wiser, and I have humoured your wish. Do you remember what I said to you after I read Dion?" "I remember every word." "I told you then that the author of that book must have been the kind of man to fascinate such a girl as your mother. I have met with another book written by the same man, and have read it as carefully as I read the first. Eustace, I believe that man was your father." "You-you believe that ?" "Yes," returned Daniel earnestly. "There is a picture of your |