is of carved oak as yet in its natural colour, not darkened by time. The doors of these rooms are singularly fine, of solid oak, with the iron hinges extended across them as in the bed-room doors before referred to, but here the ironwork ornamentation is of a more intricate design. These doors are generally arched in Gothic form, and give an original and at the same time good architectural effect. In this corner room is the same

border of emblazoned coats
of arms already mentioned
as decorating the dining-
room, and also the same
open, tiled fireplace, whose
blazing logs cheer one's eye,
notwithstanding the open
windows through which the
soft Sussex air is pleasant
enough, although the month
is November. Books and
work and a general air of
"livableness
prove this
bright corner room to be
a favourite.

With all its magnificence and grandeur Arundel to a peculiar degree possesses this air of home-like comfort, without which any dwelling-place is spoiled, be it cottage or castle; the crackling wood fires, cosy corners shut off by screens, and tables laden with books, for books are everywhere, the latest and newest as well as the rarest and oldest, all join in adding comfort to splendour.

The beautiful chapel, which is but a few steps from the castle itself, was founded by Richard, Earl of Arundel, in 1380. In 1643 men of Waller's army were quartered in it, and during the time of the Reformation, when the exercise of the Roman Catholic religion was prohibited, the building fell almost to decay. But the fine tombs have been preserved; amongst others that of Thomas, Earl of Arundel, son of the founder, and his Countess Beatrix, daughter of John I., King of Portugal; also that of William, Earl of Arundel, and his Countess Joan, sister to Richard Nevill, Earl of Warwick, the "king-maker." A new roof of carved oak, exactly similar to the original one, is now being put into the, chapel, which when

stored will be precisely as it was originally esigned. In addition to this the beautiful urch of St. Philip has been built by the resent duke, and although called a parish hurch, it might from its size and dignity most rank with cathedrals. It stands on the hill of the town of Arundel, not ten cinutes' walk from the castle.

a

Leaving the house and passing under the ine St. Mary Gateway, half-covered with ivy, broad avenue leads to the thickly-wooded ark, where in some parts of the drive the rees nearly meet above, forming natural arches of green. To quote Lord Beaconsfield, the woods were beginning to assume the first fair livery of autumn, when it is beautiful without decay," at the time when we last walked through that lovely park, and the rich colour of the copper beech, the ronze and gold of the oaks and elms, glowed with ruddy tints in the afternoon sunlight. Only the pencil of Turner could do justice to the indescribable softness and tenderness of the landscape, with its broad stretches of emerald turf, and banks of timber sloping gently down to the river Arun gleaming like a silver band between woody hills and grassy shores. Dotted about at intervals under the

branching trees are picturesque groups of deer, the antlered stags with their heads raised proudly, the timid hinds keeping close beside them, and the little graceful fawns darting here and there, leaving scarce a trace on the smooth turf as they go.

In the spring-time the woody walks far from the more open part of the park lead by banks which are one mass of pale yellow primroses, and wild wood-violets, clustering among mosses which cover the banks, and growing close to the trunks of trees which form a leafy screen thick enough to hide from view any ramblers among the fragrant retreats. Even in the winter-time fresh violets are to be found at Arundel, where they are grown in beds under glass, and although plenty of other floral treasures likewise bloom in the castle gardens, it is this sweet-scented Imperial flower which seems peculiarly to belong to the place and is always associated with it.

Much longer could we linger in this "old home," and many more things could we describe about it, but want of space prevents us from giving more than that which was promised at first-a glimpse.

ELIZABETH BALCH.

CHARLES SAYLE.

OT content with quaking at spots so much frequented by English people as is the Riviera in winter, the earth has of late actually taken to undulating even on those portions of its surface which Britannia inhabits when she is at home. These are waves which she has never professed to rule, and she is naturally a little indignant at finding that she may have to be tossed by them like other people. That discovery and its accompanying reflections are too disagreeable to allow her to derive much comfort from the ordinary topics of consolation. It is all very well to talk of "slight seismic disturbances," but what is a slight seismic disturbance to a free-born Britonto a Briton, that is to say, who has always believed himself exempt by birthright from any annoyances of the kind? A slight seismic disturbance to a native of Quito means an earthquake which does not very greatly diminish the number of his household, and only necessitates the rebuilding of a portion of his house. But an Englishman (whose house is his castle) may well decline to consider as slight even a seismic disturbance which sets the jugs and basins rattling on his washing-stand, or makes his bed shake beneath his recumbent form. He has not been used to it, and as Hamlet justly observes, "the readiness is all." At least one would suppose that the readiness was all in this as in other things: and so far as regards reconcilement to the indignity of being rattled about like a die in а dice box, perhaps it is. But I am informed by those who speak what they do know that use does not with some people always become second nature in the matter of earthquakes.

