and had a horror unspeakable of her sister's "He little support, poor dear," the old lady said in her heart; for she was a kinder critic than the younger matrons, who felt instinctively that Miss Marjoribanks was doing what they ought to have done. She took her favourite's arm in hers as they went upstairs, and gave Mr. Cavendish a kindly nod as he opened the door for them. will come and give you his assistance as soon as ever he can get away from the gentle-. men," said Mrs. Chiley, in her consolatory tone; "but, good gracious, Lucilla, what is the matter? The cause of this exclamation was a universal hum and rustle as of many dresses and many voices; and, to tell the truth, when Miss Marjoribanks and her companion reached the top of the stairs, they found themselves lost in a laughing crowd, which had taken refuge on the landing. "There is no room, Lucilla. Lucilla, everybody in Carlingford is here. Do make a little room for us in the drawing-room," cried this overplus of society. If there was an enviable woman in Carlingford at that moment, it certainly was Miss Marjoribanks, standing on the top of her own stairs, scarcely able to penetrate through the throng of her guests. Her self-possession did not forsake her at this supreme moment. She grasped Mrs. Chiley once again with a little significant gesture which pleased the old lady, for she could not but feel that she was Lucilla's only confidante in her brilliant but perilous undertaking. "They will not be able to get in when they come up-stairs," said Miss Marjoribanks; and whether the faint inflection in her voice meant exultation THE second of her Thursday evenings or disappointment, her old friend could not found Miss Marjoribanks, though secure, make up her mind. But the scene changed perhaps more anxious than on the former when the rightful sovereign entered the gay occasion. The charm of the first novelty but disorganized dominion where her subjects was gone, and Lucilla did not feel quite attended her. Before any one knew how it sure that her subjects had the good sense to was done, Miss Marjoribanks had re-estabrecognize all the benefits which she was lished order, and, what was still more imgoing to confer upon them. "It is the sec- portant, made room. She said, "You girls ond time that counts," she said in confidence have no business to get into corners. to Mrs. Chiley. "Last Thursday they corners are for the people that can talk.. It wanted to see the drawing-room, and they is one of my principles always to flirt in the wanted to know what sort of thing it was to middle of the company," said Lucilla; and be. Dear Mrs. Chiley, it is to-night that is again, as happened so often, ignorant people the test," said Lucilla, giving a nervous pres- laughed and thought it a bon mot. But it is sure to her old friend's hand; at least a needless to inform the more intelligent perpressure that would have betokened the sons who understand Miss Marjoribanks, existence of nerves in any one else but that it was by no means a bon mot, but exMiss Marjoribanks, whose magnificent or- pressed Lucilla's convictions with the utganization was beyond any suspicion of such most sincerity. Thus it happened that the weakness. But, nevertheless, Mrs. Chiley, second Thursday was more brilliant and inwho watched her with grandmotherly inter- finitely more gratifying than the first had est was comforted to perceive that Lucilla, been. For one thing, she felt sure that it as on the former occasion, had strength of was not to see the new furniture, nor to critmind to eat her dinner. "She wants a icise this new sort of entertainment, but CHAPTER XII. The with the sincerest intention of enjoying themselves, that all the people had come; and these are moments when the egotism of the public conveys the highest compliment that can be paid to the great minds which take in hand to rule and to amuse it. The only drawback was, that Barbara Lake did not show the same modesty and reticence as on the former occasion. Far from being sensibly silent, which she had been so prudent as to be on Miss Marjoribanks's first Thursday, she forgot herself so far as to occupy a great deal of Mr. Cavendish's valuable time, which he might have employed much more usefully. She not only sang by herself when he asked her, having brought some music with her unseen by Lucilla, but she kept sitting upon the stool before the piano ever so long afterwards, detaining him, and, as Miss Marjoribanks had very little doubt, making an exhibition of herself; for the fact was, that Barbara, having received one good gift from nature, had been refused the other, and could not talk. When Lucilla, arrested in the midst of her many occupations, heard her protegée's voice rising alone, she stopped quite short with an anxiety which it was touching to behold. It was not the jealousy of a rival cantatrice which inspired Miss Marjoribanks's countenance, but the far broader and grander anxiety of an accomplished statesman, who sees a rash and untrained hand meddling with his most delicate machinery. Lucilla ignored everything for the moment her own voice, and Mr. Cavendish's attentions, and every merely secondary and personal emotion. All these details were swallowed up in the fear that Barbara would not acquit herself as it was necessary for the credit of the house that she should acquit herself; that she should not sing well enough, or that she should sing too much. Once more Miss Marjoribanks put her finger upon the pulse of the community as she and they listened together. Fortunately, things went so far well that Barbara sang her very best, and kept up her prestige: but it was different in the second particular; for unluckily, the contralto knew a great many