your most dearest wishes; but I cannot command the treasures concealed in the Frau Vennsberg, of which we were talking the other day. I am not a fairy or a witch, and so all my good intentions will go for nothing."

"It is only a girl's wish," thought Leopold, seeing that she turned it off with a sort of jest.

"I thank you, mademoiselle," he said, "for your good wishes, but I shall be enabled to work out my own destiny. I have no fear for the future: indeed, I have a presentiment

"A presentiment, Leopold! I begin to think that you are really superstitious."

Leopold! What did she mean? She had addressed him by his Christian name! He was upon the point of throwing himself at her feet and declaring his passion; but she had perceived his embarrassment, his hesitation-probably, she divined also his intention.

"Your name is Leopold, is it not?" I see you sign it so on. your drawing-copies. I hope I have not committed any indiscretion."

And she burst out into a loud laugh, the least pleasant to a lover, because it was forced and unnatural.

"Indiscretion! Why?"

Ι

"Because you looked so particularly shocked when I called you by your baptismal name. I suppose I may say Herr Leopold?"" Leopold smiled faintly, and replied only by a slight inclination

of the head.

"Well, then," she resumed, "this presentiment of yours, Herr Leopold ?""

"Ah, I had forgotten it again. But you would only laugh

at me."

"No, I take too much interest in you for that. When I laughed just now it was because I made one of those silly blunders that I am always making."

Very lucky I held my tongue," thought Leopold; "a pretty blunder I should have made."

"Will you not tell me?" said Geraldine, pouting.

"Certainly, if you wish to know, but I am sure you will only laugh at me. Well, I have a presentiment that my career will be a very brief one. I experience a sense of some approaching

danger that I shall not be able to overcome."

"But if this danger should not arrive?"

"It will arrive."

"And you will not endeavour to conquer it?"

"That I did not say. Should I find a motive sufficiently strong to enable me to grapple with the ordeal through which I shall have to pass, I shall conquer it, and my career may be both long and brilliant."

"I am glad to find there are two sides to your picture," replied Geraldine, with an air of relief, "and I sincerely hope you may realise the bright one."

"Thanks, mademoiselle, thanks."

"Mademoiselle again," she said, archly. "Ah! you wish to find me out; but mademoiselle, fraulein, or miss"-the latter word was spoken with a pure Saxon accent, and, in fact, emphasised-"some day, perhaps, you will know all about me.'

At this moment the rustling of a silk dress was heard coming down the garden, and the drawing lesson was resumed in perfect silence.

The wearer of the silk dress was one of the governesses who had come to remind Geraldine that she had overstayed the time of her lesson, and that her servant had arrived to escort her to her father's dwelling.

STRAY THOUGHTS AND SHORT ESSAYS.

II.

HUSTINGS PROFESSIONS, AND THE POLITICS OF JOURNALISM.

ONE fertile source of political mischief in England is insincerity in the profession of political opinions, as exemplified in the language of the hustings and the writing of journals. A candidate for a seat in the legislature comes down to a borough, where he is told by the local "wire-pullers" that such or such opinions must be professed by any one who wishes to gain its suffrages. He recklessly makes the required professions, and these become pledges which are accepted in sober earnest, and which in his political conduct, if he gains the coveted seat, he is compelled by shame or other motives to redeem. Thus is the high mission of statesmanship trailed in the dust!

Newspaper writers often maintain strenuously opinions to which they are indifferent or even opposed. Of the two editors of the leading Tory and Radical journals in a large town, each wrote in support of the opinions to which in private he was known to be

adverse! Dugald Dalgetty was not more indifferent with regard to the cause in which he drew his sword; nor is a barrister of the Old Bailey to the guilt or innocence of his client.

Often the exigency of a dearth of news prompts the mischievous discussion of a subject which would otherwise have lain unnoticed. To the mercenary aims of a journalistic Company we owe principally one of our most sanguinary, expensive, and impolitic wars. The managers of the Company, knowing that the war would be popular, lashed the popular mind into a fury, which a weak ministry was unable to resist. The speedy rupture of the Peace of Amiens was ascribed, in great measure, to the violence of the press.

Yet journalism ought to be one of the most honourable as it is one of the most responsible professions, being the trusted guide and instructor of the popular mind, and holding in this respect the relative position of the clerical order in the middle ages. Its very sense of power ought to increase its caution in wielding that power. The time, we may hope, is not distant when journalism will be regarded as a liberal profession, and when its duties will thus be more fully impressed upon its members.

THE REPROACH OF ODDITY.

It is the greatest of all reproaches, except two or three, to an Englishman to be called "odd;" so much is he a creature of custom and tradition, of fashion and convention.

ENGLISH AND FRENCH MINDS.

