rious part of the marble temple? but there the living victim is offered in sacrifice, and the wreath of flowers left to wither. The fine arts, they which add so much to the adornment of their time it is a sad page in life in which their annals are written. How few among the statues which stand in grace and power, till they seem the incarnation of the diviner part of our nature-how few among the pictures which shed their dream-like beauty on our wallshow few of these but are the fruit of lives passed in toil, in want, in the heart-burning of hope whose fulfilment comes not, and of cares that eat away the very soul! Look at the many diseases to which skill is of no avail-look at the many crimes, and crimes committed, too, by the educated, who have been trained from their youth upwards in good. Or look only within your own heart, and see there the germ of sin and every sorrow; every - and then tell me of the perfectibility or the happiness of humanity. In another world, "the wicked may cease from troubling, and the weary be at rest;" but not in a world like ours-the weak, the erring, and the fallen. We forget we are living under a curse; and who can recall that curse save the God who pronounced it?

CHAPTER XXII.

"Ah, whence yon glare

That fires the arch of heaven ?—that dark red smoke
Blotting the silver moon ?"

"And what were earth and stars,

If to the human mind's imaginings

Silence and solitude were vacancy?"-SHELLEY.

THERE is something sublime in being out of humour with the whole world. Discontent against an individual is called anger; that against the many, misanthropy. There is a great deal of poetry in an epithet. Lorraine indulged in the latter mood of mind for a week. His brother called he was denied: a first conciliating note from Mr. Delawarr was unanswered - the second met a cold but bitter reply. Both grew angry, and public dispute ended in private dissension.

It is a curious fact, how violent people get upon political questions, particularly if they are

such as do not concern them. A sedate-looking gentleman, who lives in Finsbury Square perhaps, and whose money is in the funds, raves about the corn laws: another, in a black coat, forgets to make his Sunday sermon, in the composition of a speech at a meeting for the abolition of West India slavery. But from the affairs of our next-door neighbour, to those of church and state, we take an intense interest in those of others. S when he came from Brussels, at the time of the revolution, was asked what it was like. "Like?" said he, "why, like a vestry meeting." We talk of vanity, discontent, patriotism; but the real first cause of the passion for politics is the love of talking, inherent in masculine nature.

In the mean time, Edward found that love and politics had been adverse influences on his destiny. His brother's most unlooked-for marriage altered all his prospects as regarded his succession to the Etheringhame title and estates: his difference with Mr. Delawarr closed the principal avenue of his political career. His future path in life must be cleared by him

self.

The energy with which he set about the task shewed he was equal to it. He had inherited a

handsome property from his mother. True, he had been extravagant, but not irretrievably so. He looked into his affairs. Two years of resolute economy, and his property was free. In two years there would be a general election. Two years of travel and study would equally benefit his fortune and his mind; both would be strengthened to meet the demands of public life.

There are epochs of change in every one's career; and it is in meeting these changes that a man shews his energies. Lorraine's plan was promptly laid down, and its execution was as prompt as its design. His affairs were investigated with that resolute industry which so soon finishes the business it begins. The sale of part of his property cleared the rest. A large portion of his income was put aside to accumulate. Horses, pictures, wines, bijouterie, German meerschaum, and Turkish hookahs, were alike brought to the hammer. His solicitor remonstrated on the loss in such a sale.

"Don't you see,” replied his client, laughing, "I am selling my habits with them ?"

Satisfied with the present, full of anticipation for the future, Edward took his seat on the mail-the best conveyance in the world for

good spirits. It was a bright clear night, with a fresh and buoyant wind. Alas! for the safety of two respectable linen-drapers, and the partner of a great tea-house, inside for Lorraine drove the first forty miles.

"What a pity he should be a gentlemansuch a waste!" observed the coachman, when he resigned the reins.

Spain was the country he had decided upon visiting-Spain, as a poet regularly begins,

"Land of the vine and the olive."

It is curious how much of its romantic character a country owes to strangers; perhaps because they know least about it. Edward's motive for visiting it was, simply, that he had never been there before. Leaving vines, olives, the white walls of Cadiz, and the dark eyes of its ladies, to be recorded in his diary, if he kept one, he travelled perfectly alone-sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback - through a considerable part of the country bordering on the sea-coast; when, finding the residence of a Spanish nobleman, to whom he had letters of introduction, marked on his route, he paused at a little village to make inquiry of his way.

The village was pretty enough for a scene in