see him All fine autumn morning shortly after our the village. Between their bordering of meeting with Mr. Weston, Alice came very trees, now lightened of half their wealth of early to our house to say that he had ar- leaves, I caught glimpses of the Great rived at the Refuge late the night before. Farm. But in the field immediately facing I thought her visit rather odd, as her the house (it was the one behind the Low brother would be sure to announce himself Meadow), I almost started to a few hours later. It was the first time we whose apparent negligence had thus put had seen her since Mr. Weston's tidings, me out of temper. He stood, leaning and despite her joy at Ewen's visit, she against a tree upon a slight elevation. His looked rather pale and grave, and so re- arms were folded, and he was so rapt in called all my first impressions of her. gloomy reverie, that he did not observe my When she prepared to go away, Ruth fol- approach. When he did so, he started, lowed her from the room, and presently I and then stepped forward to meet me. heard them in the next apartment, speak- my pique vanished when I saw his face. If ing in earnest whispers. At last the hall- it struck me as sharpened and wan when I door closed, I saw Alice go down the gar- saw him in his twilight garret, after a day den path, and then my sister re-appeared. spent in crowds of faded London faces, it "Can you guess why she came ?" she now seemed tenfold so, as I saw it under inquired. the trees, facing the glowing sunset. Nay, more, he wore a look of acute pain, no mere fleeting expression, but one which had lasted long enough to fix `a hard line about his mouth, which was not even broken by his smile. His face recalled the face of a companion of my early manhood, who underwent a severe surgical operation. The sufferer endured without groan sigh, but his countenance bore the stamp of that anguish till the day he died, years "afterwards. No," I answered, "but I can guess she did not come without an object." "She came to ask us not to name Mr. Weston to Ewen," replied my sister, in that whisper which comes so naturally when any secrecy is enjoined. ness. "I can understand all her reasons," I said. "It is a beautiful piece of unselfishBut I wish she had forgotten to enjoin our silence, for then I should have spoken. Now we must decidedly yield to her wishes." "And the poor girl is fretting dreadfully about the change in her brother," Ruth "It makes me quite anxious to went on. see him." "Oh, Alice forgets that he has been living a sedentary town life," I replied; "and besides Ewen's is not the style of face which ever displays robust health, once the first bloom of boyhood is past." So all the morning I sat at home, waiting for him. But he did not come. When dinner time came and passed, without his appearance, I grew a little vexed. And when Ruth broadly took his part, and invented such good reasons for his non-arrival, I grew vexed with her also. "You would not like it if I fidgeted you because Agnes Herbert neglects me," said Ruth pointedly. "And she has never been here to tea since the night when Alice showed us those pictures." or "Alice has told me about the knife which George Wilmot found in this field," he remarked presently. I glanced at him, thinking that perhaps the revival of painful associations had something to do with the look he wore, but, on the contrary, his face seemed to clear as he went on. "I am very glad of its discovery." etly. Every little detail throws light on the story," he answered, rather dreamily. "This does not enlighten me at all," I said. 66 No," he replied, "but any item may tend to disprove or to prove anything that is said." "What is said?" I inquired, testily. "Oh nothing," he answered, in some confusion. His manner perplexed me. If he had spoken with such embarrassment during our first interview on the hill overlooking the river, I should have doubted his innocence, Even now, my confidence shook just a little, and we walked side by side in silence, I had no answer to make, but after dinner I went out, saying to myself that if everybody had forgotten the old man, he would at least take care of himself, and get a lit⚫tle fresh air. That is not often my train of thought, and I am very glad of it, for I found it was not at all conducive to happi- "That is the door of the Great Farm," ness, and I went along grumbling to my- he said suddenly, turning in its direction as self at a fine rate. I took my usual route, a slight sound met my ear, so trifling and. through the meadows flanking the road to distant that I scarcely noticed it. 379 LIVING AGE. VOL. X. "You remember I once worked round the house, sir," he replied, with almost a dash of haughtiness in his manner. "I think Miss Herbert and her dog Griff are coming this way, sir." So we stood still and waited for them. The great, substantial grey dog, her constant attendant, came bounding towards us, but instead of paying his usual compliments to me, he leaped upon Ewen, and overwhelmed him with the most demonstrative professions of regard. "Does Mr. Ralph illustrate too?" I asked. "Yes, and he does it beautifully," Ewen answered. 66 Yet the gentleman did not notice his work," I said, slyly, "and so Mr. Ralph had to wait for his invitation till he made his personal acquaintance." I wanted to put the young man on his mettle in defence of his friend, and I did not fail. "His oversight was only an accident," he answered eagerly. 