sure that something very nearly akin to "Ma-i-vey say 'happles;' fool she are," has been uttered in very high places this very day, and not by children of three years old only.

Ellesmere. Absolutely malignant! He has bottled up this story to be told against me on some great occasion. I believe it has been impending over my devoted head for the last two years. I really was not particularly critical to-day; but he was particularly vexed, as people always are when the ideas which they are very fond of, but which are not a little rickety, come to be examined by the drill-sergeant, or rather by the Medical Board.

Sir Arthur. It is an excellent story. Lady Ellesmere. I shall never forget it. Ellesmere. I know that; I shall be bored by my lady with the story all my life. And as for Sir Arthur, he was sure to delight in it. He has undergone a little criticism himself in the course of his life-totally unjust, no doubt; for as I heard him say to Milverton the other day, "Criticism is for the most part so thin." What he meant I do not know, but the two authors chuckled over the phrase, and seemed to think it so condemnatory and so clever.

Sir Arthur. Milverton has silenced Ellesmere. I am, however, going to revive Sir John, and I shall do so by returning to our original subject. Have you never felt overwearied yourself, Ellesmere; and as if you would give anything to have another Sir John to take up the work for you? In no great case that you have had to argue ?

Ellesmere. I am a sensible man; and I do not allow myself to fret myself to fiddlestrings. Sometimes, after a weighty consultation, I have found myself lying awake, and scheming and planning how to conduct a case. On such occasions I do everything I can to break up such trains of thought. I say to myself," My health and spirits belong to my clients; there is nothing so important for their interests as that I should be strong and in good nerve to-morrow."

Only think if race-horses, the night before the Derby, knew about to-morrow's race, how the more nervous and sensitive spirits among them would fret, and fuss, and lose their sleep, and fail to answer, when called upon to make their final effort.

When I was in the case, one of the heaviest I was ever engaged in, I found myself at this planning of my course of argument the night before, and becoming cold, and nervous, and miserable. I got up, and lit a fire, and set to work to read a volume of Victor Hugo's novel, "Les Miserables." That great book has, happily,

certain long parenthetical discussions which are not very exciting. I fell upon one of these, and in half an hour I was in a sweet and composed state of mind, and I had five hours' good sleep that night.

My client was a dear friend as well as client, and when I saw his anxious face next day in court, I should not like to have told him that I had read "Les Miserables" the previous night, in order to get rid of him and his cause from my thoughts. But it was the best thing I could have done for him.

You see, therefore, that you do not take much by appealing to me to back up Milverton's "fond imaginations," for so I must call them.

Milverton. My dear Sir Arthur, you cannot bring Ellesmere round, when he has once taken up a side against you. Let us change the subject. Ellesmere's reference to "Les Miserables" has put me in mind of what he said some time ago about novels. Do you remember the fun he made of his "Edwin and Angelina?" But if he meant to run down the works of fiction of the present day, I am sure he is not warranted in doing so. I have just been reading a number of the "Last Chronicle of Barset." What an excellent novel it is! How true to life are the conversations, and the letters! Now I maintain that no age has been so rich in good works of fiction, and perhaps in good writing of all kinds, as ours. Ellesmere will, I dare say, declare that, in a future age, almost all the present writers will be quite forgotten. I do not know, but I cannot imagine that Tennyson and Browning, Dickens and Bulwer, and Thackeray and Trollope, and the great feminine writers, the authoress of "The Mill on the Floss," the authoress of "Jane Eyre," or of "John Halifax, Gentleman," and many others, will cease to be valued and their works read.

I think the same may be said of the great historical writers-such as Hallam, Grote, Macaulay, Carlyle, Milman, Froude, and Merivale.

I don't venture to speak much about the writers of other nations, but I think it will be a long time before Emerson and Hawthorne and Prescott will be forgotten in their own country.

Now I have not brought this subject on the tapis merely for the sake of getting a change of subject, but I have something very important to say about it. I see, though, Ellesmere is impatient to have his

something at some future time which will be worth hearing.

You began by talking about the "Last Chronicle of Barset." I am sorry to say that I fear that my relations with the distinguished author of that work will be considerably changed for the worse. I cannot be friendly with him any more, if Lily Dale. No, I shan't tell you what I was going to say you would only laugh

at me.

Milverton. How men may misunderstand one another! I really do believe that, if Ellesmere were to meet Mr. Trollope, he would be very cold or cross to him if Lily Dale marries John Eames, or if she marries Crosby, or if she does not marry him, or if she does not become an old maid, for I am sure I do not know what Ellesmere wants her to do.

Trollope would go away thinking that he had somehow or other offended Ellesmere, or was greatly disesteemed by him; whereas Ellesmere would be paying him the highest compliment that could be paid to a man of imagination.

