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tions with a London firm of spirit and “ Pisistratus,” said my father, “ look capital, and extended views of philan. here. This is the way your Uncle thropy. On Saturday last I retired Jack now prints his pats of butter. from the service of the oligarchy. I A cap of liberty growing out of an am now in my true capacity of pro- open book! Good! Jack, good ! good !” tector of the million. My prospectus “ It is Jacobinical !” exclaimed the is printed-here it is in my pocket. Captain. Another cup of tea, sister, a little more “ Very likely," said my father; “ but cream, and another muffin. Shall I knowledge and freedoin are the best ring ?” Having disembarrassed himself devices in the world, to print upon of his cup and saucer, Uncle Jack then pats of butter intended for the drew forth from his pocket a damp market.” sheet of printed paper. In large capi 6 Pats of butter! I don't undertals stood out “ The Anti-MONOPOLY stand,” said Uncle Jack. Gazette, or Popular CHAMPION.” “ The less you understand, the betHe waved it triumphantly before myter the butter will sell, Jack," said my father's eyes.

father, settling back to his notes.

CHAPTER XVI.

“ I was

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Uncle Jack had made up his mind began whistling; a habit with him to lodge with us, and my mother found when he was much disturbed. some difficulty in inducing him to " And Trevanion wishes to see us. comprehend that there was no bed to Pisistratus promised to give him our spare.

address: shall he do so, Roland ?” “ That's unlucky,” said he.

• If you like it,” answered the Capno sooner arrived in town than I was tain, in a military attitude, and drawpestered with invitations; but I re- ing himself up till he looked seven feet fused them all, and kept myself for high. you."

“I should like it,” said

my

father “ So kind in you ! so like you !” said mildly. “ Twenty years since we my mother;" but you see

* Well, then, I must be off and find “ More than twenty,” said my uncle, a room; don't fret, you know I can with a stern smile ; " and the season breakfast and dine with you, all the was—the fall of the leaf!" same; that is, when my other friends 66 Man renews the fibre and matewill let me. I shall be dreadfully per rial of his body every seven years,” secuted.” So saying, Uncle Jack re- said my father; “in three times pocketed his prospectus, and wished seven years he has time to renew the us good-night.

inner man.

Can two passengers in The clock had struck eleven; my yonder street be more unlike each mother had retired; when my father other, than the soul is to the soul looked up from his books, and returned after an interval of twenty years ? his spectacles to their case. I had Brother, the plough does not pass finished my work, and was seated over over the soil in vain, nur care over the fire, thinking now of Fanny Tre- the human heart. New crops change vanion's hazel eyes-now, with a heart the character of the land, and the that beat as high at the thought, of plough must go deep indeed before it campaigns, battle-fields, laurels, and stirs up the mother-stone." glory ; while, with his arms folded on “Let us see Trevanion,” cried my his breast and his head drooping, uncle: then, turning to me, he said, Uncle Roland gazed into the low abruptly," what family has he ?" clear embers. My father cast his eyes “ One daughter." round the room, and after surveying

66 No son ?” bis brother for some moments, he said 6 No." almost in a whisper

“ That must vex the poor foolish “My son has seen the Trevanions. ambitious man. Oho! you admire this They remember us, Roland.”

Mr. Trevanion much, eh? Yes; that The Captain sprang to his feet, and fire of manner, his fine words, and

bold thoughts were made to dazzle 4 Then," quoth my nncle, heartily, youth."

“ in God's name let him come. I “Fine words, my dear uncle !-fire! can shake him by the hand, as I I should have said, in hearing Mr. would a brother soldier. Poor TreTrevanion, that his style of con- vanion ! Write to him at once, Sisty." versation was so homely, you would I sat down and obeyed. When I wonder how he could have won such had sealed my letter, 'I looked up, fame as a public speaker.”

and saw that Roland was lighting his “ Indeed !"

bed candle at my father's table; and “The plough has passed there,” said my father, taking his hand, said somemy father.

thing to him in a low voice. I guessed “ But not the plough of care: rich, it related to his son, for he shook his famous, Ellinor his wife, and no son!” head, and answered in a stern hoilow

“ It is because his heart is sometimes voice, “Renew grief if you please sad, that he would see us.

not shame. On that subject-siRoland stared first at my father, lence !" next at me.