66 Did he see Mr. Ralph's drawings when he visited you?" I inquired. "Mr. Ralph did not offer to show them," said Ewen. 66 His mistress came up almost breathless. "Oh, it is you," she said when she saw Ewen, and there was a disappointed sound in her voice which was not at all complimentary to the young man. "Griff seems to recognise you," she added more gra-orary." ciously. "He recognises something," he replied, caressing the dog. "Griff, Griff, poor, faithful old fellow!" "And how are you going on in London, my boy?" I asked presently; "as well as before, I hope." "Oh, yes, sir," he answered. "I wrote you that my salary was raised at Midsummer." "Yes," I returned, "and I knew it beforehand. But what are you doing as an artist ?" Ewen was on my right hand, and Miss Herbert on my left. She bent a little forward as I asked this question, and he rather drew back, and replied very precisely: "I succeed better than I hoped. I have illustrated one or two poems in some journals." "I hope they pay you well," I said. "I am satisfied, sir," he answered, with a slight smile. Beginners often fare badly," I said, shaking my wise head; however well they work, they are generally paid only as beginners." 66 Then there's something to look forward to," replied the young man, with one of those quick turns by which he sometimes reminded me of my sister. "Oh, I find people very kind," he went on, and they are more ready to notice things than one would believe. A gentleman whose poem I illustrated asked about me, and invited me to his house, and then he called on me and looked over all my drawings, and then he asked us to a little party of young artists and authors. He is a well-born, wealthy gentleman, who can afford to show these kindnesses." Agnes listened with intense interest. Very well, my boy," I returned; "but whether it was his own fault or not, your invitation was earned and his was only hon "The gentleman could see Mr. Ralph was his equal," returned Ewen, with his strange new dignity of manner. "His presence at his house would not need the explanation that he had drawn this, or written that." "And how is Mr. Ralph ?" I inquired presently. "He is much better, sir, and he sent his most dutiful regards to you," he replied, returning to his old simple manner. 66 "I'm afraid Miss Herbert thinks us rather rude," I said; our conversation must be a riddle to her. Let me explain, my dear, that Mr. Ralph is a young artist who lives with our friend here, and who seems to have seen a great deal of trouble." "Indeed!" said Agnes. "Griff, Griff, come away, sir. You are quite troublesome to Mr. M'Callum. Really, sir, she added, bending forward and addressing Ewen, “he scenis as if he thought you had seen some friend of his, and so leaped up to whisper inquiries in your ear. See, up goes again! Griff, Griff, come away! he Her words were simple and natural enough, though she seldom said as much to a comparative stranger; but she spoke with a singular formality and emphasis, and presently, as if she thought she had not shown sufficient interest in my explanation, she remarked It “Ralph'sounds odd for a surname. is much more natural as a Christian one." Yes, certainly it is," replied Ewen, with a warmth of assent quite beyond the subject. "And how do you like London ?" she asked in a few minutes, and without waiting for a reply, added another question. "Have you ever met any one you knew before ?" I answered for him. "I know he has met one, for he had some old acquaintance with this very Mr. Ralph." "Yes, I knew Ralph before," he assented, for the first time naming his friend without the prefix "Mr." "Ralph thinks of going abroad next spring," he stated presently. 66 Going abroad!" exclaimed Agnes, so sharply that I started. "Does he think he will find more scope in a new country?" I inquired. fine evening, without that autumnal mirk and chill which makes artificial light and artificial heat alike grateful. The young man seemed to have recovered his spirits, and consequently his face had lost that haggard hunger which had so startled me at our first meeting. Nevertheless, when the lamp was at last brought in, and Ruth took up her knitting, I saw she stole many a glance at him, as we sat conversing about his promotions, and the cheerful prospect before him. Suddenly she said "Don't let the bustle of London life make you an old man before your time, Ewen." He laughed a little constrainedly. "Do you see any symptoms, ma'am?" he queried lightly. 66 Ewen shook his head. "I fear he will go only because he is weary of the old country," he replied. "Poor fellow, I own he acted foolishly in some things, but he has been punished as if folly were a sin, and the shadow of all he has lost hangs constantly over him. He fancies he will Yes," answered my candid sister. escape it. I think it will go with him." You are nearly ten years older since this But, as he says, at any rate Australia or time last year. Now I should not speak of Canada will be as home-like as England is this, if it were anything you could not now, and there is not one who will suffer help, but I believe it can be helped. Noby his departure." body has any right to be spendthrift in his energies and emotions." "business some 66 But suppose he is mistaken in all this!" exclaimed Agnes, in a voice full of tears. Poor girl, I knew her sympathetic and emotional nature! I tell him he is mistaken," said Ewen with earnest solemnity, could prove it to him." 66 But, Ruth," I said, times compels - " I don't say any one is not to be 'diligent in business,"" she interrupted. "But "but I only wish II believe the methodical exercise energy gets in business proves only strengthening development, at least while energy is young and fresh. And