"Perhaps that isn't the right word; I only of Eric; and as he recalled what had want to say to you, make up your mind to passed, he was astonished at all that he had pass in the world for an enthusiast. A man learned from him in so short a time; who seeks anything in life except profit, pointing to an apple-tree in blossom, he pleasure, and honor appears an enthusiast exclaimed: "Look at that tree in bloom, to many people who have no sympathy which when shaken covers every one with with such a predilection; the world cannot blossoms, and yet its richness is unimbe just to such men, it must condemn them, paired. Such is this Dournay." because it sees its own strivings condemned by them. You will have to bear a martyrdom all your life long, if you remain true, and I believe you will; bear it with a proud self-respect, and remember that a new, old friend understands you and lives your life with you."

Suddenly the old man laid his hands on Eric's shoulders, kissed him, and walked hastily away, without once turning.

Eric mounted and rode on; as he turned the corner of the wood, he looked back and saw Clodwig standing still. Bella had watched the pair from the balcony, which commanded a view of their whole course; now she went to meet her husband, and was not a little surprised to observe in his face an emotion which she had never seen there before; he seemed to have been weeping.

Bella replied, that it must be a hard task for a man who was so spoken and thought of to live up to the standard expected of him. "May not such pleasure in imparting," she asked doubtfully," be an exaggerated self-esteem or pure vanity?

"O no! this young man does not wish to make a show; he only wishes that no moment of existence may be utterly wasted. He lets his active spirit work, and he must take satisfaction in the notice and sympathy of others; without this satisfaction, the pleasure of imparting would be impossible. That is the faith which removes mountains of prejudice."

66

"Faith?" said Bella, smiling beforehand at her own nice distinction, it seems to me rather like the permanent embalming of a want of faith." He very zealously endeavored to show how this was rather the difficult and painful transmission of one's life.

You were right," said Clodwig hastily, "it is better for us to remain by ourselves. But I rejoice in this new generation which He spoke long and eagerly. Bella apdiffers from ours; it wavers no longer be-peared to listen, but hardly heard what he tween the two poles of enthusiasm and despair; it has if I may so express it, a sort of intellectual inspiration, and I believe it will bring more to pass than we have. I am glad that I am not too old to understand these young people born into an age of railroads. I admire and love this present age; never before has every man in every calling known so definitely what he wishes and ought to do, both in science and practical life."

Bella thought she must make some reply, and said that young Sonnencamp would be fortunate to have such a guide.

"It pains me that he must enter that house."

66 Yet you have recommended him." "Yes, that's it exactly. One is punished sooner or later for undertaking anything with half-sincerity or against his real convictions. I have brought myself into closer relations with this Herr Sonnencamp, without really wishing it. In his house I always have a feeling as if I were in a family where horse-flesh is eaten. But, good heavens! it may be prejudice, custom; horse-flesh is also one kind of meat. But now I am free from anxiety for the excellent young man.”

Clodwig seemed unable to cease talking

said; she smiled to herself at the old diplomatist, who had something incomprehensibly child-like, almost childish, about him. She threw her head back proudly, conscious of her inflexible virtue, which was strongly armed even against her husband, who wished to bring her into constant intercourse with a young man so richly endowed.

In the mean time Eric had ridden 'on through the wood, filled with fresh animation by the happy chance which had befallen him. He took a firm hold of his horse's bridle, full of that confident spirit to which every undertaking seems sure of success, or, at least, of only short and temporary failure. He congratulated himself on the good fortune that had helped him to win so easily and entirely a man of refined character, who was evidently somewhat cautiously reserved towards most men.

He had left his past life on the mountain behind him, and a new one was beginning. Smiling, he thought, The heroes of old must have felt in my mood, when they knew that they were under the protection of one of the gods of Olympus.

At a turn in the wood he stopped, and, taking Clodwig's unsealed letter from his pocket, read as follows:

"A neighbor's greeting to Herr Sonnencamp, at Villa Eden.

