most beautiful women of her day. They "Does Miss Vivian remember me?" asked a pleasant voice. A secret consciousness told her that he was near, though she had not looked up. "I cannot readily forget my friends," murmured Maud, " especially now, when they are somewhat fewer than they were. "It is a difficult task to forget," said Lord Kingsford; I have been trying to learn it for two years, and have not succeeded yet." "And so, Lord Kingsford, you are a friend of Mr. Sutton; what a traveller you have been. I have a hundred questions to ask. What do you think of the Greek Church? How is your mother?” 66 Extremely well, thank you, Lady Broadlands; I saw her last night." "And the Greek Church, what do you think of that?" The wedding guests filled Lady Giffard's drawing-room; the bride was there, receiving all sorts of good wishes from every one in turn; there was a loud hum of conversation, above which might be heard the incessant sound of Lady Elizabeth Forrester's unsubdued voice. Mrs. Butler was there, "You will see all my sentiments in my in her best dress and temper. Mr. Butler book of travels. From Mullingar to Mosul, swelling with not unkind self-complacency. it is called, I believe," gravely replied Lord The Thompsons were present, and all the in- Kingsford. "I must not tell you what I dividuals who composed the dinner party think, or you will not buy my book." which in our first chapter we attempted to describe, with the exception of the officers, and they were to be present at the ball in the evening. Many were here now in addition to the former party who have not and I will not be described. Mr. Sutton, moving through a miniature mob which had collected round the doorway, led forward to Lady Giffard the stranger who had been honored in the church by by the admiration of Lady Isabel Wareing. "Allow me to present to you," he said, "my oldest friend - Lord Kingsford." Lady Giffard bowed, and expressed her happiness on seeing him- "a happiness," she said, "which she had scarcely ventured to hope for." 66 "I only returned to England yesterday," replied Lord Kingsford, and received Sutton's letter but just in time to answer it by my presence.' Mr. Forrester was talking to Maud; he seemed to be able to get on perfectly now with her; his shyness, which had made him so uncommunicative a neighbor at the dinner party, where he had last met her, had melted before the softness and congenial thoughtfulness which now distinguished Maud. Lord Kingsford longed to interrupt their tete-à-tete. Mr. Butler, wandering about the apartment, in quest of some one on whom to inflict his paltitudes, passed by Mr. Forrester just as there was a moment's pause in his conversation with Maud, and assailed him with some questions about county affairs. Mr. Forrester was borne off against his will. Maud was left alone. A rush and crush into the dining-room for the wedding breakfast, during which Lady Broadlands, clinging to Lord Kingsford, contrived to give a rapid sketch of her opinions concerning Miss Vivian and the Emperor of Russia, American plants and absenteeism. Lord Kingsford was separated from Maud, nor did he see her alone during the morning. He remained for the ball, and danced with her several times. It seemed so strange, after the quiet life which she had led so long, to find herself the centre of admiration once more in such a scene, with Lord Kingsford for her partner. She had liked him always, but had never thought that his feelings towards her had been so deep as she had found of late that they had been. Her own sentiments, severely trained in the school of match-making and manoeuvring, were not such in those days as to induce her to place a passing affection for an Irish viscount in the scale against an English earldom in perspective. He talked cleverly and amusingly in the intervals of dancing, but gave no farther insight into his own feelings towards her than he had done in the few moments which preceded the breakfast in the morning. Maud felt languid and tired the next day, after her unwonted dissipation. Captain Vivian was planting verbenas and geraniums in the garden, with a view to the coming summer. Maud sat alone in the little drawing-room, some scattered sheets before her of a poem which she was illustrating. It suited her this morning, this vague, dreamy task. The poem on which she was engaged was a short one of Alfred Tennyson's, called "Circumstance; a page was devoted to propitious circumstances, was afterwards each line. She had come to that "Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease. She was hesitating how to treat it, and had just decided on an interior of an apartment in C Castle, which she vaguely remembered, for her scene; a fre of wood should burn between quaint and-irons on the hearth, the knight who had appeared in her preceding pictures should sit in the most picturesque of curiously-carved old chairs, the lady upon a low stool at his feet. Her pencil was in her hand; she had not yet begun to transfer her fancy to the thick cream-tinted sheet before her, when the door was thrown open, and Annette announced Lord Kingsford. His visit was of considerable length, for it included a not very brief conversation with Maud, she bending over her drawing, and he standing over her, and watching her as she worked. We may here add, that in spite of these especial advantages which it enjoyed, this particular sheet never appeared in the series for which it was intended-it was spoilt by certain indistinct and unconsidered lines which it received on this occasion; another, begun and finished under less