“And why shouldn't it last?” asked the other, impatiently. Just because nothing lasts that has its origin in ignorance. The boy has seen nothing of life-has had no opportunity for forming a judgment, or instituting a comparison between any two objects. The first shot that breaches that same fortress of belief, down will come the whole edifice!" "You'd give a lad to the Jesuits, then, to be trained up in every artifice and distrust?" "Far from it, Harcourt. I think their system a mistake all through. The science of life must be self-learned, and it is a slow acquisition. All that education can do is to prepare the mind to receive it. Now, to employ the first years of a boy's life by storing him with prejudices, is just to encumber a vessel with a rotten cargo, that she must throw overboard before she can load with a profitable freight." "And is it in that category you 'd class his love for his father?" asked the Colonel. "Of course not; but any unnatural or exaggerated estimate of him is a great error, to lead to an equally unfair depreciation when the time of deception is past. To be plain, Harcourt, is that boy fitted to enter one of our great public schools, stand the hard rough usage of his own equals, and buffet it as you or I have done?" "Why not? or, at least, why shouldn't he become so after a month or two?" "Just because in that same month or two he'd either die broken-hearted, or plunge his knife in the heart of some comrade who insulted him." "Not a bit of it. You don't know him at all. Charley is a fine give-and-take fellow; a little proud, perhaps, because he lives apart from all that are his equals. Let Glencore just take courage to send him to Harrow or Rugby, and my life on it, but he'll be the manliest fellow in the school." "Never." "Just because I'm only an inferior performer, and so I only play when perfectly alone." "Egad, if I could only master a waltz, or one of the melodies, I'd be at it whenever any one would listen to me. "You're a good soul, and full of amiability, Harcourt," said Upton; but the words sounded very much as though he said, "You're a dear, good, sensible creature, without an atom of self-respect or esteem." Indeed, so conscious was Harcourt that the expression meant no compliment, that he actually reddened and looked away. At last he took courage to renew the conversation, and said "And what would you advise for the boy, then?" "I'd scarcely lay down a system, but I'll tell you what I would not do. I'd not bore him with mathematics; I'd not put his mind on the stretch in any direction; I'd not stifle the development of any taste that may be struggling within him, but rather encourage and foster it, since it is precisely by such an indication you'll get some clue to his nature. Do you understand me?" "I'm not quite sure I do; but I believe you'd leave him to something like utter idleness." "What to you, my dear Harcourt, would" be utter idleness, I've no doubt, but not to him, perhaps.' Again the Colonel looked mortified, but evidently knew not how to resent this new sneer. "Well," said he, after a pause, "the lad" will not require to be a genius." "So much the better for him, probably; at all events, so much the better for his friends, and all who are to associate with him." Here he looked fixedly at Upton, who smiled a most courteous acquiescence in the "I'll undertake, without Harrow or opinion -a politeness that made poor HarRugby, that the boy should become some-court perfectly ashamed of his own rudeness, thing even greater than that," said Upton, and he continued hurriedly smiling. “O, I know you sneer at my ideas of what a young fellow ought to be," said Harcourt; but somehow you did not neglect these same pursuits yourself. You can shoot as well as most men, and you ride better than any I know of.” "One likes to do a little of everything, Harcourt," said Upton, not at all displeased at this flattery; and some way it never suits a fellow, who really feels that he has fair abilities, to do anything badly; so that it comes to this, one does it well or not at all. Now you never heard me touch the piano?" "He'll have abundance of money. This life of Glencore's here will be like a long minority to him. A fine old name and title, and the deuce is in it if he can't rub through life pleasantly enough with such odds." "I believe you are right, after all, Harcourt," said Upton, sighing, and now speaking in a far more natural tone; "it is rubbing through with the best of us, and no more! "If you mean that the process is a very irksome one, I enter my dissent at once, broke in Harcourt. "I'm not ashamed to own that I like life