"Had Fate granted me a son, I should consider it as a completion of the great blessing, to be able to give him this man as

a tutor.

66

'CLODWIG, COUNT VON WOLFSGARTEN. WOLFSGARTEN CASTLE, May 4, 186-."

Eric set spurs to his horse, and rode gaily on through the wood, where birds were singing amid the fresh young leaves. As he passed through the village, he saw at the window of the Rath-haus, behind blooming wall-flowers, a rosy, fair-haired maiden, who drew back quickly as he bowed to her. He would have liked to turn his head to see whether she was looking after him, but he did not venture to do so.

After a little while, it occurred to him that he was very vain to believe that this lingering behind the flowers concerned him at all; Lina had undoubtedly expected to see Baron von Pranken, when she heard his horse approaching.

Eric was now riding along the river-bank in the valley. He was so full of cheerfulness, that songs rose to his lips as they had not done for a long time; he did not give them voice, but sang them in his soul. The whole fulness and variety of thought, perception, and feeling were stirring in his heart. As he saw the sun shining on the glass dome of Villa Eden, it struck him like a lightning flash,

Why is such a free, delightful existence denied me? why must I labor in the service of others? Then came the thought, But what should I do with such an indolent, selfish life? Then the riddle presented itself, How is one to educate a wealthy boy? And so strangely are thoughts associated in the human mind that Eric felt, not that he could solve this riddle, but that he could understand how the ancients had represented the idea of enigmatical questioning and the riddle under the form of the Sphinx. Then again came the inquiry, How can one educate a rich boy, who knows that an estate like that, and untold wealth, are to be his, and who sees no need for exertion in the life before him?

Eric had been looking down; now he threw back his head and smiled as he thought, Neither pupil nor tutor is a mere abstract idea; both are living, variously endowed beings. Such questions can receive no general answer, and all riddles are like stormy weather out of doors, that, seen through the dim atmosphere from the shelout in the midst of it, one feels refreshed. ter of a house, seems intolerable, but once

seemed cleared away, and he felt ready
All his puzzling doubts and speculations
armed to wrestle with the problem.
on, riddle, I am ready for you," he said
"Come
almost aloud, and rode on at a quick trot.
pleasant smile suddenly spread over his
In the midst of his doubts and thoughts a
face. He wondered whether he were not
humor of youth came over him as he ut-
under some spell, and all the frolicsome
tered aloud a letter which he would write
to his mother.

"DEAR MOTHER:

Adventure, for your son, Doctor Adventure, "You must let yourself be named Frau Captain Hero, in the midst of railway cars and telegraphs, has fallen upon Dream-land, where he is fed upon the sweet-bread of praise, and the sugared almonds of protec tion, by a pair of spirits who watch over the Holy Grail. He is now seated on a bay horse, and has the magic word sesame of a sage hermit in his pocket, and all things what dost thou desire?" Dear mother, if come at his bidding, and each 66 says, Heart, you want a quiet little island, only say so; I have innumerable ones to dispose of.

Suppose the millionaire, towards whom I "And there's a postscript, dear mother. am riding, should be Uncle Adam? That would make the fairy tale complete."

At the thought that this fanciful conjecture might be a probability, Eric stopped short. Then he rode briskly along the broad road, on each side of which grew great nut-trees, dropping their caterpillarlike blossoms on the path. trotted on bravely, his black mane flying in The horse the wind as the rider lifted his cap to let the fresh air cool his hot brow.

From The Sunday Magazine.

THE LAME AND THE LAZY; OR, WHAT I

LEARNT FROM A CRIPPLE.

BY A CITY MAN.

