abroad now and then, I may make interest | her fine eyes, and sending an unwonted with Wrekin for a few days' holiday; and glow through the pure alabaster of her with regard to those various financial cheeks, he thought he had never seen her schemes of ours, there will be no harm in look so handsome. Oddly enough, for your forming political connections. And the first time since he had known her, he as these ripen, and when you have had a felt much inclined for a little love-making; certain political training, we shall see but though fascinated by an unwonted about the seat in Parliament, where you softness in her manner, he honorably remay blossom into statesmanship if you sisted the temptation. can. If you don't sit in a Cabinet before you die, you shall only have yourself to blame."

It was almost a duty to say all that was civil to Miss Winstanley, but it was both a duty and a pleasure to tell his cousin Grace. On the memorable day when the matter was decided, he had arranged to dine in Eaton Place. It was more than possible that there might be other guests, and he was anxious to see his cousin alone. So he sent a note, telling her frankly that he had something to communicate which she would be pleased to hear, and hoping he might find her in the drawing-room half an hour before dinner. Grace had her own share of feminine curiosity, and was dressed and down-stairs ten minutes before the time. She was going to a dance under Lady Fortrose's wing in the evening, and was attired in a prettily fancied toilet. Perhaps Leslie might have liked her all the better in virgin white, with only a string of pearls and a ribbon or so. But Jack Venables, whose artistic tastes were more worldly, freely used his cousinly privileges, and went into unfeigned raptures over a chef d'œuvre of Madame Antoinette's. If Miss Winstanley was handsome, Miss Moray was more what might be called pretty; but with her high-bred air toned down by the sweet simplicity which even her Belgravian experiences and conquests could not efface, she might have stepped down from a canvas of Vandyck's, allowing for changes in the fashions. What a lovely young matron the girl would make, to do the honors of the drawing-room of a rising politician! Yet he thought at the moment that the world might be well lost if he could marry her, and live quietly down at Glenconan. Grace welcomed him none the less warmly for his evident admiration; but she laughingly cut his compliments short.

It said a good deal for Mr. Venables's popularity, that the news of the piece of good fortune that had befallen him was received with considerable astonishment, but general approbation. In fact, his pleasant manners, and modest though manly bearing, had made him a universal favorite, and went far towards disarming envy. Messrs. Winnington and Tressylan were naturally bitter; they pitied Lord Wrekin, who must be falling into his dotage; as public men and patriots, they deplored a wanton abuse of patronage. But nobody else appeared to think that the appointment was likely to shake the foundations of the State. The social journals mentioned the matter rather kindly; though one of them, greatly to Jack's annoyance, remarked that it never rained but it poured, and hinted at the probability of the marriage of the fortunate youth with a lovely and richly dowered heiress, one of the darlings of Belgravian society. It was a double-barrelled suggestion, which might apply equally well either to Julia Winstanley or Grace Moray, and consequently might be doubly embarrassing. On the other hand, the double entendre was so far advantageous, that neither of the young ladies need take it home to herself. Nor did the self-consciousness of either give him any reason to suspect that the indiscreet canard had been brought under her notice. Miss Winstanley congratulated him in all good-fellowship-in the course of conversation almost giving him to suspect that she deserved some "You don't say so, Grace! And to credit for bringing about the arrangement. punish you for your treachery, I have more And as she spoke of the prospects bright- than a mind to say nothing till he does ening before him, animation lighting up | come; only that in punishing you, I should

"You never made a special assignation with me, Jack, to glorify Madame Antoinette's designs; and as I told papa that you were bringing a budget of news with you, it is more than likely he may interrupt us at any moment."

sacrifice myself, and deny myself the lie seized him by both hands, and told

pleasure I have been counting upon all him frankly how very glad he was, Jack day." Then he changed his manner, and felt humiliating pangs of self-reproach. spoke with more lover-like softness. "I Had not a very considerable part of his make so sure that you are interested in satisfaction come from the thought that all that concerns me, that I come straight he had made a fresh advance on Ralph ? to you with the intelligence of my last that the hare was running right away, piece of good luck." He did not deem it and that the tortoise was left hopelessly needful, by the way, to make any aliusion behind? Yet Leslie had saved his life; to his parenthetical talk on the subject and that evening, in the wild hills of Loch with Miss Winstanley. Rosque, he had vowed and felt eternal "Oh, I am so glad, Jack! What is it?" gratitude. However, his confusion was Then he gave her the story at length. not remarked, or was set down to anyNor had he any cause to complain of thing rather than the real cause. And want of sympathy. Grace was delighted, when the dinner was over and the serand showed her pride in his progress; for, vants had withdrawn, as the party relike the best of women, she was inclined turned to the subject, his self-complacency to worship success. And as his prospects was nearly restored. After all, a man lost nothing by Jack's painting, and as he cannot altogether control his thoughts, had the most heartfelt faith in the prom--and it is something to be sincerely ises of his future, from private secretary ashamed when they are discreditable. of the lord privy seal to first minister of When the subject seemed pretty well exthe crown seemed to her a very possible hausted, he changed it: vanity whispered transition. Her father, when he joined them, if less excited, was almost equally well pleased. He had always believed the boy had stuff in him; but as a man of action, he had never quite forgiven Jack in his heart for not accepting his offers of introductions in the East. Now the refusal seemed amply justified. With Jack's versatility, he could pick and choose among the openings that his ready intelligence made for himself. "The boy is born to get on; and he is honorable and straightforward to boot, as I have good reason to say, when I remember what passed at Glenconan. Who would have thought, when I half encouraged him in his audacity there, that he would so soon have gained the position he has at present? So that the legacy of £10,000 becomes comparatively a bagatelle. If he only continues going forward as he has begun, Grace might do worse from a worldly point of view."

