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she said, "something about those new people—the Palmers. You know everything about every one, and I am sure there is a history about them." "And what on earth are they to you, eh?" asked he. "Come?"

"Well," said she, looking down, "shall I confess, Lord John, I don't like them?"

"I don't like 'em either, the young one's a stuck-up thing; and I should like to see her get a lesson."

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"Oh, you could give her that," she said. She shrank from you at breakfast. She is ready with her tongue."

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Indeed I know 'em, as well, that is, as I did my old grandmother. There is not a man, woman, or child in the kingdom that I couldn't turn inside out if I chose ! Bless you, I've seen the world. Mrs. P. had better keep quiet, and regulate that young cub, who, I think, we see is flying at good game. They won't be out of this, mark me, ma'am, for a month yet. I know their game, bless you, and what's more, could put a spoke―ay, half a dozen spokesin their twopenny-halfpenny wheels, ma'am."

Lord John had, indeed, come fresh from Mrs. Hardcastle, who had the best cherry brandy "on the face of God's earth.' "Where is the whole pack now?" said Lord John.

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May I tell you a secret, Lord John?" she said. He, Mr. Severne, is gone to tell Sir John that he is a Whig, or a Radical, and that he

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"What!" said Lord John, starting up, "is the murder out at last? Has our friend to unkennel his fox? Oh, I knew it would come to this-I knew it would, and I always said so. Why, there'll be the most infernal Belzebubian row that this house has ever seen, even when old Cromwell and his Quakers came down here-that is, if you believe that lie. O Lord, Lord!" and Lord John rubbed his hands with delight. "I won't go till I see it out. It's worth staying for. My dear woman, there'll be fun-fun, don't you see? and I like a piece of fun. I declare I could just put my arms round-ahem!-round that screen, eh, I am SO pleased. You are a great little woman, and I like you, I do indeed. There's a pluck and game of your

own about you; and a spice of the what's his name, in your eye."

"Now, really, Lord John," she said gravely, "only that you're going away

"Fiddle dee-on my grandmother's face. (Ah, we were all happy innocent children once; and eat our pudding with a sense that ours was to be the kingdom of Heaven--you know, eh?) That won't make so much matter, for I won't lose sight of you, Mrs. L. Where are you?-in London ?-My little roundabout, ahem! cushion-this cushion, ma'am -ah, you won't-catch me. Round it is, and no one can deny it." Mrs. Hardcastle's liqueur was mounting higher every moment. "Come, out with it, where are you to be you and poor Shadrach upstairs, or Abednego-what was his name? It's no use hiding it; for, by the living thingamy, I'll unearth you. I have been looking for you the last half hour, to tell you all this-only that woman Hardcastle got me into her den there.”

"I don't know whether I ought to," she said gravely; "but as I know it is of no use to hide anything from you, I must tell. Well, Mr. Lepell has taken a house-a smail house-number 5, Brooke-street."

"Mr. Lepell and I-ha, ha; that's not so bad-knowing, knowing little -ahem! Well, I'll drop in veryvery often, if you behave-that is, mind no forwardness-nothing to shock a mind of tender years, you know, maxima debetur, you know. Positively, if I hear a word likely to endanger my faith or morals, that moment I run out of the house."

Mrs. Lepell could not but laugh at this comic notion.

His lordship laughed too.

"Yes, I'll come often-very often. When he's put to bed I'll drop in, and won't we have our cup of tea together-No. 5-I won't forget, I declare. I am sorry to go away today, but I must. See here--perhaps, one of those evenings, when you are making a cup of tea for me at Brookestreet, I'll tell you about our friends; a story, ma'am, that will make that nice round little figure of yours jump out of its arm-chair, eh? Egad, must go and get all my traps together. Now I'll see you again." He went out, leaving Mrs. Lepell ruminating

deeply. No one came for at least a quarter of an hour. Suddenly the door was opened, and Severne, pale, agitated, and miserable, rushed in. "It's all over," he said. "You were too right-God knows! Now, what is to be done? He was very wild. I can't stop now," he said, "nor at any other time I believe. It's all at an end now. Now-for ever! There's been a dreadful business. You were right in what you said, but I am not ashamed of what I have done. It's all over now, and I shall only see you for a few hours more."