prodigiously; and if I be spared to say so, I'm sure I'll have the same story to tell fifteen or twenty years hence, "Certainly not," chimed in Upton, with another smile. "Nor have I any wish to be one or the other," rejoined Harcourt, now really provoked. I know right well that if I were in trouble or difficulty to-morrow-if I wanted a friend to help me with a loan of some thousand pounds- it is not to a genius or a philosopher I'd look for the assistance." It is ever a chance shot that explodes a magazine, and so is it that a random speech is sure to hit the mark that has escaped all the efforts of skilful direction. Upton winced and grew pale at these last words, and he fixed his penetrating gray eyes upon the speaker with a keenness all his own. Harcourt, however, bore the look without the slightest touch of uneasiness. The honest Colonel had spoken without any hidden meaning, nor had he the slightest intention of a personal application in his words. Of this fact Upton appeared soon to be convinced, for his features gradually recovered their wonted calmness. 66 "How perfectly right you are, my dear Harcourt, "said he, mildly. The man who expects to be happier by the possession of genius, is like one who would like to warm himself through a burning-glass.' "Egad, that is a great consolation for us slow fellows," said Harcourt, laughing; "and now what say you to a game at ecarté, for I believe it is just the one solitary thing I am more than your match in?" "I accept inferiority in a great many others," said Upton, blandly; but I must decline the challenge, for I have a letter to write, and our post here starts at daybreak." "Well, I'd rather carry the whole bag than indite one of its contents," said the Colonel, rising, and, with a hearty shake of the hand, he left the room. A letter was fortunately not so great an infliction to Upton, who opened his desk at once, and with a rapid hand traced the following lines: - ture, a cross between Galen and Caliban, - He was "Your tidings of Brekenoff came exactly. in the nick. Allington said pompously that they were sure of him; so I just said, Ask him if they would like our sending a Consular Agent to Cracow? It seems he was so flurried by a fancied detection, that he made a full acknowledgment of all. But even at this Allington takes no alarm. The malady of the Treasury benches is deafness, with a touch of blindness. What a cumbrous piece of bungling machinery is this boasted representative government of ours! No promptitude- -no secrecy! Everything debated, and discussed, and discouraged, before begun; every blot-hit for an antagonist to profit by! Even the characters of our public men ex"MY DEAR PRINCESS, - My last will have posed, and their weaknesses displayed to told you how and why I came here; I wish I view, so that every state of Europe may see but knew in what way, to explain why I still where to wound us, and through whom ! remain! Imagine the dreariest desolation There is no use in the Countess remaining of Calabria in a climate of fog and sea-drift here any longer; the King never noticed her -sunless skies, leafless trees, impassable at the last bail; she is angry at it, and if she roads the outdoor comforts; the joys with- shows her irritation she 'll spoil all. I alin, depending on a gloomy old house, with a ways thought Josephine would fail in Engfew gloomier inmates, and a host on a sick land. It is, indeed, a widely different thing bed. Yet with all this I believe I am better; to succeed in the small Courts of Germany the doctor, a strange unsophisticated crea- and our great whirlpool of St. James. You could do it, my dear friend; but where is the other dare attempt it? would seem, must always hate his wife if she cannot love him; and after all, how involuntary are all affections, and what a severe penalty is this for an unwitting offence. "He ponders over this calamity, just as if it were the crushing stroke by which a man's whole career was to be finished forever. The stupidity of all stupidities is in these cases to fly from the world, and avoid society. By doing this a man rears a barrier he never can repass; he proclaims aloud his sentiment of the injury, quite forgetting all the offence he is giving to the hundred-and-fifty others, who, in the same predicament as himself, are by no means disposed to turn hermits on account of it. Men make revolutionary governments, smash dynasties, transgress laws, but they cannot oppose convenances! "Until I hear from you again I can come to no resolution. One thing is clear, they do not, or they will not, see the danger I have pointed out to them. All the