The ceiling of the Victoria Hall is divided by massive | coloured roses. The room is lighted by gas, in coronal tie-beams into nine compartments, and these again into branches. eight; the beams have bosses, all varied in character and richly gilt, carved with treillage, and the motto " Dieu et mon droit." The surface of the ceiling is dark blue; and upon it in heater-shaped shields are emblazoned the arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, with quartrefoil borders, fleurs-de-lis, and coronals. The two fire places in this truly regal apartment are of elegant design and elaborate workmanship. The opening for the fire is a low arch, deeply recessed; the sides and back are encrusted with red and blue encaustic tiles, having on them the lions of England, and the Royal monogram, respectively. The grate is very low, and along the top bar are fleurs-de-lis. The reredos, or back, rises high in gable form, and has upon it the Royal Arms of England, with supporters and crest. The fire dogs are of brass, the standards being of rich design and bearing shields with the lions of England, and surmounted by regal crowns.1 The fire implements are of wrought brass; there is no fender, a raised stone moulding serving in its stead, and being in accordance with the architectural character of the apartment. The fender was an after-thought, for, at this date, (James I) the chimney furniture, fire-shovel, tongs, &c. were "an invention," often of richly wrought silver, and given as wedding presents. The style of the period is admirably displayed in the characteristic enrichments boldly sculptured in stone above the arch, and presenting a very striking display of heraldic colouring and gilding. In the spandrils of the arch are Tudor roses, crowned, painted, and gilded; and from them flow gracefully the thistle and shamrock, also gilded. This regal character is likewise continued in the insignia of royalty sculptured in the long panel immediately above the arch. Within three large circles are as many quartrefoils, bearing shields of the arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, with blue labels and gilt mottoes. In the spaces between the quartrefoils are circlets of oak-branches, with sceptres and swords placed saltire-wise, (cross-wise,) upon them, intertwined by a cord and tassels. Over the fire place is a plaster relief, coloured to imitate oak-the subject, Queen Philippa interceding with Edward III. in behalf of the citizens of Calais. This will be executed in oak, as will a corresponding relief for the opposite fire-place. The enriched effect of these fire-places, each flanked by doorways, the upper portions having carved bosses, and the plate-glass panels traceried heads, is extremely beautiful. The finger-plates, lock-escutcheons, hinges, &c. have all been designed in accordance with the architectural character of the room. Over each fireplace is a bracket bearing a clock, in a carved case; the dials enamelled in blue and gold, and colour. The furniture of the Victoria Hall is also architectural; proving how desirable it is that the mastermind of the architect should direct the upholsterer's skill. Yet, if we mistake not, Mr. Barry has, in this country, broken ground in such an exercise of judgment. The chairs are of oak: they have straight backs, surmounted by lions' heads; the legs are formed like a curved X, with a carved cross-bar. The seats and backs are not stuffed, but consist of strained red Russia leather, stamped with Tudor roses, and secured by brass nails, of Gothic pattern. There are sixteen of these chairs, the cost of each being twenty guineas. They are very picturesque and unique in character. They are placed around two octagonal tables, of oak, resting on ogec arches, with winged lions and dragons couchant on the four ends of the plinth. The carpet corresponds with that of the House of Lords-deep blue, with gold "It is impossible," says a contemporary," to conceive a more Regal apartment than is the Victoria Lobby, every detail being in such exquisite taste, and so gorgeously enriched by colour and gold. In addition to its splendour, there is the prevailing feeling that the embellishments are ALL ART, no hackneyed design or copied enrichment being introduced: all are new and beautiful. Indeed, we doubt whether King Louis of Bavaria, that art-loving monarch, ever imagined a more perfect specimen of art-decoration than this room will present, when all the architect's intentions are carried out. Even now, there is not a single decoration, or piece of furniture, which does not bear the stamp of genius and consummate taste; and when the pictorial beauties are added to its architectural, no room in Europe will exceed it in magnificence and appropriateness." The system of Warming and Ventilation of the House of Lords and the Victoria Hall, cannot be