the observances which hover about the grand of a neighboring farmer. Jack is a sort of mystery of birth, when another being comes juvenile rustic hero-one of those boys found into the world. Other reminiscences, too, he in most country villages; leading all the other has, still more faint, of trouble coming into boys-ready to fight his own battles, or anythe quiet home,-how, he does not under- body else's-foremost in robbing orchards, and stand, of his father being without employ- taking his full share in case of discovery-one ment, reserved and melancholy; and another of those lads of whom old ladies, shaking their scene, yet more indistinct, of a weeping wo- heads, sagely prophesy a bad end, but who man crouching at his father's feet, and pray too often defy prophecy by virtue of the ing to be spared from grief and disgrace. healthy energy of their character, and the good heartedness which lies below it. Jack Barnes walks with Francis as far as the second milestone-the two planning visions of future greatness, to be realized in London; and then producing from his shoe-his pockets, lacerated by tops and marbles, being an unsafe treasury-all his stock of money-a shilling- entreats his playmate's acceptance of it by throwing it down and running away crying.

Then he recollects that his father made up his mind to go abroad to some mercantile appointment in South America,-the breaking up of home-the tears at parting with familiar scenes and objects,-the packing up for the voyage, the cart at the door loaded with trunks, his mother and his little sister among them. Just at the moment up rides Mr. Ragge, talked of bad times, as selfish men do talk to excuse his not helping the departing family; but prompted by one of those indefinable im- Frank goes on to other scenes-walks forpulses, which selfish men often feel, offered to ward to London without much idea of how far adopt Francis upon the spot, with the promise, it is. Here meeting a landlady who makes a which might mean so much, or so little, of fearful inroad on his purse by a charge of "doing something for him." Francis recol- eighteen for ale and bread and cheese-there lects his father's speechless sorrow as he falling in with another who, out of pity for the mutely accepts the offer,-the tearful kisses boy, gives what he needs, and adds a little to which were his good-by to his family, the his small stock of silver besides. When he old silver watch, taken from his father's pock-nears London, Frank-as heroes of romance et, and transferred to his own, as a last token, always, and boys in rural life sometimes do-the cart jolting off, and his running after it till he fell down with child-like sorrow and anger, and determination not to be left behind, concluded by Mr. Ragge's riding after him and bringing him back to a sense of his situation by a cut of his whip.

meets a benefactor. At a wayside inn he sees a pale gentleman. This gentleman draws from him his history, his hopes, and his capapabilities-the latter consisting of some knowledge of Homer and Virgil-smiles at his enthusiasm-gives Frank his address in London, where he is to be found in a fortnight, and lends the boy a guinea, taking his watch, more as a guarantee for seeing him again, than as a pledge for the repayment of the money. Golden dreams open upon Frank, and after the strange gentleman, Mr. Strangford, leaves the inn, he walks about the lanes, and is robbed by a man and woman of all he has. Bnt Mr. Strangford, he finds, has paid for his place on the London coach, and Frank-hope rising above grief for his loss-goes on to that dream-land of young rustics.

Then follows some years of such life as many children experience, in the household of Ragge. That gentleman performs his promise of "doing something" for Francis, by handing him over to the old housekeeper as a drudge, to help about the house. But better things than that befall Francis. He was perhaps in a moment of compunction on the part of Mr. Ragge-sent to an evening school, and afterwards, by some influence of Mrs. Bennett, the wife of the clergyman, and a friend of his mother's, to a good day-school, where he made rapid progress. But at last The coach arrives,--Frank stands upon the Mrs. Bennett died, without-as Mr. Ragge ex-step of a London inn, stunned with the novpected she would-leaving Francis anything, elty and the desolateness of his situation; he and then fortune changed again. Francis, attracts the notice of the coachman. Where now about thirteen, became in the eyes of Mr. is he going? Frank does not know. The Ragge and his housekeeper, and sundry old coachman knows a "nice quiet house," kept cronies of the veterinary surgeon, a sort of by a friend of his, where Frank may board and vagabond, and the end of it was, that his lodge on moderate terms. But he has no grandfather by marriage kicked him out of money. Well, that does not matter. (Coachee doors one morning, telling him to go and seek has picked up something of Mr. Strangford's his fortune in London, on a basis of three half- intention to help Frank); he can have credit. crowns and the silver watch given him by his So Frank is installed into the "nice quiet father-the said Ragge spreading a report in house." Frank, young as he is, does not like the neighbourhood that Frank had feloniously the house: there is something in the black appropriated such watch and then decamped. eyes of the fat, rosy landlady,-something in We can only glance at Francis's parting the aspect of the customers,-something in the with his old playmate, Jack Barnes, the son basely-furnished dirty attic where he is to

