came across. Over and above the wit, temper, and courtesy, the advantages of personal appearance, voice, and graceful manner, which go to make up pleasantness, there was a kind of grave, playful tenderness which he could infuse into his manner, neither too much nor too little, but according to persons and circumstances, which was peculiarly irresistible. And beyond this he had not only a pleas. ure in pleasing, but a pleasure in serving. He was always ready to take up people, to see them through difficulties, to use his interest or exert his mind, and give up his time for them. I remember particularly in Rome (where there is plenty to do and to see) how he devoted himself to a young friend then in a consumption; making it a point to spend part of every day with him, and finally accompanying him to Malta, where he died. .. Though he had a fine taste as to painting, and a cultivated pleasure in music and architecture, he was not, I think, much affected by the external magnificence of the Roman Church, but rather the contrary. The finished solemnities of the Sistine Chapel would have affected him less than a rude midnight mass of Carthusians. But what did affect him was the coherent system and organization of Rome - the exactness of law and doc trine, the completeness of theory, the careful adjustment of details, and the steady adherence to what was laid down. With these it made him uneasy and dissatisfied to compare the loose "rule of thumb procedure which is characteristic of everything English. This at least was my impression while we were drifting apart." In the mean time we may go back a little and speak of his professional success. The gifts and qualities which se cured it to him are admirably described by Mr. G. S. Venables, Q.C., who has, I think I may say, unequalled opportunities for arriving at a correct judgment. This letter will be found at page 100 in the second volume. These triumphs were gained in the Drang und Sturm period of railway development. It would have been fortunate for him and for us if he had lighted on a quieter time. His talents would have been just as much recognized, he would have secured a sufficient income, and might still have been among us to delight and improve the present generation. We cannot read without great pain how day after day, on returning home, he • This is a mistake, he died at Naples. See infra. tumbled into a stupor rather than into a sleep, was often unable to appear at dinner, and earned for himself, as the physi cians told him, "the heart of an overworked brain," which was the beginning of the end. In 1847, however, by his marriage with Miss Lockhart, he secured to himself the happiest years of his life. He became, as every one knows, through her, shortly afterwards, the representative of her illustrious grandfather, Sir Walter Scott. It was in 1853 that she inherited the possession of Abbotsford, which he made his usual residence in after years. In referring to this marriage, I may say that his High Church friends mourned over it as a departure from the high ideal which they thought he had proposed to himself, and that Mr. Ornsby, by not speaking of this effeminate superstition with the contempt that it deserves, seems, negatively at least, to countenance their protest. That Hope should have sacrificed his wife and his children - the choicest earthly gifts that God can bestow upon any man—and have lived, when not immersed in briefs, as a sort of recluse or mystic, though in the world, is shocking to any man of common sense who knows what he was. This ascetic element, not traceable in the character of our Saviour himself, whether it crops up in the T.P.'s of Methodism, howling against Shakespeare and secular amusements, or in the monks and hermits of the Roman Church, shutting themselves out from human interests, and allowing the better and higher parts of their nature to be absorbed into mere personal selfishness about their state in the next world, has always seemed to me one of the mischievous excrescences on Christianity. It is partly derived from older sources, I suppose some of the grim: mer Hebrew prophets perhaps, and the Jewish sect known as Contemplative Essenes. It culminated, I fancy, when the early Fathers gave utterance to that awful doubt (was it ever more than a doubt?), whether sin after baptism were remissible. The adherents and semi-adherents of Christ, who left paganism to welcome the dawn of the new faith, seem to have divided themselves into two classes. Those among them whose organizations were more timid, sensitive, and scrupulous, devoted themselves with trembling anxiety to religion and religion alone. The best of these more earnest disciples, and wisest, perhaps, were the salt of the earth, but too many of them became slaves rather than servants of God-a God, moreover, not "our Father