made intelligible except by diagrams. We may, however, briefly state that beneath the Peers' Lobby and the House of Lords are air-tight chambers for hot or cold air; and in the roof are chambers for fresh or vitiated air. The fresh air is admitted direct from the river, and is purified by passing it through a finely perforated zine screen over cold water; it then passes through cokets heated by one of Lord Dundonald's steam-boilers; this process being carried on beneath the Victoria Hall. The air being thus purified and warmed, passes through bulls'-eyes into the diffusing chamber under the House of Lords, where nearly 40,000 cubic feet of air, freed from all impurities, are constantly kept ready for admission into the House. The air next passes up flues in the wall of the Victoria Hall next the House, into the supply chambers over the ceilings. In the opposite wall is the discharge shaft and chimney to the steamengine; and in the latter a steam jet, by the action of which the vitiated air is drawn off, whilst a constant stream of similar air is rising from the House through the perforated enrichments of the beams in the central division of the ceiling; and to keep up the supply, thus incessantly but imperceptibly passing off, a current of fresh air is, equally imperceptibly, always pouring down, through the open work in the beams at the side divisions of the ceiling, to the floor of the House. Here the two currents meet in the centre, and ascend to the foul air chamber, whence, by the action of the steam-jet, they are rapidly drawn away. There are, also, modes of regulating the temperature by the doors of flues, by cold water, &c. The most ingenious adaptation is that of the shaft, which conveys the smoke from the steamboiler, also carrying off the vitiated air; this is invaluable, as the velocity of the air in the shaft caused by the heat of the boiler, independent of the heat evolved by the steam-jet, must always be very great. There are likewise portions of the House, in which the ornaments, (as quatrefoils,) are covered with wire-gauze, coloured so as to be imperceptible, through which the air passes. The success of this system of diffusing air through the House, without draughts being perceptible, has been very nicely tested. For example, air which has been perfumed in a chamber at one end of the House has, in four or five minutes, been detected by its scent and in fifteen or sixteen minutes, all trace of pertume has passed off. Again, when nearly one hundred large wax candles are burnt in the lofty candelabra, unproteeted by any glass, the flames are as steady as they would be if the candles were burning in a small sitting room. (1) From the highly artistic details, accompanying a set of views in the Illustrated London News, rawn and e graved by Joseph Lionel Williams. For character stic a curacy and picturesque ess, these illustrations can scarcely be too highly commended. The whole of this system of heating and ventilation | accomplished by the meeting of Parliament next year. In has been invented by Mr. Barry; its perfection, it will be general plan, the House, Lobby, &c. will correspond with seen, is based upon the sound principle of the property that of the Lords, though it will be far less ornate than of heated air to ascend, and cold air to descend. the Peers' House. The Victoria Gallery, and the great The gas-lights are upon Professor Faraday's system, | Central Hall will be structures of great novelty, as well by which carbonic acid gas, and other deleterious pro- as beauty. ducts of combustion, are prevented from entering the lighted apartment. The action is simply this: the air rushes through a perforated plate, to supply the gas flame, and having parted with its oxygen rises over the chimney, and being prevented from escaping at top, (by its covering of a plate of mica,) passes between inner and outer glasses, through small tubes, into a larger one, and thence makes its exit. Thus, though the gas is burning brightly, there is no absorption of fresh air from the apartment to supply the flame. As a specimen of the architectural character of the accessories, we may refer to the candelabra in the House of Lords, in which the tracery and quatrefoils, fillets and mouldings, of the enriched shafts, and the crowned flying buttresses, or branches for the lights, show how essential to the perfection of house-fitting is the mastermind of the architect. With respect to the acoustic provisions in the House, so as to ensure its fitness for debating, experience alone can testify. The deeply-recessed ceiling, the perforated beams, the niches, the coving beneath the galleries, and other deviations from a plane surface, are unfavourable to hearing. The size of the chamber must also be taken into account, it being nearly four times the dimensions of the former house. Although