songs, and showed no inclination to stop. Nothing remained for it but a bold coup, which Lucilla executed with all her natural coolness and talent. "My dear Barbara," she said, putting her hands on the singer's shoulders as she finished her strain, "that is enough for to-night. Mr. Cavendish will take you down stairs and get you a cup of tea; for you know there is no room to-night to serve it up-stairs." Thus Miss Marjoribanks proved herself capable of preferring her great work to her personal sentiments, which is generally considered next to impossible for a woman. She did what perhaps nobody else in the room was capable of doing; she sent away the gentleman who was paying attention to her, in company with the girl who was paying attention to him; and at that moment, as was usual when she was excited, Barbara was splendid, with her crimson cheeks, and the eyes blazing out from under her level eyebrows. This Miss Marjoribanks did, not in ignorance, but with a perfect sense of what she was about. It was the only way of preventing her evening from losing its distinctive character. It was the lamp of sacrifice which Lucilla had now to employ, and she proved herself capable of the exertion. But it would be hopeless to attempt to describe the indignation of old Mrs. Chiley, or the unmitigated amazement of the company in general, which was conscious at the same time that Mr. Cavendish was paying attention to Miss Marjoribanks, and that he had been flirting in an inexcusable manner with Miss Lake. "My dear, I would have nothing to do with that bold girl," Mrs. Chiley said in Lucilla's ear. "I will go down and look after them if you like. A girl like that always leads the gentlemen astray, you know. I never liked the looks of her. Let me go down-stairs and look after them, my dear. I am sure I want a cup of tea." "You shall have a cup of tea dear Mrs. Chiley," said Miss Marjoribanks, "some of them will bring you one; but I can't let you take any trouble about Barbara She had to be stopped you know, or she would have turned us into a musical party; and as for Mr. Cavendish he is the best assistant I have. There are so few men in Carlingford who can flirt," said Lucilla, regretfully. Her eyes fell as she spoke upon young Osmond Brown, who was actually at that moment talking to Mr. Bury's curate, with a disregard of his social duties painful to contemplate. Poor Osmond started when he met Miss Marjoribanks's reproachful eye. "But then I don't know how," said the -- disconcerted youth, - and he blushed, poor boy, being only eighteen, and not much more than a schoolboy. As for Lucilla, who had no intention of putting up with that sort of thing she sent off the curate summarily for Mrs. Chiley's cup of tea. "I did not mean you, my dear Osy,” she said in her motherly tone. "When you are a little older we shall see what you can do; but you are not at all disagreeable for a boy," she added, encouragingly, and took Osmond's arm as she made her progress down the room with an indulgence worthy of her maturer years; and even Mrs. Centum and Mrs. Woodburn and the Miss Browns, who were, in a manner, Lucilla's natural rivals, could not but be impressed with this evidence of her powers. They were like the Tuscan chivalry in the ballad, who could scarce forbear a cheer at the sight of their opponent's prowess. Perhaps nothing that she could have done would have so clearly demonstrated the superiority of her genius to her female audience as that bold step of stopping the music, which began to be too much, by sending off the singer downstairs under charge of Mr. Cavendish. To be sure the men did not even find out what it was that awoke the ladies' attention; but, then, in delicate matters of social politics, one never expects to be understood by them. Barbara Lake, as was to be expected took a very long time over her cup of tea; and even when she returned up-stairs she made another pause on the landing, which was still kept possession of by a lively stream of young people coming and going. Barbara had very little experience, and she was weak enough to believe that Mr. Cavendish lingered there to have a little more of her society all to himself; but to tell the truth, his sentiments were of a very different description. For by this time it must be owned that Barbara's admirer began to feel a little ashamed of himself. He could but be conscious of Lucilla's magnanimity; and at the same time, he was very well aware that his return with his present companion would be watched and noted and made the subject of comment a great deal more amusing than agreeable. When he did take Barbara in at last, it was with a discomfited air which tickled the spectators beyond measure. And as his evil luck would have it, notwithstanding the long pause he had made on the landing to watch his opportunity of entering unobserved, Miss Marjoribanks was the first to encounter the returning couple. They met full in the face, a few paces from the door- exactly, as Mrs. Chiley said, as if it had been Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish on their wedding visit, and the lady of the house had gone to meet them. As for the unfortunate gentleman, he could not have looked more utterly disconcerted and guilty if he had been convicted of putting the spoons in his pocket, or of having designs upon the silver tea service. He found a seat for his companion with all the haste possible; and instead of lingering by her side, as she had anticipated, made off on the instant, and hid himself like a criminal in the dark depths of a group of men who were talking together near the door. These were men who were hopeless, and good for nothing but to talk to each other, and whom Miss Marjoribanks tolerated