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"to die in their own native shade."

ment, "My Schools and Schoolmasters," like the "Gipsy Countess," would be left will always have intense attraction for the lovers of a good personal history.

Those charming old romancers, the buccaneers and explorers of olden times, have had a more staid and accurate, though no less adventurous, succession of sons in the African travellers of our days Livingstone, Speke and Grant, Baker, Stanley, and Du Chaillu; while the ladies have been well represented all round the globe by Miss Bird, Lady Brassey, Miss Gordon Cumming, and other itinerants.

Our glance at the literary life of the last fifty years has, of necessity, been cursory and imperfect. Such is the number of new books constantly issuing from the press, that without converting an article into a catalogue, it would be impossible even to name those that win a temporary fame. And it does not at all follow that those only are the "fittest" which survive for a few years. Success is often due in books as in soap or starch or blacking

The study of metaphysics can scarcely to persevering puffing, and to the inbe said to have made much advance in fluence of powerful friends. This is evithis half-century, or to occupy so promi- dently an age of "the making of books," nent a position in literature as it did in in every sense; and with the multitude the preceding fifty years. Men's minds, of books there seems to come, more whether for good or for evil, are bent and more visibly, a tendency to universal more on solving mechanical and economic mediocrity. Possibly this is only a lull problems than on discussing the Ego and before a storm of great writers bursts the Non-ego, and mapping out the higher upon us, as has happened once and again provinces of thought-land. The chief in our national history. The world of publications have been, on the one hand, bright thought and poetic emotion is by the lectures of Sir William Hamilton, no means used up as yet, and the dull carefully edited by Mansell and Veitch, and, on the other, the various works of the acute but limited John Stuart Mill.

A great feature in the literature of today is the multiplication of periodical works. Magazines, reviews, weekly papers, are produced in an ever-increasing ratio, till at length every shade of thought, every trade and profession, seems to have its own particular organ in the press. Amongst the older papers Punch, by its wit and wisdom, still keeps a foremost place. About its earlier and wilder years clustered such a galaxy of wits as England has seldom seen united in any undertaking Douglas Jerrold, Thomas Hood, Thackeray, Dickens, Gilbert Abbot à Beckett, Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Tom Taylor; aided by the ready pencils of Doyle and Leech and Tenniel. And now, though in this, as in some other things, we may sometimes think that the former days were better than these, still, under the genial editorship of Mr. Burnand, this oldest of the "comics" still maintains a deservedly high position. A new departure has been the throwing open of the pages of certain periodicals for the discussion of controverted topics by emi-nent men on both sides: a method which

level of a critical, matter-of-fact generation may be but a bit of the highroad to a paradise of appreciation in which the coming poets and other masters of the literary art shall bask and revel. May they, when they have to quit the stage of life, leave behind them as kindly a chronicler of their foibles and as brave an asserter of their virtuous qualities as Mr. Hall is for the men and women of bygone years! To his volumes we refer the reader for much pleasant gossip about authors and artists, with the latter of whom his editorship of the Art Journal for forty-two years brought him into close intercourse. Through the whole work shines a devout spirit, and the close of a long life of literary labor is in his case brightened by the comfortable assurance of soon rejoicing the excellent woman who was his companion on earth for fiftysix years. We feel sincere respect and regard for the veteran whose career has been an honor to the profession of letters, and who, in his "Farewell" to his readers and friends, can thus speak of the last enemy:

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His call, his touch, I neither seek nor shun;
The night he brings will bring the risen day.
His power is ended when his work is done.
My Shield of Faith no cloud of Death can

has striking advantages, but which also operates for the propagation of doubtful and noxious tenets, which would command no attention or circulation in the ancient form of book or pamphlet, but, | Death cannot conquer me! I conquer him!

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Very well, then look at your uncle's letter yourself," and Lady Mary Houghton." ton tossed a closely-written letter across the breakfast-table to her daughter. Mollie picked up the letter gingerly with the tips of her fingers.

"It won't bite," said her mother irritably.

"I don't feel at all sure about that, mamma. If it was Uncle Edward himself, it would."

"Nonsense!"

Mollie, with a deep frown upon her pretty white forehead, began to read.

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I am glad poor Uncle George has left something to Meta and Agnes," she said. "At least there is some good in his will." "Five thousand to each of my married daughters," said Lady Mary complacently. "Yes, it will gratify your brothers-inlaw; and I am sure Meta will want it, if she goes on having two babies regularly every year."

"If they are all as pretty as the last four, I wish she might have three a year," said Mollie lightly. "I never saw such a set of little ducks!"

"Of course you like them, who have none of the trouble and responsibility, you little goose."

"Not to speak of the natural affinity between ducks and geese," said Mollie gravely her poor little face becoming more and more disconsolate. "Aud five thousand to you, mamma, that is nice! and I see nothing about me. You were hoaxing after all, mammie dear! I am so thankful."

