gone, where was he to turn for more? A his request? Jack's steps were now dozen spectres rose up before him, each turned towards his hotel. During that of whom bore a likeness to some needy walk back, he framed fifty letters seemadventurer whom Jack despised. Was ingly eloquent enough then, but unsuitthere no better fate in store for him, than able to the last degree when, seated in that he should sink down to the level of his room, pen in hand, he was prepared such men as these? of every one of whom to commit his thoughts to paper. was told the tale of wealth, position, credit gone; all staked, and lost. nt "DEAR MR. CLARKSON, DEAR SIR, - DEAR MR. CLARKSON,' "I've Oh, it's of no use: I can't do it!" and jumping up he flung down his pen, thought and thought till I'm sick of think ing, and not a word that I want to say will come." Then after two or three minutes' stand During the two months of perfect quiet which Jack had spent at Venice with the Verikers who had stayed on there first because Mr. Veriker had been unwell, and afterwards because at that season everything was so cheap- he had ample opportunity for reflection, but it seemed as if something was needed to bring him ing, during which there crept into his face to the point of action. This something an expression of indomitable will, Jack had been just supplied in the blow Mr. seated himself again at the table, and Veriker had given him. For a moment without waiting or giving himself any his pride had been overcome by indigna- further time to consider, he wrote: tion, but the sight of the father's despair "DEAR MR. CLARKSON,over the misery he foresaw for his daughter had made Jack realize his own situation. As he was, Mr. Veriker had been; unless a change came, what Mr. Veriker was he might be. "Never! never! never!" He turned suddenly round-it was his own voice that had startled him. In his excitement he had spoken the words aloud. The movement changed his former dreaming into a more vigorous train of thought-something must be done. By what means could he do it? where were his friends? and to whom among them could he apply? He did not cast a thought towards his uncle, and gradually, one by one, he set aside as useless all those who had any immediate intercourse with him; and, having by these means thinned the ranks very considerably, he found himself reduced to a choice of two alternatives. He must apply to Mr. Clarkson who had been his father's lawyer, and who had condemned most unsparingly the folly of his former proceedings; or put an advertisement into some paper for work-work of any kind, he did not care what. In the heat of his present state he felt that breaking stones on the road would be preferable to his present life. With the desire to escape obligation to Mr. Clarkson, he inclined towards advertising until reminded that a reference would probably be asked, and to whom could he refer? No; the first plan was best, he must swallow his pride, and ask the favor of the old fellow. He could but say no; and if he did, then he would try the paper. But how to word "When we parted we were both angry with each other. You, because I persisted in doing what was foolish; I, because you persisted in advising what was wise. Your prophecy has come to pass. In a foreign land I have wasted my substance in riotous living; and now that I begin, like the prodigal, to be in want, no one offers to assist me. So far a confession of the past; now for the future. I mean to work, and live independently of anybody. I won't apply to my uncle. My mother is too far away; will you give me your assistance? I am ready to turn my hand to anything, so if you writing, or copying, or anything that in an office is found to do; or if you will employ me, or say a word in my favor to anybody else, I shall be much obliged to you. shall remain in Venice as long as I think there is any chance of your answering this letter, but as I want to be employed, the quicker I can find something to do the better. have any "Yours very sincerely, "JOHN DORIAN." CHAPTER IV. "Voria saver che prova più dolore, I L'omo che parte trova' n' altro amore." UNDER the weary suspense which followed the sending of those two letters, for it happened that in the same bag with Jack's lay the one which Mr. Veriker had written, the elder man became silent and depressed, the younger anxious and irritable. Neither cared to discuss with the other the steps he had taken, and by tacit consent of both, not a word was to be breathed to Robin. She, poor child, ignorant of any cause, racked her brains in trying to discover what had gone wrong with her father, and what could have changed Jack, so that in some waysand here came forth a most lugubrious sigh he was not a bit like the same to her. Time was, and barely more than a month since too, when Robin would have frankly asked the question. But now a certain self-consciousness forbade inquiry, as first a flood of color, and then a shower of tears, recalled looks no longer given; and the hand her face was leaning against she thrust out of sight, because of a tormenting fear that it had been left trembling too long in a palm waiting for a pressure which had not come. Experience had given Robin some familiarity with Jack's idiosyncrasies. She knew it was impossible for him to take things easily; knew that a trivial accident, a misadventure passed