CHAPTER XVII.

Left to myself in the earlier part of heard him pace his room with perthe day, I wandered, wistful and turbed strides, or fancied that I lonely, through the vast wilderness of caught a low groan. He became London. By degrees I familiarized every day more care-worn in appearmyself with that populous solitude. ance, and every day the hair seemed I ceased to pine for the green fields. more grey. Yet he talked to us all That active energy all around, at first easily and cheerfully; and I thought saddening, became soon exhilarating, that I was the only one in the house and at last contagious. To an indus- who perceived the gnawing pangs trious mind nothing is so catching as over which the stout old Spartan drew industry! I began to grow weary of the decorous cloak. my golden holiday of unlaborious Pity, blended

with admiration, childhood, to sigh for toil, to look made me curious to learn how these around me for a career. The Univer- absent days, that brought nights so sity, which I had before anticipated disturbed, were consumed. I felt with pleasure, seemed now to fade into that if I could master his secret, I a dull munastic prospect : after having might win the right both to comfort trod the streets of London, to wander and to aid. through cloisters was to go back in I resolved at length, after many life. Day by day, my mind grew conscientious scruples, to endeavour sensibly within me: it came out from to satisfy a curiosity, excused by its the rosy twilight of boyhood--it felt motives. the doom of Cain, under the broad sun Accordingly, one morning, after of man.

watching him from the house, I stole Uncle Jack soon became absorbed in his track, and followed him at a in his new speculation for the good of distance. the human race, and except at meals And this was the outline of his day. (whereat, to do him justice, he was He set off, at first with a firm stride, punctual enough, though he did not despite his lameness—his gaunt figure keep us in ignorance of the sacrifices he erect, the soldierly chest well thrown made, and the invitations he refused, out from the thread-bare but speckless for our sake), we seldom saw him. coat. First, he took his way towards The Captain, too, generally vanished the purlieus of Leicester Square; after breakfast; seldom dined with several times, to and fro, did he pace us; and it was often late before he the isthmus that leads from Piccareturned. He had the latch-key of dilly into that reservoir of foreigners, the house, and let himself in when he and the lanes and courts that start pleased. Sometimes (for his chamber thence towards St. Martin's.

After an was next to mine) his step on the hour or two so passed, the step bestairs awoke me; and sometimes I came more slow ; and often the sleek

napless hat was lifted up, and the statue, in an attitude that spoke debrow wiped. At length he bent his spondency. I seated myself on the way towards the two great theatres, grass near the statue and gazed at paused before the play-bills, as if de him : the park was empty compared liberating seriously on the chances of with the streets, but still there were entertainment they severally proffered, some equestrian idlers and many footwandered slowly through the small loungers. My uncle's eye turned streets that surround those temples wistfully on each : once or twice some of the muse, and finally emerged into gentleman of a military aspect (which the Strand. There he rested himself I had already learned to detect) for an hour at a small cook-shop; stopped, looked at him, approached, and, as I passed the window, and and spoke ; but the Captain seemed as glaneed within, I could see him seated if ashamed of such greetings. He before the simple dinner, which he answered shortly and turned again. scarcely touched, and poring over the The day waned-evening came on advertisement columns of the Times. the Captain again looked at his watch The Times finished, and a few morsels —shook his head, and made his way distastefully swallowed, the Captain to a bench, where he sat perfectly put down his shilling in silence, receiv- motionless; bis hat over his brows, ed his pence in exchange, and I had just his arms folded; till uprose

the moon. time to slip aside as he reappeared at I had tasted nothing since breakfast; the threshold. He looked round as I was famished, but I still kept my he lingered, but I took care he should post like an old Roman sentinel. not detect me; and then struck off At length the Captain rose, and retowards the more fashionable quarters entered Piccadilly; but how different his of the town. It was now the after- mien and bearing ! languid, stooping, noon, and, though not yet the season, his chest sunk-his head inclined the streets swarmed with life. As he his limbs dragging one after the other, came into Waterloo Place, a slight his lameness painfully perceptible. figure buttoned up across the breast, What a contrast in the broken invalid like his own, cantered by on a hand- at night, froin the stalwart veteran of some bay horse—every eye was on the morning ! that figure. Uncle Roland stopped How I longed to spring forward to short, and lifted his hand to his hat; offer my arm! but I did not dare. the rider toucheå his own with bis The Captain stopped near a cabfore-finger, and cantered on.—Uncle stand. He put his hand in his pocket Roland turned round and gazed. he drew out his purse—he passed his

“Who," I asked, of a shop-boy fingers over the net-work; the purse just before me, who was also staring slipped again into the pocket, and as with all his eyes—“who is that gentle- if with a heroic effort, my uncle drew man on horseback ?”

up his head, and walked on sturdily. "Why, the Duke to be sure,” said “ Where next?” thought I. “Surely the boy contemptuously.

home! No, he is pitiless.” “ The Duke ?