IN the wilderness of dingy brick on the Surrey side of the Thames there is a short cut from one street to another, called, if I remember rightly, Raymond's Folly. Raymond, I suppose, was the builder of the houses, but why they should have been thought to indicate mental weakness in their designer any more than the vast majority of the others in the neighbourhood, it would be hard to say. Prima facie, the builders of all might be considered fools, for no human beings, one might fancy, could be got to kennel in such cramped holes. Their crowded condition, however, proves that those who constructed them were keen students of the laws of supply and demand. Hurrying through the Folly on one occasion, for the sake of its short-cut, I could not, in spite of my haste, help stopping for a moment to glance at a couple of pictures, as Hogarthian in their contrast as any two depicting the careers of Tom Idle and Francis Goodchild. The frames were the open doorways of two adjoining houses.

glances of "her new lord, her own, the
first of men," looking as smart as any
gentleman, and even more loving than in
the earliest days of their "keeping com-
pany." When an Australian black fellow
wants to marry, he stuns his coveted bride
with his "waddy." It would be kinder if
some of our white fellows adopted his mode
of courting with the cudgel
they would
not have so much chance of breaking bones,
and hearts after marriage.

In the other room- propped up with a patchwork pillow in a wicker arm-chair, something like a frontless and roofless blackbird's cage- sat a dwarf. He was deformed as well, and one leg hung springless and shrivelled as a broken, withered twig. There were traces of past, as well as twitches of present pain, in his drawn face; and yet it looked not only intelligent, but cheerfully benevolent. A musk plant, trained on a fan frame of Lilliputian laths, stood on his window-shelf, and above it hung a linnet in a cage. A bird-fancier only (teste the Spitalfields bird-market) is often a big blackguard. But wherever you see birds and flowers you may be pretty sure that the tenant of the house or room is of a gentle disposition. The musk plant In one room a hulking bricklayer's la- and the linnet were no deceptive signs. bourer, powdered with white dust on his Whilst the cripple plied his long, lithe finunkempt hair, bristly beard that had not gers amongst the little gallipots of paint, been mown for a fortnight, and lime- the little wooden winches, and the little stiff splashed clothes that were never doffed to wooden men, with wire-articulated limbs, go to church, was lifting his heavy head with which, instead of shattered pipe-stem, and shoulders, like Dr. Watts's sluggard, his table was littered- he listened to a litfrom the rickety table on which they had tle class of scholars, squatted on the floor been sprawled - a table slopped with beer, like young Orientals, and spelling out, from and littered with the fragments of a broken an old Bible passed from hand to hand, the pipe. His stupidly-glazed eyes the orbit first chapter of St. John. Every now and of one of them puffed and purple from a re- then, too, he looked up to laugh and nod at showed that he had had a good a chirping, gurgling toddler, tethered to his deal more than enough beer already; but he chair with an old red bell-rope, like a grazhad roused himself into semi-consciousness ing kid; a chubby little toddler, whose to growl a sleepy curse, and shake a cow-cheeks, it must be confessed, were more ardly fist at his wife, because she did not than sufficiently begrimed, but still too go at once to fetch him "another pot." was no wonder that even she, poor, pinched, tattered, terrified creature, plucked up courage to linger for a moment with the brokenlipped jug in her hand. A baby was hanging at her skinny breast, and two or three scared, half-starved little ones were tugging at her scanty skirts. When children are whimpering to mammy for bread, and yet the lazy bread-winner insists on having beer, a woman must find it hard work to keep her vow to "love, honour, and obey." What a mockery the Marriage Service must seem to her and the dreams she had when she listened to it, arrayed in abnormal splendour, and bashfully returning the fond

cent blow

-

It fresh from God's hand to have been distorted by man's into the harsh angularity, or flattened blur of feature, that generally characterizes the Folly's youth.

