it was enough to make him do what hel often had threatened to do. Squire Philip then asked what he meant by this; and he answered in a deep low voice, "Bring to justice the villain who, for the sake of his own advantage, has left my poor Philip childless: and with all the fair Isabel's property too! Greedy, greedy scoundrel!" They could not see the poor Squire's face, when these words came home to him; but they knew that he fell into a chair, and his voice so trembled that he could not shape his answer properly. "Then you too think, as I have feared, as I have prayed, as I would die, rather than be forced to think. My only brother! And I have been so kind to him for years and years. That he was strong and rough I know — but such a thing, such a thing as this "He began to indulge his propensities for slaughter rather early -I think I have heard people say." Yes, yes, that boy at school. But this is a wholly different thing-what had my poor wife done to him?” "Did you ever hear that Drake Bampfylde offered himself to the Princess, while you were away from home, and a little before you did?" "I never heard anything of the kind. And I think that she would have told me." "I rather think not. It would be a very delicate point for a lady. However, it may not be true." "Chowne, it is true, from the way you say it. You know it to be true; and you never told me, because it prevents any further doubt. Now I see everything, everything now. Chowne, you are one of the best of men." "Philip, you have hit the mark. I could not have put it so well myself. My fine fellow, never smother yourself while you have such abilities." "Alas! I have no abilities, Chowne. The whole of them went, when my good-luck went. And if any remained to me, how could I care to use them? After what you have told me too! My life is over, my life is dead." All the maids agreed at this point, and would scorn to contradict, that poor Squire Philip fell down in a lump, and they must have a run in with their bottles and so on, only that the door was locked. Moreover, they felt, and had the courage to whisper to one another, that they were a little timid of the Parson's witchcraft. There had been a girl in Sherwell parish who went into the Parson's service, and because she dared to have a sweetheart on the premises, she had orders for half an hour, before and after the moon rose, to fly up and down the river Yeo, from Sherwell Mill to Pilton Bridge; and her own mother had seen her. Therefore these maids only listened. "All this shows a noble vein of softness in you, my good friend". this was the next thing they could hear "it is truly good and grand. What a happy thing to have a darling wife and two sweet children, for the purpose of having them slain, and then in the grandeur of soul forgiving it! This is noble, this is true love! How it sets one thinking!" This was the last that the maids could hear; for after that all was whispering. Only it was spread in every street, and road, and lane around, in about twelve hours afterwards, that a warrant from justices Chowne and Rambone, and with consent of Philip Bampfylde, was placed in the hands of the officers of the peace for the apprehension of Captain Drake, upon a charge of murder. When Sir Philip heard of this outrage on himself-and tenfold worse-upon their blameless lineage, he ordered his finest horse to be saddled, and put some of his army clothes on; not his best, for fear of vaunting, but enough to know him by. Then he rode slowly up and down the narrow streets of Barnstaple, and sent for the mayor and the town-council, who tumbled ont of their shops to meet him. To these he read a copy of the warrant, obtained from the head-constable, and asked, upon what information laid, such a thing had issued., Betwixt their respect for Sir Philip Bampfylde and their awe of Parson Chowne, these poor men knew not what to say, but to try to be civil to every one. Sir Philip rode home to Narnton Court, and changed his dress, and his horse as well, and thus set off for Chowne's house. What happened there was known to none except the two parsons and the General; but every one was amazed when Chowne, in company with Parson Jack, rode into Barnstaple at full gallop, and redemanded his warrant from the headconstable, who held it, and also caused all entries and copies thereof to be destroyed and erased, as might be; and for this he condescended to assign no reason. In that last point he was consistent with his usual character; but that he should undo his own act, was so unlike himself that no one could at first believe it. Of course people said that it was pity for Sir Philip's age and character and position, that made him relent so: but others, who knew the man better, perceived that he had only acted as from the first was his intention. He knew that the Captain could not be taken, of course, for many a month to come, and he did not mean to have him taken or put upon his trial; for he knew right well that there was no chance of getting him convicted. But by issue of that warrant he had stirred up and given shape to all the suspicions now languishing, and had enabled good honest people to lay their heads together and shake them, and the boldest of them to whisper that if a common man had done this deed, or had been called in question of it, the warrant wonld have held its ground, until he faced an impartial jury of his fellow-countrymen. And, what was far more to Chowne's purpose, he had thus contrived to spread between Sir Philip and his eldest son a deadly breach, unlikely ever to be bridged across at all, and quite sure to stand wide for healing, up to the dying hour. Because it was given to all to know that this vile warrant issued