calculate just at present. Well, those three rolls have lasted me three days; the last crumb went for supper last night. Therefore, take care how you offer me money (for that is what men mean by help). You see I have no option but to take it. But I warn you, don't expect gratitude!-I have none in me! PISISTRATUS.-You are not so bad as you paint yourself. I would do something more for you, if I can, than lend you the little I have to offer: will you be frank with me? STRANGER. That depends-I have been frank enough hitherto, I think. PISISTRATUS.-True; SO I pro. ceed without scruple. Don't tell me your name or your condition, if you object to such confidence; but tell me if you have relations to whom you can apply? You shake your head: well, then, are you willing to work for yourself? or is it only at the billiard-table-pardon me-that you can try to make four sous produce ten francs ? STRANGER (musing).—I understand you; I have never worked yet--I abhor work. But I have no objection to try if it is in me. PISISTRATUS.It is in you: a man who can walk from Paris to Boulogne with twelve sous in his pocket, and save four for a purpose -who can stake those four on the cool confidence in his own skill, even at billiards who can subsist for three days on three rolls-and who, on the fourth day, can wake from the stones of a capital with an eye and a spirit as proud as yours, has in him all the requisites to subdue fortune. STRANGER. Do you work?-you? then. PISISTRATUS-Good. Now, what can you do? STRANGER (with his odd smile).Many things useful. I can split a bullet on a penknife I know the secret tierce of Coulon, the fencingmaster: I can speak two languages (besides English) like a native, even to their slang: I know every game in the cards: I can act comedy, tragedy, farce: I can drink down Bacchus himself: I can make any woman I please in love with me-that is, any woman good-for-nothing. Can I earn a handsome livelihood out of all this-wear kid gloves, and set up a cabriolet ?— you see my wishes are modest ! PISISTRATUS.-You speak two languages, you say, like a native,French, I suppose, is one of them? STRANGER.-Yes. PISISTRATUS.-Will you teach it? STRANGER (haughtily).-No. Je suis gentilhomme, which means more or less than a gentleman. Gentilhomme means well born, because free born, -teachers are slaves! PISISTRATUS (unconsciously imitating Mr. Trevanion).-Stuff! STRANGER (looks angry, and then laughs).-Very true; sults don't suit shoes like these! But I cannot teach : heaven help those I should teach!Anything else? PISISTRATUS.-Anything else!-you leave me a wide margin. You know French thoroughly;-to write as well as speak?-that is much. Give me some address where I can find you,or will you call on me? STRANGER.-No! Any evening at dusk I will meet you. I have no address to give; and I cannot show these rags at another man's door. PISISTRATUS.-At nine in the evening, then, and here in the Stand, on Thursday next. I may then have found something that will suit you. Meanwhile-(slides his purse into the Stranger's hand. N.B.-Purse not very full). STRANGER, with the air of one conferring a favour, pockets the purse; and there is something so striking in the very absence of all emotion at so accidental a rescue from starvation, that PISISTRATUS exclaims, "I don't know why I should have taken this fancy to you, Mr. Daredevil, if that be the name that please you best. The wood you are made of seems cross-grained, and full of knots; and yet, in the hands of a skilful carver, I think it would be worth much." STRANGER (startled).-Do you? do you? None, I believe, ever thought that before. But the same wood, I suppose, that makes the gibbet could make the mast of a man-of-war. I tell you, however, why you have taken this fancy to me,-the strong sympathize with the strong. You, too, could subdue fortune! -- PISISTRATUS. Stop; if so- if there is congeniality between us, then liking should be reciprocal. Come, say that; for half my chance of helping you is in my power to touch your heart. STRANGER (evidently softened.) as I If I were as great a rogue STRANGER vanishes in the labyrinth of alleys round Leicester Square. CHAPTER XXXVII. ON my return to The Lamb, I would have made a periphrasis of a found that my uncle was in a soft couple of lines to avoid using the word sleep; and after an evening visitcat. It was only in extempore from the surgeon, and his assurance speaking that a ray of his real genius that the fever was fast subsiding, and could indiscreetly betray itself. One all cause for alarm was gone, I may judge what labour such a superthought it necessary to go back to refinement of taste would inflict upon Trevanion's house, and explain the a man writing in a language not his reason for my night's