our eulogy of the decorative beauty of the House and the Hall may appear highly charged, we are persuaded that when the sculpture, frescoes, and painted glass shall be completed, the effect of magnificence will be astonishingly increased. A walk through "the works," or the buildings in progress, is suggestive of many gratifying reflections. The style of architecture, it is true, belongs to a distant age; but its adaptation to "high convenience" belongs to our own time. In plan and arrangement, for official purposes, too numerous for us to specify, the new houses will be as near perfection as can be attained. A single glance at the ground plan will show that we do not over-estimate these important provisions. There are many novel points of construction upon which we could enlarge; for instance, the employment of iron wherever it can be substituted for wood; the diminished liability to destruction by fire; added to which, the floors are fire-proof; the most prompt supplies of water are insured, and means of instantly cutting off communication in case of fire are provided. The novel applications of mechanical power to be seen in the works the removal of vast masses of stone, for instance, upon railways, high in mid-air, are strikingly indicative of our own age: as is the carving, in great part, executed by machinery; thus substituting the work of an instant for the labour of a day, week, or even month. The reader is probably aware that the decorative portion of the New Houses has been placed under the direction of a Commission, at the head of which is his Royal Highness Prince Albert. This measure has, doubtless, been productive of good, by the way of suggestion. It is important to note, that so vast a work of art as the re-edification of "the Houses" has already called into action young and rising genius. The artists to whom the frescoes have been entrusted present instances; and, in the sculptural decoration we must mention Mr. John Thomas, of Lambeth, to whom the execution of two of the figures of the Magna Charta Barons has been confided. To return to the outer works, their present state can but be glanced at. The Victoria, Clock, and Octagonal Towers have not risen far above the main building. The completion of the House of Commons is a more important demand, though it is doubtful if this can be We conclude in the words of the contemporary,1 to whom acknowledgment is due for the substance of a few of these details, originally derived from official sources. "The rebuilding of the Houses of Parliament, or, the Palace of Westminster,' is the most important architectural work which has been undertaken in this country since the re-edification of St. Paul's Cathedral. So colossal a pile of building has not been erected in London since that period; nor so magnificent a specimen of Gothic architecture in England since the construction of Henry the Seventh's chapel. And, it may be added, that, in arrangement, detail, warming, and ventilation, combined, so perfect a structure was never before planned; as far as can be judged from the recorded art of past ages, or the experience of our own time." FRANK FAIRLEGH; OR, OLD COMPANIONS IN NEW SCENES. CHAP. VII. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER. THE next few days passed like a happy dream. Our little party remained the same, no tidings being heard of any of the absentees, save a note from Freddy, saying how much he was annoyed at being detained in town, and begging me to await his return at Elm Lodge, or he would never forgive me. Mrs. Coleman's sprain, though not very severe, was yet sufficient to confine her to her own room till after breakfast, and to a sofa in the boudoir during the rest of the day; and, as a necessary consequence, Miss Saville and I were chiefly dependent on each other for society and amusement. We walked together, read Italian (Petrarch too, of all the authors we could have chosen to beguile us, with his picturesque and glowing love conceits), played chess, and, in short, tried in turn all the usual expedients for killing time in a country-house, and found them all very "pretty pastime" indeed. As the young lady's shyness wore off, and by degrees she allowed the various excellent qualities of her head and heart to appear, I recalled Lucy Markham's assertion, that "she was as good and amiable as she was pretty," and acknowledged that she had only done her justice. Still, although her manner generally lively and animated, and at times even gay, I could perceive that her mind was not at ease; and, whenever she was silent, and her features were in repose, they were marked by an expression of hopeless dejection which it grieved me to behold. If at such moments she perceived any one was observing her, she would rouse herself with a sudden start, and join in the conversation with a degree of wild