Here is this severe, satirical, case-hardened lawyer, and he is so possessed by a phantom of the novelist's brain, that he is positively prepared to be enraged if this she-phantom does not act exactly as he would have her. What's Lily Dale to him, or he to Lily Dale?

Ellesmere. Well, she is more to me than many a character I read of in history. Your historical characters are such fleeting things nowadays. I used to dislike Nero. I am now told that he was a most estimable gentleman, and has been quite misunderstood until the present time. If he fiddled at all, it was not during the fire, but after the fire, to collect subscriptions for the sufferers.

But what was the important thing that you were going to tell us, Milverton?

Milverton. I do not care how much you ridicule me, but I do maintain that ours is a notable age for its richness in literary skill. Look at the excellence in the daily and weekly press, and in these innumerable monthlies. It is a perpetual source of astonishment to me to see how many people can write well, and have really a great deal to tell you.

I know that Ellesmere will say that I am always unreasonably prone to dwell upon the merits of everything and everybody; but upon the other hand, I think I am very critical about the writing of English.

A few minutes ago, I mentioned several names of men eminent in literature. But I could add many others. There are Henry Taylor, and Ruskin, and Kingsley, and John

Mill, for instance: I pity the man who has read their works, and has not been able to learn a great deal from them, and to appreciate the goodness of the writing.

Amongst our statesmen, too, there are men who would have been very considerable writers, if they had not devoted themselves to statesmanship. Lord Russell's "Europe since the Peace of Utrecht" is a very wellwritten work. Mr. Disraeli's novels are remarkable productions. I read his "Contarini Fleming," as a youth, with immense admiration; and I read it again, last year, with great pleasure. Mr. Gladstone, also, and the Duke of Argyll, are men who have shown that they can leave their mark in literature.

Whatever you may say, I do maintain that ours is a great age as regards power of thought and expression.

Now, what I want you to notice is, that the great men who have made the age pre-eminent were all born, or at least nurtured, and the direction of their talents given to them, in a time of profound peace. The great strides in European civilization, whether in arts, in science, or in literature, have been made in consequence of there having been such periods. I wish we could have Buckle back again in life here with us, for I am sure he would

At this moment the postman made his appearance with the second delivery of letters, which the old man asked us to receive, in order that he might be saved the trouble of going up the hill. Now Sir John is furious about this second delivery. It is no joke with him he is really very angry.

Ellesmere. Have you no conscience, George; are you dead to all the finer feelings of humanity, that you molest us twice a day? I must come to some understanding with you. Your proper Christmas-box

from me is two hundred and forty pence,that is, if you do not bring me any letters during the time that I am here. For every letter you bring, I must deduct a penny, and if the balance turns against you, you must give me a Christmas-box. I do believe you have brought me two hundred and eighty letters this time, consequently you owe me forty pence, which, when I was a National School-boy, used to amount to three shillings and fourpence, the sum, Mr. George, you are now in debt to me.

George. Oh, your honour would not be so hard on poor old George, that has known you these twenty years, and such a snowy

I don't agree with Milverton about his eminent men being born and nurtured in times of peace. I am prepared to maintain the exact contrary, only I haven't time just now. Old George, the villain, came at the exact moment to save Milverton, that peace-maniac, from a sound intellectual drubbing. Goodbye." And so saying, he rushed up the hill again, while we proceeded on our walk towards the town; Mr. Milverton merely remarking, "What a contentious creature it is! But I never thought he would let that pass."

CHAPTER X.

NEXT morning I awoke at seven o'clock, and saw a tall figure very busy at my drawers. "Who is that?" I exclaimed.

"It's me," replied a voice which I recognised as Sir John Ellesmere's.

Ellesmere. I say "It's me" advisedly; and am prepared to maintain that it is good grammar to say so.

What am I about? Why, I am rectifying my frontiers in the article of cricket-balls. Little Tommy Jessom has got a whole holiday, and has honoured us by a visit. A quarter to seven is not a strictly fashionable hour for making a morning call upon a respectable family; but boys are privileged beings. The minute but persevering Tommy insists upon our having a game at cricket, and I am going to give him an innings. I saw you put away a well-greased ball in one of these drawers the other day.

Hallo! emerald studs! and very pretty ones, too. What young woman has been foolish enough to see anything in your lengthy face, Sandy, and to give you these studs? I see I must "execute the provisions of a treaty" in regard to these studs -a treaty to be signed by the small Tommy and me, which, being rightly interpreted, will be found to provide that, under pain of being thrashed himself, he shall come into your room, carry off the studs, and present them to the other high contracting party. You shall then complain to me of Tommy; and between us we will execute the provisions of another treaty, and carry off Master Tommy's bat and stumps. We want stumps sadly; and should not be the worse for a spare bat. Thus everything will be arranged satisfactorily, according to the

latest and best construction put upon international law.

So saying, Sir John, having, to use his own phrase, "rectified his frontiers' by seizing upon my pet cricket-ball, strode out of the room to play with Tommy Jessom.

