would satisfy all parties, and could do no harm." I am afraid it would not satisfy all parties, and especially those most concerned. For, quite apart from the theory of absolution, no woman could ever persuade herself to confess anything to one of her own sex, and if she could, the other one could never keep the secret.

HE accidents which in the course of a summer season happen to

THE

men visiting spots of romantic interest or beauty amount to a not inconsiderable death-rate. Already, in the present season, Mr. Adderley, son of the President of the Board of Trade, and Dr. Bryce, the eminent geologist, have lost their lives in Scotland alone, and from Switzerland and other points come news of similar calamities. It is, of course, hopeless to preach caution to youth, or to attempt to check or to regulate that enterprise and love of adventure which have made England what she is. I feel often disposed, à propos of such matters, to quote Coleridge's magnificent illustration, that 'Experience, like the stern-lights of a ship, casts light only on the track that has been past.' I should be glad, however, to recommend youth going on excursions to cultivate the quickness of apprehension and readiness of mind in which the civilised man is not seldom far behind the savage. In a case of accident of this kind, in which I was to a certain extent concerned, a man was contemplating, in perfect safety, a cataract from the summit, when a sudden gust of wind down the ravine caught his hat and whirled it off his head. He made an effort to clutch it, lost his balance, and in a moment was lying a mangled corpse at the bottom; whilst a companion was so shocked at the spectacle, that months elapsed before he recovered his mental balance. Now, a man who fitted himself for an excursion by slight training would be prepared for a chance like this, and would have more control over those automatic movements which, while intended for human safety, lead in exceptional cases to human destruction.

A

MONG many odd proposals for centenary commemorations, the drollest is a scheme for celebrating, by a congress of Celtic scholars, to be held at Truro or Penzance, the demise in 1778 of Doll Pentreath. Ignorance concerning this old lady is pardonable, seeing that her sole claim to distinction consists in the fact that she was the last person able to speak the now extinct Cornish tongue. Three hundred years ago Cornish was beginning to disappear as a spoken language, and Carew, in 1602, mentions, in his "Survey of Cornwall," that many of the inhabitants can speak no word of it. A fate similar to that undergone by the Cornish tongue is now being experienced by the Breton, in many respects a kindred

dialect. I remember, two or three years ago, speaking in La Vendée to a Breton sailor, who told me that three generations of his family were alive-his father, who spoke Breton, and no French; himself, who spoke Breton and French; and his son, who spoke French, and no Breton. Some interesting remains in the Cornish language are preserved. These are principally in manuscript, though a selection from the Cornish Miracle-plays and Interludes has been published. The tombstone of Dolly Pentreath may still be seen in Cornwall, with an inscription in the language with which her name has been thus lastingly and strangely associated.

AT

"crack" surgeon

T one of our great hospitals the other day a was lecturing in the theatre. He had begun a scientific anecdote to which he perceived that one member at least of his audience was not paying due attention. The heat of the room was great, and the poor young man may possibly have sat up half the previous night engaged in study, but the "crack" surgeon was naturally annoyed. He kept his eye upon Mr. S., and determined to be down upon him in half a minute. He continued the scientific anecdote. "This person, as I said, was bitten by a dog which was suspected of being rabid Mr. S., are you favouring me with your attention? Then, what did I say last?" Mr. S. had but a hazy view of what the crack doctor had been saying from the beginning, and he had only about half his wits about him to meet the emergency. His fellow-students, however, began to prompt him. "You were saying, sir, that the gentleman was bitten by a dog, whom he suspected of being a rabbit."

HAT fondness for sport on the part of Englishmen which has

THAT incurred the reproach of foreign nations, and elicited the sneer

of Heine, that the sight of natural beauty awakes in the young Englishman no impulse but that of slaughter, has been accompanied hitherto by a dislike to useless destruction, and by a protection accorded to wild animals during certain seasons, in which defenders of field-sports have found their vindication. This extenuation we shall not long be able to plead. A feeling of humiliation is aroused in reading how the practice has spread of killing fish in our streams and along our sea-coast by means of dynamite. Destruction so wanton will soon defeat the ends of those who bring it about, and will lead to what can only be regarded as a national calamity. Fish, like other animals, have means of communicating their impressions, and are not without power of observation. They will learn that special dangers attend special routes, and the great annual exodus of certain classes of fish will in time be diverted along other

channels. We have already driven away with guns half the species of birds England could once boast; we have, by poisoning our rivers, reduced to a fraction of its former proportion our supply of fish. If some measure is not passed to check the destructive greed of those who include all classes and ages of fish in one common fate, our rivers will be tenantless and our fishing grounds deserted. No cheerful prospect this for a country that cannot yield cereals enough for half its own consumption !