upon oath of Squire Philip and by his demanding; and the father's pride would never let him ask if this were So. Now people tried to pass this over, as they do with unpleasant matters, and to say, let bygones go;" yet mankind will never have things smothered thus, and put away. When a game is begun it should be played out: when a battle is fought, let it be fought out these are principles quite as strong in the bosoms of spectators, as in our own breasts the feeling-"let us live our lives out." But Isabel Carey's wrath would not have any reason laid near it. Her spirit was as fine and clear almost as her lovely face was, and she would not even dream that evil may get the upper hand of us. She said to Sir Philip. "I will not have it. I will not stay in a house where such things can be said of any one. I am very nearly eighteen years old, and I will not be made a child of. You have been wonderfully kind and good, and as dear as a father; but I must go away now; I must go away." 66 "So you shall," said poor Sir Philip; "It is the best thing that can be done. You have another guardian, more fortunate than I am; and, my dear, you shall go to him." Then she clung to his neck, and begged and prayed him not to think of it more, only to let her stop where she was, in the home of all her happiness. But the General was worse to move than the rock of Gibraltar, whenever his honour was touched upon. "My dear Isabel," he answered, "you are young, and I am old. You were quicker than I have been, to see what harm might come to you. This is the very thing which I am bound to save you from, my darling. I love you as if you were my own daughter; and this sad house will be, God knows, tenfold more without you. But it must be so, my child. You ought to be too proud to cry, when I turn you out so." sad Not to dwell upon things too muchespecially when grievous - Narnton Court was compelled to get on without that bright young Isabel, and the female tailors who were always coming after her, as well as the noble gallants who hankered, every now and then, for a glimpse of her beauty and property. Isabel Carey went away to her other guardian, Lord Pomeroy, at a place where a castle of powder was; and all the old people at Narnton Court determined not to think of it; while all the young folk sobbed and cried; and take it on the average, a guinea a-year was lost to them. All this had happened for seven years now: but it was that last piece of news, no doubt, almost as much as the warrant itself, that made our Captain carry on so, when we were in the lime-kiln. Because Lord Pomeroy had forbidden Isabel to write to her lover, while in this predicament. He, on the other hand, getting no letters, without knowing why or wherefore, was too proud to send any to her. We saw the force of this at once, especially after our own correspondence (under both mark and signature) had for years been like the wind, going where it listeth. So we resolved to stop where we were, upon receipt of rations; and Heaviside told us not to be uneasy about anything. For although he durst not invite us to his own little cottage, or rather his wife Nanette's, he stood so well in the cook's good graces that he could provide for us; so he took us into the kitchen of Narnton Court, where they made us very welcome as Captain Drake's retainers, and told us all that had happened since the departure of Miss Isabel, between Narnton Court and Nympton. In the first place, Parson Chowne had been so satisfied with his mischief, that he spared himself time for another wedlock, taking as Mrs Chowne No. 4 a young lady of some wealth and beauty, but reputed such a shrew that nobody durst go near her. But before she had been Mrs. Chowme a fortnight her manners were so much improved that a child might contradict her; and within a month she had lost the power of frowning, but had learned to sigh. However, she was still alive, having a stronger constitution than any of the Parson's former wives. Parson Jack had also married, and his wife was a good one; but Chowne (being out of other mischief) sowed such jealousies between them for his own enjoyment, that poor Master Rimbone had taken to drink, and his wife was so driven that she almost did the things she was accused of. Very seldom now did either of these two great parsons come to visit Sir Philip Bampfylde. Not that the latter entertained any ill-will towards Chowne for the matter of the warrant. For that he blamed his own son, the Squire, having received Chowne's version of it, and finding poor Philip too proud and moody to offer any explanation. We had not been at Narnton Court more than a night, before I saw the brave Gen eral; for hearing that I was in the house, and happening now to remember my name, he summoned me into his private room, to ask about the Captain, who had started off (as I felt no doubt) for the castle of Lord Pomeroy. I found Sir Philip looking of course much older from the seven years past, but as upright, and dignified, and trustful in the Lord as ever. Nevertheless he must have grown weaker, though he did his best to hide it; for at certain things I told him of his favourite son, great tears came into his eyes, and his thin lips trembled, and he was forced to turn away without finishing his sentences. Then he came back, as if ashamed of his own desire to hide no shame, and he put his flowing white hair back, and looked at me very steadily. 