On the contrary, I am told that instead of beginning, according to Mrs. Malaprop's advice, with a little aversion to them, and gradually getting quite to like them, the opposite is the case. A good many peopleor at any rate a good many men-young, hopeful, and full of that bumptious confidence in immunity from serious danger that characterises the young and robust, are often rather amused by their first earthquake than otherwise. This I am at least assured is the case on the authority of a certain mercantile firm whose business compels them to employ a staff of English clerks to act for them in a part of South America where the earth's crust seems to be so absurdly thin that you can almost see the internal contents of the telluric pie-or terrine, as it might perhaps be appropriately called. The firm catch their clerks young, and before they have had time to destroy their nerves with the cigarette-cicutis nocentius in my humble opinion-of modern life. And these clerks, having been caught young as I have said, experience in most cases rather an amused interest than anything approaching to terror at their first earthquake; and are sometimes heard to express contemptuous surprise at those who foresee any difficulty in getting used to the restless behaviour of the globe in those regions. But after their second earthquake, a certain, and that a very considerable, proportion of them are periodically invalided home. There is in fact, say those who have made the acquaintance of many dangers, none so demoralizing as that of earthquake. Many perils which you cannot avert or even mitigate you can foresee. Many which you cannot strictly speaking foresee you can measure when they make their appearance. But an earthquake you can neither avert

If

nor mitigate nor foresee nor measure. you survive the first shock of it, you cannot tell when or whether there will be another, or if so, how much milder or stronger than the last it will be. And it is by all accounts the process of "waiting between the shocks" which so undermines the morale. There is no doubt in fact that a perpetual liability to seismic disturbances, even though they may be pleased to describe themselves as "slight," would in time produce a sensible modification in the character of the people exposed to them; and this to any patriotic Englishman is the same thing as saying that the introduction of earthquakes into this country is to be deprecated. It is bad enough to have taken to importing storms from America without insisting, as we certainly should have done had it not been for our economic pedantry, on reciprocity as regards our native-grown fogs

but earthquakes are a little too strong. The next thing will be a "blizzard."

There is a certain affinity between this subject and that on which I now wish to say a word or two. The violent and the incalculable, which are the two most salient characteristics of the earthquake, are also those which most strike the observer in Walter Savage Landor. No one ever knew exactly where to have him any more than you know exactly where to have an earthquake, and there was the same pleasing uncertainty with the human as with the cosmic phenomenon, as to where it might have you. An exquisitely written and most subtly appreciative article by Mr. Lowell has exactly described what I should have imagined would be the sensations of a youthful admirer of the magnificent old pagan on a first introduction to him-circa 1850. You feel that Mr. Lowell's interview with him was as romantic an incident in a man's life as it would have been to have undertaken for "this occasion only" the duties of the late Mr. Van Amburgh. The noble animal was royally gracious to his American visitor; but you cannot help being conscious that if you had been in that visitor's place you would have deemed it advisable not to take your eye off Leo's for an instant, except

sations, and certainly the verse of the Hellenics, would have gained as much in the popular estimation by a little additional warmth, as their author would have done by a slight reduction of his habitual moral temperature. It is doubtful however whether all the latent heat of the man would, if infused into his writings, have availed to make them really popular. He did not even think so himself. In that famous boast of his "I shall dine late "if anything of his can be called famous in these loud-trumpeting days-he did not look forward to anything but a small, though select, company at the dinner-table; but I almost think that the entertainment is being deferred longer, and the company being sifted more jealously, than even he himself would have liked. A portrait bust has recently been dedicated to his memory on the anniversary of his birthday in the parish church of Warwick, his native town; and the details of the ceremony show it to have been thoroughly in keeping with the utterly inadequate position which he is still allowed to occupy in the hierarchy of English letters. A few of his relations, a son-in-law of Southey's, and some dozen or so of local notabilities, were all who attended it; a four-line paragraph in the daily newspapers constituted its sole record, Not a single English poet, not a single man of note in English literature, was present at it. Even Mr. Swinburne, a passionate admirer of Landor, and the author of the noble lines. to him which some of his admirers value almost as highly as anything he has ever written, was apparently absent; though, in his case, perhaps, and with his known sentiments, a presence in the spirit might well be accepted as sufficient. But contrast this with the sort of "boom," as the Americans call it, which seems so easy to get up nowadays with regard to any English writer, past or present, who has any decent following at all! With what facility, in such a case, do a few enthusiasts contrive to propagate their enthusiasm-or a tolerably specious conventional imitation of it--among scores and hundreds of their fellow-countrymen ! In Landor's case apparently either the enthusiasts are wanting, or what is much more likely-since indeed I have good reason for knowing that that hypothesis is unfounded -they find it too hard a matter to make .converts to their creed. So that Landor, for all that appears, will remain as he is now, the delight of those readers only to whom perfection of literary form alone is their sufficient delight in reading. It is clear that his mere eloquence sometimes so impressive,