"Tell me, what is all this?" she said in alarm. "What has happened? O I am so grieved."

"It's not your fault-quite the contrary-if I had listened to you. But I thought he was one of the fine old stock, that liked what they called "manly candour,' and hearty English straightforwardness. Ah,' said he ruefully, "my manly candour has done for us I am afraid. Still I am not sorry. There was but the one course for a man of honour."

"But something could be done," said Mrs. Lepell; "surely something. He is generous and good, though hasty, and that charming girl—

He laughed. "The charming girl, and she is one, would be like a bit of scarlet cloth to him. I am sorry to say, he has just spoken to Mrs. Palmer in a way that I could not expect from him, a true country gentleman. He has forgotten his hospitality and politeness, I am afraid. They are going away at once."

"This is dreadful," said she, clasping her hands. "Who would have thought this?"

"You did," said Severne, with a forced laugh. "You saw further than the wise college man. No matter. I have done for myself. But we must all get rubs at some time of our life. I am now free; to tell you the truth, that state of even partial subservience was odious to me. I can now breathe and stretch my arms."

He did draw a long breath, and affected to stretch his arms, but not with the enjoyment that he professed -that simple operation did not seem fraught with such exquisite pleasure, or worth the price that had been paid for it.

Mrs. Lepell was left in a fit of

abstraction-was she thinking how this. convulsion would affect her— when the door was hastily opened, and Sir John looked in.

His face was glowing, and almost contorted. When he saw Mrs. Lepell alone there, he turned back and went out of the room banging the door behind him. Then he found perhaps that he would have to walk round a long way, so he returned and came through once more. She saw him muttering, and his eyes fell on her with a fixed stare of unconsciousness. "Sir John," she said, in a soft voice.

He stopped short before her. "Do you want anything?" he said, almost rudely. "I have no time to talk to you. That fellow has destroyed me. He has driven the blood up to my very head. A low, grovelling, meansouled ostler-that's what he is. He hasn't a thought that's fit for a gentleman. He wants to kill me."

She ran to him, for Sir John had dropped into a chair helplessly.

"Do you know what the scoundrel has done? Do you know what he has been skulking through the house doing? It makes me ill to think. I assure you I feel my forehead as if it was going to crack. There is a strain across here, ma'am. It seems I have been fattening and pampering a low plebeian Radical all this time. A low, illegitimate, sneaking Whig, that would level us all down to the boors in the fields there, and cut up my land. Those are sweet pretty principles to have under my roof. But they shan't stay there an hour longer-not a day longer. He shan't have a cut at my land in any way. He may go among the rabble if he likes, and stir them up to come and mob me and stone ine, but out of this he packs. And on the top of all, a marriage, no less, with a creature that he has picked out of a French caffy or a bullyvar. My God Almighty," said he, starting up, "that all this should have come on me in a day! Why they'll point at me all over the country. I'm disgraced-disgraced, ma'am and curse me I beg your pardon for the swearing before you-if I don't go down to my grave without forgiving it."

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But, sir," said the lady, "I am sure it can be explained; he may have been hasty."

"I don't care," said the baronet; "let him. He has chosen, and, he may stay so. It's not that. It's the low ungentlemanly, systematic hoodwinking and deception that has gone on for years. Shamming a good Tory, he and that soft mother of his; and all this time I have been pampering and petting a ruffian that will cut all our throats on some morning and divide our property. It's horrible base and horrible-and infernal cruel and ungrateful too, though that's the least. For I was always kind and indulgent. But, thank God, I've found him out in time, and before I made my will too. I am glad of that. I'll set about it in the morning, and the lowest charity school shall have every stick in the place before it shall go to him, or near him," and, exhausted by this denunciation, Sir John sank again into a chair, and sat there staring wildly. "Now, not a word for him; I won't listen to it-not a word now,' he said, starting up again, and leaving the room.

Mrs. Lepell was aghast, and sat there long wondering at this mysterious change. Afar off she heard the series of doors "banging," as the angry lord of the house went his way to his study. Servants came by and looked in with gloom and doubt on their faces, for in a surprisingly short space of time, it had spread through the

house that there had been "a hawful blow up" between Sir John and his nephew. It seemed as though there had been a death in the house. Never were there such gloomy hours.