which art in | beloved Protestant castle, by a swarm of heaven," but one who was the offspring black gowns and tonsured heads, still, a of their own misguided imaginations. better successor to him than Hope could There is a book called the "Vitæ Pa- hardly have been found, and the humortrum" in which you may read the stories ous way in which he explained to Scott's of some such men, and very sad reading surviving henchman, who, when the boy it is. Promising youths, whose after was christened, did not like his reintroyears might have been valuable to them- ducing the ominous name of Michael into selves and to mankind, refused, under the family, how Michael had been an what they thought divine influences, to archangel before he was a wizard, must touch the hand of a mother, or look a sis- have reminded him of his old master. ter in the face, and then fled away to the Yet happily as this marriage began and desert, in order that by feeding on roots, continued, its end was a sad one. Mrs. living like beasts, shirking all public du- Hope-Scott died on the 26th of October, ties, and quenching all human affections, 1858, and was speedily followed to the they might secure, as they thought, the grave by her two younger children, Marsafety of their individual souls. garet Anne, a baby, and the boy above mentioned, Walter Michael, just a year and a half old, whom all Scotland and all England had joyfully accepted as the representative and heir of the great, and, alas! the unreturning Sir Walter. Some beautiful and touching verses composed by Hope about Christmas time, 1858, make us feel how terribly these blows had fallen on the bereaved husband and father. He abandoned his professional duties for a year, and then returned to them as his best resource with renewed energy. In relation to this marriage I am very grateful to Mr. Ornsby for having inserted a letter from Mr. Lockhart to his son-inlaw on his conversion, dated April the 8th, 1851. It is valuable as being a complete refutation of certain ill-natured rumors which floated about London in the spring of that year, as to the means resorted to for forcing Mrs. Hope-Scott into the Romish Church. This letter of Mr. Lockhart, coupled with the fact that to his dying day he remained on the most affec tionate terms with Hope, sufficiently prove how absurd and calumnious such reports must have been. Before his first wife's death Hope had purchased an estate, since called Dorlin, in one of the remotest parts of the west Highlands. The popu lation, belonging to the Clan-Ranald Macdonalds, is almost wholly Roman Catholic. I happened to be in the neighborhood about two years ago, and made the acquaintance of the Rev. Charles Macdonald, of Mingarry, a man universally beloved and revered by all who know him, and whom, I trust, I may call my friend. From him, who had been intimately ac quainted with Hope, I heard all that he had done to make his tenants happier, better, and more comfortable. In January, 1860, Hope was married a second time, to Lady Victoria Howard, and life again looked brighter before him; but after ness to his creatures No meaner specimens of the human race, so far as I am capable of judging. are to be found in the records of history, On the other hand, the "ordinary Christians and eaters of beef" - among whom we may include the greatest of the Fathers, St. Augustine-jogged on very comfortably as catechumens, refusing to be baptized till old age "had clawed them in his clutch," or, at any rate, till the common pleasures and amusements of life had lost much of their savor. It is from the other class, however, that the taint of asceticism the idea that the God of love is a jealous God, and grudges earthly happihas been passed on to so many good people in the present generation; and it is in their spirit that Mr. Ornsby just "hesitates dislike" to Hope's entering the marriage state. Surely if men like Hope, and the women who correspond to such men, could be persuaded that celibacy was, if not a duty, at least a high privilege to be sought and cherished as the blessing and crown of life, the centuries to come would announce themselves to the universe in a very melancholy fashion. I might also mention that Hope married when the pressure of his business was extreme, four years before his conversion, so that if when he came home utterly exhausted he had found no tender hand to minister to him, no loving conversation to relieve the tension of his brain, he might have died before 1851, and the fisherman again have missed his prize. This marriage with Charlotte Lockhart, whether ideally Christian or not, increased the happiness of Hope's life, and probably lengthened it. And though I cannot help smiling when I think how that gallant old Presbyterian, Sir Walter Scott, had he been suddenly called back, would have stared and