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"And if you refuse to marry him, or marry any one else, then all this money is to go to a nasty hospital. I never heard of such a thing!" cried Lady Mary in a burst of indignation.

"It is the most abominable, dreadful, wicked, and intolerable will that ever was made," said Mollie. "And oh! to think that poor dear good Uncle George should have imagined such iniquity."

"Granted that it is all you say, Mollie !" said her mother severely, "remember that you have got to do it."

"Mamma!" cried Mollie, in a tone of such amazed horror that Lady Mary in spite of herself could not help laughing.

"Oh Mollie, Mollie, of course you must - don't you see it? You can't ruin this poor young man's prospects you can't condemn him to beggary. I must appeal to your better side.'

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No, no, no!" cried Mollie, shutting her ears with her fingers. "I won't have my better side appealed to! Yes, I will though," very suddenly. "Of course my better side is all for the hospital — of course I could not think of thwarting Uncle George's philanthropic intentions, certainly not! I am not so bad as that, mamma." ""

"You are silly this morning," said Lady Mary, "and are taken by surprise also, so I will make allowances for your silliness. Hospital indeed! I never did approve of pauperizing the people and ·

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"Good-morning, mamma," cried two bright young voices, and the two married daughters came in together.

"Aggie wanted to go to Marshall and Snelgrove's, and I wanted to take her, so I picked her up in Brook Street, and we have come in on the way to hear if you have heard from Uncle Edward."

"Yes," said her mother, "I have. Ring the bell, Mollie, for more coffee. What will you have, dear?"

"I should like something-I am awfully hungry," said Meta, undoing her fur hat. "I breakfasted at half past seven with Tom, who has gone into Hertford

shire for a shoot. Is that muffin? quick, Mollie. But how late you are! What time did you go. to bed?"

"Nine o'clock," said Mollie absently. "There is nowhere to go now, So we went to bed. Mamma and I are always late in the morning when we go to bed early." "You

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Oh, do be quiet," said Agnes.

to her, on condition that she marries the Indian cousin, Stephen Houghton, and if she does not marry him it is all to go to found a hospital."

"So Mollie is provided with a fortune and a husband without the trouble of waiting for either," said Meta, pouring out some coffee. "I congratulate you, Poll." "I won't be congratulated! There is

do chatter so; and I am dying to know nothing to congratulate me about."

about the will.”

"He has left each of you girls
"What? Quick, mamma!"
"Five thousand."

"Oh!" Meta jumped up, and executed an animated pas seul in the middle of the

room.

"He is an intense old brick!" she cried.

"He isn't," said Mollie mournfully. "He is, you minx. I shall send Tom a telegram, I think, very carefully worded. " "It is very nice," said Aggie, more sedately. "Go on, mamma.'

"He leaves the big silver dinner-service, and all the Houghtonleigh plate to your brother Charles. It will be very useful to him at Marchlands. Five thousand to me."

"And nothing to the Indian cousin?" asked Meta. Every one said that he was sure to have the bulk."

Lady Mary glanced at Mollie, who gave a little bound in her chair.

"You talk about what you do not understand, Meta," she said, flushing scarlet. "A will is like a merino sheep all its value is in its tail."

"What does the child mean?

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Go on,

"The residue of the property is left to Mollie on one condition.”

"Oh!" cried both again, "my dear Mollie! how magnificent! How much?" "Two hundred thousand." "And Mollie is to have it all?"

"Not a sixpence," said Mollie dolefully. "It is a snare and a delusion, a mirage which no earthly traveller can reach, an apple of Sodom which turns to ashes at our lips. It is all left to found a hospital!"

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"My dear little child," said Aggie soothingly.

"Don't say things now that you will be sorry for afterwards. You would not do such an immoral thing as deprive Stephen of his patrimony."

"I should do worse if I were to consent to marry the creature without without- ""

"Without what?" said her mother coldly.

"She means love, mamma," said Meta. "With an utter disregard for the fact that love is an exploded idea, and that nothing is of the smallest consequence except an adequate settlement."

"And a virtuous esteem," put in Aggie. "Don't be childish, Mollie; you have that already for the worthy Stephen, and there is always a chance that such a beginning may ripen into a warmer sentiment."

"Certainly, Mollie," said Meta, whose young husband had fallen in love with her at first sight, and stoutly maintained that she had done likewise. Their love affairs had been highly satisfactory.

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'Well, what is to be done?" said Ag. nes. "There is always a next move to everything, what is it to be?"

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I really have not had a moment in which to think," said Lady Mary ruefully. "What with Mollie's high-flown nonsense, and your talk, my dear girls, I have not been able to collect my thoughts; and there is a letter from your Aunt Jane I have not even opened yet."

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"Ah, that is sure to contain some sug. gestion of value," cried Meta. Open it at once, mamma, and let us hear it. Aunt Jennie is always the cleverest of the whole lot."

