r in his rooms; and John Ardworth sat in his dingy cell in Gray's Inn, with a pile of law books on the table, and the daily newspapers carpeting a footstool of Hansard's Debates upon the floor,-no u

f the University, Dr. Kennedy (now head- master of Shrewsbury School) and the late Winthrop M. Praed.], he had established a name which was immediately useful to him in obtaining employment on the Press. Like most young men of practical ability, he was an eager politician. The popular passion of the day kindled his enthusiasm and stirred the depths of his soul with magnificent, though exaggerated, hopes in the destiny of his race. He identified himself with the people; his stout heart beat loud in their stormy cause. His compositions, if they wanted that knowledge of men, that subtle comprehension of the true state of parties, that happy temperance in which the crowning wisdom of statesmen must consist,-qualities which experience alone can give,-excited considerable attention by their bold eloquence and hardy logic. They were suited to the time. But John Ardworth had that solidity of understanding which betokens more than talent, and which is the usual substratum of genius. He would not depend alone on the precarious and often unhonoured toils of polemical literature for that distinction on which he had fixed his steadfast heart. Patiently he plodded on through the formal drudgeries of his new profession, lighting up dulness by his own acute comprehension, weaving complexities into simple system by the grasp of an int

their finer insight into character, they generally do what is honest and sterling. Some strange failings, too, had John Ardworth,-some of the usual vagaries and contradictions of clever men. As a system, he was rigidly abstemious. For days together he would drink nothing but water, eat nothing but bread, or hard biscuit, or a couple of eggs; then, having wound up some allotted portion of work, Ardworth would indulge what he called a self- saturnalia,-would stride off with old college friends to an inn in one of the suburbs, and spend, as he said triumphantly, "a day of blessed debauch!" Innocent enough, for the most part, the debauch was, consisting in cracking jests, stringing puns, a fish dinner, perhaps, and an extra bottle or two of fiery po

had just delivered. With an impatient shrug of the shoulders, Ardworth glanced towards the superscription; but his eye became earnest and his interest aro

k of which the world may know the author. Day after day I am examining into your destiny, and day after day I believe more and more that you are not fated for the tedious drudgery to which you doom your youth. I would have you great, but in the senate, not a wretched casuist at the Bar. Appear in public as an individual authority, not one of that nameless troop of shadows contemned while dreaded as the Press. Write for renown. Go into the wo

from the envelope as Ardworth silen

epeated, but in a previous letter more precisely detailed; namely, to appeal to the reading public in his acknowledged person, and by some striking and original work. This idea he had often contemplated and revolved; but partly the necessity of keeping pace with the many exigencies of the hour had deterred him, and partly also the conviction of his sober judgment that a man does himself no good at the Bar even by the most brilliant distinction gained in discursive fields. He had the natural yearning of the Restless Genius; and the Patient Genius (higher power of the two) had suppressed the longing. Still, so far, the whispers of his correspondent tempted and aroused. But hitherto he had sought to persuade himself that the communications thus strangely forced on him arose perhaps from idle motives,-a jest, it might be, of one of his old

Helen-" He paused, sighed, shook his rough head, shaggy with neglected curls, and added: "As if even then I could steal myself into a girl's good graces! Man's esteem I may c

ing of the bell, and Ardworth seemed a privileged visitor, for she asked him no question as, with a slight nod and a smileless, stupid expression in a face otherwise comely, she led the way across a paved path, much weed-grown, to the house. That house itself had somewhat of a stern and sad exterior. It was not ancient, yet it looked old from shabbiness and neglect. The vine, loosened from the rusty nails, trailed rankly against the wall, and fell in crawling branches over the ground. The house had once been whitewashed; but the colour, worn

ceived something stir in the recess of a huge chair set by the fireless hearth. And from ami

ed the hand, and drew a se

, and yet in a tone of more respect than wa

he quiet answer; "come nearer

gazed long upon Ardworth's face of power and front of thought. "You overfatigue yourself, my po

isadvantage

your means,

Dalibard, it i

s, I love you,-love you almost-almost as a mother. Your fate," she continued hurriedly, "interests me; your energies inspire me with

at compliment he began, hesitatingly: "I should think t

of outward life and the mechanism of the social world,-tell me, then, and frankly, what do you think of me? Do you regard me merely as your sex is apt to regard the woman who aspires to equal men,-a thing

angry-I do not like to yield to the influence which you gain over me when we meet. It disturbs my convictio

l ad vantage over you that disquiets your happy calm. It is my experience that unsettles the fallacies which you name 'convictions.' Let this pass. I asked your opini

had not before with that old formalist whose paper I serve, and whose prejudices I shock; it is to your criti

le. "Let them at least induce you to listen to me if I propose

assumed an expression of doubt and curiosity.

if you have discovered a

tell how hard

teep

d temple sh

ion than poets usually p

and

" pursued Madame Dalibar

and shook his head. The wise woman continue

take that man's portrait,-rags, squalor, and all,-and kings will bid for the picture. You would thrust the man from your doors, you would place the portrait in your palaces. It is the same with qualities; the portrait is worth more than the truth. Wha

Ardworth, rudely,

orld's judgment. Seem, then, as well as be. You have virtue, as I believe. Well, wrap yourself in it-in your closet.