vehemence and strange unnatural gaiety, which to me had in it something shocking. Latterly, however, as we became better acquainted, and felt more at ease in each other's society, these wild bursts of spirits grew less frequent, or altogether disappeared, and she would meet my glance with a calm melancholy smile, which seemed to say, "I am not afraid to trust you with the secret of my unhappiness-you will not betray me." Yet though she seemed to find pleasure in discussing subjects which afforded opportunity for expressing the morbid and desponding (1) The "Illustrated London News." (2) Continued from p. 182. was views she held of life, she never allowed the conversa. tion to take a personal turn, always skilfully avoiding the possibility of her words being applied to her own case; any attempt to do so invariably rendering her silent, or eliciting from her some gay piquant remark, which served her purpose still better. And how were my feelings getting on all this time? Was I falling in love with this wayward, incomprehensible, but deeply interesting girl, into whose constant society circumstances had, as it were, forced me? Reader, this was a question which I most carefully abstained from asking myself. I knew that I was exceedingly happy; and, as I wished to continue so, I steadily forbore to analyze the ingredients of this happiness too closely, perhaps from a secret consciousness, that, were I to do so, I might discover certain awkward truths, which might prove it to be my duty to tear myself away from the scene of fascination, ere it was too late. So I told myself that I was bound by my promise to Coleman to remain at Elm Lodge till my mother and sister should return home, or, at all events, till he himself came back. This being the case, I was compelled by all the rules of good-breeding to be civil and attentive to Miss Saville, (yes, civil and attentive,-I repeated the words over two or three times; they were nice, quiet, cool sort of words, and suited the view I was anxious to take of the case Farticularly well.) Besides, I might be of some use to her, poor girl, by combating her strange, melancholy, half-fatalist opinions; at all events, it was my duty to try, decidedly my duty (I said that also several times); and, as to my feeling such a deep interest about her, and thinking of her continually, why there was nothing else for me to think about at Elm Lodge-so that was easily accounted for. All this, and a good deal more of the same nature, did I tell myself; and, if I did not implicitly believe it, I was much too polite to think of giving myself the lie, and so I continued walking, talking, reading Petrarch, and playing chess with Miss Saville all day, and dreaming of her all night, and being very happy indeed. devoted himself to cracking walnuts by original methods which invariably failed, and torturing into impossible shapes oranges which, when finished, were much too sour for any one to eat; while his father, after having solemnly, and at separate intervals, begged me to partake of every article of the dessert twice over, commenced an harangue, in which he set forth the extreme caution and reserve he deemed it right and advisable for young gentlemen to exercise in their intercourse with young ladies, towards whom he declared they should maintain a staid deportment of dignified courtesy, tempered by distant but respectful attentionsthis, repeated with variations, lasted us till the tea was announced, and we returned to the drawing-room. Here Freddy made a desperate and final struggle to remove the wet blanket which appeared to have extinguished the life and spirit of the party, but in vain; it had evidently set in for a dull evening, and the clouds were not to be dispelled by any efforts of his;-nothing, therefore, remained for him but to teaze the cat, and worry and confuse his mother, to which occupations he applied himself with a degree of diligence worthy a better object. During a fearful commotion consequent upon the discovery of the cat's nose in the cream jug, into the commission of which delinquency Freddy had contrived to inveigle her by a series of treacherous caresses, I could not help remarking to Miss Saville (next to whom I happened to be seated) the contrast between this evening and those which we had lately spent together. "Ah! yes," she replied, in a half-absent manner, "I knew they were too happy to last;" then seeing from the flush of joy, which I felt rise to my brow, though I would have given worlds to repress it, that I had put a wrong construction on her words, or, as my heart would fain make me believe, that she had unconsciously admitted more than she intended, she added hastily, "What I mean to say is, that the perfect freedom from restraint, and the entire liberty to-to follow one's own pursuits, are pleasures to which I am so little