Lady Mary opened the letter, and her three daughters gathered all round to read it over her shoulder, Meta holding a corner of it to bring it more within the vision of her rather short-sighted eyes. They read as follows:

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"Please to impress this at once upon Mollie. I expect her cousin here on Tuesday the eighteenth of next month; he will spend some time with me, and matters shall then be finally arranged as to fitting times and seasons."

"I dare say!" said Mollie indignantly. "Hush- sh!"

"So, dear Mary, pack up Miss Mollie at once, without any unnecessary delay. You can go and stay with Charles at Marchlands, it will do you all good; and I will undertake Mollie's affairs. She does not leave this house until she has made up her mind to be a reasonable woman. As to love, I do not think any daughter of yours could be so irrational as for one moment to consider it worthy of consideration when a plain duty is involved."

"Oh yes, I see my duty," said Mollie with a gasp. "There is such a want of

hospitals, and this one—

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"My dear Mollie, what on earth do you mean?"

"I won't go to Aunt Jennie's." "Yes, you will," said her mother. "Oh yes, darling, of course you will,” said her sisters.

"But I am not going."

"Mamma," said Meta, "we are going to Marshall and Snelgrove's. Do you want anything for Mollie for this visit? has she got anything in the world to wear?"

"I have got all my season gowns." "All Londony, and smelling of smoke. Oh, please, mamma," cried Meta, "let me get her one or two really killing gets-up. Nothing is worn now but tailor-made, and she has got such a nice, round, soft little figure."

"Very well, only you must let me have some little choice in the matter. I should like her to look her best."

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Cloth, Meta, mind, and made to fit thoroughly, and moderate buttons yours were too large; and patterns for the evening."

"All right, mamma. Come, Aggie, Marshall is selling off, and I mean to buy half the shop at half price."

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Good-bye, mamma, till the seventeenth. I shall go to Marchlands if you are not here."

But Tom would wait no longer, he dashed up the stairs five steps at a time. "You'll be late for the train, you perverse young person, you! Now do come."

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With one more hasty kiss Mollie ran down-stairs.

Meta was waiting to take her to the

station with the four children in the carriage. Tom jumped into a hansom and they were off.

"You look charming, my dear, quite charming!" said her sister. "If only Stephen

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Oh, Mettie!" cried Mollie in an agony. If you knew how like pins and needles, and mustard and peppercorns, his horrid name is to me, you would forbear."

"I forbear," she_answered, laughing. "Here we are at Paddington, and Tom gesticulating frantically."

"Bell rung! quick, quick!"

They had to run up the platform; as fast as it was possible to run, to the carriage where Mollie's anxious maid was leaning out of the window, white with suspense. The train was just starting. Mollie put out her pretty head.

Good-bye, Tom; tell Meta I won't

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"My dear child," said Aunt Jane, kissing her again and again, "I am so glad to see you, and you are looking so pretty!"

It was a very proper boudoir in which they met, the paper Morris's darkest sagegreen, chimneypiece painted to match; the whole room full of screens, many embroidered sunflowers, many scanty-leaved irises.

A large sofa was drawn up near the fire, on which lay Lady Jane's only daugh. ter, Gwendoline, the owner of the boudoir, and alas! an invalid. Had she been bright with health she would have been a very pretty woman; as she was, there was something very sweet in the delicate face.

"How are you, Cousin Gwendoline," said Mollie, stooping to kiss her cousin affectionately. "I do so hope that you are better."

"I am very well for me," was the cheery answer. "Are you cold, Mollie? Mamma, bring her close to the fire."

"Oh, no, thank you," said Mollie, who, coming in from the frosty air, was stifling. "I am as warm as a toast indeed."

"How nice to be quite warm in such weather!" said Gwendoline with a little shiver.

It was too late for tea, so Mollie was taken up to her room to dress and rest before dinner, and there Aunt Jane could say nothing to her, because her maid was getting out her things as quickly as she could, so Mollie felt thankful that the evil moment was put off.

"Did you hear whether anybody was staying here, Burton ?" she asked, as soon as the door had closed upon her aunt.

"Yes, miss; your grandmamma is here no ladies but her ladyship- and Captain Houghton."

"Oh!" said Mollie. She wondered who Captain Houghton was, then suddenly remembered with a horrible qualm that some one had once said that Stephen was a captain.

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Impossible," she said to herself, halfrising from her chair. Her aunt would never be guilty of such a piece of treachery as that! Her cheeks burned so much at the very idea that she wondered how she should ever get them cool for dinner.

Meanwhile an odd conversation was going on in the drawing-room down-stairs. Gwendoline, in her long pale gown, her wraps of elaborate crewel-work, had been carried up-stairs; and Lady Jane in a most comfortable and becoming peignoir of crimson plush, had taken her place on

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