absence. But own to some distinguished statesman, the family had not returned from the or some literary institution,-knowing country. Trevanion himself came up that language just well enough to for a few hours in the afternoon, and recognize all the native elegance she seemed to feel much for my poor failed to attain. Trevanion, at that uncle's illness. Though, as usual, very very moment, was employed upon a busy, he accompanied me to The Lamb, statistical document, intended as a to see my father, and cheer him up. communication to a Society at CopenRoland still continued to mend, as the hagen, of which he was an honorary surgeon phrased it; and as we went member. It had been for three weeks back to St. James's Square, Trevanion the torment of the whole house, had the consideration to release me especially of poor Fanny (whose from my oar in his galley, for the French was the best at our joint disnext few days. My mind, relieved posal) But Trevanion had found her from my anxiety for Roland, now phraseology too mincing, too effemiturned to my new friend. It had not nate, too much that of the boudoir. been without an object that I had Here, then, was an opportunity to inquestioned the young man as to his troduce my new friend, and test the knowledge of French. Trevanion capacities that I fancied he possessed. had a long correspondence in foreign I therefore, though with some hesicountries, which was carried on in that tation, led the subject to "Remarks language, and here I could be but of on the Mineral Treasures of Great little help to him. He himself, though Britain and Ireland," (such was the he spoke and wrote French with title of the work intended to enlighten fluency and grammatical correctness, the savans of Denmark ;) and, by cerwanted that intimate knowledge of tain ingenious circumlocutions, known the most delicate and diplomatic of to all able applicants, I introduced my all languages to satisfy his classical acquainiance with a young gentleman purism. For Trevanion was a ter- who possessed the most familiar and rible word-weigher. His taste was intimate knowledge of French, and the plague of my life and his own. who might be of use in revising His prepared speeches (or rather per- the manuscript. I knew enough of orations) were the most finished Trevanion, to feel that I could not repieces of cold diction that could be veal the circumstances under which I conceived under the marble portico had formed that acquaintance, for he of the Stoics, so filed and turned, was much too practical a man not to trimmed and tamed, that they never have been frightened out of his wits admitted a sentence that could warm at the idea of submitting so classical the heart, or one that could offend a performance to so disreputable a the ear. He had so great a horror scapegrace. As it was, however, of a vulgarism that, like Canning, he Trevanion, whose mind at that moment He On Thursday, my uncle was well enough to be removed into our house; and on the same evening, I went forth to keep my appointment with the stranger. The clock struck nine as we met. The palm of punctuality might be divided between us. had profited by the interval, since our last meeting, to repair the more obvious deficiencies of his wardrobe; and though there was something still wild, dissolute, outlandish, about his whole appearance, yet in the elastic energy of his step, and the resolute assurance of his bearing, there was that which Nature gives to her own aristocracy,-for, as far as my observation goes, what has been called the "grand air" (and which is wholly distinct from the polish of manner, or the urbane grace of high breeding), is always accompanied, and perhaps produced, by two qualities-courage, and the desire of command. It is more common to a half-savage nature than one wholly civilized. The Arab has it, so has the American Indian; and I suspect it was more frequent among the knights and barons of the middle ages than it is among the polished gentlemen of the modern drawing-room. We shook hands, and walked on a few moments in silence; at length thus commenced the STRANGER, "You have found it more difficult I fear, than you imagined, to make the empty sack stand upright. Considering that at least one-third of those born to work cannot find it, why should I?" PISISTRATUS. I am hard-hearted enough to believe that work never fails to those who seek it in good earnest. It was said of some man, famous for keeping his word, that "if he had promised you an acorn, and all the oaks in England failed to produce one, he would have sent to Norway for an acorn." If I wanted work, and there was none to be had in the Old World, I would find my way to the New. But, to the point: I have found something for you, which I do not