tered upon a confused explanation of his as it was, it was by far the most ample inability to receive them at the Hermitage. and the best-served meal that be had par"You come at an unlucky moment - if taken of since Isabelle's marriage. The your coming at any moment could be three glasses of champagne which he percalled unlucky. I am in the act of mov- mitted himself brought the color into his ing from my old house, and I could not withered cheeks and excited his unaccusask you to the rooms which I have taken tomed brain. Something of the rather provisionally in the town. though, to be noisy joviality of those far-away years besure, they are very comfortable for a sin- fore the war came back to him, and broke gle man. For the rest, you will find your-out every now and then in an odd, fitful selves in a better air and a more fashion- way, like snatches of an old air played out able quarter at Mustapha Supérieur. Our of tune. After breakfast, while he was poor Saint-Eugène is much changed since sitting in the garden with his son-in-law, you saw it last." smoking a cigarette and sipping his black coffee, he exclaimed suddenly, "It is a dream! The good breakfast, the ciga rette in the shade, the sunshine, the purple Bougainvillea on the wall yonder - you both all as it used to be! Ah, Raoul, mon ami, do not speak: you might wake me!"

Madame de Lugagnan, who had not been listening to him very attentively, caught up his last words. "But every thing is changed!" she exclaimed. "This row of fine stone buildings, which look as if they had been picked up in Paris and dropped here by mistake- what do they call it? Boulevard de la République it was Boulevard de l'Impératrice once, and it was not half as long. And the Rue Bab-Azoun, which we used to think so gay how narrow and dark and dirty it has grown! And can this be Isly? this vulgar faubourg, which might be an outlying quarter of Marseilles! Ah, yes; everything is changed. Everything, except you, papa," she added, with a slight laugh. "You are always the same."

The old gentleman was delighted with this compliment. He rubbed his hands and chuckled and nodded at his son-in-law, who said, with grave politeness: "In truth, M. Lelièvre, you appear to me to be in excellent health."

And yet he was as much changed out wardly as Isly and Madame de Lugagnan. It is true that in thought and speech he was exactly what he had always been; and perhaps that was what his daughter had meant. She sighed after she had spoken, thinking perhaps of a certain Isabelle Lelièvre, whom she vaguely remem. bered to have known long ago, and of whom this return to once familiar company and scenes reminded her. The world moves on and we must needs move with it: it is only hermits who, at the end of ten years, can boast that they have lost nothing of their former identity.

When he had conducted his beloved travellers to the door of their hotel, M. Lelièvre made as though he would have withdrawn, but they insisted upon it that he should remain and breakfast with them; and in truth his consent was not very difficult to obtain. The repast to which he presently sat down was not precisely a marvel of culinary skill; but, such

M. de Lugagnan, who could hardly be expected to share the ecstasies of this singular old person, with whom he had never been very intimate, smiled indulgently. He was quite willing to remain silent, having indeed nothing particular to say, and it was reserved for Isabelle to speak the word which should recall her father to actualities.

She came out of the house by-and-by, and leaning over his chair, said pleasantly: "Now, papa, we shall take you for a drive. We are going down to SaintEugène to see the old home. It is too bad of you to have abandoned it."

M. Lelièvre fell from the seventh heaven at once and landed on earth some

what heavily. "Not to Saint-Eugène !
he exclaimed in consternation.
"Not
now, at all events, for it is exactly to-day
that there is a little sale -some of the
old furniture useless things. No, no,
my dear child, you must not go there; it
would distress you."

Madame de Lugagnan, however, was not to be dissuaded. Her father did not dare to say too much, lest he should arouse her suspicions; but during the long drive down the hill, through the town and out again by the western gate, he was uneasy and absent-minded, feeling that there was danger ahead, and being conscious of one especial danger to which he hardly liked to give definite expression, even in thought.