grumbled to find himself surrounded, in his some years his own health began to fail | nowhere, as far as she could see, the price decidedly, and when, after giving birth to of a new loaf when that was done. Bad a son, Lady Victoria died on the 20th of enough this, even when one is a grown December, 1870, this time he never recov-man, whose noisy appetite is in itself a ered the shock; his disease, as he himself proof of energies eager for their task; expressed it," made a stride," and during bad indeed when one is a girl of not quite the time that remained to him, he lingered sixteen, weak from a long course of inon rather than lived. In the two years sufficient food, sadly shy under the best of that followed Lady Victoria's death he circumstances, afraid of the world, afraid resided chiefly at Abbotsford, and devoted of oneself, with not a soul to turn to for part of his leisure in the first year to pre- comfort or aid. No wonder she sat so paring an abridgment to Lockhart's "Life long, staring with her pretty eyes into the of Scott." But his illness still kept gain- patch of red coal, which was as little able ing ground. In the month of October, to overcome the damp and cold of the 1872, he was removed to London with the leaky garret as she herself to struggle greatest difficulty, and after struggling with the dark, dread, unknown powers through the winter, died on the 29th of ("social forces," we name them with comApril, 1873. I was deeply gratified on placence), which beset her on all sides. receiving, through Cardinal Manning, an She didn't cry; even Phoebe would have affectionate message from Hope when on felt the humorous inefficacy of such a rehis death-bed. So passed away one of source; weeks ago, when her troubles just the most remarkable and most charming began, she had cried her fill. But her men of my time. In conclusion, I can eyes grew very, very wide, and her forecongratulate Mr. Ornsby on having suc- head wrinkled itself out of all knowledge. cessfully portrayed a very noble and lov- And every now and then, when her able character, but still the impression thoughts had strayed into such labyrinths made upon me when I close the volume that she forgot for a few moments her is one of deep sadness. In spite of Cath- bodily distresses, a shivering fit brought olic emancipation, in spite even of the her back to herself. The window rattled abolition of the Irish Church, it is clear loose in its frame; through the chink bethat the gulf between our Roman fellow- neath the door, and up through the knotcountrymen and ourselves is wider and holes in the boarding, swept stinging curdeeper than ever. Nay, when I see how rents of wind. Her feet were already a man, naturally so wise and moderate as numb, and she had to hold her hands in Hope, flings back the last of his great her bosom to warm them. relief measures into Mr. Gladstone's face, and assures him that he will have done nothing until he has replaced the Roman Church in Ireland just where it was before the Reformation, I cannot but think that this utterance of his was, and is, ominous of evil. FRANCIS H. DOYLE. PHOEBE. From Temple Bar. Other life, even liveliness, there was in the room; but its presence suggested new sadness to her desponding mood. On the mantelpiece before her, placed there for the sake of possible warmth, was a little wooden cage, containing a very brown canary. This was her sister's bird. That sister had been a mother to Phoebe, the only mother Phoebe remembered; father too, for the matter of that, since the real father's relation to his children had for years been merely that of an irregular pensioner, irregular in the times and the mode of his applications, but only too POOR Phoebe! Whether of retrospect regular in the use he made of their bounty. or forward-looking, small solace could The day came, indeed, when his importucome to her on this New Year's Eve; nor nities were no longer to be suffered; then was the present in any wise so cheerful as the two had escaped him by flight, and to withhold her thoughts from wandering made a new home for themselves, where and wondering, from grieving over what at least they could enjoy the advantage of was past, or facing with something like what they earned, and hope to live unthe helpless dread of a timid, hunted crea- molested. But in the first summer of ture the abyss into which the relentless their freedom a sickness fell upon that hours were compelling her. There was a brave, toiling sister, and the days of her handful of glow in the grate, but no more guardianship were numbered. She died, coal; in the cupboard there was one piece and was kindly buried by the parish. of bread for to-morrow's breakfast, but | Phoebe knew the place of her grave, but it was also the grave of as many other paupers as could be squeezed into the trench, and there