66 I Llewellyn," he said, "I trust in God. Years of trouble have taught me that. speak to you as a friend almost, from your long acquaintance with my son, and knowledge of our story. My age will be threescore years and ten, if I live (please God) till my next birthday. But I tell you, David Llewellyn, and I beg you to mark my words, I shall not die until I have seen the whole of this mystery cleared off, the honour of my name restored, and my innocent son replaced in the good opinion of mankind." This calm brave faith of a long-harassed man in the goodness of his Maker made me look at him with admiration and with glistening eyes; for I said to myself that with such a deep knave as Chowne at the bottom of his troubles, his confidence even in the Lord was very likely to be misplaced. And yet the very next day we made an extraordinary discovery, which went no little way to prove the soundness of the old man's faith. A GOOD deal of attention has been excited A remarkable piece of news comes from Conamong Egyptologists by the comparatively re-stantinople. The Grand Vizier has issued a cent discovery in excavations made at Tanis, on circular which prescribes that the monthly salathe eastern or Pelusiac branch of the Nile, of a ries of State officials shall only be paid every trilingual stone, somewhat of the character of forty days. An official notice on the subject the celebrated Rosetta stone, but much more says that the functionaries will not lose the difperfect, and believed to be of about two hund-ference arising from this system, as what is due red and fifty years' greater antiquity. This, to them will be made good as soon as the revewhich is now deposited in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities at Cairo, is a perfect stela, about six feet high, two and a half feet broad, and one foot thick, the summit being arched. Nature. nue permits. The Lyons papers state that the Sultan has notified to the director of the Lyons Exhibition his intention of visiting the Exhibition during the month of May. Pall Mall. ་ From The Contemporary Review. PART II. Theology and Life. A wandering circus! Can that have anything to do with an earnest preacher? Yes; there is a man there "built like a second Apollo, magnificent in every physical excellence, and as handsome as a god." That is important—that makes a cord vibrate in his heart -he pauses to tell a story about him which brings ont a trait of moral excellence as well, and completes the man. MR. WARD BEECHER'S Theology is able, but not from a theologian's point of view. It is what the Evangelical would call "unsafe," and what a Ritualist would call "loose," and if safety depends on "system," and salvation on "tightness," there is little hope for Mr. Beecher and his fol-alist, he is not afraid to cull his illustralowers in this world or in the world to tions from a strolling player, a circus, and a very doubtful romance of real life: come. With the firm touch of a master mor When we call his theology "able," we mean that it is admirably fitted to pro-lies there, attracted by his beauty and grace, duce the kind of effect which Mr. Beecher has set his heart on producing. It will not make casuists, but it will make men. It will not always give a man arguments, but it is sure to inspire him with principles. It will not settle every difficulty, but it will give life such a moral resilience as shall enable those who are in earnest to rise to the occasion and master circumstances. He who looks for a compact and logical scheme of theologyplan of salvation, or any other plan-will be disappointed; but he who goes to Mr. Beecher to learn his duty and get motives for doing it, will not be disappointed. "A young lady of one of the very first famibecame enamoured of this athlete. He, of course, complimented, reciprocated this wild attachment; and in the enthusiasm and ardour of her unregulated and foolish affection she proposed an elopement to him. Ordinarily a man would have been more than proud, because she Was heir to countless wealth apparently, and certainly stood second to none there, but with body, he said to her, No; I cannot afford to an unexpected manliness which surprised everyhave you despise me. I am older than you, and although I am highly complimented and pleased, by-and-by you would reproach me, and say that I ought to have taught you better, and ought to have done otherwise. I will carry you back to your friends. I will not permit you to sacrifice It is, then, with feelings of unmixed sat-yourself on me.' And he refused to take adisfaction that we now proceed to leave the vantage of the opportunity which she offered theological arena, fascinating as are many him. of its spectacles, and go forth into the more or less common and despised world of what we may call "SECULAR TRUTH." "Ten thousand men admired this man's ath letic skill in the circus; but when that story was known, every one of them thought infinitely more of him than they did before. Here were two traits," &c. (Series iii. 252.) Beecher coming in; and wanting to know the price of grain, he takes up a handful sifts it with the air of a connoisseurtells the owner something about it which rather surprises him; the man sees he is found out will he be exposed? No; Mr. Beecher does not want to kill himhe wants to cure him; but if there is inferior grair at the bottom, or bad mixel with good soid for all good, it is his affa.r; if there are false weights it is his business and he is "acute," he is "smart," — he will let a man know that he knows about him, and has found him out, and he will scourge him; he will be what some ministers call very "faithful" to him." Under this wide and somewhat confused It is a busy time in the afternoonterm, we might proceed to fill many whole the stores in the principal streets of New numbers of the Contemporary Review, tak-Yook are crowded. We can imagine Mr. ing as our texts certain passages from the six volumes of Sermons before us. There is hardly a little by-way or