home policy of our country is drifting, day by day, towards a democracy-how in the name of common sense then is our foreign policy to be maintained at the standard of the holy alliance? What an absurd juxtaposition is there between popular rights and an alliance with the Czar! This peril will overtake them one day or another, and then, to escape from national indignation, the minister, whoever he may be, will be driven to make war. But I can't wait for this; and yet were I to resign, my resignation would not embarrass them -it would irritate and an- "I need scarcely say that there is nothing noy, but not disconcert. Brekenoff will sure to be gained by reasoning with him. He ly go home on leave. You ought to meet has worked himself up to a chronic fury, him; he is certain to be at Ems. It is the and talks of vengance all day long like refuge of disgraced diplomacy. Try if some- Corsican. For company here I have an old thing cannot be done with him. He used to brother-officer of my days of tinsel and pipesay formerly yours were the only dinners clay-an excellent creature whom I amuse now in Europe. He hates Allington. This myself by tormenting. There is also Glenfeeling, and his love for white truffles, are I core's boy-a strange, dreary kind of believe the only clues to the man. Be sure, haughty fellow, an exaggeration of his father however, that the truffles are Piedmontese; in disposition, but with good abilities. These they have a slight flavor of garlic, rather are not the elements of much social agreeaagreeable than otherwise. Like Josephine's bility, but you know, dear friend, how little lisp, it is a defect that serves for a distinction. I stand in need of what is called company. The article in the Beaux Mondes was clever, Your last letter, charming as it was, has prettily written, and even well worked out; afforded me all the companionship I could but state affairs are never really well treated desire. I have re-read it till I know it by save by those who conduct them. One must heart. I could almost chide you for that dehave played the game himself to understand lightful little party in my absence, but of all the nice subtleties of the contest. These course it was, as all you ever do is, perfectyour mere reviewer or newspaper scribe ly right; and after all I am, perhaps, not never attains to; and then he has no reserves -none of those mysterious concealments, that are to negotiations like the eloquent pauses of conversation- the moment when dialogue ceases and real interchange of ideas begins. "The fine touch, the keen apercu,' belongs alone to those who have had to exercise these same qualities in the treatment of great questions; and hence it is, that though the public be often much struck, and even enlightened, by the powerful article' or the able leader,' the statesman is rarely taught anything by the journalist, save the force and direction of public opinion. sorry that you had those people when I was away, so that we shall be more chez soi when we meet. But when is that to be? Who can tell? My medico insists upon five full weeks for my cure. Allington is very likely in his present temper to order me back to my post. You seem to think that you must be in Berlin when Seckendorf arrives, so that But I will not darken the future by gloomy forebodings. I could leave this, that is, if any urgency required it, at once, but if possible it is better I should remain, at least a little longer. My last meeting with Glencore was unpleasant. Poor fellow, his temper is not what it used to be, and he is forgetful of what is due to one whose nerves are in the sad state of mine. You shall hear all my complainings when we meet, dear princess, and with this I kiss your hand, begging you to accept all homages et mes regards. mes "I had a deal to say to you about poor Glencore, whom you tell me you remember; but how to say it. He is broken-hearted literally broken-hearted-by her desertion of him. It was one of those ill-assorted leagues which cannot hold together. Why they did not see this, and make the best of it-sensibly, dispassionately, even amicably "Your letter must be addressed 'Leenane, -it is difficult to say. An Englishman, it Ireland.' Your last had only Glencore "H. U. on it, and not very legibly either, so that it | cheeks. They moved hurriedly to and fro, made what I wished I could, the tour of scarcely remembering what they were in Scotland before reaching me." Sir Horace read over his letter carefully as though it had been a despatch, and when he had done, folded it up with an air of satisfaction. He had said nothing that he wished unsaid; and he had