Howe'er it be-it seems to me-
'Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood.'
TENNYSON.

If you search through the whole south of England, or indeed a much wider range, it would be very difficult to find a more pretty, compact, little, ancient city than C- with its venerable market-cross in the centre, and diverging avenues, named so rightly after the points of the compass, and its four quadrangles made by the intersection of the streets. Its cathedral, where beauty atones for the absence of vastness, and the fine remains of old ramparts, planted with rows of trees seemingly as old, throw a look of verdant freshness on the time-stained buildings and quiet thoroughfares. Indeed, the fault strangers find with C- is its quietude. Once a week, on marketdays, the tradespeople seem to wake up to the propriety of airing their shops by setting open the doors, and slightly renovating the windows; and the young traders put on their smartest clothes and smiles, and talk of being busy. When the shortlived excitement of that time is over, they all seem to doze away until, in due order, marketday comes round again. The cathedral chimes echo musically through the tranquil streets, and even the little urchins, going to or from school, are far more staid than in other places: they hear their own voices so plainly, that in the shadow of the cathedral, and amid the cloistered arches, a sort of hush falls on them, and keeps them in check until they are past the old limetree avenue and in the breezy fields, and then it is noticeable that most of them look back with an air of defiance, and shout so lustily that many maiden ladies of our city, startled by the distant noise, are wont to speak most gloomily of the rising generation, and wonder what the world is coming to. There is, however, one characteristic of C, even more marked than its quietude, and on which its inhabitants greatly pride themselves. It is a most select, exclusive city-none of your upsetting modern notions about universal brotherhood,' and 'nature's gentlemen,' and the nobility of worth or talent all these phrases and their signification are tabooed among the

more ancient gentry of C—; and as to the newer residents of their class, they most likely have taken up their abode within its venerable walls because they like the tone of society' in the place, and the strictness with which social distinctions are preserved.

The three Misses Fitzflam were for years among the most energetic sticklers for a rigid exclusiveness, and in furtherance of this object they had constituted themselves the warders of the gentility of their native city. They watched over Miss Megrim's school, and ferreted out the pedigree of every new scholar who arrived there, jealously guarding against the introduction of such a contamination as a tradesman's daughter among the pupils ; by which surveillance Miss Megrim was kept in trepidation and poverty, with the empty consolation of teaching only gentlemen's daughters, and the prospect of an almshouse or governess's retreat as the abode of her old age. The seven tall daughters of Dr. Rawney, the chief medical man in the town, would on no account associate with or meet the five Misses Tiffany, the merry group who surrounded the parlour fire of the rich retired draper. The Rawneys resented, as did the whole troop of half-pay officers and their families (C is rich in this class), the presumption of Tiffany in making a fortune, and then living in a handsome private house in the best street, under their very noses- the upstart!' Even the religion and very religious, indeed, the old city claimed to be-is tinctured with this feeling. The congregation at St. Blazy Church diminished rapidly when a new curate came with the vulgar name of 'Stubbs,' and was discovered to be the very studious and deserving son of a Southampton tailor. As to the dissenters, they were, one and all, either ignored as schismatics that had no right to intrude themselves into a cathedral city, or scorned as levellers and vulgarians.

But on one fine autumn morning, nearly a year ago, the whole city was alive with bustle and excitement. There was to be a public meeting on Indian affairs. In no part of the British dominions was there greater interest taken in, or sympathy felt for the sufferers in the fearful oriental tragedy

tragedy than in CMany of the resident gentry were widows and maiden ladies, deriving support from, or connected by relationship with India; and they were all hastening to the morning meeting, which was the genteel aristocratic gathering. In the evening, of course, plebeians would assemble, and indeed,' said Miss Penelope Fitzflam, with a condescending air, I hope they will gather in great force, poor things! only there's no need exactly, my dear, for our mixing with them; and she drew up the skirts of her dress with a dainty air, stepped into her reserved seat, and soon after, with a flush of angry crimson rushing over her face, and kindling into a bright illumination on the tips of her cheek-bones and at the end of her nose, she pointed, quivering with rage, to those odious Tiffany girls! What assurance to come in the morning, and to the reserved seats, too! It was past bearing.'

Yes, there they were looking so modest and neat that foolish Mrs. Major St. Leger said, to the horror of the Fitzflams, What a pity they're a tradesman's daughters; they really look like us.'

It's a very long day, my dear,' replied her gouty husband, drily, since you looked like them.'

One of the main topics of the meeting was the 'CASTE' prejudices of India. There was a missionary present who told of the absurd distinctions, and all the senseless and cruel details preserved by prejudice and folly in the East, under the name of religion. Nothing could exceed the interest with which these statements were listened to. The ladies, especially, were all ear, and testified, by gestures of surprise, indignation, or contempt, their detestation of this vile Hindoo nonsense of caste.' 'It must no longer be fostered or pandered to.' 'No, no! Away with such assumptions and arrogance!' was the thought in every mind, and the word on many lips. As the company retired, no one was more eloquent on the subject of this odious heathen prejudice than the Misses Fitzflam, as they contrived to surround themselves with their friends, and to stop the main entrance when the Tiffany girls' were coming up, and by a successful manœuvre compelled them, and a quietlooking lady they had with them, to leave by the side entrance.

295

I'll tell you what, ladies,' growled Major St. Leger, as he waited in the lobby for his carriage, there's as much "CASTE" in England as in India, only the difference lies in this: the Hindoo religion enjoins it, and the people are faithful to their creed; the Christian religion forbids it, and the people are faithless!'