The Captain stopped not till he “Wellington—stu-pid !"

arrived at one of the small theatres * Thank you,” said I meekly. in the Strand ; then he read the bill, Uncle Roland had moved on into and asked if half-price was begun. Regent Street, but with a brisker step: “ Just begun,” was the answer, and the sight of the old chief had done the the Captain entered. I also took a old soldier good. Here again he ticket and followed. Passing by the paced to and fro; till I, watching him open doors of a refreshment room, I from the other side the way, was fortified myself with some biscuits and ready to drop with fatigue, stout soda water. And in another minute, walker though I was. But the Cap- for the first time in my life, I beheld a tain's day was not half done. He play. But the play did not fascinate took out his watch, put it to his ear, me. It was the middle of some jocular and then, replacing it, passed into after-piece, roars of laughter resoundBond Street, and thence into Hyde ed round me. I could detect nothing Park. There, evidently wearied out, he to laugh at, and sending my keen eyes leant against the rails, near the bronze into every corner, I perceived at last,

66

in the uppermost tier, one face as the hand in his chivalrous devotion saturnine as my own. Eureka! It to the sex, which extended even to was the Captain's ! Why should he all its outcasts—that each bold eye fell go to a play if he enjoys it so little?" abashed. The hand was timidly and thought I: “ better have spent a shil. involuntarily withdrawn from the arm, ling on a cab, poor old fellow !" and my uncle passed his way.

But soon came sınart-looking men, He threaded the crowd, passed out and still smarter-looking ladies, around at the further door, and ), guessing the solitary corner of the poor Captain. his intention, was in waiting for his He grew fidgety—he rose—he vanish- steps in the street. ed. I left my place, and stood with Now home at last, thank heaven !" out the box to watch for him. Down thought I. Mistaken still! My uncle stairs he stumped—I recoiled into the went first towards that popular haunt, shade; and after standing a moment which I have since discovered is or two, as in doubt, he entered boldly called “ the Shades;” but he soon the refreshment room, or saloon. re-emerged, and finally he knocked

Now, since I had left that saloon, it at the door of a private house, in one had become crowded, and I slipped in of the streets out of St. James's. It unobserved. Strange was it

, gro- was opened jealously, and closed as tesque, yet pathetic, to mark the old he entered, leaving me without. What soldier in the midst of that

gay swarm.

could this house be? As I stood and He towered above all like a Homeric watched, some other men approached, hero, a head taller than the tallest; --again the low single knock,-again and his appearance was so remark- the jealous opening, and the stealthy able, that it invited the instant atten- entrance. tion of the fair. I, in my simplicity, A policeman passed and repassed thought it was the natural tenderness me. “Don't be tempted, young man, of that amiable and penetrating sex, said he, looking hard at me,

6 take ever quick to detect trouble, and anxi- my advice, and go home.” ous to relieve it, that induced three • What is that house, then ?” said ladies, in silk attire-one having a hat I, with a sort of shudder at this omiand plume, the other two with a profu. nous warning. sion of ringlets-to leave a little knot of “Oh, you know." gentlemen with whom they were con “ Not I. I am new to London." versing, and to plant themselves before It is a hell,” said the policemanmy uncle. I advanced through the satisfied, by my frank manner, that I press to hear what passed.

spoke the truth. “ You are looking for some one,

“ God bless me a what! I could I'm sure,” quoth one familiarly, tap- not have heard you rightly." ping his arm with her fan.

“ A hell; a gambling house !" The Captain started. “Ma'am, you

“ Oh !" and I moved on. Could are not wrong,” said he.