At that very moment the door was flung open not to announce dinner, but "Mr. Leslie." Leslie, like Venables, was always made welcome in Eaton Place, on the chance of his uncle dining at home. "Ah, I was forgetting Ralph, poor fellow!" mused Moray. "Well, he must take his chance, like other men; for me, I can only say of Grace-'How happy might she be with either!''

that more than enough had been made of what, a year or two later, might appear trivial in the retrospect. And it was then that Leslie, speaking more deliberately than usual, remarked that he too had something to say that might interest them. "Although," as he modestly added, "it is much less exciting than Jack's communication."

66

Never mind," said Moray; "let us hear and judge for ourselves."

Grace smiled kindly on him, but did not apparently expect to be much startled a second time. As for Jack, he was necessarily preoccupied: nevertheless he constrained himself to listen politely, and to be ready to say something civil.

"The truth is," said Leslie - and he looked at Grace, "the truth is, that I have taken the bull by the horns at last, and brought out a little volume of poems. It embodies some of my pleasantest memories of the Highlands, and one or two dramatic scenes at Glenconan."

Whereupon, and at the mention of scenes in Glenconan, Grace expressed unmistakable interest. As for her father, who did not greatly care for poetry, he merely said that he hoped the book might be successful. But he spoke in the doubtful tone that forebodes discreditable failure. Had Leslie been less generous, he might have enjoyed his revenge, when he Leslie walked in very briskly for him, went on to explain quietly that the volume looking unusually bright and well. Grace, seemed to have scored a certain success who was full of what she had just heard, already, though it had only made its ap burst out and told him all about it. Not pearance, and anonymously, in the beginone of Jack's many friends was to be ning of last week. Jack Venables pricked more cordial in congratulations. As Les-up his ears, and broke out, "Surely you

don't mean the 'Idyls of the North'? | tention that was doubtfully gratifying. You don't mean to tell us that you are the When he had done his duty, and seemed author?"

"That is just what I do mean. But here are the first fruits of fame, with a vengeance! I did not think that poetry was much in your line, Master Jack."

to have run down, she rose and left the dining-room. Immediately afterwards the bell in the drawing-room was heard to ring sharply. And when the gentlemen, some time afterwards, followed her upstairs, they found her sitting up to the ankles in news sheets. She had sent a servant to knock up the nearest newsagent. She came forward to meet Leslie, with both hands extended.

"No more it is, as a general rule, and I am ashamed to say that I have not looked beyond the back of the 'Idyls.' But an exceedingly handsome book it is externally; and it is just like you depreciating it as a little volume. It is lucky that you "Oh, Ralph, if you were only proud as are not left to blow your own trumpet in I am! But you seem to take it all as if it the way of criticism. The fact is, I was were a matter of course; and perhaps you dining last night at the Winstanleys it are right." was rather a literary party; they got talking of this new poem, and half the men were in raptures over it. Cutler, the editor of the Critical World, was there, and he said he remembered no volume of poems in his time, except by the laureate, or Browning, or one of the big swells, that had been so promptly and favorably received."

"Don't fancy that," Ralph hastened to protest. "If it really should prove a success, it has taken me entirely by surprise. If I sometimes dared to dream that I had something of the poet in me, I distrust the popularity that takes the public by storm.'

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Moray impatiently, for he could neither understand nor sympathize with his nephew's sensi. bilities. "Byron woke up one morning to find himself famous, and you may safely condescend to make a reputation in the same way."

"And success is the test of merit or genius," added Jack sententiously. "You may depend upon that."