Severne came back later, and found Mrs. Lepell in the same place.

"This is life," he said dismally. "However, I was quite prepared for all this. I knew it was coming, and was ready to go through the consequences. I am very glad it has come. It was a degrading position to be in, and it has been hanging over me like a weight. I am now free; thank heaven, I can carry out my own principles, and carry out my promises, independent and unshackled. I shall work my own way and my own fortunes at the Bar, or in any other opening."

“Would it not be better," said Mrs. Lepell gently, "without of course any sacrifice of principle-to temporize, not to be in quite such a hurry? Nothing is gained by hastenothing is lost by delay. You might wait until to-morrow, or say you would consider the matter."

"And would not that be temporising and truckling, Mrs. Lepell?" he said. "And yet I don't know, as you I say, why hurry. I cannot sacrifice my principles, even a hair's-breadth.”

SONNET.

UPON a rosetree bending o'er a river

A bird from spring to summer gaily sang,
For love of its sweet friend, the rose, for ever
Its beating heart with happy music rang,
In sunshine warm and moonlight by the shore,
Whose waves afar its voice melodious bore,
Blent with its own. But when alas! the sere
Gray autumn came withering those blooms so dear,
Still full of love but full of sadness too

Changed the sweet song as changed the roses hue,
Mourning each day some rich leaf disappear,

Until the last had drop'd into the stream,

Anguished by wintry breezes blowing keen.

Then on the bough forlorn, mute as a dream

Awhile the poor bird clung, and soon was seen no more.

THE RISE AND INFLUENCE

GLASTONBURY ABBEY, PAST AND PRESENT.
OF ENGLISH MONACHISM.

THE SAXONS."

THE influence of the Saxon element upon the national character has become so habitual that it is only upon investigation it can be fully appreciated. It would be difficult to say whether that or the Norman element has operated more powerfully upon the physical and mental fabric of the English. Vitally the preponderance lies with the Saxon, as we think may be shown from the structure of the language. Discarding from the English tongue the few importations from the Greek and Latin which do not come to us through the French, and a few other words from foreign tongues, we arrive at two distinct dialects, each of which may be translated into the other, spoken by all classes of the community, varied only by time and circumstance, the Saxon and the Norman. The most expressive portion is decidedly that which belongs to the Saxon element, but in the language of conventionality, and to a great extent in the language of literature, the Norman preponderates. The English Bible is a vast treasure-house of Saxon; its most effectual and expressive passages are in pure Saxon; it is that which has sent its truths home into English hearts, interwoven them with English thought, and endeared its phraseology to English ears, and for that reason, if for none other, we should hesitate about disturbing that old Saxon text-the most lasting preserver of our Mother Tongue. The speech of the great mass of the people is Saxon, that of the refined educated minority Norman; but strange to say, the language of deep affection, of strong emotion, of close intimate relationship, finds vent among all classes in the homely natural Saxon. But although the peasant, the mechanic, the vast mass of the community in their every-day conversation, speak almost invariably Saxon, whilst

those of the upper and middle classes speak the more classical Norman, yet in the relationships of father, mother, husband, wife, and child, which make all men brethren, the noble and the peasant speak in one common language, the natural expression of the affections. The terms of endearment are all Saxon. A mother talking to her child, whether she be noble or plebeian, falls back upon the simple expressive Saxon-the lover to his mistress, the brother to the sister, all the home tendernesses and endearments, the close familiar intercourse of the family circle flow most naturally in Saxon. "I love thee," the burden of all the tender correspondence and most animated conversation of the country is purely Saxon; but when we emerge from this unfettered natural intercourse to the drawing-room of society, to the public courts, halls or pulpits, here we find another language spoken, still with a strong Saxon basis-that of our polished ancestors the Normans, ponderous, methodical, and measured. But it is not in our language only that this Saxon element is to be traced, it has interlaced itself with the very tissues of our thought, it characterizes all our deeds, and it lies far down at the foundation of our laws, our institutions, and our manners. It will, therefore, not be inapt now that we have arrived at the period when the Saxon dynasty in England came to a close after an existence of six centuries, to review the work they did during that period, when the foundations of the English constitution were laid; such a review, though necessarily a brief one, may throw some light upon subsequent history, or in any case will be an appropriate summary of the historical results of the period we have just gone over.