At length they reached the villa, where the auction was in full swing; they met the purchasers coming away, bearing chairs and mattresses and what not; they walked up through the garden, and Madame de Lugagnan uttered shrill cries of

dame de Lugagnan said, in a somewhat severe tone; and he did not refuse. Of course there must be an explanation; of course his daughter would insist upon making some provision for him in his old age; of course, too, she would feel hurt at his having concealed his want from her for so long. Almost he regretted that he had seen her again; the happy dream of the morning was likely to be paid for dearly. But at any rate she should not suspect that he had impoverished himself in order to provide her with her dowry.

He did not return the salute; he took one dirty hand out of his pocket, and shook his forefinger within a few inches of his alarmed debtor's nose with a gesture of bantering reproof. "Oh, M. Le-She must suppose that he had been exlièvre !" he exclaimed, "what a hard man travagant, that he had made unlucky of business you are! To sell every stick speculations — anything rather than the at the last moment and leave me only the truth. bare walls! It is not well to treat an old friend so- no, it is not well!"

"Another time, M. Cohen," whispered the old man, in great perturbation, "any other time I shall be most happy to talk with you; but I implore you to leave me now. Do you not see that I have my daughter with me?"

He had ample time in which to concoct some fresh scheme of duplicity; for when the hotel at Mustapha was once more reached, M. and Madame de Lugagnan, who had spoken little during the return drive, left him alone in their sitting-room, saying that they needed a little rest before dinner. The old man sat for some time there, gazing vacantly before him and drumming with his lean fingers upon the table. He was wondering whether

M. Cohen responded to this appeal by removing his hat with a flourish, and bowing low to Madame de Lugagnan, who was contemplating him in blank amaze-Isabelle was displeased with him, and whether, after all, he might not be able to persuade her that he needed no assistance.

ment.

Suddenly a door slamming in some other part of the house caused that which separated Madame de Lugagnan's bedroom from the sitting-room to come unfastened. It was only a chink that was thus opened, and the two persons who were conversing on the other side of the door did not notice what had occurred. Their voices were plainly audible.

"Madame la Vicomtesse," said he, "if you will permit me to advise you, you will make your poor father a little allowance and not trust him with capital. The best of men, madame, but extravagant terribly extravagant. I have been obliged to claim this house, after waiting in vain for my money for many, many years. I might have claimed the furniture perhaps, but that I waive. I am a loser by the affair, madame, and if M. Lelièvre were to repay me and take possession of his "I consider that I have every right to house again, he would make a bad bar be annoyed," M. de Lugagnan was saying. gain. For the property, alas! is worth" I am not more avaricious than another; next to nothing."

The meaning of this speech was that M. Cohen, who knew that the new road would be made, and that the result would be highly advantageous to him, as owner of the Hermitage, was in a mortal fright lest Madame de Lugagnan should propose to pay off her father's debt. But if Madame de Lugagnan had any such intention, she did not divulge it. She turned away, without vouchsafing a word of reply to the Jew, and said, “Come, papa; let us go back to the hotel."

M. Lelièvre followed her, hanging his head like a naughty child. Fain would he have crept away home and hidden his shame; but that was not to be. "You will return and dine with us, papa," Ma

but when a man gives his daughter three hundred thousand francs on her marriage it is reasonable to expect that he will leave at least as much when he dies. I have counted upon this succession; I have come here, at great inconvenience, because it was represented to me that there was a probability of - of its falling in before long; and what do I find? Why, not only that your father is in the best of health, but that he is in the worst of circumstances, and that so far from inheriting anything from him, I shall most likely be asked to contribute to his support!"

"It will not be for long, Raoul." "Eh, who knows? It is proverbial that pensioners never die."

"But we need not give much. Five

thousand francs a year would suffice, Inantly, "what does this mean? Have think." you not been to bed, then?"

When she came in early in the morning to sweep the room she was astonished to find her master still in the same attitude. "But, monsieur!" she ejaculated indig-John Murray. 1884.