substituted for it by Maud. When Lord Kingsford had finished all he could possibly have to say with Miss Vivian, he joined her father in his garden, and induced Captain Vivian to suspend his horticultural pursuits for the full space of half-anhour, as Annette, who watched them from one of the upper windows, can testify. Then came luncheon, to which Lord Kingsford was invited, and for which he consented to remain. And then at last he departed. Mr. and Mrs. Sutton returned after a very few weeks from their wedding tour. Lord Kingsford was the first guest who stayed with them at the newly-furnished Rectory. He seemed to find a peculiar charm in it at this period, for in a very short space of time he paid it several visits. When Captain Vivian's verbenas were in their glory, and the laden wagons were bearing home the piled-up plenty of the harvest, there was another wedding at Compton, which must perforce conclude this true history of "Maud Vivian " -a history which does not profess to describe the life of quiet usefulness and noble self-denials which still mark the bright career of Lady Kingsford. G. F. P. History of Immigration into the United "At Jagannath they worship a pyramidal black stone, fabled to have fallen from heaven, or miraculously to have presented itself on the place where the temple now stands."- Vol. III. p. 159. "While kissing it (the celebrated black stone at Meccah), and rubbing forehead and hands upon it, I narrowly observed it, and came away persuaded that it is a big aerolite."— Vol. I. p. 210 FEW ethnological subjects will some day or other be more curious than the analysis of the population of the great American Republic. The present volume is very carefully compiled, and contains all the accessible information on this head. The total immigrants from foreign countries into the Union were, from the close of the revolutionary war till the close of 1855, as nearly as possible four millions and a half. This would seem to favor the idea that the From September 1819, when accounts first image of the great Diana was composed of a began to be accurately kept, to December 1855, similar substance. I may add, that I have in my the foreign immigrants were 4,212,624, of possession a perforated bead, probably Druidical, whom 2,343,445 came from the United King- evidently formed out of a meteoric stone. -Notes dom, and of these (as nearly as can be ascer- and Queries. tained) 1,747,930 were from Ireland. The German arrivals were 1,242,000. The work (which is published in this country by Messrs Trübner) is a most useful and creditable book of reference. Economist. IN a family paper which must be about one hundred years old, I find Mrs. Greenhill noticed as having had thirty-nine children by one husband, all born alive and baptized, and all at single births, save one. The last child was born after his father's death, and lived to be a surgeon, practising in King street, Bloomsbury, and author of a work on "Embalming Human Bodies." The family took for their crest, in commemoration of this singular fertility, a gryphon with thirty-nine stars on its wings.— Notes and Queries. LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.-No. 648.-25 OCTOBER, 1856. Part of an Article from the Edinburgh Review.* 1. Histoire de la République d'Angleterre et lish Commonwealth. markable for his apparent religious fanaticism than for the sagacity of his practical outlook on affairs. So far indeed had the latter quality in him a tendency, as events moved on, to correct the former, that even 3. History of Oliver Cromwell and the Eng- what was sincere in his religious views soon By M. Guizot. yielded to the teachings and temptations of Translated from the French by A. worldly experience, and religion itself became Scoble, Esq. 2 vols. London: 1854. with him but the cloak to a calculating Up to the time when Mr. Macaulay, some policy. His principal associates were bigots seven and twenty years ago, remarked in this in republicanism; but he had himself too Journal of the character of Cromwell, that much intellect to remain long under a deluthough constantly attacked and scarcely ever sion so preposterous as that monarchy, arisdefended, it had yet always continued popu- tocracy, and episcopacy were not essential to lar with the great body of his countrymen, England. As the opponent of all three, it is unquestionable that the memory of the nevertheless, he was pledged too deeply to great Protector, assiduously blackened as it recede, and such was the false position in had been in almost every generation since which his very genius and successes placed his death, had failed to find a writer in any him, that with no love for hypocrisy, he beparty entirely prepared to act as its cham- came of necessity a hypocrite. To cant in pion. Down to the days of Mr. Hume, Crom- his talk, to grimace in his gestures, on his well remained for the most part what that very knees in prayer to know no humility, philosophical historian very unphilosophi- were the crooked ways by which alone he cally called him, "a fanatical hypocrite; "could hope to reach the glittering prize that and though there was afterwards a great tempted him. When at last it fell within change, though to praise him was no longer his grasp, therefore, when he had struck punishable, though to revile him became aside the last life that intercepted his path to almost unfashionable, and at last the cham- sovereignty, and all he sought was won, pion ready on every point to defend and up- there came with it the inseparable attendants hold him was found in Mr. Carlyle, it is yet of discontent