unheeded by her father, would put Jack out for the day. She had seen him on -- seemingly to her slight provocations give way to outbursts of anger which had almost terrified her, but in balance to these failings he had qualities which Robin thought belonged to nobody but him; for in the sad experience of her young life, whom else had she known in whom she could place implicit trust, to tell her what was right, to point out what was wrong, and show by all his dealings that he practised the honesty he taught? The girl heaped on her father the treasures of a love which for years had had nothing else to spend itself upon; but though she shut her eyes to his failings, she winced under the knowledge of them, and by turns grew angry and pleaded with a sense of honor which compelled her to condemn many things she saw him do. It was Jack who had first taught her to be ashamed of practices which up to that time every one had applauded her for: cunning evasions, clever misleadings, shifty advantages in payments and purchases. Oh, how bitterly had she been galled by Jack's outspoken opinion of such dealings! It was soon after their more intimate acquaintance that, indignant at such a training, he had reproached her father in no measured terms, to be recalled to the fact of Robin's presence by seeing her rush from the room in a passion of tears. Distressed at having unintentionally wounded the child, who among her father's visitors was a universal favorite, he presented himself the next day with a fine package of bonbons, and finding her alone, asked her forgiveness as he placed them in her hands. An explanation followed, the poor, swelling heart was opened to seek counsel and direction, and from that day Jack and Robin became sworn friends, master and pupil-the master inclined at times to abuse the privilege of his position by encouraging, petting, scolding, neglecting, as the mood was on him. On occasions, carried away by some whirlwind of passion, Jack for months would seem lost to Robin: she here, he there; would they ever meet again? Oh, yes! the fancy over, at one of the headquarters of resort back would come Jack, to be welcomed none the less warmly, because Robin felt certain in herself that he was suffering the tortures of a broken heart. At Monaco during the previous winter they had seen more than ever of each other, and after being parted for a short time, it was at Robin's entreaty more than at Mr. Veriker's request, that Jack had joined them at Venice. For two months they had lived daily in one another's company, so engrossed that they had failed to notice how little they missed other soci ety. Even the flimsy pretexts by which Mr. Veriker sought to hide the failing health which prevented his joining them, they accepted as veritable excuses for his stopping behind, and while they were absent the hours ran so swiftly that as he did not say so, how should they know that time could hang heavy on his hands? Oh, happy season! Oh, magic birth! which Robin felt quicken into life before she knew what name to call it by; and Jack, who before had often masqueraded with the passion, now that it came undisguised, refused to believe the voice that called it love. Alas! the moment he was resolved to stay away, to see less of Robin, to avoid her company, the struggle he had to make revealed the truth; and, almost absurd as the idea was of being in love with Robin, Jack had to confess that the child to whom, after a very blundering fashion, he had tried to tell what long ago they had told him was the right thing to do, had contrived, while learning the lesson, to steal away his heart and give him in exchange her own. Pity him then when Robin's brown eyes turn to plead in vain, for Jack, now fully alive to his share of blame in the past intercourse between them, in extenuation of his fault resolved that neither by speech nor action would he further betray his trust the promise he had given her father, to the letter he would keep; and until he had something to offer, he would not utter a single word. It was this resolution which made silence about his project a necessity; he felt he must not overtax his strength, which was hardly equal to more than the announcement of his departure on the day it had to be made. Whether anything or nothing came of his letter, he would leave Ven ice. So far, that was settled; the point at issue was, what should he find to do? Each time he was near the post-and how many excuses he found to be in its neighborhood he went in to ask if anything had come for him, to be told no, until his heart sickened; and then, when hope had dwindled very low and the question seemed scarcely worth putting, a letter was handed to him which he had opened, read, and read again without any distinct notion of its contents beyond the fact that his steps were keeping time to a voice which sang, "It's all right, all right, he has found something for me to do!" The something connected with a bank transaction at Bucharest - was, as Jack knew in after days, a difficulty invented by Mr. Clarkson for the occasion. The good friend desired to test the faith of the prodigal, who was to start on his mission immediately he received the letter. "No-wouldn't you? I hope it will turn out well then. It's about the only good advice I ever did give, so it ought to succeed." "I hope so, and I think it will." With