Dear me, what strange opinions!' said many voices, while a little titter went round, and a well-bred whisper circulated that the major's gout had made him testy.' Yet somehow the words struck home, and even the Misses Fitzflam felt uncomfortable, and resolved mentally not to oppose-as they had intended to do-the admission of the Misses Tiffany to a monthly working party for making winter clothing for the poor.

Among the gifts bestowed that day, with enthusiastic generosity, to aid the sufferers, was one most munificent in amount; the initials of the donor's name alone were given: F. L. S. Who could it be? Here was something for the gossips to sift out-a delightful little mystery to employ and perplex the idlers of our quiet city. After a long round of morning calls, and many discussions and conjectures as to the modest donor of the munificent gift, the three Misses Fitzflam spent the evening with the St. Legers. The major was amusing for his very waywardness, and, stiff-starched as two out of the three sisters were, they had sense enough to like the flavour of the racy speeches they professed to be amazed at. So it happened that, as they drew around the cheerful fire, their host sitting in his easy chair, Mrs. St. Leger and her guests, for want of other topics, fell to canvassing their neighbours, as is the wont, 'tis said, of ladies in provincial towns. The morning wonderment was renewed, and the mysterious initials were again scanned. Oh, it was Frederick Lord Sandown,' said one.

No, it was surely Felicia Louisa Suffington,' said another.

'Stuff!' said Major St. Leger; 'he's over head and ears in debt; and the widow Felicia will give to sufferers, all and sundry, what she can very well spare-her words; and will keep what she very much loves-her money!'

'Oh, dear!' gasped Penelope Fitzflam, as if a shower-bath had descended upon her. You're so severe ! so very,

very severe, major! But who can it be, then, who gives away hundreds in our city, and puts only initials? Let me see,' she continued, in a musing tone. 'F. L. S. There's the Devereux's and De Gange's and-'

Spare your guesses, Miss Pen.-I have it,' said the major; it's "Frances Lucy Staples," you may depend. I saw her full name to a cheque the other day, and made some other discoveries. Yes, yes; the little quiet body that you did not call upon because she was intimate with the Tiffanys, and who has never been invited to any of your fussy-pardon me-charity-gatherings

I mean.

'But, nevertheless, one would not be rude, you know, major,' said Miss Annabella Fitzflam, the youngest sister, with a wintry smile wandering over her hard face, and making it look yet more cold and worldly. If this lady is rich, and unfortunately has no acquaintances but these Tiffanys-who no doubt, have fastened themselves on her-we must cultivate her. I shall call upon her to-morrow. But what makes you think she has given this sum of money to the Indian Fund?'

Oh, because I know she is generous, if not rich. There's no one else among us-poor, proud puppets that we are-could or would afford a quarter the sum.'

'But,' persisted Mrs. St. Leger, with true wifely curiosity, tell us how it is she is so rich. Who is she?'

'A lady, my dear, who condescended to live usefully. She may not be exactly rich, but she has money, and she made it. A retired shopkeeper.'

Oh, horrid! A tradesman is bad enough that is, except as a tradesman --but a tradeswoman! Really, major, your "lady" soared at first like a balloon in your description, but your conclusion is quite a collapse.' A little, dry, crackling sound, meant to be a laugh, followed this bit of Miss Penelope's oratory.

The major knit his brows, grasped his crutch-stick tight in his hands, and leaning forward on it, as he sat in his easy chair, answered:

I repeat my words. Mrs. Staples, whose identity with a well-remembered friend of days long past I never discovered until I recently saw her Christian names, is, I repeat it, a lady who has lived usefully, I may add nobly a great distinction-for one who has not had the joy or sorrow of

near personal ties. Properly speaking, she is still Miss Staples, though her age sanctions the more matronly title usually given her. It may be, ladies, that, amid your studies in musty family records, and your careful adjustment of etiquette and conventionalism-the CASTE prejudices of the West, as arbitrary, and far more inconsistent, than those of the East-it may be that you have lost heart as well as head. If so, I keep my story to myself, if not’

Oh! pray, major,' exclaimed the usually quiet Mary Fitzflam, the second sister, tell us about her. If we are really so very wrong, set us right.'

'Ah! my dear major, do leave faultfinding, and tell us this story,' echoed Mrs. St. Leger.

Well, it's soon told, ladies. Thirty years ago, or more, there was a rich old fool of a knight in Devonshire'

The audience all laughed at this beginning, and Miss Penelope, who was not wanting in shrewdness, said, 'Happy Devonshire, if it is thirty years since they have had such a commodity as a rich old fool!'

Oh! madam, spare your criticisms. The breed is not extinct in Devon, or elsewhere. This Sir John Polixphene's folly showed itself thus: being left a widower, he commenced a search after a second wife, and sought among ladies who were about the age of his first wife when he had married her forty years before. A rich young girl to whom he proposed laughed out so honestly at his preposterous offer, that for some time his folly was kept in check; but it broke forth again when he was visiting at the house of a medical gentleman in Exeter, whom I will call Dr. Hale. Now the doctor had a numerous young family-a little hundred, as we say and he complained that, as if his burdens were not sufficiently great, an orphan sister of his wife's lived with them, who certainly did not add to the pressure. Poor thing! she had not an easy life, for she was the fag to the children, doing more than any nursemaid or governess, without wages, and yet was expected to keep up an appearance as a young lady, and not disgrace the family by appearing shabby, or libel it by looking melancholy. I don't say they were unkind. They were straitened in means, and had to make a smooth surface to the world, and very

hard