his mere art generally so brilliant, his mere thought occasionally paradoxical but often so weighty and profound, have failed to make him popular. And if these qualities do not win a writer popularity he will never win it by style alone.

Now that it has been laid down as a matter of judicial ruling that a "bookmaker may be an honest man, it is possible that some fathers of families may discern a new answer to the question, What to do with our sons? The outfit of the bookmaker's profession is cheap-cheaper than that of any other except perhaps literature: and bookmaking of that description offers nothing like so good a prospect to those who engage in it. A note-book and a metallic pencil, a lady's reticule with a strap attached to it to sling it round the body, and possibly, if Paterfamilias is anxious to give his son an exceptionally good start, a neat suit of chessboard pattern "dittos," with squares about the size of a man's hand, and a three-legged stool to elevate him above the bawling crowd of competitors-et voilà le jeune homme lancé! What personal endowments are required other than lungs of leather and a certain facility of arithmetic I do not feel competent to determine; but I believe that a capacity of distinguishing, as the volatile lady of farcical comedy observes, "between a horse and a hamn-sandwich," is not at all necessary to be included among his qualifications. I am told indeed that a knowledge of horseflesh is rather to be deprecated than otherwise, as having a tendency to encourage ill-founded "fancies" for particular animals on the part of a man who should have no eye for anything but the odds, and no preference for any other line of wagering tactics than that of "laying against as many of 'em" as he can find ardent young sportsmen to risk their money on. A bookmaker in fact, says a high authority on the subject, "should never forget that he keeps the bank,' with all the advantages which everywhere, from Newmarket to Monte Carlo, are attached to that office; and that the moment he begins to fancy' this horse and dislike the other, and to 'save' the former while filling his book' against the latter, he descends immediately to the level of a 'punter,' and shares that risk which amounts, as accomplished mathematicians are always most obligingly willing to demonstrate to him, to a moral certainty of ultimate loss." Thus the high authority, whose words I think commend themselves to commonsense and are moreover in perfect accordance with

6

the information of the late-lamented Mr. et Cocker. A bookmaker who sticks to his true business, which is that of a sort of "devil's advocate -an impartial opponent of the claims of all horses alike to the i canonization pronounced ex cathedra judicis upon winners-is the follower of a calling not necessarily more risky than many which 4 are adopted without hesitation by young men of the best social position in the City, and quite as morally defensible as that of a banker at Monte Carlo-if that is good t enough for Paterfamilias in these loose-girt times. However I would not be supposed to be seriously urging the British "house-l father" to send his sons boldly forth into the field with a view to "taking it" against the favourite. Only, as Mr. James Payn is, or was, in the habit of advising him to bring boys up deliberately and of malice. aforethought for the profession of letters, it seems to me only fair to point out to him that the respectable middle-class youth has open to him other comparatively untried vocations not more precarious than that which Mr. Payn recommends to him, and holding out a promise of much more splendid prizes than often fall to the lot of the littérateur. I speak from information only on both subjects, but I understand that some of the "big men" at Newmarket would be unwilling to exchange incomes even with the most successful of our novelists, and that for any save one or two of the most distinguished of our poets to make such a proposition to them would almost verge upon effrontery. And it is quite certain that the British father of a family will soon have to break new ground in some direction or other. The "overstocking of the professions" is an old story, it is the businesses which are beginning to be overstocked also. Capel Court and Mincing Lane are becoming annually more and more thronged with young men of the class which formerly found no other outlet for its youth except into the army, the navy, and the learned professions. They jostle each other in all those manifold avenues which lead by some mysteriously pre-ordained process to the wine trade. A tolerant public will not for ever encourage their efforts on the theatrical stage. What are they to do? "Whatever they are fit for," is of course the easy but uninforming answer; for there are, alas! too many in whose cases this simple phrase is only the short statement of a problem of the most formidable kind. "I have gone," a despairing father was heard to say the other day, "1 have gone carefully through the whole alpha-is