alley in the great "City of Life" into which Mr. Beecher does not enter at some time or other. There is something of the genial Socrates spirit about him. He will be everywhere a man amongst men. We can imagine him in the midst of just such scenes as the wandering philosopher of old loved to frequent. Here is a crowd gathering; but who is this fine, muscular fellow, courteously but firmly pushing his way into the centre of it, to find out what is the matter? Some one has fallen down in the street that is all. Drunk or in a fit? That interests Mr. Beecher - it is his business; at all events to the nearest "store "the man must be taken-must be taken in - must be taken care of. We should like to know the man who would sell Mr. Beecher a rickety horse, or any other kind of "shoddy." He would hear of it not by name, perhaps — but, back for some time afterwards. depend upon it in some way or other, he | with such matters?' Yes; it is a part of my would be turned inside out from the pulpit parochial affairs. I am a citizen of the United in Brooklyn Church before the whole of States; and my parish is the United States; and the United States of America, and the you are my parishioners; and I see that you are "stars" would hear of it, and the criminals pursuing culpable courses which vio"stripes" would lie very flat upon his late honesty, and purity, and conscience, and that you are not honourable men, and do not fore men; and it is just my business to tell you pass for such before God, though you may befine himself to "sound doctrine" these things.' And when it is said, No one elder advised the young preacher to do, can give advice in regard to the affairs of any what a comfort it would be to his neigh-given department unless he belongs to those afbours; for, as the said elder observed, he never could do any harm by sticking to the "doctrine." If Mr. Ward Beecher would only con as the fairs,' I say that a cock does not need to be in bed with you to know that morning has come, and crow! It is because he is out of doors, and sits aloft, and sees where the sun is coming up, that he becomes the clarion of the morning, and gives you the signal for waking up " (i. 315). If we hope to be read at all, it is obvious that in dealing with a man who con But no Mr. Beecher breaks out he is irrepressible; the market is his, so is the counting-house, and the family dinner, and the family quarrel, and the farmer's barn and yard and potato field, and the senate, and the nursery, and the circus, and the Icerns himself thus with the United States reading-room, and the kitchen, and-no and all that in them is, we must absowonder his hearers are out of breath long lutely make our selection from the mazes before he is no wonder they list nd C SECULAR TRUTH. We shall perhaps are anxious to know what is coming acha time just to deal with a few heads -"the dignity of the Pulpit." Bah! which may be ranged as follows:Who stole sticks?" "Who sold a bad cow?" "Who swindled the miller?" "Who drugged the beer, and sanded the sugar, and watered the milk?" When these little matters are set to rights, it will be time to see after "the dignity of the Pulpit." His description of what he calls his own business is extremely pungent, and quite explains the sort of moral terrorism which he has found out how to exercise in New York: I. Women. II. Marriage. VI. Foreign countries. I.-Women. Mr. Beecher sees in the high and pure conception of family life, the regeneration of the individual and of society. In this he closely resembles Professer Maurice, though, perhaps, no two men meaning the same thing ever expressed themselves in such utterly different language. Each has that kind of hold over the subject, and that intense sympathy with it, which can only be really felt by good unspoiled men. un "If I know my own business — and the presumption is I do it is to hunt men and to study them. . . . Do you suppose I study old musty books when I want to preach? I study you! When I want to deliver a discourse on theology, I study you! When I want to know more about the doctrine of depravity, I study you! When I want to know what is right and Mr. Beecher is conspicuously an what is wrong, I see how you do; and I have abundant illustrations on every side!" (i. 314.) spoiled man. To a worldly eye he is ab"I know that there are operations in railway surdly full of enjoyment there is no management that outrage every law of pru"dull decay" of feeling about him—no dence. I know that where mighty capital is thirst for artificial excitement-no uncombined and capitalists are joined together, a subdued hankering after forbidden fruitfraternity of villains, they shall be able to apparently no ill-regulated desires or unreswamp legislatures, and sweep whole communi- strained appetencies. This being the case, ties to destruction. And when this accumula- he naturally extols with full sympathy tion of peril begins to globe up and fill the very the simple and natural relations of family horizon, I know it is my business to sound the life. The worse a man gets the less he alarm and say to men,There is no prosperity cares for family life in any form. The unto society so long as such gigantic swindles and frauds as these are going on. And when I do happy individual who cannot live without say it, they say to me, Are you a railroad pickles, Cayenne pepper, and absinthe, man? No; but I am after railroad men.' shrinks naturally enough from merely Do you understand this business?' No; but wholesome food; and yet with every culiI understand the men that are in this business.' nary device and subtle artifice, he cannot Is it a part of your parochial affairs to meddle extort from his jaded palate a tithe of the |