think your taste will oppose, and which may open to you the means of an honourable independence. But I cannot well explain it in the streets, where shall we go? hesita STRANGER (after some tion)-I have a lodging near here, which I need not blush to take you to I mean, that it is not among rogues and castaways. PISISTRATUS (much pleased, and taking the stranger's arm,) Come, then. Pisistratus and the stranger pass over Waterloo Bridge, and pause before a small house of respectable appearance. Stranger admits them both with a latch-key-leads the way to the third story-strikes a light, and does the honours to a small chamber, clean and orderly. Pisistratus explains the task to be done, and opens the manuscript. The stranger draws his chair deliberately towards the light, and runs his eye rapidly over the pages. Pisistratus trembles to see him pause before a long array of figures and calculations. Certainly it does not look inviting; but, pshaw! it is scarcely a part of the task, which limits itself to the mere correction of words. STRANGER (briefly)-There must be a mistake here. Stay!-I see,[He turns back a few pages, and corrects with rapid precision an error in a somewhat complicated and abstruse calculation ] PISISTRATUS (surprised.) You seem a notable arithmetician. STRANGER. Did I not tell you that I was skilful in all games of mingled skill and chance? It requires an arithmetical head for that: a first-rate card-player is a financier spoilt. I am certain that you could never find a man fortunate on the turf, or at the gaming-table, who had not an excellent head for figures. Well, this French is good enough apparently there are but a few idioms, here and there, that strictly speaking, are more English than French. But the whole is a work scarce worth paying for! PISISTRATUS.-The work of the head fetches a price not proportioned to the quantity, but the quality. When shall I call for this? STRANGER.-To-morrow. [And he puts the manuscript away in a drawer.] We then conversed on various matters for nearly an hour; and my impression of this young man's natural ability was confirmed and heightened. But it was an ability as wrong and perverse in its directions or instincts as a French novelist's. He seemed to have, to a high degree, the harder portion of the reasoning faculty, but to be almost wholly without that arch beautifier of character, that sweet purifier of mere intellect-the imagina tion. For, though we are too much taught to be on our guard against imagination, I hold it, with Captain Roland, to be the divinest kind of reason we possess, and the one that leads us the least astray. In youth, indeed, it occasions errors, but they are not of a sordid or debasing nature. Newton says that one final effect of the comets is to recruit the seas and the planets by a condensation of the vapours and exhalations therein; and so even the erratic flashes of an imagination really healthful and vigorous deepen our knowledge and brighten our lights; they recruit our seas and our stars. Of such flashes my new friend was as innocent as the sternest matter-of-fact person could desire. Fancies he had in profusion, and very bad ones; but of imagination, not a scintilla! His mind was one of those which live in a prison of logic, and cannot, or will not, see beyond the bars; such a nature is at once positive and sceptical. This boy had thought proper to decide at once on the numberless complexities of the social world from his own harsh experience. With him the whole system was a war and a cheat. If the universe were entirely composed of knaves, he would be sure to have made his way. Now this bias of mind, alike shrewd and unamiable, might be safe enough if accompanied by a lethargic temper; but it threatened to become terrible and dangerous in one who, in default of imagination, possessed abundance of passion: and this was the case with the young outcast. Passion, in him, comprehended many of the worst emotions which militate against human happiness. You could not contradict him, but you raised quick choler; you could not speak of wealth, but the cheek paled with gnawing envy. The astonishing natural advantages of this poor boy-his beauty, his readiness, the daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere-had raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance that turned his very claims to admiration into prejudices against him. Irascible, envious, arrogantbad enough, but not the worst, for these salient angles were all varnished over with a cold repellant cynicism, his passions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed in him no moral susceptibility; and, what was more remarkable in a proud nature, little or nothing of the true point of honour. He had, to a morbid