was more pain than solace in going there to weep. The little brown canary remained, however; bought in a gay moment of the past spring, kept still and zealously tended by the poor child, who was all but its equal in innocence and fearfulness. "Chirrup," they had agreed to call it, and Chirrup still had his sufficing measure of seed, even when his mistress's daily bread was anything but sufficient in quality or quantity. And to-night, as if in very defiance of care and cold, the little fellow hopped ceaselessly from one to the other of his two perches, sharpened his beak as if to get an appetite, and, despite the hour, frequently justified his name with right good will. gone to the city and "slaughtered " it just for the girls' sake. But at length he had to shake his head at every appeal, and, with an irony which he no doubt felt but did not mean, bid them take courage till the new season began, when perhaps things would be better. Well, Phoebe was still alive. It would be hard to give an account, though, of how she had kept body and soul together in the mean time. When in work, she had paid three shillings a week for her room; subsequently she had managed to find this one, for which she only had to pay half-a-crown. And a nice room it was. It was a garret at the far end of a court; which court you reached by passing under a foul archway out of a filthy by-street. Needless to say that the floor Phoebe's sister had been a flower-maker, had no covering, or that the wall was bare and Phoebe herself, having gone through plaster, or that the rickety windows lacked her period of apprenticeship to the same blinds and curtain, would, rather, have handicraft, had now attained the position lacked the latter, had not Phoebe pinned of "improver." When things went well, across the lower half a poor little shawl she could earn perhaps eight shillings a which might better have been on her own week; in time she might hope to become shoulders. There was a bed, mercy, a "hand," and then, if lucky, might re- how cold when you crept into it, and how ceive as much as fifteen. Nay, as years thin the covering when you woke shiverwent on, it was within the grasp of possi- ing in the night! There was a chair, a bility that she should even become a fore- table, a basin on the floor in a corner, also woman, in which case she was sure of actually a cupboard, made in a recess, some five-and-twenty shillings a week, wherein should have hung Phoebe's secand, unless her health broke down, might ond dress, but that was represented at very well keep out of the workhouse to a present by a little yellow card in her tolerably advanced age. She might marry, pocket. Well, it was a "home," after all, of course, and, as a very gentle and sweet- and hitherto the rent for it had been paid faced girl, had perhaps a fair chance of regularly. A little needlework, a little doing so; but that was something quite cleaning of doorsteps, some running of beyond the sphere of her hopes as yet. errands, minding of children now and At present all she thought of was the then, helping people in the court to wash opportunity of earning her weekly eight and prepare their vegetables for sale in shillings by honest work, and living on it, the streets, heaven knows how the sum -well, as the others did; she knew no was made up every week; yet hitherto it other signification of the word "living." had been. But to-night Mrs. Dabbs had Unfortunately, the proverb about the will waited in vain for Phoebe's wonted apand the way did not seem to apply to her pearance down in the kitchen, and at case. It was no fault of her own that she length had come up to the garret herself, had lost her work some weeks ago. The in quest of her dues. Alas! they were season had been a bad one; the powers not forthcoming. Mrs. Dabbs was not a and principalities who rule in such mat- hard woman; what woman could have ters had decreed that it should be fashion-met that pale, patient, childish face, and able to wear feathers, and for flowers insisted harshly till it was dewed with there was proportionately little demand. tears? It was the first instance of remissHence trouble in the work-rooms here in ness, so Mrs. Dabbs said she wouldn't Hoxton, where most of the flower-makers press, and then sat down and talked in live. The employer for whom she worked quite a friendly way, principally of Mr. was a good-hearted man; he held out as Quy. long as he could, and when the girls came with pinched and eager faces begging him to find them something to do, he had even produced work for which there was really no demand, and, in mercantile phrase, had You couldn't have spent many minutes in this room without wanting to know who Mr. Quy was. Whether the gentle. man so called was impressed with the strangeness of his name to such a degree that it haunted him and