mind, and coming to sway the practice, of | The greatest triumph of our time umph in a region higher than that of electricity and steam- will be the enthronement of this idea of. Public Right, as the governing idea of European policy; as the common and precious inheritance of all lands, but superior to the opinion of any. The foremost among the nations will be that one, which by its conduct shall gradually engender in the mind of the others a fixed belief that it is just. In the competition for this prize, the bounty of Providence has given us a place of vantage; and nothing save our own fault or folly can wrest it from our grasp. CHAUCER. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, THERE is a pervading wholesomeness in the writings of this man, a vernal property that soothes and refreshes in a way of which no other has ever found the secret. I repeat to myself thous and times, "When that Aprile with his showrës sotë a and still at the thousandth time a breath of un contaminate springtide seems to lift the hair upon my forehead. If here be not the largior ether, the serene and motionless atmosphere of classical antiquity, we find at least the seclusum nemus, the domos placidas, and the oubliance, as Froissart so sweetly calls it, that persuade us we are in an Elysium none the less sweet that it appeals to our more purely human, one might almost say domestic, sympathies. We may say of Chaucer's muse, as Overbury of his milkmaid," her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June like a new-made haycock." The most hardened roué of literature can scarce confront these simple and winning graces without feeling somewhat of the unworn sentiment of his youth revive in him. Modern imaginative literature has become so self-conscious, and therefore so melancholy, that art, which should be "the world's sweet inn," whither we repair for refreshment and repose, has become rather a watering place where one's own private touch of the liver complaint is exasperated by the affluence of other sufferers whose talk is a narrative of morbid symptoms. Poets have forgotten that the first lesson of literature, no less than of life, is the learning how to burn your own smoke; that the way to be original, is to be healthy; that the fresh color so delightful in all good writing. is won by escaping from the common marvellous, as if it were a revelation, is "Unto this day it doth mine hertë boote, his That I have had my world as in my time!" The portrait of Chaucer, which we owe to the loving regret of his disciple Occleve, confirms the judgment of him which we make from his works. It is, I think, more engaging than that of any other poet. The downcast eyes, half sly, half meditative, the sensuous mouth, the broad brow, drooping with weight of thought, and yet with an inexpugnable youth shining out of it as from the morning forehead of a boy, are all noticeable, and not less so their harmony of placid tenderness. We are struck, too, with the smoothness of the face as of one who thought easily, whose phrase flowed naturally, and who had never puckered his brow over an unmanage able verse. North American Review. the news. CHAPTER XX. CONSTANCY. ning with her to mean looking back, which is always very sad to see in the young. She loved him with an entire and tender Ir's no use putting off anything for my love. "La vieillesse est rarement aimable, sake, Tom," said his father when he heard parceque c'est l'époque de la vie où il n'est "Now you've made up your plus possible de cacher aucun défaut; mind, marry her as fast as you can. It mais l'homme que le temps n'a point would be a satisfaction to me to know that you were settled and had a comfortable home for her," said he with a tender look at May, who could scarcely bear it and turned away. There was a great gathering at Mrs. Longmore's; bishop officiating, canon assisting, all proper ceremonies ecclesiastical and other-everything that was honourable and elaborate; but Mr. Dimsdale was too ill to leave home, and May was not sorry for the excuse, by which she was able to reduce her share in the festivities to the smallest possible amount consistent with her love for her brother. Tom had written to ask Walter Scrope to his wedding: he responded very warmly, but his uncle had just died, and his father had a lawsuit concerning some entailed property with the heir, whom they none of them liked, and he could not get away from the business connected with it. His mother too was ill. "But I dare say I shall come down and invade the Rectory before long," he ended. abattu en a reçu des présens que lui seul peut faire;" and she goes on to talk of the quiet sagacity, the large-minded charity, the disinterested affection of such an old age. "La tendresse que vous inspire un tel parent est la plus profonde de toutes. Il réunit sur vous tous les genres de sentimens, il vous protége comme si vous étiez un enfant, vous lui plaisez comme si vous étiez toujours jeune, il se confie à vous comme si vous aviez atteint l'âge de la maturité," says Madame de Staël, with a tender feeling born of her own respect and affection for her father. It had been an exceedingly rainy day, dark, and sad, and dreary. With the Squire's out-of-door habits, his confinement to the house was very irksome. He was patient, but May had found it more than usually difficult all the afternoon to keep him cheerful, when she heard Tom's voice