accustomed, that I have enjoyed them more than I was perhaps aware of while they lasted." "You are out of spirits this evening. I hope nothing has occurred to annoy you?" inquired I. "Do you believe in presentiments?" was the rejoinder. "I cannot say I do," returned I; "I take them to be little else than the creations of our own morbid fancies, and attribute them in great measure to physical causes.' "But why do they come true, then?" she inquired. "I must answer your question by another," I replied, "and ask whether, except now and then by accident, they do come true?" I think so," returned Miss Saville, "at least I can only judge as one usually does, more or less, in every case, by one's own experience, my presentiments always appear to come true; would it were not so ! for they are generally of a gloomy nature." Oh! it's a dangerous game, by the way, that game of chess, with its gallant young knights, clever fellows, up to all sorts of deep moves, who are perpetually laying siege to queens, keeping them in check, threatening them with the bishop, and, with his assistance, mating at last; and much too nearly does it resemble the game of life to be played safely with a pair of bright eyes talking to you from the other side of the board, and two coral lips-mute, indeed, but in their very silence discoursing such "sweet music" to your heart, that the silly thing, dancing with delight, seems as if it meant to jump out of your breast; and it is not mere seeming, either for hearts have been altogether lost in that way before now. Oh! it's a dangerous game, that game of chess. But, to return to my tale. About a week after the expedition to Mrs. Muddles's had taken place, Freddy and his father returned, just in time for dinner. As I was dressing for that meal, Coleman came into my room, anxious to learn "how the young lady had conducted herself" during his absence; whether I had taken any unfair advantage, or acted honourably, with a due regard to his interest, with sundry other queries of a like nature, all of which appeared to me exceedingly impertinent, and particularly disagreeable, and inspired me with a strong inclination to take him by the shoulders and march him out of the room; instead, however, of doing so, I endeavoured to look amiable, and answer his inquiries in the same light tone in which they were made, and I so far succeeded as to render the amount of information "It may be so," she answered, " and yet I know not,— he obtained exceedingly minute. The dinner passed off even now there is a weight here," and she pressed her heavily; Miss Saville was unusually silent, and all hand to her brow, as she spoke, "a vague, dull feeling Freddy's sallies failed to draw her out. Mr. Coleman of dread, a sensation of coming evil, which tells me was very pompous, and so distressingly polite, that some misfortune is at hand, some crisis of my fate every thing like sociability was out of the question. approaching. I dare say you consider all this very When the ladies left us, matters did not improve; silly and romantic, Mr. Fairlegh; but if you knew Freddy, finding the atmosphere ungenial to jokes, | how everything I have most feared, most sought to "Even yet," replied I, "I doubt whether you do not unconsciously deceive yourself, and I think I can tell you the reason; you remember the times when your presentiments have come to pass, because you considered such coincidences remarkable, and they made a strong impression on your mind, while you forget the innumerable gloomy forebodings which have never been fulfilled, the accomplishment being the thing which fixes itself on your memory-is not this the case?" avoid, has invariably been forced upon me, you would make allowance for me-you would pity me.' What answer I should have made to this appeal, had not Fate interposed, in the person of old Mr. Coleman, (who seated himself on the other side of Miss Saville, and began talking about the state of the roads,) it is impossible to say. As it was, my only reply was by a glance, which if it failed to convince her that I pitied her with a depth and intensity which approached alarmingly near the kindred emotion, love, must have been singularly inexpressive. And the evening came to an end, as all evenings, however long, are sure to do at last; and in due course I went to bed, but not to sleep, for Clara Saville and her forebodings ran riot in my brain, and effectually banished the "soft restorer," till such time as that early egotist the cock began singing his own praises to his numerous wives, when I fell into a doze, with a strong idea that I had got a presentiment myself, though of what nature, or when the event (if event it was) was likely to "come off," I had not the most distant notion. The post bag arrived while we were at breakfast the next morning; and it so happened that I was the