and remorse. "What would remarkable what differences as to his moral not Cromwell have given," exclaims Mr. qualities continued to prevail, where even the Southey," whether he looked to this world or desire to exalt his intellectual abilities was the next, if his hands had been clear of the most marked and prominent. We shall best king's blood!" The height to which he perhaps exhibit this, and with it the authori- afterwards rose never lifted him above that ties on which M. Guizot has had mainly to stain. It darkened the remainder of his liferely, if we briefly sketch Cromwell under the with sorrow. "Fain would he have restored leading general aspects in which he has the monarchy," pursues Mr. Southey, appeared to the readers of English history, ated a house of peers, and reestablished the from the opening of the present century to episcopal church." But his guilt to royalty our own day. Under three divisions, we was not to be cleansed, or his crime to so think, all may be sufficiently included. ciety redeemed, by setting up mere inade-quate forms of the valuable institutions he had overthrown. He lived only long enough to convince himself of this; and at the close would have made himself the instrument for even a restoration of the Stuarts, if Charles could have forgiven the execution of his father. But this was not thought possible, and he died a defeated and disappointed man. The first would run somewhat thus. That when the struggle had passed from the parliament house into the field of battle, there somewhat suddenly arose into the first place amid the popular ranks, a man not more re Twelve pages of the original are omitted. They relate to a private book of little importance to The Living Age. DCXLVIII. LIVING AGE. VOL. XV. 13 ere The second view of the character would and the noblest development of what was arrive, by very different reasoning, at some- meant by the Puritan Rebellion. That there thing like the same conclusion of grief and then broke forth the utterance of a true man, disappointment. Within somewhat similar of a consistency of character perfect to a hetoils of ambition, however, it exhibits a far roic degree, and whose figure has heretofore greater and purer soul. It would seem to be been completely distorted by the mists of founded on the belief that a man must have time and prepossession through which we thoroughly deceived himself before he suc- have looked back at it into the past. That ceeds on any great or extended scale in de- this Cromwell was no hypocrite or actor of ceiving others; and here the final remorse is plays, had no vanity or pride in the prodimade to arise, not from treason to royalty, gious intellect he possessed, was no theorist but from treason to liberty. In this Crom- in politics or government, was no victim of well, we have a man never wholly without a ambition, was no seeker after sovereignty or deep and sincere religion, however often able temporal power. That he was a man whose to wrest it to worldly purposes; and, if never every thought was with the Eternal,—a man altogether without ambition, yet with the of a great, robust, massive mind, and of an highest feelings and principles intermingling honest, stout, English heart; subject to melwith the earlier promptings of it. There is ancholy for the most part, because of the deep presented to us a man not always loving yearnings of his soul for the sense of divine liberty, but always restless and insubordinate forgiveness, but inflexible and resolute always, against tyranny; and at the last, even with because in all things governed by the supreme his hand upon the crown, driven back from law. That in him was seen a man whom no it by the influence still possessed over him fear but of the divine anger could distract; by old republican associates. His nature, in whom no honor in man's bestowal could sethis view of it, is of that complicated kind, duce or betray; who knew the duty of the that, without being false to itself, it has yet hour to be ever imperative, and who sought not been true to others; and it is even more only to do the work, whatever it might be, the consciousness of what might have been whereunto he believed God to have called his success, than the sense of what has been him. That here was one of those rare souls his failure, which makes the grief of his clos- which could lay upon itself the lowliest and ing years. While he has grasped at a shadow the highest functions alike, and find itself in of personal authority, the means of govern- them all, self-contained and sufficient,-the ment have broken from him; and, failing as dutiful gentle son, the quiet country gentlea sovereign, he cannot further succeed as a man, the sportive tender husband, the fond ruler. Difficulties without have accumulated, father, the active soldier, the daring political as perplexities within increased; and his leader, the powerful sovereign,― under each once lofty thoughts and aspirations have aspect still steady and unmoved to the transunk into restless provisions for personal sient outward appearances of this world, still safety. The day which released his great wrestling and trampling forward to the subspirit, therefore, the anniversary of his vic-lime hopes of another, and passing through tories of Worcester and Dumbar, was to be held still his "Fortunate Day" for the sake of the death it brought, not less than it was so held of old for the triumphs it associated with his name. The third stands apart from both of these, and may be taken as the expression of certain absolute results, to which a study of the entire of Cromwell's