in the gallery, and her face lighted up as it always did at that, to her, welcome sound. He came in to them looking cheery though dripping wet; it was like a breath of fresh air in the room. "You look like the deceased Jumbo fresh out of the pond. But you mustn't sit in those wet things," said May, laughing as she tried to take off his coat. "But he won't come here now, I know," said May to herself, with half a sigh. "He doesn't wish it-there'll always be some excellent reason why he can't come." The marriage turned out better than May had expected, as far as she herself "I can't stay, and a wet coat will do me was concerned. Sophia had a certain awe no more harm than it did Jumbo," anof the great house which even the author-swered he. ity of "my uncle the canon " could not "I know I wish I could get wet through expel and she did her best for Tom, and behaved with feeling to his father and sister, and May was grateful to her for her good desires, if her capacity was small. She was not quite so silly either as of old. Life does something to teach the well-intentioned (though wonderfully little with some natures); and she worked at the children, and looked after the old people of the village as earnestly as if she had been a wiser woman. again," sighed the Squire a little ruefully; and then recovering himself he went on with a smile, "We shall have to lay down drain-tiles in the drawing-room floor after you, my boy." "I've brought you the letters from the second post, papa, as I happened to be in the town: more by token that there's one from Charlie to May. What does he say? he hasn't written to me I don't know when. What a long and doleful epistle! he went on, looking over his sister's shoulder as she read. "Wait for your turn: who knows what secrets there may be?" said she laughing. All that winter the old man had his children more or less about him. And May sat on day after day by her father's side. Sometimes he got out for a little drive, or a few steps on the terrace. They "Hard hit,” replied he, keeping hold of were always together. She read, and she his corner of the letter, and without atdiscussed, and she companionized both his tending to her. He was a boy still in his thoughts and his feelings; but "with father's house, however much in other eyes every gust some leaves did fall" out of his he was the reverend rector of the parish. few remaining days; and life was begin-"So he's fallen a victim to Miss Milly's charms! I thought how it would be, and | ing. "He is more drowsy, and his pulse he on board the Admiral's ship, when we so feeble, he can hardly sit up in his chair, heard about all those receptions and and he won't go to bed. I think we ought dinings out at Halifax. Do you remember to send for Hastings. Papa has always that dreadful duet he was always practising with her that winter they were here together before they all sailed, and which never came to a head? I'm sure excruciating was no word for the noise he made." 66 Poor old Charlie, what a disconsolate letter!" said May compassionately. "I never thought he'd have taken any one girl's loss so much to heart- tenderly flirting with six young ladies at once, as he has always been till now; and knowing too, as he does, how strict my uncle is, and how determined against all cousins' marriages." "I had set my whole heart upon her, and at my age it's not very likely I can ever care for any one again," wrote Charlie with that nice appreciation of his own character which young gentlemen so often show on such occasions. "I think I've heard that 'sintiment' once or twice before," observed the Squire with his quiet smile. "I hope it is still possible comfort may return even to the afflicted Charlie !" "Here's a bit more for you, Tom," said May, picking up a piece of the letter which had fallen to the ground. "Halloo!" cried he as he read on; "no wonder she refused him, she's engaged herself to Lionel! Just fancy, the grave, the prudent, the preux chevalier, the sensible, virtuous Lionel to be caught by that little damsel, who would flirt with the tongs rather than keep her eyes quiet; seventeen and twenty-nine too. What can my uncle be thinking about to allow it!" Her father turned with an inquiring look and a little uncertainty towards May, but she was honestly smiling, and though a good deal surprised and a little taken aback, was rather amused at this dénouement of Lionel's passion. "After all one needn't be so very anxious about the profound effect of one's own charms," she laughed to herself a little mockingly. "I've wasted a great deal of good care and thought about his pain, while meantime he was flirting very comfortably with Milly!" CHAPTER XXI. SUNSET. "I give him to you as a good man, not as a prodigy of goodness," says Manzoni of one of his heroes in the "Promessi Sposi." said, 'Not yet, dear,' when I have proposed it. But I don't think it would be right to put off letting him know now," she said, with a quiver in her voice. Railroads were open by this time, and Captain Dimsdale soon appeared, but, unfortunately, his wife with him. Something had gone wrong in their most uncomfortable household, and she had declared that unless Hastings took her to Fernyhurst she must go to Brighton, and this his finances would not stand, so, as usual, she had her own way. 66 "You cannot go to him to-night, I am sorry to say, Hastings," said May sadly when they came in. If he