THE

HE unveiling at Wantage, by the Prince and Princess of Wales, of a statue to King Alfred, is in itself a matter of interest which cannot well be passed over without notice in The Gentleman's. Its chief value from a sentimental standpoint is, that it seems to give something like a definite sanction to a portion of past history, and affords a vantage-ground from which modern criticism may be combated. After having had reluctantly to surrender faith in King Arthur and the Round Table, I feel an absolute wrong in being asked to forego King Alfred and the cakes, and am disposed to cry plague on these historical critics who will leave untouched nothing that is picturesque or attractive in past history. Let them have their way, and treat as mythical what pious Asser chronicled and sceptical Hume accepted, and I shall have to give up next my belief in King Richard and Blondel, and may have to undergo examination as to the reasons for my faith in Whittington. Gay doings have, however, been seen at Wantage-formerly Wanading-which was a royal town in the days of Alfred. Some travellers on the Great Western line will surely, now, find time to stop and see a statue to a king who might claim to escape the fate allotted all monarchs in the wonderful satire of Quevedo. A visitor to the infernal regions, in this grim piece of humour, was shown the portion of Hades assigned to monarchs. Expressing an opinion that its inmates appeared to be few, he drew from his guide the indignant response that "they were all who had ever reigned." I light upon a letter on the subject of King Alfred, addressed to Mr. Urban, which appears in the number of The Gentleman's for December 1800. In this the writer, evidently a Scotchman, manages, in expressing his admiration for Alfred, to air his national prejudices. He states accordingly that "The King, the glory of his age and country, civilised England from barbarism and devastation in the short space of thirty years." He then adds, "In five hundred years the legislators of Ireland have not performed the task of reformation on their savage countrymen." As a red rag to a bull, was an Irishman to a Scotchman in the beginning of this century.

SYLVANUS URBAN.

HE member for Keeton!" How strange it seemed to Minola

"THE

that Victor Heron should thus have come to be connected in the mind of everyone with the old home of her youth! On the day, not to be forgotten by her, when she saw him for the first time at Mr. Money's door, who could have thought that such a thing as that was likely to come to pass? Ah, who could have thought that other things yet nore deeply concerning her were likely to come to pass? We may be all excused if sometimes under the pressure of some peculiar pain, or in the exaltation of some peculiar joy, we tell ourselves that there is a special fate in the things that concern us, and that the Destinies have our lives expressly in their care to gladden or to punish us. It is something of a consolation apparently to think that this trial, which we find it hard to bear, is not such as falls to the chance lot of ordinary mortals, but is set out by some special destiny for us alone. To Minola there seemed something fateful in the way in which Victor Heron had been so often and strangely made to cross her path. "The member for Keeton !"—and she had, it would seem, made him member for Keeton. In her brighter moments she was sometimes amazed and amused to think of the extraordinary part she had been made to play in the political affairs of her native town. If she had been inclined to vanity, she might have found some consolation for any disappointment of her own in the homage that had been paid to her by such different admirers. But it gave her neither pride nor pleasure to know that some men admired her whom she could not VOL. CCXLI. NO. 1762.

CC

admire in turn.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!" was the thought that often filled her; and she cordially applied it to herself as well as to others. In truth, her secret love would in any case have kept her pure of vanity. Her pain gave her sympathy and made her strong.

Meanwhile the months went on, and she saw little or nothing of the member for Keeton-her member in a double sense the representative of her borough, and returned by herself. The time of the honourable gentleman was now pretty fully engaged. He had no free hours left for strolls in Regent's Park, even if he had been at all inclined to go in that direction. He found himself more and more closely occupied by day and night. Victor Heron was successful in a double sense; he was a political and a social success. He had spoken in the House of Commons, and he had, by universal acknowledgment, made a hit. There is hardly any other success so delightful, so rich in immediate effect, left in our modern English life. His manner was fresh, easy, and animated, with now and then a stronger dash of something that went as near to eloquence as our House of Commons will endure in these days. He knew his subject-a question of foreign policy-thoroughly, and he was never dry or heavy. Then he became a social success as well, and at once. He was invited everywhere. He was envied for many things: for his political chances, for his prospects as one who would probably be able to "entertain his party," and for the prospective possession of the very pretty girl who was seen so often with him, who was known to be the owner of a large fortune, and whom he was, everybody said, about to marry.

Heron never knew what an important person he had become until he saw the difference which his altered position made in the number and kind of the letters which he found on his table every morning. They lay there in piles; letters on all manner of political, social, industrial, educational questions; letters from inventors, from theorists, from men-oh, how many of these there were !—from men with grievances; not a few from women with grievances. He soon found that even to look into half the questions of this kind which he was besought to investigate for himself would take up his whole time every day and night, making no allowance for food or sleep. At first, remembering his own grievance, he used to make a desperate effort to grapple with this huge bulk of complaint. Then he called in the aid of a secretary, and tried in this way to accomplish the task, and to be member for the aggrieved generally. But even this had to be given up. A staff of secretaries would have been necessary to get through the mere reading and answering of letters in