olina in the schoolmaster's family, pale and melancholy; he thinks she is so because of her separation from Pratt, and romance re-assures him. He finds an opportunity to deliver the note, and Cornelia conceals it; but at night she comes to his bedroom, and then, from her grief and reproaches, he learns that she no longer loves Pratt; that she voluntarily conceals herself from him: that he holds her reputation in his power, and is persecuting her for the sake of the money she is entitled to.There is a revulsion of feeling in Frank's heart,

sleep-in the whole air of the place, in fact him for the part he is playing, but he sees Carwhich repels him without his understanding it. Those who know what a low London public house of doubtful character is, will understand it well enough. Frank makes an acquaintance of a fellow-lodger, a seedy, courteously impudent, slang-talking man-a Mr. Pratt, easily recognised by those who are cognizant of life as one of the adventurers with whom London swarms; black-leg adventurers, sometimes up in the world, and successful at the gaming-table-sometimes down, and hiding in back garrets. Pratt treats the boy as a man; inaugurates him into life at a bache--that is a lesson of life; he hates Pratt, he lors' party in Pratt's squalid room; introduces him to a South American, Colonel Price, and a doubtful-looking hook-nosed Irishman, Cornelius Joy. The boy cannot play at cards with the worthy trio, for he has no money; so he looks on and drinks the gin-and-water, which is plentiful. Frank has no proper character of his own yet, but he has that which makes or breaks a man-as often one as the other-a craving after excitement; after he has drunk a certain quantity, the longing of the gambler comes on him; he clutches at the cards; he wants them to lend him five shillings to try his luck." They laugh at him, and the boy drinks again, is carried to bed he knows not how, and wakes next morning ill.

66

Pratt is at his bedside, the fellow has a scheme in which he means to make Frank an instrument; he tells him a romance, which he calls his life, -a romance of pleasure, wealth, and love. Frank knows what love is already, -not personally, but sympathetically, through Jack Barnes, who had a sweetheart named Dolly; and he has all the curious boyish vanity so common among youths in the matter of the tender passion. Pratt's tale interests him:the fellow has loved a respectable girl, and been loved by her; but her friends have taken her out of his way,-she is at the house of a country schoolmaster. Pratt intends to pass off Francis as his son; to take him to the school; to leave him with a note to Cornelia, and plan an elopement. Frank has not fallen into untruthfulness yet,-he objects to the deception; but the wily man of the world beats down his scruples, and tempts him with the romance. The father is to be dropped for the guardian, and Pratt, out of some of those mysterious resources known only to the hangerson upon life, finds respectable clothes for himself and his young accomplice.

would do anything to help Cornelia. She bids him be still and silent, and goes to attend the appointment at the garden gate, which the note bids her keep. He follows her stealthily,— finds that Pratt endeavours to carry off his unwilling victim by force-helps her to resist,raises an outcry, and at the approach of others, Pratt makes off. The wretched Cornelia flies back to the house, and with terror and shame, and before any can follow dashes herself from the window on to the stones below, where she is found dead.