is disturbed so late as this, there is no chance of his sleeping." "I should like to see him as soon as possible," observed Alicia, intending to be kind; "so many people are lost just for want of a little something right, you know." "Of course," said her husband hastily, annoyed by her tone, "everything has been done that is possible and best for him, my dear." "He does not know yet that you are here, and Dr. Baker said that the smallest excitement would put out the little flicker of life," replied May. "I wonder whether you've had sufficient advice," went on Alicia importantly. "I don't think much of Dr. Baker myself. Papa was entirely cured by Dr. Chambers last winter with mustard plasters, when he'd such a dreadful cold we thought he must have died. Have you tried mustard plasters?" she insisted again and again. "I'm afraid that my father's complaint is not in the least like Lord Cannondale's, unfortunately," said May sadly. "And then there's that wonderful powder which cured Lady Emily Sanders' little girl. I can't think why you don't have Chambers, he'd know all about it. You should insist on having Chambers," she called out again as May left the room to return to her charge. The next morning she came down after a night spent by her father's bedside to give her brother the last news of the sickroom, and feeling tenderly to all the world at such a moment, she did her very best to be affectionate to Alicia. 66 "I DON'T like papa's look at all, Tom," said May next day, after an anxious watch-have My father will see you as soon as you done breakfast, Hastings." Then turning to her sister-in-law," "Would not | but she passed on. She went in search of He was a little fresh air do you good this beauti- her brother, however, later. ful day, my dear? Shall I order the car- sauntering about, not knowing very well riage?" what to do. It is a difficult situation for a man; he cannot be of much use in the sick-room, and waiting, which constitutes so large a portion of a woman's life, is a real suffering to a man's active nature. "Thank you," said Alicia, "for thinking of it, but Hastings will take all that trouble off your hands now, he has already been to the stables and settled about the horses." She was too obtuse to see even that she was ungracious. Hastings rose quickly and went out, and May followed him, for she evidently could not do much good by remaining. "Well," said the old man, as his son sat down beside him, "the end is very near, Hastings-le roi est mort, vive le roi. I hope you'll make a good king, and carry out many things that I have failed in through life." You haven't failed, papa,” cried May. "Well, come short, if you like the word better," said her father with a smile; "we won't quarrel about the word. There's plenty to do. I meant to have added to the school-house this year and drained the pond meadows, and I believe there ought to be new outbuildings for Dowling's farm; but you'll see to all that now," he said, with failing breath but cheerful interest in everything on both sides the river, which to him was so little dreadful. "We won't talk of all that, sir. I hope you'll feel better yet," said Hastings affectionately. He really cared for his father a good deal in his somewhat selfish way. 66 Yes," replied the old man smiling. "I shall be better soon, but it'll be a long way off from the draining and roofing. I should have liked to have seen how the new Poor-law acted, and the steam-saw finished, else I don't think I much want to stay here, except for May, except for May," he added. "Poor May! I'm afraid she'll feel lonely without somebody to look after and plague her." She could not stand it and went out quietly that her father might not see her tears. As she passed along a passage she came upon Alicia, giving orders to the housekeeper. "You understand that the children are to go into the south nurseries," she was saying, "and you will have them ready on Thursday. I think those will be best, May," she went on, turning to her sister-in-law. "I'm afraid the noise will be too much for papa," replied she. "It's just because I thought the children will be so good for him that I am sending for them," answered Alicia with dignity. The woman looked wonderingly at May, 66 Hastings," said she, putting her arm within his, "Alicia is sending for the children, and has ordered their rooms. I'm afraid papa would be annoyed if he heard they were come without his asking them. Those nurseries are just over his head, and he knows perfectly all that goes on in the house. I am sure you would say wait. It is for a very little while, dear," she said with quivering lips. Hastings shook off her arm somewhat impatiently. "I wish you women would settle these things among you," he said; but he went in and ordered his wife, who was in general extremely indifferent to their company, to put off her babies. "How excessively strange of May!" she repeated angrily; "why they shouldn't come to their own home, I can't think." But, except when her charge was touched, May scarcely perceived anything without; the great sorrow made all lesser annoyances die before it. "Grief should be majestic, equable, sedate, Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free; Strong to consume small troubles; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end." In the sick-room the great fact of life death-seemed so large that it overwhelmed all small irritations, as the rush of a river which covers all the pointed stones and small obstacles in its bed. There she sat watching the ebb of that tide which was surely and quickly carrying away from her to the great sea that life to which she clung so tenderly. The Squire was pleased to have Tom with him, who did his duty to his father most affectionately, but their minds did not run together. 