only one of the party for whom it did not contain a letter. Having nothing, therefore, to occupy my attention, and being seated exactly opposite Clara Saville, I could scarcely fail to observe the effect produced by one which Mr. Coleman had handed to her. When her eye first fell on the writing, she gave a slight start, and a flush (I could not decide whether of pleasure or anger) mounted to her brow. As she perused the contents she grew deadly pale, and I feared she was about to faint: recovering herself, however, by a strong effort, she read steadily to the end, quietly refolded the letter, and placing it in a pocket in her dress, apparently resumed her breakfast I say apparently, for I noticed that, although she busied herself with what was on her plate, it remained untasted, and she took the earliest opportunity, as soon as the meal was concluded, of leaving the room. "I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse me till after lunch, old fellow," said Coleman, you see we're so dreadfully busy just now with this confounded suit I went down to Bury about- Bowler versus Stumps;' but if you can amuse yourself till two o'clock, we'll go and have a jolly good walk to shake up an appetite for dinner." "The very thing," replied I; "I have a letter to Harry Oaklands, which has been on the stocks for the last four days, and which I particularly wish to finish, and then I'm your man, for a ten mile trot if you like it." "So be it, then," said Freddy, leaving the room as he spoke. my own thoughts being at that moment no over pleasant companions, I was glad of any excuse to get rid of them. On looking about for my writing case, however, I remembered that, when last I made use of it, we were sitting in the boudoir, and that there it had probably remained ever since, accordingly without farther waste of time, I ran up stairs to look for it. As good Mrs. Coleman (although she always indig nantly repelled the accusation) was sometimes accustomed to indulge her propensity for napping even in a morning, I opened the door of the boudoir, and closed it again after me, as noiselessly as possible. My precautions, however, did not seem to have been necessary, for at first sight the room appeared untenanted— but as I turned to look for my writing-case, a stifled sob met my ear, and a closer inspection enabled me to perceive the form of Clara Saville, with her face buried in the cushions, half-sitting half-reclining on the sofa, while so silently had I effected my entrance, that as yet she was not aware of my approach. My first impulse was to withdraw and leave her undisturbed, but unluckily a slight noise which I made in endeavouring to do so, attracted her attention, and she started up in alarm, regarding me with a wild half-frightened gaze, as if she scarcely recognised me. "I beg your pardon," I began hastily, "I am afraid I have disturbed you-I came to fetch-that is to look for-my-" and here I stopped short, for to my surprise and consternation, Miss Saville, after making a strong but ineffectual effort to regain her composure, sank back upon the sofa, and covering her face with her hands, burst into a violent flood of tears. I can scarcely conceive a situation more painful, or in which it would be more difficult to know how to act, than the one in which I now found myself. The sight of a woman's tears must always produce a powerful effect upon a man of any feeling, leading him to wish to comfort and assist her to the utmost of his ability; but, if the fair weeper be one in whose welfare you take the deepest interest, and yet with whom you are not on terms of sufficient intimacy to entitle you to offer the consolation your heart would dictate, the position becomes doubly embarrassing. For my part, so overcome was I by a perfect chaos of emotions, that I remained for some moments like one thunder-stricken, while she continued to sob as though her heart were breaking. At length I could stand it no longer, and scarcely knowing what I was going to say or do, I placed myself on the sofa beside her, and taking one of her hands, which now hung listlessly down, in my own, I exclaimed :— "Miss Saville-Clara-dear Clara! I cannot bear to see you so unhappy, it makes me miserable to look at you tell me, what can I do to help you to comfort you-something must be possible-you have no brother -let me be one to you-tell me why you are so wretched and oh! do not cry so bitterly." As soon as he was gone, instead of fetching my halfwritten epistle, I flung myself into an arm-chair, and devoted myself to the profitable employment of con- When I first addressed her, she started slightly, and jecturing the possible cause of Clara Saville's strange attempted to withdraw her hand, but as I proceeded, agitation on receiving that letter. Who could it be she allowed it to remain quietly in mine, and though from-perhaps her guardian-but if so, why should she still continued to weep, her tears fell more softly, she have given a start of surprise?