replied: "I will tell you hereafter what you are to me. First, I confess that it is I whose letters have perplexed, perhaps offended you. The sum that I sent I do not miss. I have more,-will ever have more at your command; never fear. Yes, I wish you to go into the world, not as a dependant, but as an equal to the world's favour

or me-Yet speak, and plainly. You throw out hints that I am what I know not, but something

t, and rocking herself in her chair, seemed

dworth was related to my half-sister; to me he was but a mere connection. However, I knew something of his history, yet I did not know that he had a son. Shortly before I came to England, I l

at the impatient, wondering, and eager counte

olitics. He dreamed of being a soldier, and yet persuaded himself to be a republican. His notions, so hateful in his profession, got wind; he disguised nothing, he neglected the portraits of things,-appearances. He excited the rancour of his commanding officer; for politics then, more even than now, were implacable ministrants to hat

dismissed the army,-I believed unjustly. He was a soldi

it is true, and I! But that gold,- yea, in our hands there was a curse on it! Walter Ardworth had his legacy. His nature was gay; if disgraced in his profession, he found men to pity and praise him,-Fools of Party like himself. He lived joyou

r voice dropped at that last sentence, an

en-ill, worn, and haggard. He entered into no explanations with respect to the child that accompanied him, and retired at once to rest. What f

it in Ardworth's hand. After some preliminary statement of the writer's intimacy with the elder Ardworth, a

hout saying a word further, the two strangers made a rush from the room, leaving me dumb with amazement; in a few moments I heard voices and a scuffle above. I recovered myself, and thinking robbers had entered my peaceful house, I called out lustily, when Hannah came in, and we both, taking courage, went upstairs, and found that poor Walter was in the hands of these supposed robbers,

mehow. If ever I can pay my debts, I may return. But, meanwhile, my good old tutor, what will you think of me? You to whom my sole return for so much pains, taken in vain, is another mouth to feed! And no money to pay for the board! Yet you'll not grudge the child a place at your table, will you? No, nor kind, saving Mrs. Fielden either,-God b

yety,-a certain levity and recklessness which jarred on his own high principles. And the want of affection for the c

rt was sound at bottom (the son's eyes brightened here, and he kissed the paper), and the child was no burden to us; we loved

. Drummond, for 250 pounds. Repay yourself what the boy has cost. Let him be educated to get his own living,-if clever, as a scholar or a lawyer; if dull, as a tradesman. Whatever I may gain, he will have his own way to make. I ought to tell you the story connected with his birth; but it is one of p

father shrank, and which might only exist in my own inexperienced and uncharitable interpretation of some vague words? When John was fourteen, I received from Messrs. Drummond a further sum of 500 pounds, but without any line from Ardworth, and only to the effect that Messrs. Drumm

alent-if talent he has. Let him go through the healthful probation of toil; let him search for and find independence. Till he is of age, 150 pounds per annum will be paid quarterly to your account for him at Messrs. Drummond's. If then, to set him up in any business or profession, a sum of money be necessary, name the amount by a line, signed A. B., Calcutta, to the care of Messrs. Drummond, and it will reach and find me disposed to follow your instructions. But after that time all further supply from me will cease. Do not suppose, because I send this from India, that I a

write to me, nor give him

then has maintained himself. I have heard no more from his father, though I have written often to the address he gave me. I begin to fear that he is dead. I once went up to town and saw one of the heads of Messrs. Drummond's firm, a very polite gentleman, but he could give me no information, except that he obeyed instructions from a correspondent at Calcutta,-one Mr. Macfarren. Whereon I wrote to Mr. Macfarren, and asked him, as I thought very pressingly, to tell me all he knew of poor Ardworth the elder. He answered shortly that he knew of no such person at all, and that A. B. was a French merchant, settled in Calcutta, who had been dead for above two years. I now gave up all hopes of any further intelligence, and was more convinced than ever that I had acted rightly in withholding from poor John my correspondence with his father. The lad had been curious and inquisitive naturally; but when I told him that I thought it my duty to his father to be so reserved, he forebore to press me. I have only to add, first,

, both as to communicating to John all the information herein contained as to his parentage,

n knows I said nothing about them in my letters, my eldest boy received an offer of an excellent place in a West India merchant's house, and has got on to be chief clerk; and m

ed him while he read, was struck with the self-control he evinced when

ou have los

a bitter smile. "A father's lov

nt, "near to my own blood. I am now in England, in London, to prosecute the inquiry built upon that hope. If so, if so, you shall-" Madame Dalibard again stopped abruptly, and there was something terrible in the very exultation of her counten

s, and there was almost an agony in the tone in which they were

hen he rose abruptly, walked to and fro the room, muttering to himself, paused opposite the window, threw it open, as for air, and, indeed, fairly gasped for breath. When h

ate! Bastard or noble, not a jot care I. Give me ancestors, I will not disgrace them; r

d the strong ease of his powerful form. And while thus standing

rney's talk and manner,-even the trick of his walk and the cut of his dress. And Ardworth wanted that boyish and beautiful luxuriance of character which belonged to Percival St. John, easy to please and to be pleased, and expanding into the warmth of admiration for all talent and all distinction. For art, if not the highest, Ardworth cared not a straw; it was nothing to

discordant to his ear at all times, especially in the mood which then possessed him, scarcely returned Varney's salutation, buttoned his coat over his chest, seized his hat, and upsetting tw

the seat next Madame Dalibard, which Ardworth had lately occupied, and

of the sidelong, suspicious glances which o

Furies slept to her crime,

" said

ed, and Ardwo

came to know. How is Helen

fe-

ne to those Miverses again? I am no aristocrat, but wh

under my care, and you will permit me to judge for myself how to dischar

ssly: "Well, I shall talk to you again on that subject

th her hand to Ardworth to approach. Varney rose and walked to the window,

grasped his hand with a vigour that surprised him, and

end-do you feel-an other, a warmer love? Speak, sir!" and drawing suddenly back, she gazed on hi

to think us men much greater fools than we are. A briefless lawyer is not very inflammable tinder. Yes, a cousin's love,-quite enough.

ard, with a slight smil

e s

ower-bed in the neglected garden. He paused, irresolute, a moment. "No," he muttered to himself, "no; I am fit company only fo