the rebound of youth, Jack was all impatience to be gone; the sooner he went, the sooner would he begin that battle by which Robin was to be won. "He's a first-rate old fellow who has given me a hand." "Not the uncle, then, you once spoke of." "No, I didn't write to him- - he's done with me, I think; was going to get married when last I heard.' "Ah! that's what you'll be doing, I dare say-as soon as you're settled down respectably. You'll forget all about us, I expect, and the best thing for you too." Jack made no reply. "Is Robin out?" he asked. "No; she was here sitting by the window a minute ago - didn't you see her as you came in?" "No; I'll go and look for her," but before Jack could move, the door opened and Robin appeared. "It's Jack," said Mr. Veriker, with the haste a melancholy man is in to announce bad news; "he's come to tell us he is going away." "Yes; is he?" "I think yes, I have forgotten something. I'm coming back again." "Going away to-night. I tell him," he added, seeing that Robin stood so calm, This meant leaving Venice without de-" that he'll very soon forget all about lay; and having ascertained that a train us.' went out that night at eleven o'clock, Jack, who, influenced by that unacknowledged superstition which discourages preparation, had left everything to be done, found himself fully occupied until late in the afternoon, when he went to the Verikers' hotel to announce his departure to his friends. The door shut, Robin was gone. "She'll miss you as much as any one," said Mr. Veriker, with a nod of his head in the direction of the door. "I don't know what she'll do when you're gone." "I hope you'll look after her," said Jack. "Go about with her more than you do you seem," he added bitterly, "to forget that she's a child no longer, and that men don't look on her as such." Then, after a minute's pause, "You haven't heard, have you, from the relations you wrote to, yet? Mr. Veriker shook his head. "They'll never trouble themselves to answer," he said. "I might have known that before I sent the letter- only drowning men catch at straws." "Well, it does not matter so much now," and Jack smiled cheerily; "only while I think of it, I may as well give you an address which will find me at any time - of course I shall write; but in case of Well, I have not very long to stay; besides, I want to ask her about something which she can tell me ; " and he went out into the passage, off from which was Robin's room. Already the sound of his footsteps had brought her to meet him, and taking within his her little cold hands, he stopped her, saying, as he did so, "You haven't asked me where I'm going, Robin." "You're going away," she said simply. What mattered place or distance, so they had to part? "Well, but I've gone away before, haven't I?" "Yes," she faltered, and the splash splash of the tears, which were falling on his hands, came faster than before. 'Only, I don't feel we shall ever be the not Jack and Robin - never, never, never!" and the eyes that looked up big with tears made such a tender appeal, that Jack's strength all but gave way he must gather her in his arms and set her heart at ease by telling her she had his love. Mr. Veriker hurried along to get a reply to his question, but when he returned to tell the hour and place to Robin, she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps Mr. Veriker felt some suspicion of his daughter's secret; any way, when later on Robin made her appearance, he made no remark on her flushed cheeks and swollen eyes, but launched out into the reasons Jack had for going away, and the prospects which no doubt would open out before him, and growing more oracular as he talked, he gave it as his opinion that Jack was one who would go far, soon find his place in the world, and make his fortune. "So good-bye to any more of him that you or I will ever see, Robin. I know how it is it has all happened to me a score of times before. It isn't their fault : they mean to keep it up, but after a few letters, a little time goes by, and then by degrees, or suddenly altogether, the whole acquaintance comes to an end." Robin gave an assenting nod - it was the easiest way of dismissing the question; besides, notwithstanding her wish to defend Jack, the words her father spoke seemed to find an echo in her heart, over which a gathered load of unshed tears lay heavy. What a mercy is the bustle of departure! Under its shelter how many farewell agonies are hidden! A rapid glance at Robin's tear-stained face had photographed itself in Jack's memory. Those wistful eyes, filled with unbidden tears, which gathered, rolled slowly down, and fell unheeded between him and all he looked at. came Mr. Veriker, in his sympathy casting Fortunately for his resolve, the opening prudence to the winds, had seated himself of a door recalled him to his senses. near the gondolier. It was best for the "Oh, that's right, you're not gone yet;" luggage, would keep the boat trim, beit was Mr. Veriker who spoke. "What sides which he wanted the fellow to give do you say to our seeing you off? going them a song. Jack had the place by to the station with you? Eh, Robin, shall we? you'd like to, wouldn't you ? "It was just what I was asking her to do," said Jack, tightening his hold of her hands in the effort at recovery. "Then we'll go. We've been all in the downs both of