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pen in our present day, I should cer- marry him; and considering marriage tainly have taken side with Thomas Car- from an abstract point of view, as one lyle. By a "singing people" must be naturally does when it does not concern meant either poets or vocalists, and in one's self, this was entirely true. In poboth cases, especially the former, the men sition, in character, in appearance, and in of genius have always been exceptions. principles he was everything that could We all know how Shakespeare and Mil- be desired: a good man, just, and never ton were regarded in their own day; and consciously unkind; nay, capable of genif such men now lived, we see clearly erosity when it was worth his while and how they would be treated by managers he had sufficient inducement to be generof theatres, and by nearly every living ous. A man well educated, who had been publisher for the good business-reason much about the world, and had learned that "they wouldn't sell." Meantime a the toleration which comes by experinoble Duke the other day gave £2,000 ence; whose opinions were worth hearing for a bull! To keep up our breed. Most on almost every subject; who had read a cattle-spirited and praiseworthy, of course. great deal, and thought a little, and was The epics in action, alluded to by Carlyle, as much superior to the ordinary young would find their audience in the sedulous man of society in mind and judgment as readers of Abyssinian wars, and Ashan- he was in wealth. That this kind of man tee wars, not to speak of the insatiate often fails to captivate a foolish girl, when and inexhaustible readers of the deeds of her partner in a valse, brainless, beardthe "hero" of the late Tichborne wars! less, and penniless, succeeds without any For speechful eloquence, are not Mr. trouble in doing so, is one of those mysDisraeli and Mr. Bright remarkable ex- teries of nature which nobody can peneceptions among English people; - Mr. trate, but which happens too often to be Gladstone also, standing upon a waggon doubted. Even in this particular, howfor a couple of hours without his hat ever, Mr. Incledon had his advantages. and allowed by twenty thousand people He was not one of those who, either by to stand thus uncovered-on a pitiless contempt for the occupations of youth or windy day pouring out "speech" like any by the gravity natural to maturer years, "Christiom child who shall say that allow themselves to be pushed aside from such things, because they are the common the lighter part of life he still danced, property of England, are the common though not with the absolute devotion of capacities of the English people? As to twenty, and retained his place on the side "silentness," even among each other, of youth, not permitting himself to be does not everybody know this at home shelved. More than once, indeed, the and abroad? young officers from the garrison near, and the young scions of the county families, had looked on with puzzled noncomprehension, when they found themselves altogether distanced in effect and popularity by a mature personage whom they would gladly have called an old fogie had they dared. These young gentlemen of course consoled their vanity by railing against the mercenary character of women who preferred wealth to everything. But it was not only his wealth upon which Mr. Incledon stood. No girl who married him need have felt herself withdrawn to the grave circle in which her elders had their place. He was able to hold his own in every pursuit with men ten years his juniors, and did so. Then, too, he had almost a romantic side to his character; for a man so well off does not put off marrying for so long without a reason, and though nobody knew of any previous story, any "entanglement," which would have restrained him, various picturesque suggestions were afloat; and even failing these, the object of his

With reference to Miss Barrett's claiming for us so full, and noble, and varied a general literature, it is no doubt a just eulogy, although one might demur to the term "suggestive," as it would seem far more applicable to the literature of Germany. Yet, again, the exceptions among us are undoubted, even in the face of German idealities, one striking instance of which, among many that could be adduced, will be manifest when I place before the reader Miss Barrett's suggestions for the lyrical drama of "Psyche," previously mentioned.

R. H. HORNE.

From The Cornhill Magazine.
A ROSE IN JUNE.

CHAPTER X.

MR. INCLEDON was a man of whom people said that any girl might be glad to

choice might have laid the flattering unction to her soul that his long waiting had been for the realization of some perfect ideal which he found only in her.

had fully persuaded himself that to speak to the mother first was the most delicate and the most wise thing he could do. For one thing, he could say so much more to her than he could to Rose; he could assure her of his goodwill and of his desire to be of use to the family should he become a member of it. Mr. Incledon did not wish to bribe Mrs. Damerel to be on his side. He had indeed a reasonable assurance that no such bribe was necessary, and that a man like himself must always have a reasonable mother on his side. This he was perfect

