The young man smiled, | Wondering and pitying, pitied in their turn
By all who saw them slowly pass along ;
The tall boy leaning on the father's arm,
The old man with a woman's tender care
Uplooking in his face, with sleepless eyes
Watching his pearl of pearls.
At last they came
Unto a place most peaceful and most fair,
Upon the margin of a crystal lake
Set in the hollow of Italian hills.
There an eternal summer seem'd to dwell,
In an eternal calm. On every side
The purple mountains rose, with filmy lights
And slender scarves of white and melting
mist,

And press'd the gentle hand that held his own.
"Dear father, since we do not measure time
Merely by seasons past, 'tis I am old,
And you that are the boy! How cheerfully
You con the lesson you have learned by heart
So many a busy year. Why were we born?
To come into the sunlight and demand
Whence come we, whither go we, then to pass
Back into silence and to nothingness.
You say that life is long- alas! that life
Which ends at all is far too brief for me.
Sixty years hence, if I could live till then,
I should be no less bitter to depart,
To pass into a silence and a sleep,
Than this day, or to-morrow. Dearest father,
My faith is firm as yours. I know full well
There is no God or gods, as mad folk dream,
Beyond these echoes: that with man's last
breath

All individual being ends forever,

And with the chemic crystals of the brain
Dries up that gas the preachers christen soul.
Were I to live an hundred years and ten,
To realize old wives' and prophets' tales
Of man's longevity, what could I learn
Not taught already? I could hear no more
Than I have heard; than you have taught me,
father,

Almost with my first breath."

Then, in a voice

Broken and thick with tears, the wise man cried

While down below were happy orange groves, And gleaming emerald slopes, and crimson crags

Upon whose sides hung chalets white as snow,
Just peeping from deep fringe of flower and
fern.

And all, the crag and chalet, grove and wood,
With snow-white gleams of silent cataracts
Forever frozen in the act to fall,
Were imaged, to the tiniest flower or leaf,
In the cerulean mirror of the lake, —
Save when across the stillness crystalline
A gondola with purple shade crawl'd slowly
And blurr'd the picture with its silvern trail.
Here then they rested in a cottage set
Upon the green of a promontory,
Where, sitting side by side, with images
Reflected in the azure sleeping lake,

"I have taught you over-much! - My son, They often heard the boatman's even-song

my son,

Forgive me for my love and over-zea!!

I have been too cruel, placing on your strength,
Too slight to bear it, such a weight of work
As pales the cheek and rusts the wholesome
blood.

But you shall rest! throwing all books aside,
We two will seek the breezes on the sea
And on the mountains! Then you will be
strong,

And casting off these sad distempered fears,
Become a man indeed!"

From that day forth
The silken thread of love that ran unseen
Between the hearts of father and of son,

Come from the distance like a sound in sleep;
And often faintly from the crags o'erhead
Tinkled the chapel bell. But day by day
The young man felt the life-blood in his heart
Fail more and more, till oftentimes his life
Would seem as sad and faint and indistinct
As those soft sounds. Once as they linger'd
there,

A gentle Lutheran priest whose home was near
Came, hearing that the youth was sick to death,
And sought to give them comfort; but the sire,
With something of a learned anger left,
Tho' gently, warn'd him from the sufferer's
side.

Then coming to his son, "How far these
priests

Tighten'd with many a pang of hope and Scent sorrow! - they would make the merry

dread.

Now for the first the father realized
Parting was possible, and with sick suspense
He watch'd the shadow and the sunbeam fight
For victory on the pallid patient face.
When winter came they flitted to the south,
And there, amid a land of pine and vine,
Under a sapphire sky, Justinian scem'd
To gather strength and walk about renewed.
Then ever in that fair land they heard the
sound

Of soft church-bells, and ever in their walks
They came on rudely painted images
Of Jesus and Madonna, and beheld
At every step the shaven face of priests.
Among these signs of blind and ignorant faith
They walk'd like strangers in an alien clime,

world

JUSTINIAN.

Propp'd in his chair Justinian gazed around.
'dear father, hold my
"Father," he said,
hand-

In all the world there is no comfort left

My lesson truly? Tell me, am I right?
For you have taught me truth is best of all-
Is this the utter end of all our love,
And shall we never meet and know each other

Like feeling your kind touch. Now listen to Again, as we have known each other here?"

me!

I know I shall not leave this place alive
My time has almost come!"

'No, no!"

"Dear father!

When the faint flame of life is flickering low,
They say that even mindless beasts and birds
Know that the end is near; and lo, I know it,
A little while,
For all my sense grows dim.

And I shall be a part of that soft sleep
Upon the lake and on the purple hills,
And in the quiet grave where no shape stirs.
But now it does not seem so hard to go,
Since all life seems a dream within a dream,
And I myself the strangest dream of all.
To those fair elements whence first I came
Water and earth and air- I shall return;
And see! how tranquil and how beautiful
They wait for me, the immortal ministers
Of man and all that shares mortality!"