mentioned a little about everything he desired to touch upon. He then took his" drops" from a queer-looking little phial he carried about with him, and having looked at his face in a pocket-glass, he half closed his eyes in reverie. Strange, confused visions were they that flitted through his brain. Thoughts of ambition the most daring, fancies about health, speculations in politics, finance, religion, literature, the arts, society-all came and went. Plans and projects jostled each other at every instant. Now his brow would darken, and his thin lips close tightly, as some painful impression crossed him; now again a smile, a slight laugh even, betrayed the passing of some amusing conception. It was easy to see how such a nature could suffice to itself, and how little he needed of that give-and-take which companionship supplies. He could-to steal a figure from our steam language - he could "bank his fires," and await any energy, and, while scarcely consuming any fuel, prepare for the most trying demand upon his powers. A hasty movement of feet overhead, and the sound of voices talking loudly, aroused him from his reflections, while a servant entered abruptly to say, that Lord, Glencore wished to see him immediately. "Is his lordship worse?" asked Upton. "No, sir; but he was very angry with the young lord this evening about something; and they say, that with the passion he opened the bandage on his head and set the vein a bleeding again. Billy Traynor is there now trying to stop it." "I'll go up stairs," said Sir Horace, rising, and beginning to fortify himself with caps, and capes, and comforters- precautions that he never omitted when moving from one room to the other. CHAPTER XII. A NIGHT AT SEA. GLENCORE'S chamber presented a scene of confusion and dismay as Upton entered. The sick man had torn off the bandage from his temples, and so roughly as to re-open the half-closed artery, and renew the bleeding. Not alone the bed-clothes and the curtains, but the faces of the assistants around him, were stained with blood, which seemed the more ghastly from contrast with their pallid search of, and evidently deeming his state of the greatest peril. Traynor, the only one whose faculties were unshaken by the shock, sat quietly beside the bed, his fingers firmly compressed upon the orifice of the vessel. while, with the other hand, he motioned to them to keep silence. Glencore lay with closed eyes, breathing long and labored inspirations, and at times convulsed by a slight shivering. His face, and even his lips, were bloodless, and his eyelids of a pale livid hue. So terribly like the approach of death was his whole appearance, that Upton whispered in the "doctor's ear "Is it over? Is he dying?" "No, Upton," said Glencore, for, with the acute hearing of intense nervousness, he had caught the words "It is not so easy to die." "There now -no more talkin' - no discoorsin' -azy and quiet is now the word." "Bind it up and leave me - leave me with him ;" and Glencore pointed to Upton. "I darn't move out of this spot," said Billy, addressing Upton. "You'd have the blood coming out, per saltim, if I took away my finger.' "You must be patient, Glencore," said Upton, gently; "you know I'm always ready when you want me.' "And you'll not leave this? you'll not desert me?" cried the other, eagerly. 66 Certainly not; I have no thought of going away." There, now, hould your prate, both of ye, or, by my conscience, I'll not take the responsibility upon me — I will not!" said Billy, angrily. "'T is just a disgrace and a shame that ye havn't more discretion." Glencore's lips moved with a feeble attempt at a smile, and in his faint voice he said "We must obey the doctor, Upton; but don't leave me." Upton moved a chair to the bedside, and sat down without a word. "Ye think an artery is like a canal, with a lock-gate to it, I believe," said Billy, in a low, grumbling voice to Upton, "and you forget all its vermicular motion, as ould Fabricius called it, and that is only by a coagalum, a kind of barrier, like a mud breakwater. Be off out of that, ye spalpeens! be off every one of yez, and leave us tranquil and paceable! the various servants, who were still moving This summary command was directed to about the room in imaginary occupation. The room was at last cleared of all save Upton and Billy, who sat by the bedside, his hand still resting on the sick man's forehead. | peated to Harcourt that Billy saw the boy Soothed by the stillness, and reduced by the going towards the sea-shore, and in this diloss of blood, Glencore sank into a quiet sleep, breathing softly and gently as a child. "Look at