schoolboy voice and manner, and style of observation, brought back younger feelings to the wounded heart, we know not. We do know, however, that James was in the middle of his second cigar, and Forrest was in the most interesting part of a long story about a cricket-match, when the former suddenly exclaimed, with great excitement of manner— "I WON'T believe it!"

"Not believe it, French? Why, what the plague do you mean ?" cried Forrest.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear fellow. I was thinking of-of something else. Excuse me I must go now. Good-by."

And flinging away his half-burnt cigar-Forrest afterwards said it fell on the rim of a policeman's hat, and burnt a hole in it, much to the rage of the peace-officer-he turned from his astonished companion, and rushed up-stairs.

Meanwhile, Eliza had long since re-entered the front room.

"What an open-hearted, kindly young man James French is," said Mrs. Tyrwhitt to her presently, passing her arm affectionately round her

waist.

"Yes, dear Mrs. Tyrwhitt," answered the heiress.

"Naughty girl! how it blushes!" whispered the old woman.

it talking all by itself to him"

"Whom?" "exclaimed Eliza, suddenly.

"I saw

"Never mind me, dear; I shall be quiet. I won't prevent two young hearts'

Why, what has become of Mr. French ?" said Eliza. "I asked him to get me a newspaper an hour ago. What's that noise in the street?"

"Only the people laughing at a dog racing down the middle of the carriage-way," answered Mrs. Tyrwhitt, who evidently liked the excitement of the scene, and left her fair charge to go to the window.

"Open-hearted !-kindly!" muttered Eliza, seating herself on the sofa. "Oh yes; no doubt of it. A thorough bore. What a difference between him and Frank! A bold, chivalrous, handsome fellow-all manliness, and yet so loving. James?-pooh! he's a milksop."

Frank Phillips rather studiously separated himself from her. He had not returned to the front room till long after she had done so. He seemed very happy.

"It's all right," he said softly to himself, rubbing "My bachelor days are over. I see my way at last. tune I shall clear off everything, and begin again! Jove, with no debts!"

his white hands. With such a forBegin again, by

"Has Mercury not returned yet?" he said presently, sauntering to her as she still sat on the sofa.

"Mercury!" she said, staring. She evidently did not know any person of the name.

"The man you sent for a newspaper," he explained; "the messenger of the Goddess of Beauty."

He had not done so.

"You must keep a sharp look-out on that old dragon," he pursued, indicating Mrs. Tyrwhitt, who was busily engaged at one of the windows. "I'm almost afraid she suspects us. If she only knew that your father

in-law had prohibited you from seeing me what would she say Pro Well,® I think your mother is at heart, my friend. Somebody else is at heart -isn't she?" And he bent over her ni era el tall* „Isok d "When Softhead comes back, be kind to him," he pursued presently "that will throw Mrs. Tyrwhitt off the scent. I won't be jealous." And he laughed and walked away.

Not long after, James came into the room very hurriedly. Eliza was still on the sofa; a girl friend with her now. As she saw him, her bright face seemed to grow even brighter than it had been before. Could he doubt that? He must have been mistaken in supposing she could have been in that room with Phillips, and yet He would not believe it. He would hope against belief: hope and watch.odern to mor sita

"I'm afraid you've had an immense deal of trouble?" she said, as he presented the newspaper to her. "It was very thoughtless in me to ask you to get it."

"Trouble!" he exclaimed, eager to assure her that he had had none. But he stopped. What could he say, then, he had been doing all this time? He was too anxious, to think of the obvious assurance which he might have given her, that no labour is trouble when yielded to Love.

"The procession will be here soon, they say down stairs," he continued, utterly passing away from the subject in hand. "I smoked a cigar while getting your newspaper. You do not object to the scent of tobacco, do you?" he continued, wandering away from the subject in hand again.

"Oh no.

Oh dear no. I like it," she replied.

"I hope you have not found this long time of waiting pass very slowly," he went on, breaking once more from the last subject.

66

Why, I've been nearly alone some part of the morning," she replied, with a pert toss of her pretty head and a tolerably steady look at him. Then, as if eager not to seem to pay him a side compliment, "Mrs. Tyrwhitt likes to watch those dreadful crowds," she added; "but we have had a long pic-nic luncheon, and Mary has been a dear companion. Won't you take something?"

"No-no thank you," he said, confused; "I'm sure I'm very sorry you've-you've been alone at all."