This model of a marriageable man took his way from the White House in a state of mind less easily described than most of his mental processes. He was not excited to speak of, for an interview between a lover of thirty-five and the mother of the lady is not generally exciting; but he was a little doubtful of his own perfect judiciousness in the step he had just taken. I can no mɔre tell you why he had set his heart on Rose than Ily aware of, as indeed any one in his can say why she felt no answering inclination towards him- for there many other girls in the neighbourhood who would in many ways have been more suitable to a man of his tastes and position. But Rose was the one woman in the world for him, by sheer caprice of nature; just as reasonable, and no more so, as that other caprice which made him, with all his advantages and recommendations, not the man for her. If ever a man was in a position to make a deliberate choice, such as men are commonly supposed to make in matrimony, Mr. Incledon was the man; yet he chose just as much and as little as the rest of us do. He saw Rose, and some power which he knew nothing of decided the question at once for him. He had not been thinking of marriage, but then he made up his mind to marry; and whereas he had on various occasions weighed the qualities and the charms of this one and the other, he never asked himself a question about her, nor compared her with any other woman, nor considered whether she was suited for him, or anything else about her. This was how he exercised that inestimable privilege of choice which women sometimes envy. But having once received this conviction into his mind, he had never wavered in his determination to win her. The question in his mind now was, not whether his selection was the best he could have made, but whether it was wise of him to have entrusted his cause to the mother rather than to have spoken to Rose herself. He had remained in the background during those dreary months of sorrow. He had sent flowers and game and messages of enquiry; but he did not thrust himself upon the notice of the women, till their change of residence gave token that they must have begun to rouse themselves for fresh encounter with the world. When he was on his way to the White House he VOL. VII. 314

senses would have been. But as soon were as he had made his declaration to Mrs. Damerel, and had left the White House behind, his thoughts began to torment him with doubts of the wisdom of this proceeding. He saw very well that there was no clinging of enthusiastic love, no absolute devotedness of union, between this mother and daughter, and he began to wonder whether he might not have done better had he run all the risks and broached the subject to Rose herself, shy and liable to be startled as she was. It was perhaps possible that his own avowal, which must have had a certain degree of emotion in it, would have found better acceptation with her than the passionless statement of his attentions which Mrs. Damerel would probably make. For it never dawned upon Mr. Incledon's imagination that Mrs. Damerel would support his suit not with calmness, but passionately more passionately, perhaps, than would have been possible to himself. He could not have divined any reason why she should do so, and naturally he had not the least idea of the tremendous weapons she was about to employ in his favour. I don't think, for very pride and shame, that he would have sanctioned the use of them had he known.

LIVING AGE.

It happened, however, by chance that as he walked home in the wintry twilight he met Mrs. Wodehouse and her friend Mrs. Musgrove, who were going the same way as he was, on their way to see the Northcotes, who had lately come to the neighbourhood. He could not but join them so far in their walk, nor could he avoid the conversation which was inevitable. Mrs. Wodehouse indeed was very eager for it, and began almost before he could draw breath.

"Did you see Mrs. Damerel after all?" she asked. "You remember I met you when you were on your way?”

to- though indeed as a matter of fact, Rose out of sight of the seniors of the Mr. Incledon did not carry it out. But party, and though all his active apprehenhe went into the lonely house where sions on that score had been calmed everything pleasant and luxurious, except down by Edward's departure, yet he was the one crowning luxury of some one to too wise not to perceive that there was share it with, awaited him, in a glow of something in Mrs. Wodehouse's disenergy and eagerness, resolved to go jointed talk more than met the eye at back again to-morrow and plead his cause the first glance. Mr. Incledon had a with Rose herself, and win her, not pru- friend who was one of the Lords of the dentially through her mother, but by his Admiralty, and upon whom he could rely own warmth of love and eloquence. Poor to do him a service; a friend whom he Rose in June! In the wintry setting of had never asked for anything for what the White House she was not much like was official patronage to the master of the Rector's flower-maiden, in all her del- Whitton? He wrote him a long and icate perfection of bloom, "queen rose of charming letter, which, if I had only room the rosebud garden," impersonation of all for it, or if it had anything to do except the warmth, and sweetness, and fra- incidentally with this simple history, grance, and exquisite simple profusion of would give the reader a much better idea summer and nature. Mr. Incledon's of his abilities and social charm than anyheart swelled full of love and pity as he thing I can show of him here. In it he thought of the contrast not with pas-discussed the politics of the moment, and sion but soft tenderness, and a deli-that gossip on a dignified scale about cious sense of what it was in his power ministers and high officials of state which to do for her, and to restore her to. He is half history-and he touched upon strayed over the rooms which he had social events in a light and amusing once shown to her, with a natural pride strain, with the half cynicism which lends in their beauty, and in all the delicate salt to correspondence; and he told his treasures he had accumulated there, until friend half gaily, half seriously, that he he came to the little inner room with its was beginning to feel somewhat solitary, grey-green hangings, in which hung the and that dreams of marrying, and marrying Perugino, which, since Rose had seen it, soon, were stealing into his mind. And he had always called his Raphael. He he told him about his Perugino (" which seemed to see her too, standing there I fondly hope may turn out an early looking at it, a creature partaking some- Raphael "), and which it would delight him thing of that soft divinity, an enthusiast to show to a brother connoisseur." And, with sweet soul and looks congenial to by-the-bye," he added, after all this, "I that heavenly art. I do not know that have a favour to ask of you which I have his mind was of a poetical turn by kept like a lady's postscript. I want you nature; but there are moments when life to extend the ægis of your protection over makes a poet of the dullest, and on this a fine young fellow in whom I am conevening the lonely quiet house within the siderably interested. His name is Wodeparks and woods of Whitton, where there house, and his ship is at present on that had been neither love, nor anything detestable slave trade service which costs worth calling life, for years, except in us so much money and does so little good. the cheery company of the servants' hall, He has been a long time in the service, suddenly got itself lighted up with ethe- and I hear he is a very promising young real lights of tender imagination and feel-officer. I should consider it a personal ing. The illumination did not show out- favour if you could do something for him ; wardly, or it might have alarmed the Green, which was still unaware that the queen of the house had passed by there, and the place lighted itself up in prospect of her coming.