in her drawing-room partly because their wives, with an excusable weakness, insisted on bringing them, and partly because they made a foil to the brighter part of the company, and served as a butt whenever anybody wanted to be witty. As for Lucilla, she made no effort to recall the truant from the ranks of the incurables. It was the only vengeance she took upon his desertion. When he came to take leave of her, she was standing with her hand in that of Mrs. Chiley, who was also going away. "I confess I was a little nervous this evening," Miss Marjoribanks was saying. "You know it is always the second that is the test. But, I think, on the whole, it has gone off very well. Mr. Cavendish, you promised to tell me the truth; for you know I have great confidence in your judgment. Tell me sincerely, do you think it has been a pleasant evening? Lucilla said, with a beautiful earnestness, looking him in the face. The guilty individual to whom this question was addressed felt disposed to sink into the earth, if the earth, in the shape of Mr. Holden's beautiful new carpet, would have opened to receive him; but, after all, that was perhaps not a thing to be desired under the circumstances. Mr. Cavendish, however, was a man of resources, and not disposed to give up the contest without striking a blow in his own defence. "Not so pleasant as last Thursday," he said. "I am not fit to be a lady's adviser, for I am too sincere; but I incline to think it is the third that is the test," said the future M. P.; and Lucilla made him, as Mrs. Chiley remarked, the most beautiful curtsy; but then nothing could be more delightful than the manner in which that dear girl behaved through the whole affair. If every body would only help me as you do!" said Miss Marjoribanks. "Goodnight; I am so sorry you have not enjoyed yourself. But then it is such a consolation to meet with people that are sincere. And I think, on the whole, it has gone off very well for the second," said Lucilla, "though I say it that should not say it." The fact was, it had gone off so well that the house could hardly be cleared of the amiable and satisfied guests. A series of the most enthusiastic compliments were paid to Lucilla as she stood in state in the middle of the room, and bade everybody good-bye. "Next Thursday," she said, with the benevolent grace of an acknowledged sovereign. And when they were all gone, Miss Marjori- In these circumstances Lucilla could conbanks's reflections, as she stood alone in the template her withered flowers with perfect centre of her domains, were of a nature very calmness, without any thought that all was different from the usual reflections which the vanity. But then the fact was, Miss Margiver of a feast is supposed to make when joribanks was accomplishing a great public all is over. But then, as everybody is duty, and at the same time had the unspeakaware, it was not a selfish desire for person-able consolation of knowing that she had al pleasure, nor any scheme of worldly am- proved herself a comfort to her dear papa. bition, which moved the mind of Lucilla. To be sure the Doctor, after looking on for With such motives it is only natural that a little with a half-amused consciousness the conclusion, "All is vanity," should oc- that his own assistance was totally unnecescur to the weary entertainer in the midst of sary, had gradually veered into a corner, his withered flowers and extinguished lights. and from thence had finally managed to esSuch ideas had nothing in common with the cape down-stairs to his beloved library. enlightened conceptions of Miss Marjori- But then the sense of security and tranquilbanks. Perhaps it would be false to say lity with which he established himself at the that she had suffered in the course of this fire, undisturbed by the gay storm that raged second Thursday, or that a superior intelli- outside, gave a certain charm to his retiregence like Lucilla's could permit itself to ment. He rubbed his hands and listened, feel any jealousy of Barbara Lake; but it as a man listens to the wind howling out-ofwould be in vain to deny that she had been doors, when he is in shelter and comfort. surprised. And any one who knows Miss So that, after all, Lucilla's sensation of havMarjoribanks will acknowledge that a great ing accomplished her filial duties in the most deal was implied in that confession. But effective manner was to a certain extent then she had triumphed over the weakness, justified, while at the same time it is quite and triumphantly proved that her estimate certain that nobody missed Dr. Marjoriof the importance of her work went far be- banks from the pleasant assembly up-stairs. yond the influence of mere personal feeling. LETTER FROM PROF. NEWMAN.-That good and wise friend of our cause in England, Prof. F. W. Newman, writes as follows, in a recent letter to a friend. - Transcript. I am sure you read with deep interest the debate on Canada in our Parliament. A friend who was present tells me that while Bright spoke, and, like a judge, summed up and passed sentence, you might have heard a pin drop. The papers say he spoke more slowly than usual. I dare say, he measured his words most anxiously. You are probably all now convinced, that fear has converted the Tories, and the most malignant of Whigs and Radicals, except Roebuck and a few besides, untamable beasts, deaf adders. Now for practical inferences to yourselves; 1, If you fall into new weakness within ten or fifteen years, when your enthusiasm is exhausted, those among us whom fear now controls will become possessed of seven devils in place of the one whom your magic has bound. So, make sure work, and put no power into the hands of the disloyal, lest we cry out against