And he looked round for Phillips. Where was that serene rival? There he stood in the farthest window joking with Miss Rugg, and holding her wine-glass. What could it mean? Mean? why he had been mistaken. He had been anxious to suspect Eliza in consequence of his sister's advice. He had tormented himself causelessly. Determining that all this was the truth, he resolutely flung his doubts aside. His self-possession returned; he became the warm, credulous, somewhat tiresome lover again; "Mary" slipped away; he took her place, and all ideas of criticism and judicial severity of investigation were forgotten.

So some time passed; a considerable time; how much he did not know. He took no note of it. He was very happy; intoxicated with that potent spirit of love which derives its strength mainly from its victim. Alas! how many of us fall down before the creations of our own imaginations. We yearn to love, and look on outward beauty, and believe that what a Oct.-VOL. XCIX. NO. CCCXCIV.

..

IT

cold spectator sees is commonest clay, is the embodiment of all that we hold high and holy.

But as he was thus vehemently giving himself up to infatuation, there was suddenly a slight stir and murmur among the crowd outside, followed by deep silence. And then, at a distance, were heard the solemn opening notes of the "Dead March" from Saul, followed, or rather broken in upon, by the never-to-be-forgotten roll of the muffled drums. Nearer it came, very slowly, but nearer still, and ever as the brief divisions of the melody were concluded, those drums swept in with their low, heart-searching thunder-dying away at once again-giving place to the renewed wailing of the trumpets.

"Let me see! let me see !" exclaimed Eliza, springing up, and pushing among her party at one of the windows. There were four rows of people to each window, the third and fourth on a raised platform. James followed her. He became suddenly unreasonable, for her. He was not satisfied until he had made old Miss Hayday give up her place in the front row to her; Miss Eliza taking the same without scruple-was she not an heiress, and was not poor old Hayday "treated" to the sight? In fact, if the secrets of Eliza's heart could have been dragged to-day, the discovery made patent would have been, that if there was any one human being with whom she was really and honestly in love, that being was -herself.

And now it came slowly, slowly into sight, that solemn procession, which so long as the heart beats must remain in the memory of all who saw it, as the most superb, yet simple, tribute which it was possible for England to pay publicly and outwardly to her Great Son. And onward it passed slowly, slowly still, the brilliancy of the military array toned down by the solemn slowness of the step-by the subdued sad music of the marches and hymns-by the stillness and reverence of the enormous masses of people in the streets and windows, and on the roofs. At last it was over; to us it had vanished-it was a thing of history. The Adeste Fideles which closed the solemn pomp was heard-faintly-for the last time. We heard the recommencement of the sacred air-the first line of it just reached the ear-we listened intently-it became quite indistinctit was scarcely audible-it was gone.

James French turned aside for a few moments. His feelings had been wound up to a lofty pitch; he could not bear to return to common life at once-even to the companionship of her whom he loved. A young author, he looked on the magnificent scene as the very highest realisation of his idea of fame-and it was over! This was the very climax and culminating point of a great career-to be buried in such state by the mightiest nation of earth-hosts of fellow-men sympathising in rendering the last honour in their power to the shell of that master-spirit. But it was all; and it was over-and the master-spirit was—

where, as well as him of firmest soul, The meanly-minded, and the coward are—

"Ah!" he reflected, "what

reckless of it all, perhaps ignorant of it all. then is Fame? A thing of earth; valuable only while we live; is it to be desired so much as Love?" He should have gone further; should have asked if that kind of fame should be pursued for itself at all, or pursued

so much as Duty. The Duke did not watch and nurse his fame. But James, although his nature was generous, was yet somewhat vain, and selfish too. To him, Love was mostly delight, and Fame, praise that he could hear. Life and its objects were not standing before him with that dread significance which they wear to the maturer mind-when Love is mostly sympathy, and Fame the approbation of conscience. But he was young yet, reader, and as yet successful. It is only as we grow old, and meet with sorrows and fail, that we turn from the false idols of youth— after we have had them smitten down before our eyes.

He was suddenly recalled to the scene around him by an exclamation from Mrs. Tyrwhitt.

Why, my good gracious," she cried out, "there's that man in the blue comforter standing there still in the same attitude as ever."