We can imagine the grief and horror of Frank, who feels himself a murderer. We can imagine, too, his conscience-stricken shame, when the good schoolmaster draws from him the truth, and leaves him locked in the room to feel as those who accuse themselves of the crime of murder do feel. He cannot stay there

his thoughts will not let him; he escapes from the window and runs, he knows not, cares not, where, so that it be away He passes houses, longing to go in and ask for shelter, but dares not; he feels, young as he is, all that isolation from his kind, that a sense of crime produces upon a heart not trained to wrong by gradual downward steps. He has the conscience of a Cain within him, and that makes a mark always upon the brow, which, if not seen by others, is felt by self. The night passed away; the rain went, and the sun rose brightly. As the day advanced, the tired wanderer was dragging wearily along a road leading to a village; passing a house, the gardengate opened, and a gentleman on horseback dashed out; Frank heard a cry to stand aside, then felt a blow, and when his consciousness returned, was on a sofa in a room attended by a tall, handsome, foreign lady, while a beautiful little girl, with wondering, pitying eyes, stood by.

That house was for some years Frank's They go to the school: Frank interests the home. Why he knew not. He told his tale, good old schoolmaster-one of the simple, be- and somehow it was understood that he must nevolent, wise men, so fit to teach boys-by stay there, and, without being able to account the recital of his real story up to the time of for it, he came to feel as though he had a right meeting Mr. Strangford. Pratt personates to be there. There were more mysteries about Mr. Strangford, who is known to the school- the house than that; in fact there was little master by his literary reputation, and Frank is else but mystery. Mr. Marston, the master left with a note to Cornelia, the object of Pratt's of the house, was a mystery. He had been a stratagem. Frank's heart does somewhat smite | South American merchant; that was all that

Cornelius paid a second visit; on that occasion, shortly after he arrived at the house, Frank and Olympia found George Ashburn, a lad about Frank's age, lying on the grass, where he had been struck down from his horse by a robber. His description of his assailant pointed to Cornelius Joy, and when they took George Ashburn to the house, Cor

nition. What could be the connection between Mr. Marston and such a man? All Frank and Olympia could divine was, that Cornelius possessed some secret by which he extorted money from Mr. Marston.

was known. Living sumptuously, he avoided can would have smothered suspicion in acquaintance with the neigbouring gentry.- death. Seemingly without any reason for anxiety, there was always the shadow of gloom over him or near him. He had books in plenty, but was superficial in his knowledge, and at times drank to excess. The author makes the mistake of supposing that drunkenness is the constant attendant upon crime; it probably is where crimes are committed by men of weak natures, but strong-minded men are often in-nelius, who was there, escaped to avoid recogdurated by wrong into endurance, and nerved by it into sobriety. Mr. Marston, however, was a weak man. Very different was his wife -the foreign lady-Camilia. Those who have read Bulwer's Luceretia will be able to estimate her character properly: beautiful, but Another episode. Two ladies came on a of a beauty one shrinks from with a sense of visit, one old, the other-Julia-young and danger in the fascination; proud, haughty, pas- beautiful. Camilla hated them. She looked sionate, and enduring; a sensual, earthy, on the younger as a possible rival. Olympia spirit, with a love only for one, and that one overheard her say that it was another scheme her husband-a love violent, passionate, bound- of Lacy's. Who was Lacy? Frank was now less, a love capable of any wrong to shield its eighteen, and the beautiful, bold Julia made object, the love of the tigress for her young an impression on his heart; but when he derather than like human affection. On her too clared his love, she laughed at him--told him was the gloom which affected Marston. Olym-if he knew her by and by he would be thankpia, the little girl, was not their child: she ful to her for doing so, and the two ladies also was only adopted as Francis was; why, shortly after went away. when, where, or how, they only knew. To both the boy and the girl Marston was kind, while Camilla seemed only to endure them for his sake. Frank and Olympia became as brother and sister. They studied together, they played together, and Frank relapsed into childhood. We hardly know how to reconcile this to probability, but so it is in the story. Frank was a sharp boy of fourteen. He had felt romance, he had tasted excitement, he had suffered grief and fear. All these develope the mind rapidly, yet he became a contented child, the playmate of a girl of ten.