—nothing could have and she no longer sobbed in such a distressing manner. been more natural or probable than that he should Glad to find that I had in some measure succeeded in write, and say when she might expect him home-she calming her, I renewed my attempts at consolation, and could not have felt surprise at the sight of his hand-again implored her to tell me the cause of her unhapwriting-but if not from him, from whom could it piness. Still for some moments she was unable to come? She had told me she had no near relations, no speak, but at length making an effort to recover herintimate friend. A lover perchance-well, and if it self, she withdrew her hand, and stroking back her were so, what was that to me?-nothing-oh yes! de-glossy hair, which had fallen over her forehead, said :— cidedly nothing-a favoured lover of course, else why "This is very weak-very foolish. I do not often the emotion?-was this also nothing?-yes, I said it was, give way in this manner, but it came upon me so sudand I tried to think so too, yet I wonder why I sprang denly-so unexpectedly; and now, Mr. Fairlegh, pray from my seat as if an adder had stung me, and began leave me. I shall ever feel grateful to you for your striding up and down the room as though I were walk-sympathy, for your offers of assistance, and for all the ing for a wager. In the course of my rapid promenade my coat-tail brushed against, and nearly knocked down an inkstand, to which incident I was indebted for the recollection of my unfinished letter to Oaklands, and, trouble you have kindly taken about such a strange, wayward girl, as I am sure you must consider me," she added with a faint smile. "So you will not allow me to be of use to you," returned I, sorrowfully: "you do not think me worthy | own powers, nor doubt as to the fitness of the weapons of your confidence." "Indeed it is not so," she replied earnestly; "there is no one of whose judgment I think more highly; no one whose assistance I would more gladly avail myself of; on whose honour I would more willingly rely; but it is utterly impossible to help me. Indeed," she added, seeing me still look incredulous, "I am telling you what I believe to be the exact and simple truth." "Will you promise me that, if at any time you should find that I could be of use to you, you will apply to me as you would to a brother, trusting me sufficiently to believe that I shall not act hastily, or in any way which could in the slightest degree compromise or annoy you. Will you promise me this?" "I will," she replied, raising her eyes to my face for an instant with that sweet, trustful expression which I had before noticed, "though I suppose such prudent people as Mr. Coleman," she added with a slight smile, "would consider me to blame for so doing; and were Ia like other girls-had I a mother's affection to watch over me-a father's care to protect me, they might be right; but situated as I am, having none to care for menothing to rely on save my own weak heart and unformed judgment-while those who should guide and assist me appear only too ready to avail themselves of my helplessness and inexperience, I cannot afford to lose a friend, or believe it to be my duty to reject your disinterested kindness." employed, ever seems to occur to these champions of the quill, and accordingly we find one writer levelling his novel at the absolutism of the Autocrat of all the Russias, while another knight of the inkhorn modestly proposes to reform the constitution, and extirpate all the hydra-headed abuses of our social system, by the wisdom of a new generation, to whose young ideas he appears not unwilling to play schoolmaster. Among the ranks of these regenerators of society Mrs. Trollope has enrolled herself; with the same free pen which delineated the Widow Barnaby and the Attractive Man, has she undertaken to overthrow the fabric designed by the gigantic intellect of Ignatius Loyola, and following in the footsteps (at what distance we do not feel called upon to declare) of the Juif Errant, started on a new crusade against the Brethren of the Propaganda. A pause ensued, during which I arrived at two conclusions, first, that my kindness was not altogether so disinterested as she imagined, and secondly, that if I sat where I was much longer, and she went on talking about there being nobody who cared for her, I should inevitably feel myself called upon to undeceive her, and, as a neccssary consequence, implore her to share my heart and patrimony, the latter, deducting my sister's allowance and my mother's jointure, amounting to the im-greatly doubt the propriety of making the pages of a posing sum of 90l. 14s. 6d. per annum, which, although sufficient to furnish