him now," whispered Billy to Upton, and you'll see what philosophy there is in ascribin' to the heart the source of all our emotions. He lies there azy and comfortable, just because the great bellows is working smoothly and quietly. They talk about the brain, and the spinal nerves, and the soliar plexus, but give a man a wake, washy circulation, and what is he? He's just like a chap with the finest intentions in the world, but not a sixpence in his pocket to carry them out! A fine, well-regulated, steady-batin' heart is like a credit on the bank-you draw on it, and your draft is n't dishonored!" "What was it brought on this attack?" asked Upton, in a whisper. "A shindy he had with the boy. I wasn't here. There was nobody by; but when I met Master Charles on the stairs, he flew past me like lightning, and I just saw by a glimpse that something was wrong. He rushed out with his head bare, and his coat all open, and it sleetin' terribly! Down he went towards the Lough, at full speed, and never minded all my callin' after him." "Has he returned?" asked Upton. "Not as I know, sir. We were too much taken up with the lord to ask after him." rection he now followed. His frequent excursions had familiarized him with the place, so that even at night Harcourt found no difficulty in detecting the path and keeping it. About half-an-hour's brisk walking brought him to the side of the Lough, and the narrow flight of steps cut in the rock, which descended to the little boat-quay. Here he halted, and called out the boy's name several times. The sea, however, was running mountains high, and an immense drift, sweeping over the rocks, fell in sheets of scattered foam beyond them; so that Harcourt's voice was drowned by the uproar. A small shealing under the shelter of the rock formed the home of a boatman; and at the crazy door of this humble cot Harcourt now knocked violently. The man answered the summons at once, assuring him that he had not heard or seen any one since the night closed in; adding, at the same time, that in such a tempest a boat's crew might have landed without his knowing it. "To be sure," continued he, after a pause, "I heard a chain rattlin' on the rock soon after I went to bed, and I'll just step down and see if the yawl is all right.' Scarcely had he left the spot, when his voice was heard calling out from below"She's gone! the yawl is gone! the lock is broke with a stone and she's away!" "How could this be? no boat could leave "I'll just step down and see," said Sir Horace, who arose, and left the room on tip-in such a sea, ," cried Harcourt eagerly. toe. Then he'll be lost!" cried Harcourt, wildly. "She could go out fast enough, sir. The To Upton's inquiry all made the same an-wind is north-east due; but how long she'll swer. None had seen the young lord none keep the sea is another matter." could give any clue as to whither he had gone. Sir Horace at once hastened to Harcourt's room, and after some vigorous shakes, succeeded in awakening the Colonel, and by dint of various repetitions at last put him in possession of all that had occurred. "We must look after the lad," cried Harcourt, springing from his bed, and dressing with all haste. "He is a rash, hot-headed fellow; but even if it were nothing else, he might get his death in such a night as this." The wind dashed wildly against the window-panes as he spoke, and the old timbers of the frame rattled fearfully. "Do you remain here, Upton. I'll go in search of the boy. Take care Glencore hears nothing of his absence." And with a promptitude that bespoke the man of action, Harcourt descended the stairs and set out. 66 Who, sir who is it?" asked the man. "Your master's son!" cried he, wringing his lands in anguish. 66 "O, murther! murther!" screamed the boatman, "we 'll never see him again. "Tis out to say-into the wild ocean he'll be blown!" "Is there no shelter-no spot he could make for?" "Barrin' the islands, there's not a spot between this and America." "But he could make the islands-you are sure of that?" "If the boat was able to live through the say. But sure I know him well; he 'll never take in a reef or sail; but sit there, with the helm hard up, just never carin' what 'came of him! O, musha! musha! what druv him out such a night as this?" The night was pitch dark; sweeping gusts of wind bore the rain along in torrents, and "Come, it's no time for lamenting, my the thunder rolled incessantly, its clamor in-man; get the launch ready, and let us follow creased by the loud beating of the waves as him. Are you afraid?" they broke upon the rocks. Upton had re- "Afraid!” replied the man, with a touch |