The incident to which we have already referred, of the attack upon George Ashburn, led to an intimacy with the family, and that in its turn led to two love affairs; one between Frank and a cousin of George's-a light flirtation, begun and ended without much sorrow; another, more serious, between George and Olympia, now grown into a beautiful girl. George is the type of a modern young man of the world. Well-educated, liberal in sentiment, courteous in manner, moral in appearance-he is a libertine; and as soon as Frank sees indications of that, he forbids his attentions to Olympia, and extracts from her a promise not to see her again for a year. Frank has a right to do this, for Mr. Marston has confessed to him that Olympia is his sister. When his father and mother went to South America, taking his sister, the ship was wrecked, as Frank knew already, and believed all to have been lost; but he learns from Mr. Marston that the little girl was saved and adopted by him. What mystery is it that links the Marstons to him and his sister? That Frank cannot fathom.

We must take a few incidents from this strange life. One day a visitor came-a visitor who evidently caused anxiety to both Mr. Marston and Camilla. It was Cornelius Joy, the hook-nosed Irishman, the accomplice of Pratt. He and Francis recognized each other. What could he want? Neither the boy nor the girl could understand. They had, however, felt the mystery of that house and made romance of it, and with that mystery they somehow connected Cornelius Joy. When they were sent out of the room, after dinner, they whispered their suspicions; they watched Frank is now nineteen, and Mr. Marston -they overheard Camilla, though in indefin- decides that he is to begin life for himself. ite words, inciting Marston to murder Joy. What profession will he choose? He has They heard him say, "No, not in his house." made up his mind already-the profession of They saw Joy go away, apparently drunk, literature. So he starts to London again with and heard Camilla instigate Marston to follow with £100 in his pocket. There have been him, and they clung round the man whom many sketches of literary life, and the author the beautiful fiend was tempting, and pre- of Francis Croft paints the dark side of the vented his going out. Camilla felt that picture. The ardent hopes of young aspirthey suspected something, and set to work ants-the difficulty of finding employmentto ascertain what. But Frank had learn- the struggles which pave the way of the litteed to be cautious, else the South Ameri-rateur. We pass over this-over the half love

making of the susceptible Frank with the lodg- the dénouement—a very complicated oneing-house keeper's husband-seeking daugh- begins. ter-over a glimpse of Julia Litton, who is a London courtesan. The records of degradation are full of such lives as this of Julia'slives which may not be lightly touched on, but of which society must hear more yet, ere the causes of them are struck at. Out of an interview with Julia, Frank visits a pawnbroker to redeem some pledges, and there he meets his old friend of the inn, Mr. Strangford.

As Frank stands in one of the narrow boxes of the pawnbroker's shop, a voice arrests his attention in the other, and he sees his father's watch offered in pledge. The pledger is Mr. Strangford. Frank rushes after him, accosts him, and renews their old acquaintance. They become friends. This gives the author another opportunity of delineating literary life; and he shows us a man who, though talented, has learned nothing upon which he can depend-a gentleman without resources, broken in health, unfit to work, unable to rest, wearing out the remnant of life, finishing a novel, so that he may leave his wife and daughter something at least before he dies. It is a sad story, of which we shall have more to say presently. Mr. Strang ford does die before his book is finished. Mrs. Strangford soon follows him, and Frank mar ries their daughter, who is left without a friend. He is prompted more by pity than by love, though Mary is both beautiful and love able. Like many of the daughters of literary men in real life, however, she is uneducated, and Frank has an idea in which intellect as well as beauty plays its part.