"So my publishers assure me," said Leslie. In the course of the last few days there have been reviews in the Times and the Saturday Review, the Athenæum and the Critical World-all of them only too flattering. I can only attribute the prompt appearance of the articles to friendly interest made in my favor. Before publishing, I had taken "Only listen to this, and to this, and to the opinion of one of the illustrious au- this," chimed in Grace, picking up two or thors Venables named- not the laureate, three of the papers, and rapidly reading by the way and he expressed himself extracts from them. It must be owned so pleased by some of the little poems, that Leslie never found her voice so muthat he insisted upon carrying the manu- sical, and the flattery that fell from her script away, to show in strict confidence." lips sounded not only sweet but true. "I do not know how that may be," said Jack, "but no one seemed to think that the reviews were too flattering-quite the reverse. Old Cutler paid you the compliment of remembering a couplet or two from The Highland Widow,' I think he called it, and declaiming it over his claret with most seductive effect and emphasis."

And still more seductively sweet were her accents when she began to favor them with some passages from the poems. She knew best why she did not begin with an extract from "The Highland Widow," though it was uppermost in her thoughts. But she charmed them with a picture of the wooded ravine in Glenconan at daybreak which made Moray bring his hand down on the table, declaring that he saw the very scene before him. And she quoted an idealized and slightly humorous sketch of Donald Ross, which made Ven

There Grace again caught Leslie's eye; and Jack, who intercepted the look, was far from liking it. He could make his cousin's eye to dance and sparkle, but Leslie was telegraphing dangerous sym-ables burst out laughing. pathy. However, he was resolved to ex- "When the old fellow recognizes it, as piate his fault in having crowed over he is sure to do, I don't know whether he Leslie when he got his appointment; will be gratified or owe you a grudge. and chivalrously, although considerably You have hit his foibles off to a hair, and against the grain, he went on singing in yet you have touched his good points so solo at second hand the praises that had prettily that he might be a saint or a herresounded round the Berkeley Square mit instead of a Highland keeper. The dinner table. Grace listened with an at-portraiture is inimitable, and yet it is

hardly Donald. It is Donald as he might appear in Paradise with some lingering taint of the flesh, and with as strong a smell of the hunting field still about him as if he were an Esau just come home from the chase. The poet's pen, with a discreet use of a fanciful imagination, leaves the painter with his brushes leagues behind. Do you remember, Grace, how I tried to touch off your friend Donald for you? but only put my daub alongside of Ralph Leslie's verses, and then tell me how you should place the two."

erous, just, and reasonable gratitude for the very highest of all benefits that man can confer on mankind. For the greatest poet of this century has been more than such a force of indirect and gradual beneficence as every great writer must needs be. His spiritual service has been in its inmost essence, in its highest development, the service of a healer and a comforter, the work of a redeemer and a prophet. Above all other apostles who have brought us each the glad tidings of his peculiar gospel, the free gifts of his special inspiration, has this one deserved to be called by the most beautiful and tender of all human titles - the son of consolation. His burping wrath and scorn unquenchable were fed with light and heat from the inexhaustible dayspring of his love—a fountain of everlasting and unconsuming fire. We know of no such great poet so good, of no such good man so great in genius; not though Milton and Shelley, our greatest lyric singer and our single epic poet, remain with us for signs and examples of devo

Now this was exceedingly generous of Jack, far more generous than any one, except perhaps Grace, suspected. The praises of the poems were gall and wormwood to his more worldly nature. Grace's undisguised admiration for them was fresh fuel with a blast of the bellows to the smouldering fires of his jealousy. But the self-reproaches, before Ralph had come forward in this new character, had given him timely warning to stand on his guard. So with a manly effort he pulled himself together, bringing his will to the succor of his better feelings. It is a question as heroic and self-sacrifice as pure. tion for casuists how far he had conquered, seeing that his heart was at variance with his lips. But Grace, who had not been unconscious of the strife, gave him all credit for his victory; and it was apparently destined that when either of the rivals made a start, the other was to come closely treading upon his heels.

From The Nineteenth Century.
THE WORK OF VICTOR HUGO.
BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.

IN the spring of 1616 the greatest Englishman of all time passed away with no public homage or notice, and the first tributes paid to his memory were prefixed to the miserably garbled and inaccurate edition of his works which was issued seven years later by a brace of players under patronage of a brace of peers. In the spring of 1885 the greatest Frenchman of all time has passed away amid such universal anguish and passion of regret as never before accompanied the death of the greatest among poets. The contrast is of course not wholly due to the incalculable progress of humanity during the two hundred and sixty-nine years which divide the date of our mourning from the date of Shakespeare's death; nor even to the vast superiority of Frenchmen to Englishmen in the quality of gen

And therefore it is but simply reasonable that not those alone should mourn for him who have been reared and nurtured on the fruits of his creative spirit; that those also whom he wrought and fought for, but who knew him only as their champion and their friend- they that cannot even read him, but remember how he labored in their cause, that their children might fare otherwise than they should bear no unequal part in the burden of this infinite and worldwide sorrow.