66

schools of thought as a scandal to biography. Sir Charles Wetherell once said, in reference to the earlier volumes of the work, Campbell has added a new sting to death." Lyndhurst himself expressed to Brougham his foreboding of the fate reserved for both of them in these biting words: "I predict that he will take his revenge on you by describing you with all the gall of his nature. He will write of you, and perhaps of me, too, with envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, for such is his nature."

In 1869 all the world learned that those were not idle words. The flippant, gossiping style of Campbell's work made it popular for a time; but it would have been more becoming in a society journal than in the biography of the two most memorable lord chancellors of this century, written by one who, having himself been keeper of the great seal, was familiar with the grave responsibilities of that high office. The late Lord Chief Baron Pollock, who knew both Campbell and Lyndhurst intimately, passed this verdict upon the work:

This "Life of Lyndhurst" is, in my opinion, a most disgraceful production. It is written with the utmost possible malice and ill-will. It rakes together all the scandal and falsehood that was ever invented or written about Lord Lyndhurst, dishonestly publishing as true what is notoriously false, and insinuating by a sneer matter for which he well knew there was no pretence whatever. It is a biography written for the express purpose of degrading and vili. fying a great man whom he hated, chiefly because he was aware he was largely the object

of that man's contempt.

of the adage as to furens quid femina possit," and in reply to her criticism of his description of Campbell's appointment to the chancellorship as an "imaginative account," he states that it is the record of an actual fact, carefully verified, and that with the warning example before him of the "Lives of the Chancellors," "to draw on imagination for my facts would indeed have been to court disgrace." These letters called forth a leader in the Times, which reproached Sir T. Martin for turning biography into an edge-tool, and reminded him that "a taunt is not the less rude that it is conveyed in half a Latin verse."

But the Times critic was himself criticised in an able letter, signed "E. B." (January 2). After speaking of "those scandalous pages which Sir Theodore Martin has most justly and wisely demolished forever," it proceeds:

writer's sententious maxims about how biog-
And here I utterly dissent from your article
raphy should be written. Anybody who wants

a result can manufacture maxims to produce
it, and opposite ones would be just as easy and
as good. Up to last month Campbell's was
the "Life of Lyndhurst," and none in the next
or the rising generation could know what it
really was that called itself so.
thing then that any genuine biographer had to
do, and to do all along, was to sweep the ground
clear of its trail, and then write the true his-
tory; which substantially his present one has
done.

The first

Sir Theodore has adopted this last sentence in his preface to the second edition of the biography as a true statement of his position and purpose, and, in our judg Readers of the new life will not, there- ment, he has done wisely. Any one who fore, be surprised to find fifty to sixty will read Campbell's biography, and will distinct refutations of the earlier biogra- then study Sir Theodore Martin's, will phy, nor to notice, as Mrs. Hardcastle feel that, however painful it might be to says, in her letter to the Times (December wound the feelings of Campbell's relatives, 19), that Sir Theodore Martin heaps upon justice to the memory of a distinguished her father "phrases such as these lawyer and statesman made it imperative 'recklessness,' 'incredible audacity,' 'im- to show the utter unworthiness of the first pertinence, malice,' falsifying, gar- biography. For nearly fifteen years Lyndbling,' 'pure fiction,' gross misstate- hurst's fair fame has been sullied by that ments,' 'calculated calumnies.'" She work, and our only regret is that Sir Theothus concludes her letter: He [Sir T. dore Martin's answer was not published Martin] repeatedly twits my father with long ago. It is true that the late Mr. being a self-appointed biographer.' Does Hayward, whose acquaintance with Lord he consider that it bestows either dignity Lyndhurst, and so many of his friends or credibility on a biographer to be em- and associates, gave him peculiar opportuployed by others to blacken the character nity for investigating Campbell's charges, of a distinguished man personally un- entered his protest in the Quarterly Reknown to him?" Sir T. Martin made a view (January, 1869) against what he calls smart rejoinder to this charge (Times," the most studied depreciation of a caDecember 22). He said that Mrs. Hard- reer and character that we ever remember castle "furnishes a very pretty illustration to have read," but the biography must