Marston is really Mr. Bennett, the son of the friend of Frank's mother. This Bennett was formerly a clerk in the same house as Frank's father. Mr. Kempsie was one of the partners. Bennett had forged on the house to such an extent as to cause its bankruptcy; and in grief for her husband's fall, Mrs. Kempsie had sickened and died. Frank's father had been accused of complicity in the crime, but of that he was innocent. He did, however, screen the criminal and aid his escape, for which Mr. Kempsie never forgave him; and by preventing him from obtaining employment, forced him to leave the country. That weeping woman, whom Frank remembered at his father's feet, was Mrs. Bennett, imploring that her son might not be given up to justice. This explained the link which connected Mr. Marston with Frank and Olympia. This was the secret, the possession of which gave Pratt and his accomplices a hold over Marston. Mr. Kempsie took advantage of Frank's information to set the officers of justice after Marston; and when he escaped from them Olympia was rescued from her perilous position.

For the rest of the details we must refer the reader to the book itself. How Olympia, a high minded woman, became first an inmate in the house of her brother, then a governess; how Marston, hunted by Kempsie, was driven to suicide, at the instigation of Camilla; how Frank found his wife worthy of love, and won from her that affection which he had at first lost by his want of sympathy; how Stirling won Olympia, after overcoming barriers which his own suspicious nature set up between him and the high-souled beauty; how Frank, abandoning the uncertain pursuit of literature, became Stirling's partner, as a merchant in Italy,-paying before he went, a farewell visit Jack Barnes and his former sweetheart—since wife-Dolly, and confronting and confounding Mr. Ragge, would take more space to tell in detail than we can spare. Enough to say that the autobiography of Francis Croft ends happily, and the young olive branches clustering round his table are never likely to endure the struggles he has passed through.

Through Mr. Strangford, Frank has become acquainted with two city merchants, partners, Mr. Kempsie, and Stirling, his nephew. The nephew and Frank become friends. The uncle, too, is attached to him, though in a strange way. He appears as though he was sensible of having wronged Frank, and anxious to make reparation. The why Frank cannot comprehend. This Mr. Kemosie is an extraordinary character,-powerfully drawn. He is kind, generous, benevolent-but a monomaniac. He has lost his wife early in life in consequence of the faults of others, and grief and the desire of revenge has unhinged his mind. At the Altogether Francis Croft will rank high time of Frank's marriage Olympia is in danger. among the novels of the year, notwithstanding Lacy, of whom we have heard before, is at that there is here and there a want of connecMr. Marston's, and Olympia is to be forced into tion in its construction, and probability in its a marriage with him. Mr. Marston is unwil-development; but we must put in our protest ling, but for some reason afraid to refuse. against the author's estimate of literary life. Camilla urges on the sacrifice, as a means of True, there are such examples as that of Mr. averting some mysterious danger. Olympia invokes Frank's aid to save her. He goes down; finds Lacy to be his old tempter Pratt, backed by Cornelius Joy and the South American, Colonel Price. He is set at defiance, and forced to leave without seeing his sister. He returns to consult Mr. Dempsie, and then

Strangford, but there are many which tell a far different tale. In literature, as in other pursuits, the great prizes are few, and those who do not gain them must be content to stand on the same level as other workers. They must practice prudence, and work hard; but that is only what the great mass of men are

WOMAN'S LOVE.-OF THE MISTAKE THAT ANYTHING, &c.

79

CAN BE WRITTEN "WITHOUT SOME
LOVE IN IT."

forced to do. They have no special cause to OF THE MISTAKE THAT ANYTHING repine which is not shared by thousands. They cannot expect to be exempt from common ills and struggles. It is not the part of a friend to tell them to be discontented. The world does not use them worse than it does other men; and so far from their needing State help, or charity, they only need to be fit for the task they are called on to execute, and to depend boldly and hopefully on themselves, to make their position as comfortable and honorable as it is necessary and useful.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

BY TYRO.