Captain Roland, the rigid, the thrifty, “ Can I do as well ?” said one of the penurious, be a gambler ? The light those compassionate angels, with hea- broke on me at once; the unhappy venly sweetness.

father sought his son! I leant against “ You are very kind, I thank you: the post, and tried hard not to sob. no, no, Ma'am," said the Captain, with By-and-by, I heard the door open: his best bow.

the Captain came out and took the “Do take a glass of negus," said way homeward. I ran on before, and another, as her friend gave way to got in first, to the inexpressible relief her. “ You seem tired, and so am both of father and mother, who had I. Here, this way;" and she took not seen me since breakfast, and who hold of his arm to lead him to the were in equal consternation at my table. The Captain shook his head absence. I submitted to be scolded mournfully; and then, as if become with a good grace. “I had been sightsuddenly aware of the nature of the seeing, and lost my way;" begged attention so lavished on him, he looked for some supper, and slunk to bed ; down upon these fair Armidas with a and five minutes afterwards the Caplook of such mild reproach—such tain's jaded step came wearily up the sweet compassion—not shaking off stairs.

MODERN TOURISM.

THE merits of the railroad and the hausted subject, and we find her insteam-boat have been prodigiously stantly on board the good ship Covaunted, and we have no desire to de- lumbia, flying in the teeth of wind and preciate the advantages of either. No tide, to caricature New York. Andoubt they carry us from town to other puts on her wings for that untown with greater rapidity than our known spot called Vienna; sends in fathers ever dreamt of; and instead of her card to nobles and ministers ; carithe “ High-flyer coach, averaging ten catures them too ; talks of faces which miles an hour,” whirl us over fifty. she had never seen, describes fêtes No doubt they are convenient for the to which she would

never have viator who desires to reach America in been admitted, and quotes conversaa fortnight, or for the Queen's messen. tions which she never heard. Another ger who must be in Paris within the takes a sweep of the French coast, next twelve hours. No doubt they and showers us with worn-out ro. are first-rate inventions for an elope- mance and modern vapidity, till we are ment, a fugitive debtor, or a banished sick of the art of printing, and long for king. But, they have afflicted our the return of that happy period when generation with one desperate evil; the chief occupations of the fair sex they have covered Europe with Tours were cookery and samplers. To all ists, all pen in hand, all determined this, however, there are exceptions; not to let a henroost remain unde- some of the sex, modest, well-inscribed, all portfolioed, all handbooked, formed, and capable of informing all “ getting up a Journal," and all others, indulge the world, from time pouring their busy nothings on the to time, with works which“ it would " reading public,” without compassion not willingly let die.” But our horror or conscience, at the beginning of the is the professional tourist; the woman 6 season."

who runs abroad to forage for publiThat the ignorant should write ig- cation; reimports her baggage, burstnorantly, that professional sight- ing with a periodical gathering of nonhunters should go sight-hunting to the sense; and with a freight of folly, at ends of the earth, that minds born once empty as air and heavy as lead, for nothing but scribbling should scrib- discharges the whole at the heads of a ble to their last drop of ink or blood, suffering people. can neither surprise nor irritate ; but Miss Martineau, however, deserves that they should publish, is the crime. to stand in another category. She is

If we are told that this is but a a lively writer; if she seldom enlightharmless impertinence after all, we re ens the reader of her pages, she sel. ply-No, it does general mischief; it dom sends him to sleep; she prattles spoils all rational travel ; it disgusts amusingly; and by the help of Wilall intelligent curiosity; it repels the kinson and Lane for the antique, and student, the philosopher, and the man- her own ear-trumpet and spectacles ly investigator, from subjects which for the modern, she makes out of an have been thus trampled into mire by Egyptian ramble a very readable the hoofs of a whole tribe of tra- book. And this book is by no means velling bipeds, who might rejoice to a superfluity; for, excepting Palesexchange brains with the animals tine, there is no country on earth which they ride.

which possesses so strong an interest No sooner does the year shake off for the Biblical student; or will, withits robe of snow, and the sun begin to in a few years, possess so strong an glimmer again, than the whole tribe interest for the whole political world. are in motion ; no matter where, all Fra Russia, and Italy, are proplaces are alike to their pens- the bably at this moment alike speculatNorth Pole or the Antarctic. One ing on the changes which threaten of them thinks America an unex- Egypt. The death of Mehemet Ali

* Eastern Life, Past and Present. By HARRIET MARTINEAU.

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