Ptolemy the Alexandrian, who wrote about the year 140, A.D., is the

*Authorities:-Taciti Germania; Eutrop. Hist.; Ptolemy Geog.; Anglia Sacra; Gildas; Nennius; Bede Eccl. Hist.; Asseri Vita Alfredi; Pauli's Life of Alfred; Kemble's Saxons in England; Turner's Hist. of Saxons; Lappenberg; Lingard; Soame's AngloSaxon Church; Gulielm. Malmsb. Gesta Pont.; Saxon Chron. (Ingram); Cotton, MSS., Cleopatra, B. xiii., fo. 56; and Caligula, A. xiv.

first who honours the future rulers of away by inundations, and their houses the world with any mention, though and lives often imperilled, they built this is scanty enough. In his geo- themselves a sort of wicker boat, made graphy there occurs a passage to the of planks bound together with ozier effect that a race called "the Saxons" twigs covered with skins, and reckless lived on a tract of land on the neck of all danger put to sea in these crazy of the Cimbric Chersonesus, at the vessels to try their fortunes elsewhere north of the river Elbe, and three -a people badly housed in the islands near its mouth. The next world, but bent upon finding better mention made of them, and in fact quarters somewhere-having nothing the first historic mention, is by Eu- of their own but swampy fields and tropius, from whom we learn that wretched houses, which the sea might Carausius was sent with a fleet by the sweep away at any time, their first Roman government to keep in check instinct was to find out some one who the depredations committed on the had something better and to lay Belgian, Gallic, and British shores by violent hands upon it, and if need be the Franks and Saxons. The inci- upon its possessor. It was a pursuit dents of that early political appear- for which they were in many ways ance of the Saxon we will just review, admirably adapted; they knew nobecause it is the first extant record thing of danger, or rather we are we have of his presence upon the told they gloried in danger; they were stage of European life. After the never deterred by defeat, and as they death of Severus, the Roman gover- found from the neglected state of nor of Britain, the country became neighbouring coasts, a sudden descent the sport of petty tyrants and usurpers, made occasionally would supply their whose authority was in turn recog- wants, this mode of life gradually nized and overthrown. This unset- became habitual, and they left agritled condition afforded great facilities culture and labour to their women to depredators and adventurers, the and slaves, looking upon these matters coast was left to their mercy, and we as beneath the dignity of brave men, find that although it was scarcely who would not submit to the drudgery ever free from sudden inroads by of working for those things which foreign pirates, who, after destroying they could acquire by force. Soon, villages and stealing flocks and fruits, these systematic descents upon shores put out to sea again; yet at this time, under the dominion of Rome attracted the middle of the third century, those the notice of the provincial governors, depredations became more numerous, who appealed to the Imperial Court and began to attract the attention of for help. A fleet was then fitted out the Roman government. Amongst and intrusted to a man by the name the boldest and most persistent of of Carausius, to cruise off the coasts these adventurers, were that people of Gaul and Britain, seize all pirates, who dwelt still on the neck of the to suppress by violent means, and to Cimbric Chersonesus, as mentioned exterminate, if possible, these bold by Ptolemy, and still bore the name Saxons. The commander of this of Saxons. They were an extraordi- expedition was called the Count of nary race, a troublesome intractable the Saxon Shore, and it is the first race, in this their earliest infancy, mention in the history of England and they managed even then to be a of a Channel fleet. Carausins, serious annoyance to the dominant however, had a mission of his own, Roman powers, and to imperil the and after wreaking vengeance upon Roman government in Britain. A the heads of a few offenders, began to huge brawny race, with a gigantic find it more advantageous to allow physical development, fair skin and the pirates to do their work, seize light flaxen hair, blue eyes and ruddy their booty, put out to sea on their cheeks, living on small islands ex- return, when he would meet them, posed to the vicissitudes of the ocean. take them prisoners, and stipulate Accustomed to find their crops swept for half their booty for their freedom.

* Claudii Ptolemæi Geog., lib. ii., c. xi. The passage in the Latin version is as follows, under the heading "Germaniæ Magnæ Situs":-Deinde supra dorsum Cimbrica Chersonesi Saxones.

+ Eutrop. Hist. Rom., lib. ix., 21.

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