Most of the party had left the windows immediately after the procession had passed, but they now returned. James looked up. He had resolved. Love before Fame! He looked up, we say. Frank Phillips was at Eliza's side, and they were talking hurriedly together, while the rest of the party, as curious to see the man in the comforter as the funeral pageant, laughed and joked about him-" What could Eliza and Phillips be talking about? so earnestly too! Hardly about the man."

As we have seen, James had altogether dismissed certain suspicions from his mind, founded on what he imagined he had overheard. But as he saw the earnestness of conversation now taking place, these suspicions returned. He struggled against them, but there they were; and if they were true! Love? If she could be guilty of such perfidy as she must, in that case, have practised all through their late intercourse-who was worthy to be loved?

But he had thought himself mistaken before; he might have cause to think so again. He resolved to act at once.

"Do you wait to see the car go back, Miss Eliza?" he said, walking up to the pair.

“I think not,” she replied.

"Somebody was saying, that after a military funeral the soldiers always return to quarters with the bands playing 'Oh, dear, what can the matter be?" said Phillips. "That would be worth stopping for, Miss Thornhill."

"About as appropriate as it would be for Lodovico, Cassio, and the officers to strike up a dance immediately after Othello's death," said James.

Phillips looked angry.

"This is not a military funeral, but a national one," said James, in continuation.

"We shall not stop," said Eliza.

"How do you propose returning home?" said James. Tyrwhitt's carriage, or your father's?"

"In Mrs.

"Oh, in Mrs. Tyrwhitt's. I'm living with her just now, you know," she replied. "It's to be waiting for us in Leicester-square.'

"When you go," pursued French, "may I have the pleasure of taking you to it ?"

"Nay," said Phillips, "Miss Thornhill has given you so much of her time to-day that I have been trying to persuade her to allow me to have that privilege and pleasure."

"Which of course she declines," said James, fiercely.

The two were astounded. They had never expected fierceness in this quarter. Phillips was, however, instantly cool.

And-why of course ?" he said, serenely.

"Because-hang it, sir, I'm not bound to give you my reasons,' exclaimed French, feeling that he was losing his temper without assignable cause.

"Haven't got any, I suppose," sneered the other.

"There you're going to quarrel about me," said Miss Eliza. "I shall go."

"One moment," said James. "Decide between us."

"Why, I'd half promised Mr. Phillips before you asked me," she answered. And she tripped away, leaving them face to face.

"What the—what do you mean, Mr. French ?" exclaimed Phillips, as cool as ever, but appearing to be seriously moved.

"I've nothing whatever to say to you," answered James, very angry, "further than to ask if her mother or her father-in-law will allow you to enter their doors ?"

"Bah!" said Phillips, as if contemptuously; but his lip quivered. He turned on his heel and walked away, as much to conceal his emotion as to express scorn.

James French felt were confirmed then. and trifled with him. that was the best thing.

stung as to the very quick. All his worst fears She was false and heartless; she had deceived What should he do? Do?-why, forget her;

He gave himself no time for reflection. At once, without bidding any one good by, he left the room, he left the house, and plunged into the vast crowd outside.

"Blockhead!" muttered Phillips, taking a long breath, as if relieved, when he saw that he had gone. "If he had only stopped and told Mrs. Tyrwhitt what he seems to know about me, my game would have been lost. He might have taken my queen and checkmated me in one move, and he has made an absurd retreat instead."

In fact, Phillips, who had first met Eliza Thornhill at a party in Eatonsquare, where he had made a deep impression on her, had so warmly followed up his game that her father-in-law (stern and unromantic man!) had interfered. He required Mr. Frank's "references," and not being at all satisfied with them, requested him to give up the chase-in a word, forbade him the house. These were, of course, but incitements to a girl like Eliza to continue her acquaintance with Phillips, and he had so wrought upon her that (her fortune being her own) she had resolved to escape with him to-day from the "chains and severities" of home,

"The sooner we get away the better," Phillips whispered to Eliza as he passed her at the window. "Make Mr. Jennings walk with Mrs. Tyrwhitt and old Hayday, and I will follow."

She nodded, and proceeded to put on her bonnet.

Meanwhile James hurried away. Quite unconsciously he walked in the direction of Leicester-square. His thoughts were bitter; but not wholly so. He could not but own that although his vanity had been severely wounded, he had made a fortunate discovery in regard to the value of his late idol. To marry such a girl as that! Oh, Heaven! the thought was a horror.