66 "I think it sometimes more reverent to say 'I don't understand,'" ruminated the old man one day. What was that you were reading yesterday, May, about God's truth being boundless, and that both sides suppose that it is a pond, which you can walk round and say, 'I hold the truth?'" "It was a bit of Robertson's," said she, looking it out. "What, all the truth? Yes, all; there it is, circumscribed, defined, formed, and you are an infidel if you do not think this pond of mine, that the great Mr. This or That dug, quite large enough to be the immeasurable Gospel of the Lord of the universe." It was to May that her father clung for the help of soul and body every hour of the day. He liked to have her near him; he missed her presence even when his eyes were closed; he lay generally in a silent repose, perfectly conscious, calm, and cheerful; with the feeling of the homely old hymn, he did really "dread the grave as little as his bed." The valley of the shadow had no terrors for him. His faith was that of the Lord's Prayer - the fullest trust in " Our Father," in love and truth. quietly in her own room, and what was still her father's. The sons-in-law appeared in time, but Cecilia was abroad, and Mrs. Dibden happened to be ill, and could not come over to Fernyhurst for the funeral. "Why doesn't May come down-stairs?" said Alicia, rather peevishly, within May's hearing. "I'm sure it would be so much better for her than to have her meals sent up in this way it will do her good to see a few people." -- Accordingly, from that time, May appeared regularly until the day itself. It was a hard time. She was physically a good deal worn out, and the change to her was great, all that she loved seemed to be dropping away from her. After having been the darling of so many hearts, the one whose smile made father, brothers, and friends rejoice, she had become simply an indifferent guest in her own old home, - her feelings, her tastes, her comfort, less than nothing in the eyes of most of those around her. She went to the funeral herself, rather to Alicia's annoyance, who did not like to go, and did not like to stay away. The tree had fallen in its ripeness; May could not lament for her father's gain, but she felt as she stood by that quiet grave in the green graveyard of the little grey old church where he was laid by her mother, as if into it had sunk the best part of her life. He did not take to his bed, but sat up in an arm-chair, supported with pillows. And May was cheerful too; she read, she had a smile ready whenever she came near him, and the fullest intelligence concerning Russell's new out-house. They talked togeiher of heavenly things and of earthly ones as well, but he was very reticent even to her about his deepest feelings. "I'm so curious to see the other side, and those questions of identity are so wonderful. What will recognition depend on? Can the constantly improving being be said to be the same? With some people there seems nothing to recognize, but I must believe that we shouldn't have had all this love for each other put into us in vain. See how He seems to have loved his mother and his friends - - that was the "You'll come to us to-morrow, dear; I consecration of earthly friendships." "The think it will be best every way," said Tom Master calleth thee," he repeated after her affectionately to her as they parted. “I in a low voice another day as she read to never saw anything more touching than him, "to be ready when He calls, to.do May's self-command, and her unwearied what He asks, that must be life, in what-love all through these illnesses," he went soever world, for all." At the same time on to his brother as they walked back tohis interest was strong for the progress of gether. the copse-cutting, and how the cottage folk were getting on. Death was no terror-ly, though coolly. He was doing, however, striking demon to either of them, but the all that he could think of for the comfort loving hand of a loving Father laid on of his sister in every way. them in mercy, dividing them not for long. At last the end came, so gently that no one could tell when the sleep sank into death. "Non come fiamma che per forza e spenta Ma che per se medesma si consume, Parea posar come persona stanca, Era quel che morir chiaman gli schiocchi." CHAPTER XXII. TRACASSERIES. ALL arrangements now fell on Hastings, and May was too thankful to remain "Yes, I believe so," said Hastings kind "I wonder what May would like best to do," he said to his wife a little later"whether to live on with us or go to Tom's. She's very fond of him. You must ask her which she will prefer." "Oh! we can't possibly have her here," answered Alicia in a determined tone; "that's quite out of the question. And I don't think she'd like it at all, except perhaps for a visit; besides, she told me that she was going to live at the Rectory." Hastings was surprised; it had never occurred to him that his sister was not to share his home if she pleased. He said nothing more, but quietly and kindly made |