The English mind is apt to be led astray by its exclusive reliance on practical details, isolated facts, and common-sense views; the French mind, by its exclusive reliance upon theory, system, and logical deduction from first principles.

FRENCH AND ENGLISH CIVILISATION.

In the finished graces of address, manner, and every-day speech, the French are superior to the English; but in refinement of feeling and of habits, in kindliness and genuine courtesy, the best points of civilisation, they are inferior to the English. Exclusive of the highest and best educated classes in both countries, the French are, class for class, better educated and informed than the English, are possessed of greater powers of expression, and are able to discuss a subject on a larger scale than is common in English

conversation.

INSINCERITY OF PUBLIC "CRIES."

How insincere, for the most part, are the demands made for

universal liberty and toleration! Not that these principles, rightly understood, are not highly to be prized; but they seem only to be advocated by the weaker party. When that party has become the stronger, the vanquished party cries out in its turn for liberty and toleration, and cries long in vain. The minority that has suffered has swelled into the tyrant majority. Thus, at a public meeting, let a small minority ask for liberty of discussion and of individual opinion, and how seldom will they gain a hearing! They are accused of "disturbing the meeting;" they are "called to order;" they are interrupted, vituperated, bidden to "obey the chairman," and "defer to the majority;" and if these methods of suppression fail, will be violently thrust out from the place of assembly!

There is yet great value in demands of this kind, however insincerely employed; since they witness for true and just principles, and so help to keep them alive in the world. The abolition of slavery, though it was used as a mere pretext in the war between the Northern and Southern States of America, was yet effected by means of that war.

WORSHIP OF POWER.

The worship of power is, as observation and history teach, one of our most remarkable instincts. Let the man of power be as unscrupulous as Julius Cæsar, as cold-blooded as Augustus, as ambitious as Alexander the Great, as cruel as Septimius Severus, as exacting as Napoleon Bonaparte, yet he will have his attached followers during his lifetime, and, after his death, his warm admirers: and the crimes he commits will seem rather to confirm than diminish the attachment felt for him. There is a certain fascination, "a fearful joy," in being under the power of such persons. This is well described by Martial, when, in addressing Domitian, he speaks of himself as a mouse loving to run about over the jaws of a recumbent lion. No one who has studied the history of our Henry VIII., but must have observed the zeal and devotion with which his Cromwells, Pagets, Russells, and Sadlers served him, with their lives in his hands; and the great popularity of this despot with the mass of the nation.

This idolatry of power is felt and practised not only by the common run of men, but even by men of education and genius, such as Carlyle and Froude.

There is a real ground for it, unreasonable as it often is. All men love power, and admire those who have it, if raised above their envy. Power is an attribute of divinity, and its representation in human beings causes admiration and awe. The multitude worship the possessor of wealth, because wealth is power. They

worship the possessor of eloquence, because eloquence is one of the greatest of powers.

PLEASANT TYRANTS.

Those who have the natural power of governing others have always a wonderful faculty of pleasing them, and of impressing their imaginations with a notion of how much they can do for their good. They have this power of pleasing, although they may be tyrants and plagues. They rule by a mixture of fascination and intimidation, subjecting others by their fascination, and keeping them in subjection by fear. Thus Louis XI. was liked by many of those who served him, even by the sagacious and statesman-like Philip de Commines. Walter Scott well describes the devoted attachment of Louis's followers, when he was in his perilous captivity at Peronne. This power of pleasing was one secret of Elizabeth's great ascendancy; so also of Napoleon Bonaparte's.

POOR GENTLEMEN.

THE least happy rank to be born in is that which combines poverty with gentle birth. It has not the advantages of poverty. It gives feelings that are subject to frequent mortification, and aspirations that can seldom be gratified. It is a position in society uncertain and unascertained, lying in the border land, the debatable ground between two classes; it is neither one thing nor the other; it is the lot of the flying-fish, belonging to neither element, and having enemies in both-enemies among the higher class, as seeming to trench upon their dignity; enemies among the lower class, who jealously regard gentle birth without wealth as unduly pretending to be above their own social level.

There are scarcely any limits to the insults and humiliations to which they are subject. No line of conduct can be followed by them which shall be free from such annoyances. If they are sad, they are blamed for gloominess; if cheerful, for unsuitable mirth; if they are high-minded, for pride; if dejected, for a poor spirit.

Among other mortifications of their lot, is that of seeing their children neglected by their richer relatives, or treated with contumely, or in a pitying or patronising manner. How admirably this kind of treatment was illustrated in a painting some years ago by one of our first artists, representing a widow lady of gentle birth, but in fallen circumstances, bringing her boy to be seen by a family of wealthy relatives! These are seated at breakfast; she is standing on her entrance into the room, and is gently schooling her boy how to "behave himself." The lady of the house looks at them with some slight touch of kindly interest-the daughter