After dinner, however, Mr. Incledon descended from these regions of fancy, and took a step which seemed to himself a very clever as well as prudent, and at the same time a very friendly one. He had not forgotten, any more than the others had, that summer evening on the lawn at the Rectory, when young Wodehouse had strayed down the hill with

and (N.B.) it would be a still greater service to combine promotion with as distant a post as possible. His friends are anxious to keep him out of the way for private reasons—the old entanglement' business, which, of course, you will understand; but I think it hard that this sentence of banishment should be conjoined with such a disagreeable service. Give him a gun-boat and send him to look for the North-west passage, or anywhere else where my lords have a whim for exploring! I never thought to have paid such a tribute to your official dig

nity as to come, hat in hand, for a place, cy; it was all prepared and waiting, ready like the rest of the world. But no man, I suppose, can always resist the common impulse of his kind; and I an happy in the persuasion that to you I will not plead

in vain."

I am afraid that nothing could have been more disingenuous than this letter. How it worked, the reader will see hereafter; but, in the meantime, I cannot defend Mr. Incledon. He acted, I suppose, on the old and time-honoured sentiment that any stratagem is allowable in love and war, and consoled himself for the possible wrong he might be doing (only a possible wrong, for Wodehouse might be kept for years cruising after slaves for anything Mr. Incledon knew) by the unquestionable benefit which would accompany it. "A young fellow living by his wits will find a gunboat of infinitely more service to him than a foolish love affair which never could come to anything," his rival said to himself.

for the gentle mistress who was to come. How different from the low-roofed drawing-room at the White House, with the fireplace at one end of the long room, with the damp of ages in the old walls, with draughts from every door and window, and an indifferent lamp giving all the light that they could afford! Mr. Incledon, perhaps, thought of that, too, with an increased sense of the advantages he had to offer; but lightly, not knowing all the discomforts of it. He went back to his library after this inspection, and the lights burned on, and the ghosts, if there were any, had the full enjoyment of it till the servants came to extinguish the candles and shut up everything for the night.

CHAPTER XI.

WHEN Rose went up the creaking stairs to bed on that memorable night her feelings were like those of some one who has just been overtaken by one of the great catastrophes of nature —a hurricane or an earthquake — and who, though escaped for the moment, hears the tem

And after having sealed this letter, he returned into his fairyland. He left the library where he had written it, and went to the drawing-room which he rarely used, but which was warm with a cheer-pest gathering in another quarter, and ful fire and lighted with soft wax-lights knows that this is but the first flash of its for his pleasure should he care to enter. wrath, and that he has yet worse enHe paused at the door a moment and counters to meet. I am of Mr. Incledon's looked at it. The wonders of upholstery opinion or rather of the doubt fast in this carefully decorated room, every ripening into an opinion in his mind. scrap of furniture in which had cost its that he had made a mistake, and that master thought, would afford pages of possibly if he had taken Rose herdescription to a fashionable American self "with the tear in her eye," and novelist, or to the refined chronicles of pressed his suit at first hand, he might the Family Herald; but I am not suffi- have succeeded better; but such mightciently learned to do them justice. The bes are always doubtful to affirm and immaster of the house, however, looked at possible to prove. She sat down for a the vacant room with its softly burning while in her cold room, where the lights, its luxurious vacant seats, its draughts were playing freely about, and closely drawn curtains, the books on the where there was no fire to think; but tables which no one ever opened, the pic- as for thinking, that was an impossible tures on the walls which nobody looked operation in face of the continued gleams at (except on great occasions), with a curi- of fancy which kept showing now one ous sense at once of desolation and of scene to her, now another; and of the happiness. How dismal its silence was ! ringing echo of her mother's words which not a sound but the dropping of the ashes kept sounding through and through the from the fire, or the movement of the stillness. Self-indulgence- choosing her burning fuel; and he himself a ghost own pleasure rather than her duty looking into a room which might be in- she liked instead of what was right. habited by ghosts for aught he knew. Rose was far too much confused to make Here and there, indeed, a group of chairs out how it was that these reproaches had been arranged by accident so as to seemed to her instinct so inappropriate to look as if they were occupied, as if one the question; she only felt it vaguely, unseen being might be whispering to an- and cried a little at the thought of the other, noiselessly smiling, and pointing at selfishness attributed to her; for there is the solitary. But no, there was a pleas- no opprobrious word that cuts so deeply anter interpretation to be given to that into the breast of a romantic, innocent soft, luxurious, brightly-coloured vacan-girl. She sat there pensive till all her fac

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