us to-day, so it will cheer us up to see the last of the only friend we have left." Jack was already at the foot of the stairs. "6 Here, I don't go say, off like that; how are we to meet? what steps are you starting from?" Robin. Hidden in the darkness of those narrow highways, through which their course to the railway had to be taken, who could see them? Drowned in the sound of song, and plash of water, who could hear them? Surely now he will speak; say something, if but a word, to show her that her fancy is not led astray, that he holds her different now to when he used to pet, tease, scold her. Has he not in reproof told her that she was grown into a woman - then is she not one for him? "Oh, Jack as the words rise to her lips she turns her face full on him, 3 plunges her eyes into his, as if to drag the secret from out his heart, and. for an instant searching there they stay,to turn and drop their gaze into the waters they are passing through; for the knell is sounded to her hopes, by Jack's murmured, "Poor child, poor Robin." And very soon, it seemed, the station was reached, and there were some Italians there they knew, and there was a great bustle and noise of leave-taking, in the midst of which she and Jack said goodbye. And now he had started, was gone, and they were on their way back again, her father by her side, sitting in Jack's place, his head sunk on his breast, all his gay humor vanished; and she Robin shed no tears now, they were all frozen up, and lay like a stone on the sepulchre of her love; and as the gondolier's song fell on her ear she sighed, for the words Voria saver che prova più dolore, L'omo che parte o la dona che resta. Dona che resta, aresta con dolore; L'omo che parte trova' n' altro amore. From Macmillan's Magazine. MORE DIVERSIONS OF A PEDAGOGUE.* IF these are days of education, thay are also days of a more questionable blessing talk about education. No doubt we want sound theory as well as constant practice in this important matter; but perhaps the chief reason why the flood of educational matter let loose upon the world is so questionable a blessing is this, that, for the greater part, those who busy themselves most with the theory, have least to do with the practice. Few of those who write, and fewer still of those who speak on the subject, can be suspected of ever having spent an hour a day for half a dozen days consecutively in actual teaching. The fact is, the practical pedagogue has little time for advanc. ing his theories; the theoretical pedagogue in nine cases out of ten is a man of theory only. Consequently, education is mainly in the hands of men who have their theories, but have little time, and probably less inclination, to propound them; while talk about education is mainly left to those who have no opportunies for testing their theories practically. The professional pedagogue, on the See LIVING AGE, No. 1647, p. 42. whole, is looked upon and spoken of as a prejudiced person; a creature of wooden methods, and dogged persistence in sticking to them. Yet if we remember that his opinions, unlike the disquisitions and nostrums of his critics, have been formed upon practice and experience, we shall cease to wonder at the divergence of theory and practice, or at the attacks too often made on the professed pedagogue. For former generations of Englishmen the curriculum of their education in pub. lic schools might be briefly summed up as consisting of classics and mathematics. The present generation enjoys a curriculum of wider scope; considered rather too wide by some practical educationalists, and miserably narrow by many lay. men. The study of English, French, and German is now added to that of Latin and Greek: natural science may be said at least to be on its trial as an educational method; and much more time is given to acquiring history and geography. Drawing and music, too, are more generally taught; but still the main parts of the curriculum in our public schools remain what they were fifty or a hundred years ago. Boys on the "modern sides " of our schools are in a minority of something like one to five; and on the "classical sides," classics and mathematics still occupy far more time than any others. There are several minor reasons for this, but, I believe, the main reason why classics and mathematics remain as the principal methods of education is this, that the conscientious and experienced pedagogue is very loth to sacrifice that which gives him the best grip of a boy's mind that he will not give up lessons in favor of lectures. Any person who has had experience in teaching will recognize the distinction. You can make a lesson out of languages and mathematics; but as far as one can gather from experience, what are called lessons in science, history, and geography, evaporate into lectures, admirably suited to eager and attentive pupils, but quite unfitted for the great majority, the uninterested and inattentive. For, alas! horrible unreality as it may be to the theorist, the great majority of English boys are uninterested and inattentive by nature. They have by no means that thirst for information that distinguished Masters Tommy Merton and Harry Sandford, and drew so much interesting matter from Mr. Barlow. Here and there you have boys more or less impressed by what they are hearing or reading or trying to solve, but many more |