and nobler. But Shelley was a colt, wild and unbroken. They wished to catch him, but instead of offering him oats, and calling him with a gentle, soothing voice, they spread out their arms and shouted frantically; and so he tossed his defiant head and sped far away, so far, Miss Fairfort, it is sad even to recall it. I fear that not unoften poets, to all of whom some religion is necessary, mistake their goddess Poetry for a higher divinity, and carve out of this material world their altar, proffering the incense of song, and worshipping only the Beautiful. It is a great and mournful mistake. Not so worshipped Dante, not so Tasso, not so the severe Milton. Pope never sneers at anything sacred, but writes his noblest work to vindicate the ways of God to man.' Chateaubriand listens with clasped hands, and bows his mighty head to the wisdom of the Infinitely Mighty.

Poor Shelley! I wish he could have believed. We might not then have had the Revolt of Islam, the splendid scorn, the terrific indignation, the inspiration of his wild prophecies, but we should have had a Christian, and the poor man would have been happy. And I cannot envy him who writes the greatest earthly song, but cannot see who has written the Great Poem which we behold around us."

His companion listened with rapt interest. She loved to hear his outpourings.

She

nearly always agreed with him. It was as

though he were giving her thoughts, form, and utterance.

"Oh, Mr. Huntingdon !" she said earnestly, "if you should ever be a great poet -and I think you will be-remember this, and think as you think now. They have much to tempt them these great intellects. The screen rolls up, and they see the beauti

ful with unclouded gaze. They feel, really and palpably, something more exquisite than even religion can pourtray. They reverence intellect, but forget the First Intellect, of which their's is, if I may so speak, but a spark gone out—a falling star that heaven will never miss."

She, too, spoke eloquently. These two young people thought aloud to each other. It was a rare privilege this perfect converse, though they did not know its value, till time had not been overkind to either.

But to the happiest, to him who is even "dis carus ipsis," such opportunities come seldom. Nor did my hero, and the companion who seemed so well to sympathize with him, enjoy another outpouring such as this all the time Lord Fairfort's other

guests remained. Not seeking it, as of course they could not, they were not visited

by it. The days were spent on the hills bagging game; the evenings in music and general discussion. At last the small party separated. Parliament was to meet in November that year, so Ponsonby was required in London. Lord Allanroy, taking his wife, went also to sleep during the debates, and get into the wrong lobby at divisions. Lord Fairfort's brother departed as silently as he had remained. Edgar thought him strangely retiring he would ask Frank. was not yet quite over.

His visit

I

CHAPTER VI.

"Thus happily the days of Thalaba went by."

"Friends meet to part."

SOUTHEY.

The Giaour.

EVEN in London, during the season, Lord Fairfort spent little of his time in the centre of his family; yet there the imperious necessities of society made his presence, wherever Miss Fairfort was seen, generally indispensable. But when, the season over, he retired to his estates, he devoted himself almost exclusively, during the day, to their direction;