for a time. By 1774, however, Copley had earned enough to afford himself a student tour in Europe, and to provide for the maintenance of his family during his absence. He reached London in July, 1774. Benjamin West received him with the greatest cordiality, showed him all that was best worth seeing in the metropolis, and exerted himself to procure sitters for his American rival before he set out for the Continent. Sir Joshua Reynolds also gave the young artist valuable assistance, and the hearty friendship and substantial help which he received in many quarters during his short stay in England were honorable alike to the London artists and to their American visitor.

have had many readers who never heard | dependent on him, and his marriage, in of this and similar reviews, and were 1769, put so many fresh difficulties in the likely to be altogether misled by Lord way, that the project had to be deferred Campbell's work. It has been said that the new biography has suffered from the frequent reference made to Lord Campbell's misstatements. We do not share this opinion. No life of Lyndhurst could have been of the slightest value which did not grapple with these charges. The references to the first biography give evidence of the critical temper in which Sir Theodore Martin has devoted himself to his work. They show that he was fully aware of Lord Campbell's charges, and has sifted the evidence carefully. So far from agreeing with the Times that "the memory of Lord Lyndhurst is avenged on the memory of Lord Campbell, and the majestic personality of the former disappears in the smoke of battle," we feel that Lord Lyndhurst's character is cleared from the most cruel insinuations, and that bis whole career is set in a new and more attractive light.

Next year when Copley was studying in Parma, he heard that his wife and three children had arrived in London. His mother and half-brother, with Copley's youngest child, who was not able to bear John Singleton Copley, the future lord the voyage, remained behind in Boston. chancellor, was born in Boston on the Mrs. Copley's father, Mr. Clark, was the 21st of May, 1772. His father, a portrait- | Boston agent of the East India Company, painter in that city, had sent over to En- and to him were consigned those historic gland, in 1766, a beautiful picture, "The cargoes of tea which Boston citizens, disBoy with the Squirrel," which he con- guised as Mohawk Indians, threw into the signed to the care of Benjamin West. sea on December 16, 1773. Mr. Clarke's West had already achieved a reputation royalist sympathies had made his daughin London, and as the first American ter's life in Boston very unpleasant, and painter settled in this country, seemed when the struggle for independence broke likely to assist the new aspirant for artis-out, she sailed for England. Her husband tic fame. He was greatly impressed by sympathized with the Americans in their the talent displayed in this work, and is even reported to have said: "What delicious coloring! Worthy of Titian himself!" The picture thus strangely introduced to English art circles established Copley's reputation in this country. The rules of the Society of Incorporated Artists only allowed the works of members to be exhibited on its walls, but an exception was made in favor of this work, and when it became known that the painter had never been out of Boston, nor seen a picture by any of the great masters, the performance was considered a triumph of natural genius.

Notwithstanding the success of this picture, and of others which he sent over in the next few years, Copley hesitated long about removing to London. His profession brought him an income of three hundred guineas a year in Boston, which he considered equal to nine hundred in London, and though he earnestly desired to study the great art treasures of Europe, his mother and half-brother were entirely

:

struggle, and had a settled conviction that all the power of Great Britain would not reduce them to obedience; but the war made it impossible to earn a living in Boston for many years to come, and thus the family of the future lord chancellor setted in London. Fifteen months after Mrs. Copley's arrival in England, her husband rejoined her. It was a great disappointment to him to be delayed so long after his wife and children had reached this country, but means were limited, and success in after life required this careful preparation. When Copley returned to England, December, 1776, he felt that he was fully prepared for artistic work in London.

He soon obtained numerous sitters for portraits, and produced various pictures of dramatic or historic interest which gave him a high position among his brother painters, and helped to secure his election as a Royal Academician within three years after his return from the Continent. "The Death of Chatham," and