Then in a voice that seemed the very sound
Of his own rending heart, the father cried,
"My son! Justinian! child of mine old age!
Sole comfort of my dark and dreary days!
You cannot go ! you cannot fade away!
No, no, you must not die! How shall I live
Bereft of you? Where shall my soul find rest,
When all I cherish, all the loving mind
That I have nurtured so, depart so soon?
No, I will hold you— I will clasp you to me-
Nothing shall part us, nay, not death itself;
For if you die, my only boy, my pride,

I will die too!" Then, as he clasped his son,
And looked into the thin and tearful eyes,
And felt the slight frame tremble through and
through

As if with chill of some cold blighting breath,
He suddenly raised up his face to heaven
And unaware, with a great gush of tears,
Moaned, "God! God! God!"

Startled at that strange cry,
Justinian murmur'd, “Father!"—and the two
Clung close to one another tremulously
In pain too quick for speech; but when the

storm

Of sudden agony had passed away,
-a long and tearful
There came a pause
pause
And each could feel the other's beating heart
And the quick coming of the other's breath.
Then presently their eyes met, and a light
Of some new wonder fill'd Justinian's eyes,
While softly, quietly, he said, "My father!
Since I was but a babe upon the breast,
And ever upward through the happy years,
Your eyes have been the source of all my
seeing

-

Your mind the living font of all my thoughts.
now, before we part -
Tell me, dear father
And tell me firmly, with no thought of fear,
Is it forever? Have I read, indeed,

Then sobbing like a child, the old man cried,
- Pity me, and ask no more!
"Ask me not!-
For lo, I seem as one whose house has fallen
About his feet in ruins, and who stands
Living, aghast, with ashes on his head,
Clouded with horror, half awaked from sleep.
I know there is no God-Nature herself,
but till this piteous
More mighty and more terrible than God,
Hath taught me that-
hour

I never craved for God or named his name.
I asked not for him, craved no alms of heaven,
Nor hunger'd for another, better life
Than this we live; all that I sought on earth
Was you, my child, my son. Stay with me

here,

Let us remain a little more together-
And I shall be content."

Then with a smile
Angelically sad, Justinian said:
"It is enough. torture your heart no more.
for though I
Hold to our faith-be strong-
die,

Fairer than I shall live. Now, read to me
That sweet preamble of Lucretius

I always loved so much, because it brought
The very breath of fields and happy flocks,
With that great animal content and joy
Which fills the earth to which we all return."

Then trembling, in a voice made thick with
tears,

The old man at the bidding of the boy
Read the rich periods of the only bard
Who faced with fearless front unconquerable
That shape so many see, - a skeleton
Standing amid the universal snow
Of seeds atomic, pointing dimly down.

"For of the mighty scheme of heaven and gods
I now shall sing, unfolding to thy gaze
The everlasting principles of things
Whence Nature forms, increases, and sustains
All forms that are, and whither as they die
She evermore dissolves each form again.
These principles we in our human speech
Call matter or the generative seeds,
Bodies primordial whence all things that be
Were marvellously fashioned from the first.” (1)

With eyes half-closed, his face suffused with
sunlight,

The pale boy listen'd, while the verse flow'd

But when we have studied deep and comprehend | That power divine can ne'er make nought from nought,

Then shall we know that which we seek to know

How everything is fashioned first and last,

Unde omnes natura creet res, auctet alatque;
Quove eadem rursum natura perempta resolvat;
Quæ nos materiem, et genitalia corpora rebus
Reddenda in ratione vocare, et semina rerum
Appellare suëmus, et hæc eadem usurpare
Corpora prima, quod ex illis sunt omnia primis.
De Rer. Nat., Book i. 54-62.

And all things wrought without the help of (2) Hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necesse est God!" (2)

Non radii solis, neque lucida tela diei
Discutiant, sed naturæ species, ratioque:
Principium hinc cujus nobis exordia sumet,
Nullam rem e nihilo gigni divinitus unquam.
Quas ob res, ubi viderimus nil posse creari
De nihilo, tum, quod sequimur, jam rectius inde
Perspiciemus, et unde queat res quæque creari,
Et quo quæque modo fiant opera sine divům.
De Rer. Nat., Book i. 147-151, 155-159-

From The Cornhill Magazine. FIGHTING FITZGERALD.

THE portrait of Fighting Fitzgerald has been painted by enemies as vindictive as any that ever slandered the dead, and is therefore distorted in every feature.

George Robert-his baptismal name was born in 1749. Through his father, a fair specimen of the profligate and reckless Irish landlords of long ago, he was the heir of Torlough, an estate near Casafter-tlebar, then worth 4,000l. a year; and also

They bore him in How and by whom the gentle deed was done The father knew not, being dazed and stunn'd, But follow'd moaning, while upon his bed They placed him down; and when that

noon

A pallid sister from the convent came
To do the last sad offices of death,
The old man only watch'd her in a trance
And made no sign; but when, her kind task
done,

She touch'd him, saying in her own soft
speech,

"Signor, I trust he died in the full faith

the representative of the Desmond, the eldest branch of the haughty NormanIrish Fitzgeralds. His mother came of a race so conspicuously eccentric that the saying ran concerning it "God made men, women, and Harveys." Separating from her husband after two years of miserable married life, she remained for

Of Christ our Lord!" he gave a laugh so many years one of the gay leaders of gay

strange,

So terrible and yet so pitiful,
She thought his wits were gone.