besides, if it be spent for any adequate return, it is well spent. If a clock wear out in keeping time, it has done its work. But if it be worn out by the hands whirling round the dial sixty times a day, then it is wasted. And so is all energy expended in emotion." And then we wandered on in silence, till I broke the spell by claiming Ewen's company for my sister's tea-table, and informing Miss Herbert that Ruth made certain comments about her long absence from our house. Agnes replied that she should come to see us in a day or two, and she was sure she would come oftener only she feared to be troublesome. She made this answer with a bright, eager look on her sweet face, and then she turned to Ewen and said in that pretty petitioning tone which women use when they have some dear little trifling request to make "Mr. M'Callum, I have long wished to write to a dear friend in London, but I do not know the exact address. If I direct it as well as I can, and send it to the Refnge under cover to you, will you, if possible, supply the omissions of my superscription? I think you will be able." "Certainly I will do what I can," he answered as if he sincerely felt the commonplace commission to be an honour and a pleasure. Then they shook hands, regular hearty, honest shake. And she turned away, calling the reluctant Griff to follow her. a It was nearly tea-time when Ruth welcomed our young guest. We partook of the meal in the twilight, for it was a very 66 66 66 Ruth," I exclaimed, 'do you mean that one may prevent himself suffering? "Yes, I do," she answered; "at least to a certain degree. Mental pain is subject to the same conditions as bodily pain, which any one can either alleviate or aggravate. If a man unbinds a wound, and thinks about it, and reads about his disease, and twists the hurt limb to test the extent of the injury, he suffers for it. So if a man sets up a sorrow as a shrine where he may worship, and walks round it to survey it from all sides, and draws all his life about it, and reads fiction and poetry to see what others say of the same, then he also suffers for it." "But sorrow should scarcely be shunned like a sin," I said. wished to cry, but couldn't, because I had to go into the shop. And by the time the shop was closed I was braver, and did not want to cry." "But the tears would have been a relief," I said, "and you certainly suffered no less because they might not come." "But I was stronger for the self-control," she answered, "and you remember 'Not enjoyment and not sorrow Is our destined end or way: But I met him in my walks, and one day, as we were strolling down a lane, rather silently, it occurred to me to inquire if Miss Herbert had forwarded her promised letter. "Yes," he answered so briskly that I thought he was about to make some further remark, but he did not. "And I hope you can help her with the address ?" I said. "The letter has reached its destination by this time," he replied. “I am glad of it," I observed, just for the sake of politeness. "Perhaps she does," said Ewen," but though one can see when something is wrong, it is hard to guess rightly what it is. Now, I see there is something amiss with Alice, and yet I supposed Alice was so happy!" "So am I," he responded, rather dryly. But though I quote poetry," she added, "Miss Herbert is a very lovely girl," I turning to Ewen with a smile, "I don't ad- went on in my prim old-fashioned way, vise you to read it. It's not that you want" but having spent so much of her life in now. Build with granite before you clothe London, I almost think she suffers from the with creepers. Read Bacon, and Mon- monotony of country existence." taigne, and Rollin, and Shakspeare. He's a poet, you say? Yes, my dear, but he's a dramatist. He does not tell us how bitterly he feared Anne Hathaway would reject him. He says nothing about himself. He was above it, he had better things to say. So he don't make us, his readers, think of ourselves, rather he lifts us out of self. But leave all other poets till you are growing bald, then you will want them to remind you of what you were. If they moisten your eyes then, it will do you good. Why, Mr. M'Callum," she said, pointing to our bookcase, "there are books on those shelves which I have never dared to read since I was eighteen until-not very long ago! My dear, enduring sister! Ewen staid with us that night until nine o'clock, and we saw him two or three times afterwards during his brief holidays. But that visit was the only lengthened one which he paid us. For I would not give him a set invitation, as I knew his punctilious conscientiousness would accept it, however much he might prefer the society of his grandfather and sister. And so she is," I answered, "only, as the healthiest are sometimes ailing, so the happiest are sometimes sad. Life, like a portrait, must have its shadows. But the good are never miserable, though they may suffer very keenly through the sins of others, or for their sakes." "Ay, and how far may that suffering extend ?" he asked rather bitterly. "Never farther than the valley of the shadow of death," I answered. That was the last time I saw, Ewen before he returned to London. On the day of his departure, I proposed that we should take a walk towards the station, and so have a chance of seeing the last of him. But Ruth said "No, leave him to his own relations. Partings are long remembered, and so they may like to remember they had it all to themselves." SIR JAMES BROOKE, better known as Rajah Brooke, died on Thursday, at his house in Devonshire, his dream of conquering Borneo, and turning it