Oh! 'tis a sacred, pure, and holy light,
Not like the ardent, overpow'ring blaze
Of the meridian sun's refulgent rays,

But rather like the moonbeam, pale yet bright,
That holds it's sway throughout the weary night,
And penetrates the thick and gloomy haze
Of brooding darkness:—would these humble lays
Could picture forth fair woman's love aright.
Oh! 'tis a web, spun with the nicest art,
Which, rightly used, no force has power to sever;
But trifle with it, and you rend apart,

"No scandal against Queen Elizabeth," retorts the lover of Sheridan, as he re-reads our heading. No; rest assured, I am not going to talk about Queen Elizabeth, but there will be some love in this chapter.

I never wrote a regular novel, but I have read enough to know, that if there was not a little morsel of la belle passionhrown into the narrative of even an older man than myself, no one would believe it to be genuine. It would be set down as the cold, set scribbling of some penny-a-liner, who had never got beyond catching the eye of the speaker, or parliamentary reform. Even the highly respectable aristocratic novel,-in which nothing less than a baronet, and nobody with less than thirty thousand pounds can be introduced-is obliged to comply with the universal law, "which makes the world go round," and which makes not a few heads, old and young, go round too.

I do suspect (now that I know that it was so) that I have seen Flora blush now and then and look fidgety, without any particular reason, and I do believe that she and Maria

Its thread of magic structure,—and for ever! Darlington have been more together of late Reader, whoe'er thou art,-is it thy lot This treasure to possess,-abuse it not.

T

THE WAISTS OF AMERICAN LADIES.

than usual, and that she has left off teasing Maria about Tom Heywood. What an ass was'-but a man never sees what is passing under his very nose. His experience must be brought, like the fashion of his coat, from a distance.

and had even called several times. The girls had always told me when he did so,-but, strange to say, he always managed to cal! when I was out.

The unnatural length and ridiculous smallness of their waists baffle description. "A waist that could be spanned" is an English metaphorical ex- I was sitting in my office this morning, enpression used in a novel, but it is an American fact; joying a virtuous indignation epistle from a and so alarming does it appear to an Englishman, dean and chapter, who were making a virtue of that my first sentiment, on viewing the phenome- refunding certain moneys which they had been non, was one of pity for unfortunate beings who compelled, by popular indignation and honest might possibly, break off in the middle, like opposition, to give up to the right owners, flowers from the stalk, before the evening conclu- when a clerk announced that a young gentleman ded. No less extraordinary is the size of the wished to speak to me, at the same time preladies' arms. I saw many which were scarce thicker than moderate-sized walking-sticks. Yet, Senting a card bearing the name of Mr Charles strange to say, when these ladies pass the age of Derry. I recollected the name at once; he forty, they frequently attain an enormous size. was an acquaintance of Tom's, and had met The whole economy of their structure is then re-us rather frequently of late at different parties, versed, their wrists and arms becoming the thick est parts of the body. Here is a subject worthy the contemplation of the ethnologist. How comes it to pass that the English type-which I presume has not, in every case, been so affected by the On entering, he made several apologies for admixture of others as to lose its own identity- the intrusion, and having satisfied him tha: how comes it to pass, I say, that the English type none were necessary, I inquired to what cause is so strangely altered in a few generations? II owed the pleasure of his visit. have heard various hypotheses: amongst others, the habits of the people-the dry climate. The affair "of the utmost importance to his whole It is unnecessary to state that it was an effect of the latter on a European constitution future happiness." I wondered I had never would have appeared to me sufficient to account for the singular confirmation, if I had not been guessed something, or how I had been so silly persuaded by natives of the country, that the as to suppose that my little ladies would see small waist is mainly owing to tight-lacing. This other people making love, and getting married, practice, it is said, is persevered in to an alarming and not themselves feel some anxiety to quit extent; and if report be true, it is to be feared the parent nest. Was there to be no love, by that the effects will be felt by future generations way of episode, in their history, as well as in to a greater degree than they are at present. as in that of others,-my own included?