excess, that desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition, but no apparent wish for fame, or esteem, or the love of his species; only the hard wish to succeed, not shine, not serve,--succeed, that he might have the right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit, and enjoy the pleasures which the redundant nervous life in him seemed to crave. Such were the more patent attributes of a character that, ominous as it was, yet interested me, and yet appeared to me redeemable,-nay, to have in it the rude elements of a certain greatness. Ought we not to make something great out of a youth under twenty who has, in the highest degree, quickness to conceive and courage to execute? On the other hand, all faculties that can make greatness contain those that can attain goodness. In the savage Scandinavian, or the ruthless Frank, lay the germs of a Sidney or a Bayard. What would the best of us be, if he were suddenly placed at war with the whole world? And this fierce spirit was at war with the whole world--a war self-sought, perhaps, but it was war not the less. You must surround the savage with peace, if you want the virtues of peace. I cannot say that it was in a single interview and conference that I came to these convictions; but I am rather summing up the impressions which I received as I saw more of this person, whose destiny I had presumed to take under my charge. In going away, I said, " But, at all events, you have a name in your lodgings: whom am I to ask for when I call to-morrow?" "Oh, you may know my name now," said he, smiling: " It is Vivian Francis Vivian." CHAPTER XXXVIII. I remember one morning, when a boy, loitering by an old wall, to watch the operations of a garden spider, whose web seemed to be in great request. When I first stopped, she was engaged very quietly with a fly of the domestic species, whom she managed with ease and dignity. But just when she was most interested in that absorbing employment, came a couple of May flies, and then a gnat, and then a blue bottle,-all at different angles of the web. Never was a poor spider so distracted by her good fortune! She evidently did not know which godsend to take first. The aboriginal victim being released, she slid half-way towards the May-flies; then one of her eight eyes caught sight of the bluebottle! and she shot off in that direction;-when the hum of the gnat again diverted her; and in the middle of this perplexity, pounce came a young wasp in a violent passion! Then the spider evidently lost her presence of mind; she became clean demented; and after standing, stupid and stockstill, in the middle of her meshes, for a minute or two, she ran off to her hole as fast as she could run, and left her guests to shift for themselves. I confess that I am somewhat in the dilemma of the attractive and amiable insect I have just described. I got on well enough while I had only my domestic fly to see after. But now that there is something fluttering at every end of my net, (and especially since the advent of that passionate young wasp, who is fuming and buzzing in the nearest corner!) I am fairly at a loss which I should first grapple with —and, alas' unlike the spider, I have no hole where I can hide myself, and let the web do the weaver's work. But I will imitate the spider as far as I can; and while the rest hum and struggle away their impatient, unnoticed hour, I will retreat into the inner labyrinth of my own life. The illness of my uncle, and my renewed acquaintance with Vivian, had naturally sufficed to draw my thoughts from the rash and unpropitious love I had conceived for Fanny Trevanion. During the absence of the family from London (and they stayed some time longer than had been expected), I had leisure, however, to recall my father's touching history, and the moral it had so obviously preached to me; and I formed so many good resolutions, that it was with an untrembling hand that I welcomed Miss Trevanion at last to London, and with a firm heart that I avoided, as much as possible, the fatal charm of her society. The slow convalescence of my uncle gave me a just excuse for discontinuing our rides. What time Trevanion spared me, it was natural that I should spend with my family. I went to no balls or parties. I even absented myself from Trevanion's periodical dinners. Miss Trevanion at first rallied me on my seclusion with her usual lively malice. But I continued worthily to complete my martyrdom. I took care that no reproachful look at the gaiety that wrung my soul should betray my secret. Then Fanny seemed either hurt or disdainful, and avoided altogether entering her father's study; all at once, she changed her tactics, and was seized with a strange desire for knowledge, which brought her into |