For us, who from childhood upwards have fostered and fortified whatever of good was born in us-all capacity of spiritual work, all seed of human sympa thy, all powers of hope and faith, all passions and aspirations found loyal to the service of duty and of love with the bread of his deathless word and the wine of his immortal song, the one thing possible to do in this first hour of bitterness and stupefaction at the sense of a loss not possible yet to realize, is not to declaim his praise or parade our lamentation in modulated effects or efforts of panegyric or of dirge: it is to reckon up once more the standing account of our all but incal culable debt. A brief and simple summary of his published works may probably lay before the student some points and some details not generally familiar to the run of English readers; and I know not what better service might be done them than to bring into their sight such aspects

of the most multiform and many-sided | of daring, is evident whenever an episode genius that ever wrought in prose or verse of martial adventure comes in among the as are least obvious and least notorious to the foreign world of letters.

suffice of themselves to establish that. The fire, the music, the force, the tenderness, the spirit of these glorious little poems must needs, one would think, impress even such readers as might be impervious to the charm of their exquisitely vigorous and dexterous execution. It will of course, I should hope, be understood once for all that when I venture to select for special mention any special poem of Hugo's I do not dream of venturing to suggest that others are not or may not be fully as worthy of homage, or that anything of this incomparable master's work will not requite our study or does not demand our admiration; I do but take leave to indicate in passing some of those which have been to me especially fruitful of enduring delight, and still are cherished in consequence with a peculiar gratitude.

more fantastic excursions of adolescent inventiveness. But it is in the ballads Poet, dramatist, novelist, historian, phil- written between his twenty-second and his osopher, and patriot, the spiritual sover- twenty-seventh year that Victor Hugo first eign of the nineteenth century was before showed himself, beyond all question and all things and above all things a poet. above all cavil, an original and a great Throughout all the various and ambitious poet. "La Chasse du Burgrave" and attempts of his marvellous boyhood" Le Pas d'Armes du Roi Jean" would criticism, drama, satire, elegy, epigram, and romance the dominant vein is poetic. His example will stand forever as the crowning disproof of the doubtless more than plausible opinion that the most amazing precocity of power is a sign of ensuing impotence and premature decay. There was never a more brilliant boy than Victor Hugo; but there has never been a greater man. At any other than a time of mourning it might be neither unseasonable nor unprofitable to observe that the boy's early verse, moulded on the models of the eighteenth century, is an arsenal of satire on revolutionary principles or notions which might suffice to furnish forth with more than their natural equipment of epigram a whole army of reactionary rhymesters and pamphleteers. But from the first, without knowing it, he was on the road to Damascus: if not to be struck down by sudden miracle, yet by no less inevitable process to undergo a no less unquestionable conversion. At sixteen he wrote for a wager in the space of a fortnight the chivalrous and heroic story of "Bug-Jargal; " afterwards recast and reinformed with fresh vigor of vitality, when the author had attained the maturer age of twenty-three. His tenderness and manliness of spirit were here made nobly manifest: his originality and ardor of imagination, wild as yet and crude and violent, found vent two years later in "Han d'Islande." But no boyish work on record ever showed more singular force of hand, more brilliant variety of power; though the author's criticism ten years later admits that "il n'y a dans Han d'Islande' qu'une chose sentie, l'amour du jeune homme; qu'une chose observée, l'amour de la jeune fille." But as the work of a boy's fancy or invention, touched here and there with genuine humor, terror, and pathos, it is not less won derful than are the author's first odes for ease and force and freshness and fluency of verse imbued with simple and sincere feeling, with cordial and candid faith. And in both these boyish stories the hand of a soldier's son, a child of the camp, reared in the lap of war and cradled in traditions

At twenty-five the already celebrated lyric poet published his magnificent historic drama of "Cromwell: " a work suffi cient of itself to establish the author's fame for all ages in which poetry and thought, passion and humor, subtle truth of character, stately perfection of struc ture, facile force of dialogue, and splendid eloquence of style, continue to be admired and enjoyed. That the author has appar ently confounded one Earl of Rochester with another more famous bearer of the same title must not be allowed to interfere with the credit due to him for wide and various research. Any dullard can point the finger at a slip here and there in the history, a change or an error of detail or of date: it needs more care to appre ciate the painstaking and ardent industry which has collected and fused together a great mass of historic and legendary material, the fervent energy of inspiration which has given life, order, and harmony to the vast and versatile design. As to the executive part of the poem, the least that can be said by any competent judge of that matter is that Molière was already equalled and Corneille was already excelled in their respective provinces of verse by the young conqueror whose rule was equal and imperial over every realm of song. The comic interludes or epi