you, as the prophet to Ahab, " Thus saith the Lord, because thou hast let go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter destruction, thy life shall go for his life, and thy people for his people.' The thing to be destroyed is not slavery merely, but the power which was able to establish the hideous crime, and bring on this war. It avails not to abolish slavery on parchment, if you leave that power. The frightful horrors committed against your prisoners must steel you to rightful punishment, which is, utter confiscation of great estates, and establishment of the blacks as a political check. Five years hence the black race will be better educated than the white "trash." Woe upon you, if you lose the loyalty of the colored race! From the Saturday Review, 25th March. maintained a sullen silence, and the coaxing of the Moniteur proves as inefficient as if it were known to conceal a menace. Perhaps even Imperial patience may at length be exhausted, and the generous promise that free literary criticism should not be reckoned a crime against the State may be followed by the indignant threat that any paper which has omitted to review the Life of Caesar shall be suspended or oppressed, and its editor sent to Lambessa. In fact, some ill-affected people maintain that stringent measures will be most promptly adopted by the neglected author if this sulkiness continues. The Emperor has not only graciously taken the critical horses down to the edge of the water, but he is resolved that they shall be made to drink. Still it must be admitted that there is a good deal of difficulty in honestly reviewing a book written by the master of a hundred legions. If Nero had invited the critics of Rome to say what they pleased of his fiddling, the candour of his listeners would still have laboured under many disadvantages. If a French critic were to feel it his duty to denounce the Life of Cæsar as written in hard and inelegant French, as abounding in little pieces of slovenliness, as betraying a profound ignorance of the general course of Roman history, and as propounding a set of vicious and degraded political principles, he might probably find the blandishments of the Moniteur fearfully treacherous. DESPOTISM TEMPERED BY EPIGRAMS. THE sublime magnanimity which induced the French Emperor to announce that critics might say, what they would about his book has not been appreciated as it deserves. French journalists have learnt to dread an autocrat even when offering gifts, and they look with unworthy suspicion on the majestic spectacle of an irresponsible despot proclaiming himself a humble citizen in the republic of letters. They refuse to avail themselves of the truly Imperial clemency which has offered to permit them to point out mistakes of fact, defects of style, errors of inference, without the certainty of immediate and condign punishment. Some of them even go further, and, with a gracelessness utterly inexplicable, actually maintain that His Majesty's splendid condescension is the severest public humiliation the French press has ever received. These ill-conditioned beings declare, in the malignity of their hearts, that they would have felt them selves less degraded if the author had warned them that any critic who detected a misprint or a wrong date should end his days at Cayenne. Perverse people of this kind abound in the world. Even schoolboys sometimes decline to be conciliated by their master's most solemn assurance that they shall not be laid on the switchingblock. But the magnanimous ruler of France knows mankind, and his sensitive spirit will not be too rudely wounded by the murmurings of a few ungrateful journalists. He is aware of the consolations of the faith, and no doubt is comforted by remembering that blessed are those whom men revile, and say all manner of evil against. This righteous prince has, in the columns of the Moniteur, cast the pearl of his biography before the swine of oriticism. But he is a Christian and a philosopher, and is ready to look on with calm resignation while the swine trample his pearl under his feet, and turn again and rend him. At present the swine look upon him and the pearl with equal suspicion, and even contempt. Some of them have approached it with hesitative snout, but they instantly scamper away again with a want of confi- of reach, and prefers to experience the dence that is infinitely disheartening to their munificent herdsman. It is really touching to think of such a return for such benevolence, and of the churlishness with which the modest but high-minded author has been received by his fellow-citizens in the literary republic. The newspapers which are nominally independent have The pungent and stinging satire which has put this with unrivalled force is creating an amount of popular excitement that shows how far the suspicious contempt of the critics has found sympathy among the public. A printed copy of Les Propos de Labienus is priceless, because the printer has been arrested, and his brethren are naturally chary of infringing so perilous a copyright: But people are reported to take the trouble to transcribe it, while others take the trouble of deciphering the manuscript, so keen is the anxiety to see what the republic of letters has to say of its newly-enrolled citizen. The author has so little confidence in his Sovereign's sincerity that he has betaken himself out Imperial magnanimity in the safety of a foreign country. M. Rogeard's precipitate flight to Belgium is not a very flattering comment on the gracious invitation given in the Moniteur to all the world to talk about La Vie de César as if it had been written by a simple man of letters. The printer, too, of Labienus will another time be |