into an English Java, still unfulfilled. He was a bold, upright, and somewhat over-stern adventurer, with a talent not only for conquering, but for conciliating Eastern races. The Dyaks, whom he smote so pitilessly to put down piracy, rose at his summons when he was attacked by the Chinese, and extirpated his ene mies, and he reigned in Sarawak an unquestioned despot, without a European soldier at his back. Fifty years ago he would have added a second India to the Empire, and even as it was he gave the British name a prestige in the Archipelago which makes the Dutchmen writhe. Worse men and feebler have ere this been laid in Westminster Abbey, but we suppose no claim will be made for the last Englishman who has waged and won a private war. Spectator, 13 June. From The Dublin University Magazine. JOHN HOME, THE AUTHOR OF "DOUG LAS." THE Rev. John Home was a native of Scotland, born in the vicinity of Ancrum, in Roxburghshire, in 1724. His father was Alexander Home, town-clerk of Leith, and a lineal descendant of Sir James Home, of Coldingknowes, ancestor to the Earls of Home. The poet, as is natural in a man of imagination, was tenacious of his birth. In some early verses-quoted by Sir Walter Scott- he says of himself: "Sprung from the ancient nobles of the land, Upon the ladder's lowest round I stand.” and was introduced to Collins, the poet, who, on his return to Scotland, addressed to him his "Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands, considered as the Subject of Poetry." In the opening stanza, he speaks prophetically of his new friend's future worship of Melpomene, of which, at that time, he may have indicated prospective germs, in private, although no public fruit had yet appeared: "Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee ling'ring with a fond delay, 'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future day Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song." It was once reported that he set forward Mr. Home had, in his leisure hours, culsome pretensions to the title of Earl of Dun- tivated the belles lettres; and, notwithbar; on what ground we are unable to say. standing the rigour of the Church of which He was also tenacious on the pronunciation he was a member and pastor, finding in his of his name, which is usually called in Scot-natural genius a bent to poetry, and not beland Hume, but he insisted that Home was lieving that tragedy, in which is comprised right. Once, in high controversy with the principles of virtue, morality, filial duty, David Hume, the historian and philosopher, on this point, who stood for the u, the latter proposed to settle the question by a cast of the dice, the winner to decide: "Nay, Mr. Philosopher," says John; "this is a most extrordinary proposal indeed; for, if you lose, you take your own name, and if I lose, I take another man's name." Being intended for the Scots Presbyterian Church, John Home received a suitable education, and was in due time ordained, and inducted to the living of Athelstane-ford, in which he succeeded Mr. Blair, author of The Grave, a melancholy, soul-depressing poem, as the title implies, tending to produce depression of mind and body; but which, nevertheless, obtained, at the time of publication, much celebrity and many readers. We suspect few of the living generation have cast their eyes on it, and a still smaller number have read it through. patriotic zeal, and reverence for an overruling Power, could be inconsistent with the tenets of a religion in which all these are in the strongest manner inculcated and enjoined, he conceived and wrote the tragedy of "Douglas," which he offered for representation to the managers of the theatre in Edinburgh. The stage in the Scottish metropolis was, at that time, in a more flourishing condition than it had known for a long series of years, and vieing, in every respect, as far as comparative circumstances would permit, with that of London. The managers saw the merit of the play at once, accepted it without hesitation, put it into rehearsal, and prepared for the performance in such a manner as might do honour to the author, and bring both credit and emolument to themselves. Thus, so far, all was plain sailing on a fair and promising sea. But these matters When the rebellion of 1745 broke out, coming to the knowledge of the elders of the temporary success of the insurgents the Kirk, they, in their mistaken bigotry, or under Prince Charles Edward induced Mr. zeal, told the author, in blunt terms, that Home to suspend his clerical pursuits, and no clergyman who respected his calling take up arms in defence of the existing ought to enter the doors of a theatre; and Government. He was present at the battle that the minister who wrote a play was diof Falkirk, where there was more running rectly inspired by the devil. They conaway than fighting, on both sides; but dis- cluded by advising him to pause before he daining to fly, he submitted to be taken committed the heinous sin in contemplation. prisoner, and, with five or six other gentle- But he, not so thoroughly convinced of the men, contrived to escape from the Castle of iniquity of the act itself, unconscious of any Doune. The rebellion being finally quelled ill intention, and with a strong impression at Culloden, in the year following, Mr. that his play would meet with success, atHome abandoned the sword, and resumed tended both by fame and profit, was unwillthe more peaceable duties of his normal ing to desist suddenly, and with his own profession. In 1749, he visited England, hands pull down a fabric he had been rearing |