a bachelor with bread and cheese and broad-cloth, was not exactly calculated to afford an income for "persons about to marry." Accordingly, putting a strong force upon my inclinations, and by a desperate effort screwing my virtue to the sticking point, I made a pretty speech, clenching and thanking her for her promise of applying to me to help her out of the first hopelessly inextricable dilemma in which she might find herself involved, and rose from the sofa with the full intention of leaving the room. FATHER EUSTACE1 ONE of the most strongly marked, and not least characteristic, features of the present day, is the mania for light reading which pervades all classes of society, and the strange and anomalous publications to which this taste has given rise. The novel, being the form pronounced by common consent to have attained the minimum of specific gravity, is the vehicle almost invariably selected by modern authors to convey to the public, not only their thoughts and feelings, but their very principles also. Nothing is in these days considered too high or too low to form the subject of a popular novel: religion, philosophy, politics, science, the tittle-tattle of the servants' hall, and the sayings and doings of housebreakers and pickpockets, are deemed equally appropriate, and the scene varies with a laudable impartiality from St. James's to St. Giles's-from the palace of the noble to the crowded night-cellar. No distrust of their (1) Father Eustace, a tale of the Jesuits, by Mrs. Trollope, Author of "The Vicar of Wrexhill," "The Barnabys," &c. 3 vols. Henry Colbourn. Although we are not among the number of those who discover in every well dressed man with dark hair and sallow complexion, whom they may chance to sit next at a dinner party, a concealed Jesuit, while they invest the white-waistcoated waiter behind their chair with the mysterious attributes of a "temporal coadjutor;" and are unable to participate in the fears of a venerable lady of our acquaintance residing on the southern coast, whose peace of mind is destroyed by visions of an armed force commanded by the General of the Jesuits (who, from the military nature of his title, she deems a kind of warrior-priest), lauding in front of her drawing-room windows, to make proselytes at the point of the bayonet; although we cannot sympathise with these alarmists, we are not unwilling to allow that, at a time when the unprecedented efforts making by the Church of Rome to obtain converts, have been in too many instances successful, it may be right and advisable to direct public attention to the deceitful principles, false doctrine, and subtle machinations, of the disciples of Loyola; but we pseudo-fashionable novel the vehicle by which to carry out such an intention, and we feel "very particularly sure" (to use one of Mrs. Trollope's favourite expressions) that the authoress of the Vicar of Wrexhill is the last person we should have selected to execute the design. Mrs. Trollope's contributions to the novel-literature of England have within the last fifteen years been dealt forth with no sparing hand, and the popularity they have attained is perhaps the surest proof we can adduce of their containing evidence of considerable talent; but, in nearly all the works of fiction which have proceeded from this lady's prolific pen, two very serious faults are discernible, which in our opinion all her talent and knowledge of the world are insufficient to counterbalance. The first of these faults is a disposition to exaggeration and caricature, carried to such a length as to set nature and probability completely at defiance, and which in the work at present under our notice, has led her into such glaring absurdities as would be simply ludicrous, did they not, from the solemn nature of the subjects treated of, become positively profane. The second accusation we have to bring against Mrs. Trollope (for she unfortunately differs from the hero of one of her best productions in an important particular, and we feel we should be treating her with a culpable degree of lenity were we to concentrate her offences within the limits of and in plot, she is too often guilty of a sin, which, "one fault") is, that, both by word and deed, in language highly offensive in a man's writing, becomes unpardonable in that of a woman ;—we allude (and we do so with a feeling of pain that any woman should have laid herself open to such an accusation) to the coarse jests, double-entendres whose meaning is only too unequivocal, situations of more than doubtful propriety, and, in many of the story itself, which disgrace the pages of this aucases, to some glaring immorality in the construction thoress, and render her works unfit in our judgment to be admitted into any family circle. Of this latter fault "Father Eustace" affords a striking example; and, when |