An hour or two after breakfast we all went to the summer-house to have another reading of Realmah.

Ellesmere. Tommy, I have a serious word to say to you. You are an incomplete, imperfect boy; in fact, a mere eidolon, or spectrum, or larva, of a boy. The perfect boy has always in his pockets a ball of string, a lump of beeswax, thirty-seven marbles, two alley-taws, and a knife with six blades, a gimlet, a punch, a corkscrew, and a little saw. I regret to say that you were found to be deficient in all these articles this morning. Proceed at once to Mother Childman's in the town, and buy them forthwith. (Here Ellesmere gave the boy Quoussome money.) Away! Avaunt! que tandem abutêre, Catilina, patientiâ nostrâ!" Vanish. [Exit Little Tommy.

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The boy would be bored to death by our reading and our talk. By the way, he has made me very unhappy this morning.

Milverton. Why he is the best of little boys-a perfect boy, notwithstanding the absence of beeswax and string.

Ellesmere. I am in a sort of a way his godfather. Poor Sgodfather; and now that S-, my cousin, was his is dead, I consider that I take his place. Consequently, I thought it my duty, in the intervals of cricket, to talk to him a little about his lessons. It is the same sad story as it was in our time. Hexas and pens for to-day alcaics and Latin theme for Monday; in fact, a painful and laborious gathering together of useless rubbish.

:

Johnson. What are hexas and pens, Sir John?

Ellesmere. You have not been brought up, Sandy, in the groves of Academus, or you would know that hexas and pens are the short for hexameters and pentameters.

Hereupon ensued a conversation of the most animated description. I could not have thought that any people would have been so excited about the question of boys making Latin verses. The most uncomplimentary speeches passed between Mr. Cranmer and Sir John, Mr.

Cranmer insinuating that Sir John would have been a much more polished individual if he had made more Latin verses in his boyhood, and Sir John insinuating that Mr. Cranmer would not have been quite so much given to routine, and so narrow-minded, if he had made fewer Latin verses.

Mr. Milverton-an unusual thing for him-rushed in to aid Sir John; upon which Sir Arthur came down upon him, not in his accustomed dignified way, but with great warmth and vehemence, declaring that, if these new ideas were to prevail, all elegance and scholarship in literature would pass away. Mr. Mauleverer sneered a little at both parties, but rather inclined to Mr. Cranmer's view of the question, from his hatred of anything new. some time they all talked at once, and I cannot give any account of it.

For

When the fray had a little subsided, Sir Arthur and Sir John were left in possession of the field. Sir John demanded of Sir Arthur a distinct enumeration of the advantages to be gained in education from the making of Latin and Greek verses. Sir Arthur did not hesitate to accept the challenge, and enumerated these advantages one by one. Sir John pointed out the fallacy in each case, dwelt upon the loss of time, the loss of real knowledge, and the cumbering the mind with what is useless, occasioned by the present system of classical education. I thought he had much the best of the argument, though Sir Arthur was very eloquent adroit.

and very

At length the conversation was broken off, as they thought that Tommy Jessom would soon be back upon us again; and Mr. Milverton commenced reading another portion of Realmah.

THE STORY OF REALMAH.

CHAP. XXI.

THE REVOLUTION.

GOVERNMENT is a most mysterious thing. There are constitutions which seem as if they would last for ever, being

well-constructed, reasonable things; but they do not last ;-and there are others full of anomalies, abounding in contradictions, which persevere in living, however unreasonably. Thus it was at Abibah. The least-foreseeing of prophets might have prophesied that in a nation where the supreme power was divided amongst four chiefs, the government would be sure to be soon broken up. This strange government, however, had lasted for several generations.

A time was now approaching when this government would be sorely tried. The scarcity of provisions made men sour, and ready to blame their chiefs with or without reason. The immediate cause of danger, however, arose from a most trivial circumstance. There was a day of festival in honour of Salera, the goddess of the waters. At this festival it had been customary for the inhabitants of the town to appear in festal dresses totally different from their ordinary costume; but both as to form and colour each individual might follow his, or her, own fancy. It happened, however, that on one occasion, a few years previously, a large family of children had been dressed out with blue scarves, while those of a neighbouring family had been dressed with red scarves. There was great contest in the particular neighbourhood as to which set of children had been most becomingly adorned. Gradually the dispute spread into other quarters of the city, and eventually the population were divided into those who wore blue scarves at Salera's festival, and those who wore red. Feuds, similar to those of the circus at Constantinople, which shook the thrones of emperors, arose about these colours; and the red and the blue factions hated one another with a fell religious hatred.

The chief of the West had incautiously proclaimed himself an ardent partisan for the Blues, and had earned the intense dislike of the Reds. It happened that he had lately issued some regulations about the distribution of food, which, though very reasonable, had given great offence to his quarter of the city. The Red faction were crafty enough to