letters and speeches, brought into succinct arrangement and connection, has been able to bring an earnest inquirer. We may thus describe them. That in the harsh untuneable voice which rose in protest against popery in the third parliament, was heard at once the complete type every instant of its term of life as through a Marston Moor, a Worcester, a Dunbar. That such a man could not have consented to take part in public affairs under any compulsion less strong than that of conscience. That his business in them was to serve the Lord, and to bring his country under subjection to God's laws. That if the statesmen of the republic who had labored and fought with him could not also see their way to that prompt sanctification of their country, he did well to strike them from his path, and unrelentingly denounce or imprison them. That he felt, unless his purpose were so carried out unflinchingly, a curse would be upon him; that no act necessitated by it could be unscrupulous man. With equal success he atother than just and noble; and that there tempted and accomplished the most opposite could be no treason against royalty or liberty, enterprises. During eighteen years a leadunless it were also treason against God. That, ing actor in the business of the world, and finally, as he lived he died, in the conviction always in the character of victor, he by turns that human laws were nothing unless brought scattered disorder and established order, exinto agreement with divine laws, and that cited revolution and chastised it, overthrew the temporal must also mean the spiritual the government and raised it again. At government of man. each moment and in each situation, he unravelled with a wonderful sagacity the passions and the interests that happened to be dominant; and, twisting all their threads into his own web of policy, he clothed himself with their authority, and knew how to identify with theirs his own dominion. Always bent upon one great aim, he spurned any charge of inconsistency in the means by which he pursued it. His past might at any time belie his present, but for that he cared little. He steered his bark according to the wind that blew; and however the prow might point at one time and another, it was enough for him if he could ride the stormy waters of the revolution, and make quick voyage without shipwreck to the harbor beyond. The oneness of his aim was the consistency that covered any incoherence in the conduct of his enterprise. His work was good if it attained its crown. ship was creditable if it took him safely across to the desired port, port royal. And now, with these three aspects of the same character before us, we may perhaps better measure the view which M. Guizot takes of Cromwell. Something of the first will be found in it, of the second decidedly yet more; and though it has nothing of the remorse with which both cloud the latter days of the Protector, it expresses the same sense of failure and loss, and stops with a faltering step far short of where his last and warmest panegyrist would place him. Free and unhesitating, nevertheless, is its admiration of his genius and greatness, and earnest and unshrinking the sympathy expressed with his courage and his practical aims. It would seem to be the view too exclusively of a statesman and a man of the world, of one who has lived too near to revolutions, and suffered from them too much, always to see them in their right proportions, to measure them patiently by their own laws, or adjust them fairly to their settled meaning and ultimate design. But there is nothing in it which is petty or unjust,—nothing that is unworthy of a high clear intellect. His seaman Not that this expressed in him any mean or low desire for a merely selfish aggrandizement. It is a main point in M. Guizot's judgment of the character of Cromwell, that he holds him to have been a man who felt, quite as distinctly as M. Guizot himself feels, an absence of practical sense in even the noblest system that is revolutionary. He was thoroughly aware that a people like the English, reverent of law, though they might crush a king by whom the law had been de A great man, then, but enamored of this world's substantial greatness, is M. Guizot's Cromwell. All that was noble in his mind, and all that was little, he was able to subordinate to the lust of material dominion. But where that passion led him, there also lay what he believed to be his duty; and if, in the pursuit of it, he suffered no principle of right to be a barrier upon his path, nei-fied, would nevertheless remain true in their ther did he suffer any mists of petty vanity to cloud his perfect view of whatever hard or flinty road might lie before him. To govern, says M. Guizot, that was his design. The business of his life was to arrive at government, and to maintain himself in it; his enemies were those who would throw any bar or hindrance in the way of this; and, excepting those whom he used as its agents, he had no friends. Such a man was Cromwell, if he be judged rightly by the French historian. He was a great and a successful, but an hearts to the principle of monarchy. When he proposed, therefore, finally to stand before the English as their sovereign, the Cromwell of M. Guizot was but shaping his ambition by the spirit of the nation he sought to rule. His soul was too great to be satisfied with a mere personal success. To become a constitutional king was only his last aim but one. His last, and the dearest object of his life, was to transmit a crown and sceptre, as their birthright, to succeeding members of his family. He was a man, |