Sword and Gown

ry woman may be loved, once at leas

inks from? Or do their visual organs actually become impaired, like those of captives who can see clearly only in their own dungeon's twilight, and flinch before the full glare of day? If neither of these is the case, they must sometimes sympathize with that dreary dilemma of Bias which the adust Aldrich quotes in grim irony-Ε? μ?ν κ?λην, ?ξει? κο?νην, ε? δ? α?σχρ?ν, πο?νην. (Whether of the two horns impaled the sage of Priēne?) Some, of course, are fully alive to the outward defects of their

e lee, ye

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st wife i' the

compared

arvels of the Sabbat, but that

hough her husband married her reluctantly with a halter tightening round his neck. But such advantages lie below the surface, and take some time in being appreciated. The first pro

ffirmative; but in a few rather sad and weary faces you might read something more than a doubt about this; and lips, not so red and full as they once were, on which the wintry smile comes but rarely, could tell perhaps a different

t with women it is different. They can't be always clambering up unexplored peaks, or inventing improvements in gunnery, or commanding irregular corps, or bringing in faultless reform bills, or finding out constellations, or shooting big game, or resorting to any of our thousand-and-one safety-valves to superfluous excitement. Are crochet, or crossed letters, or charity-schools, or even Cochins and Crève-c?urs, so entirely engrossing as to drown forever the reproaches of nature, that will make herself heard? If not

never will. Remember the reply of the débutante to her austere parent when the latter refused to take her to a ball, saying that "she had seen the folly of such things." "I want to see the folly of them too." Few of us men can realize the feeling that, with our sisters, may account for, though not excuse, much folly and sin. They see others happy all around them: it is hard to fast when so many are feasting. So there comes a shameful sense of ignorance-a vague, eager desire for knowledge-a terror of an isolation deepening and darkening upon them, and a determination, at any risks, to balk at least that enemy-and so, like the poor lady of Shalott, they grow restless, and r

ould she die conscious of the possession of such a wealth of love, with none to share or inherit it? She had seen such numbers of her friends and acquaintance "pair off," that she began to envy at last the facility of attachment that she h

ice, she could not doubt that Royston was by no means the most eligible object to centre her young affections upon. He carefully avoided discussion or display of any of his peculiar opinions in her presence, and on such occasions seemed inclined to soften his habitually sardonic and depreciatory tone. Once or twice, when they did disagree, she observed that he contrived to make some one else take her side, and then argued the point, as long a

n. He represented there the Establishment which she had always been taught to venerate; and so she felt bound, as far as possible, to favor and support him; just as Goring and Wilmot, and many more wild cavaliers, fearing neither God nor devil, mingled in their war-cry church as well as king. (Rather a rough comparison to apply to a well-intentioned demoiselle of the nineteent

have explained to himself, resembling that of leaders of parties in the House, who decline measuring their strength against each other on questions of minor importanc

ly?) When, at last, all was settled, it seemed very natural that he should petition Cecil for "just one song;" and you know what that always comes to. Royston never would "turn over" if he could possibly avoid it; he considered it a willful waste of advantages, for the strain on his attention, slight as it might be, quite spoiled his appreciation of the melody. Perhaps he was right. As a rul

mptations that might have won us when our cheeks were in their down. O most divinely fair of goddesses! have we not resisted your own enchantments? Shall we go forth scathless from ??a to perish on the Isle of the Sirens?" But the low, green hills are already on the weather beam, and we are aware of a sweet weird chant that steals over the water like a living thing, and smooths the ripple where it passes. How fares it with our philosophic Laertiades? Those signs look strangely unlike incitements to greate

αμο?, δειν?

y wiles?" Dinner is over, and every one is going ou

. You won't be so imprudent as to risk the night air? Ah! they are gone at last; and now, Amy dear-good, kindest Amy!-open the especial crimson book quickly, and give me first your own pet song, and then m

raised sometimes now, as well as laid, by harp and

and hard riding, and hard flirting (to give it a mild name), and hard drinking, and other excitements which habit had almost turned into necessities, without missing any one of them. There were two words which ought to have put all these fancies to flight, as the writing on the wall scattered the guests of Belshazzar-"Too Late." But he turned his head away, and would not read them. He had actually succeeded in ignoring another disenchanting reality-the presence of Mrs. Danvers. That estimable person seemed more than usually fidgetty, and disposed to m

he certainly could have survived the chaplain's absence. Royston Keene rose too, quite slowly. There are compounds, you know, that always remain soft and ductile in a certain temperature, but harden into stone at the first contact with the outer air. It was just so with him. Even as he moved, all gentle feelings were

gh to say he would come and read to us this evening, and explain some passages. I don't know why I forgot to tell you. I meant to d

absurd incongruity of time and place that she might possibly have tried to evade the "exposition," but she happened just then to meet Keene's eye. The sarcasm there was not so carefully veiled as it usually was in her presence. Never yet was born Tresilyan who blenc

on his impenetrable face, for when he turned round there was not a trace of anger left; the scarce sup

thanks for the pleasantest two hours I have spent in Dorade. Don't think I would detain you one moment

le may be

nk is lord

wassail would

that friar

uliar to himself-rather monotonous, perhaps, but effective from the depth and volume of his voice. You gain

ep died away, a virtuous indignation p

ss work of the satanic school; but I should have thought that even he would h

ough to leave us in our ignorance. So Byron comes within the scope of your studies, Mr. Fullarton. I thought you seldom indulged in such secular authors?" The chaplain was quite right in making his reply inaudible: it would have been difficult to find a perfectly satisfactory one. However, the hour was late enough to excuse his beginning the reading without farther delay. It was not a success. There was a stoppage somewhere in the current of his mellifluous eloquence; and the exposition was concluded so soon, and indeed abruptly, that Mrs. Danvers retired to rest with a feeling of disappointment and

to interpret it aright, and to guess that she had gone far enough. It was ever a dangerous experiment to trifle with the Tresilyans when their brows were bent. So she launched into some of her affectionate platitudes

ut on the whole he was not dissatisfied. At all events, the short walk down to the club completely restored his sang-froid, and the last