compelled him to write it in very legible character whenever writing materials and a plain surface were at hand, or whether his pride in its abnormality brought about the same consequences, cannot now be determined; the fact remains that this brief and singular appellation stared at you from every part of the plaster round the room, and was even written in places on the floor; nay, verily upon the ceiling, where a complete circle of "Quys" in charcoal marked the spot whence an ambitious lodger might perchance have desired to see a chandelier depend. Who Mr. Quy was, Phœbe knew already well enough; on her first arrival, Mrs. Dabbs had lost no time in relating to her all that was known of his history. He had been the tenant of the garret immediately before Phoebe, his tenancy having stretched over a space of well-nigh three years. He was an old gentleman, Mrs. Dabbs said, who had known once what it was to ride in his carriage, and, presumably through loss of this luxury at the time of life when he most needed it, had grown "queer-like in 'is 'ead." He was always very poor, shockingly poor, yet, as Mrs. Dabbs recorded with appreciative emphasis, had always managed to pay his rent, even if he went without food to do it. He went out every day, and stayed out all day long, "gettin' his livin' promiscuous;" clearer details than this on the subject of Mr. Quy's pursuits were not to be obtained, at all events not from Mrs. Dabbs, and probably she told all she knew. His end was tragical. His non-appearance one night had caused a good deal of excitement in the court, where the passing of his rusty and decrepit figure at certain invariable hours had become a feature of the daily order of things. Inquiries were very shortly made in all likely quarters, and it was discovered that Mr. Quy, only an hour after he left home that morning, had been run over by a van, and killed on the spot. In his pocket was found the sum of three farthings, and, as he possessed neither means nor connections, he too was kindly buried by the parish. His grave was unmarked; but the piety of Mrs. Dabbs, who would not suffer the signatures on the plaster to be obliterated —indeed she had an objection to cleaning of any kind - left his name for the musing of posterity. Perchance it pointed no particular moral, but it at all events, on the lips of Mrs. Dabbs, adorned many a tale. - The deepest fit of brooding will at length yield to the instinct of activity, and Phoebe, when her eyes had halfunconsciously watched the utter extinction of the last glow in the grate, rose with a little sigh and looked round the room. A pair of stockings which urgently demanded the attention of the needle lay upon the bed, but the hands were too cold for sewing. She was lonely and miserable; it occurred to her that she might go out for half an hour before bedtime, but, as lonely and miserable people will, she shrank from the change which might have proved a relief. Besides, it was not her habit to run about the streets at night; her sister had taught her a distaste for that; and another objection was that she would have to pass the pork-butcher's just by the entrance to the court, whence at this hour steamed forth odors of hot pease-pudding, "faggots," saveloys, and other dainties; the trial would have been too bitter. She looked round the bare room, and, inevitably, she thought of Mr. Quy. Poor old Mr. Quy! No doubt he had sat in this room through many a hungry hour, thinking of the pork-butcher's round the corner: but then he had the resource of writing his name on the wall. After all, though, she was better off than Mr. Quy; was there not a friend in Chirrup, who seemed to wish to comfort her, and remind her that she was not quite alone? She turned and put her little finger through the bars of the cage to be pecked at. And, by-the-by, Chirrup's cage evidently wanted cleaning out; Phoe be's troubles had made her remiss in that duty for two or three days. That would be something to occupy her for a little. So she opened the door, and Chirrup, after pausing for a few moments with inquisitive eye on the threshold of his dwelling, fluttered out in the wonted manner, and perched on the brass knob at the foot of the bedstead. Scared thence by the girl's movements, he flew boldly on to the top of the cupboard, and there remained. The little house being swept and garnished, Phoebe summoned back its occupant. But Chirrup was not disposed to come. Foolish bird, had he positively gone to sleep up there? To fetch him down, Phoebe made a little spring at the top of the cupboard, which was much taller than herself. Alas! instead of flying down, Chirrup, with unprecedented perversity, actually scuffled back into the recess, and was lost to sight. Striking against the wood was of no avail; calling proved equally useless; there was noth |