Fair as a star,
Justinian lay upon his bed of death,
And seeing him so young and beautiful
The sister gathered lilies in the garden
And strew'd them on his breast; then
ently

est London society. She was the sister of that splendid singularity, the EarlBishop of Derry.

Brought up in England from infancy to his sixteenth year, George Robert was for a time an Eton scholar. In 1766 he was rever-gazetted to a lieutenancy in the 69th Regiment, then stationed in Ireland. Here,

She bless'd him; and the old man look'd at while yet a mere boy, he fought several

her,

duels, in which he displayed not a little generous feeling, and in one of which he 1770 he made a love-match with one of lost a portion of his skull. In February the daughters of a redoubtable Irish personage, the Right-Honorable J. Conolly -otherwise known as "the Great Commoner." Thus he obtained a fortune of 30,000l., and eventually became the brother-in-law of an Irish viceroy.

Ten thousand pounds of the money was handed over to the owner of Torlough, who was then, as ever, in pecuniary difficulties. In return he signed deeds securing George Robert 1,000l. a year in the present and the reversion of his es

royal share of his dashing young friend's | straight for the opposite shore, which it winnings. On one occasion Charles hap- reached in safety with its rider. The latpened to win three thousand louis, which ter did not even lose a stirrup in achieving Fitzgerald would not pay down. The the harebrained feat. latter vanished therefore for a time from the presence of the prince. A few days later he reappeared, with his purse replenished, but forgot to pay his debt of honor. Nevertheless, he presumed to take a part in the game that was going on, betting, in his usual plunging style, "a thousand louis against the prince's card."

Raising his head, Charles remarked very coolly, "You owe me three thousand louis; are you prepared to pay?" "No."

"Then how dare you bet in my presence?"

Fitzgerald became more popular than ever with the courtiers. But though he had effaced his ignominy from every other mind, he could not forget it himself. As soon, therefore, as etiquette would allow he transferred himself to England.

Here he appeared under very favorable circumstances. The Harveys held high place in society, of which his mother, Lady Mary Fitzgerald, was one of the leaders. But our hero's most effective recommendation to the more exclusive London circles was the great reputation that had preceded him across the Channel. And a conspicuous item of that reputation was the fact that he had already fought eleven duels, though not yet twen

He soon became a favorite of fashion: and, moreover, a social leader himself gathering round him a body of golden youth who formed themselves in most essentials on him. And foremost among those exquisites were the "wicked" Lord Lyttleton, and the officers of the elegant regiment of the day, Burgoyne's Light Horse.

Suiting the action to the word, his Royal Highness took Fitzgerald by the shoulder, led him to the stair-head, and dismissed him with an ignominious kick.ty-four! George Robert was now in an unpleasant position. As a man who had been publicly dishonored, he was excluded from good society. Nor could he set himself right by crossing swords with the prince, who was beyond the reach of a cartel, even from the head of the house of Desmond. To a common mind there was no getting out of the predicament, except by flying from the land or from life. Our youth, however, was not the possessor of a common mind. Disdaining both the alternatives, he hit upon a means of setting himself right with everybody, and that too with éclat.

Louis XVI. was a mighty hunter of the deer, and Fitzgerald, the beau idéal of horsemanship, was a constant follower of the royal pack. Shortly after the affair of the kick, the deer took a course not at all in harmony with the views of the mass of the hunters, making straight for the Seine.

Along the bank ran a road, fenced from the river by a wall some three feet high on the land side, but having a descent of fourteen or fifteen feet towards the current, which here ran deep and strong.

In company with these curled darlings. he frequented all brilliant assemblies. surpassing everybody else in glitter and deep play, and treating whoever and whatever he encountered at variance with his delicate tastes with merciless ridicule and scorn. The last peculiarity involved him in a number of scrapes, including one duel, from all of which he extricated himself in a way that added to his brilliant reputation. At length an event occurred which showed his darker side, and brought forth in very bold relief his more repulsive characteristics as a gambler and a duellist.

Shortly after his arrival in England a youth known as Daisy Walker - the son of an honest tradesman who had left him 90,000l. had a cornetcy purchased for him in Burgoyne's Light Horse by his rather injudicious guardians. The plebeian, who was still a minor, was very

The deer leaped the wall, swam the stream, and gained the forest on the other side. So did the dogs. But all the hunters pulled up, with a single exception-much looked down upon by the exquisites Fitzgerald.

He dashed at the wall with a cheer and cleared it, amid the astonishment of the gentlemen and the screams of the ladies. Everybody concluded that horse and rider must surely be drowned. In a few minutes, however, the gallant horse was observed breasting the river and making

of that refined corps. Nevertheless they condescended to introduce him to all the fashionable follies of the day, and especially to win his money.

Ere many months had flown the Daisy was in difficulties. All his ready money had passed into the purses of his acquaintances, and with it bills to a large