The friend to whose lodgings I had taken the short-cut through the Folly, had charge of the "Mission District" in which it stands. When I mentioned to him what I had seen,

Oh, yes," he said, "I know him well-a most worthy little fellow. He makes me think sometimes of what Bacon says, ' Whosoever hath anything fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn.' It's a better spur than that, though, the little man has got. I be

66

Well, sir," he answered, "perhaps you'll laugh, but somebody says there's sermons in stones, and good in everything; and I've been thinking that there might be texts in toys: anyhow, there shouldn't be any bad in 'em. After that blackguard fight at Farnbro', you know, sir, Sayers and Heenan were all the rage, and my shop got me to make them for the children. You turned the handle, you see, and then they squared up along the slit, and pitched into one another. It was rather a pretty bit o' work, and took with the little uns uncommon. I never thought about any harm there could be in it till yesterday. The bricklayer man next door was settin' two young uns to fight, so I told 'em to stop it. You're a nice un to preach about fightin',' says he, why, you teach 'em!' I says I. 'Yes,' says he. How?' says I. With yer whirligigs,' says he. That struck me all of a heap like, and I'm trying to make Sayers and Heenan a-shaking hands, but Tom's an obstinate feller, and won't lift his arm quick enough. I expect I shall have to make out that it's on account of the rap the American give him. Isn't it strange, sir, that it's so much easier to make even a bit of wood do what it oughtn't?"

lieve that the love of God is so shed abroad "What are you so busy about, Bob?" in his heart that it runs over with love upon asked the clergyman. others. He's the peacemaker of that terrible place he lives in, and it's astonishing how many ways he finds, feeble as he is, to help his neighbours. You're almost always sure to find a swarm of children in his place. He looks after them for their mothers, and teaches them to read when he can get the chance. A good many of the women there are a sad set, but they've a great respect for poor little 'Hoppety Bob' - that's the name he's known by. They'd clean out his room, or cook his food for him any day, and sometimes, when he is worse than usual, he is obliged to let them take his work to the shop, or do something of that kind. But he's a very independent little fellow, and hops about on his crutch like a sparrow. He's making penny toys now, but he's been all kinds of things. If you'd like to have a chat with him, I'll take you round some evening. Mind, though, that you don't offer him any money. He isn't like other folks. I declare to you that, when I have no money to give them, I often feel inclined to skip calling on some of my poor people. It seems such mockery to preach patience to them, when they are cold, and hungry, and naked, without doing anything to help them to speak to them about God's love, without showing any of it in man's aid. But you would only offend Bob by offering him money."

On a sultry summer evening, about a week afterwards, I found myself with my friend at the entrance of the Folly. A thunder-cloud hung over the whole of London, and in that wretched place the air was oppressively hot and close. Men and boys lolled against the posts, listlessly smoking, and almost too languid and ill-tempered to stand aside to let us pass. The women sat on the doorsteps, with their feverish faces resting on their updrawn knees, embraced by weary arms. Fractious children were wrangling on the pavement. From lines, stretched from side to side above it, drooped clothes whose motionless moistness did not freshen the hot, hushed air. The women seated on the common doorstep of the house in which Bob lodged, gave my companion a very sulky "good evenin', sir," as they dragged up their tired limbs to make way for us. Bob's door opened just inside the common lobby, and when we knocked at it, it was a pleasant change to hear his cheery "Come in." He had pushed his chair to the open window, and was chipping away in the fading light at one of his little

men.

All this time my introduction was delayed, but I was well content to wait whilst I listened to the mingled earnestness and humour with which the crippled toymaker unfolded his difficulty. There was something pleasant in his voice. For one thing, he neither dropped nor lavished his l's, although, having lived all his life amongst the lower class of Londoners, it would have been impossible for him to avoid catching some Cockneyisms.

Well, sir," he said, as we sat together after my introducer had departed; you want to know how a poor lamester like me has managed to rub on. I don't see what pleasure it can give you to hear about a nobody, but you should know best. But first let's light a bit of candle. When I'm alone, I like to sit a bit in the dark — you can think plainer, I fancy—but it seems unsociable like when you're talkin' to a friend, if you'll excuse me, sir. I'm a Colchester man by birth. Yes, sir, I was born just as I am- let's see, it must be close on fifty year ago. My father was a lighterman at the Hythe. Poor old father! He's been in St. Leonard's churchyard this many a year- but he did whop me cruel. You see, sir, he was disapp'inted at gettin' a poor thing like me. He wanted a hearty lad to