our festal anniversaries, without being considered trespassers and intruders. This new claimant is the British public, that portion of it especially which dwells in large and crowded cities, and which, but for the preservation of these uninclosed lands, will not have where to ramble.

Taking a radius of twenty-five miles from the General Post Office, there are nearly forty thousand acres of commons and open spaces; and, shortening the radius by ten miles, that is, giving a circumference within a convenient distance of the heart of London, we have upwards of thirteen thousand spare acres. Cockneys, especially East Londoners, look upon these thirteen thousand acres as peculiarly their own-that is, as far as the right of recreation and amusement goes; and stoutly demand that these generous areas, this veritable folkland, shall not be fenced in. They include Epping and Hainault Forests, Hackney Downs, Hampstead Heath, Barnes Common, Wimbledon Common, Wandsworth Common, Streatham Common, Clapham Common, Peckham Rye, and Blackheath, not to mention others that dot the map of the country as far as Epsom on the south, and Hatfield on the north.

stead, where Mr. Augustus Smith has displayed such righteous zeal, men will be found to resist further illegal and unscrupulous encroachments.

The position of Hampstead Heath is most deplorable. It is claimed by one man, Sir Thomas Maryon Wilson, as his own private property. The public, the thousands who flock there daily during the bright and warm months of the year, are deemed by him interlopers, and he would, had his baronetcy the power-for the wish is in him-inclose every acre. But the law mercifully restrains him, and so, en revanche, he contents himself with undermining this beautiful heather-clad, gorse-covered hill, by digging out, carting away, and selling the gravel, a right which the legislature has not interfered with; we may therefore expect one day to see the heath utterly deprived of its natural character and beauty. Are there no commoners to assert their rights against Sir Thomas Maryon Wilson? If so, what has become of them? and if not, how have they been spirited away? Have their privileges been sold, like Esau's birthright, for a miserable mess of potage? has the steward or agent of the lord got hold of them, persuaded them that their rights are of no value, and deluded the ignorant simpletons into vending thein for a pint, or perhaps a quart, of beer?

ney, Shoreditch, Stepney, and Bethnal Green, crowded the ancient forest of Essex to recreate themselves "beneath the greenwood tree," and to take part in the immemorial staghunt. As to Wimbledon, is it not the bloodless battle-field of the metropolitan volunteers? Have they not almost obtained a customary right to it? and were it taken from them, where would they perform their patriotic exercises, and reap the annual harvest of international honours with the rifle ?

Yet against the integrity of Epping Forest, Hampstead Heath, and Wimbledon Common, severe attacks have been made by lords of the manors; and if this thing be done in the green-wood what will be done in the dry? If these almost national spaces, these spots of historic prestige, are threatened with inclosure, and hardly saved from so sad a doom, how shall such wastes as Clapham and Wandsworth Commons, Putney Heath and Peckham Rye escape?

Fortunately the spirit of the nation has been roused, and, as in the case of Berkhamp

But if the threatened fate of Hampstead Heath is bad, what shall be said of Epping Forest? It still possesses leafy glades where the deer feed, and once a year the wood echoes with the noisy merriment of the chase. For

Hunt, was kept at Woodford, but latterly it has been abandoned, and only a few dogs are maintained to drive the deer back when they go astray, and to hunt them on Easter Monday.

On this annual occasion, thousands flock out of London. By rail, by cart, by van, in four-wheel traps, on costermongers' trucks, and on horseback, they swarm to "the meet," and with a full and hearty appreciation of the sport, follow the hounds on foot or on wheel, as far as the road or bridle-path will let them. Yet the hunt, and the leafy glade, and the deer, and the hounds, and the keeper, are threatened with destruction. Every year, every month, every week, the forest is being diminished by inclosure, and there is none to lay hold of the sacrilegious pioneer and stay his illegal hand. The forest-keepers have done their duty and have regularly informed the Lords of the Treasury and the Commissioners of the Woods and Forests of the encroachments that have taken place, and notably Colonel Palmer, the verderer, has

energetically endeavoured to uphold the rights of the Crown and of the poorer Foresters. In fact, according to a petition which the gallant colonel has presented to the House of Commons, it appears that the Commissioners of Woods and Forests have been illegally attempting to sell the rights of the Crown, and that a bill is now before Parliament for the purpose of abolishing the office of verderers, and to confer their duties upon Her Majesty's Commissioners of Works and Buildings. Strange to say, Colonel Palmer has not only received no support from those whose business it is to interfere, but, to use a not very euphonious term, he has been "snubbed" for his pains. More shame for those petty and conceited gaudins of office who have so treated a gentleman, whose sole motive has been an honourable desire to preserve for the public that which belongs to the public. The interests of the nation, however, are not to be sacrificed to the lisping lassitude and weary indifference of the civil servants of the Crown, who hold subordinate positions in public offices near Whitehall and Pall Mall.

A great step, thanks to the liberal conduct of Parliament, has been made towards a settlement of this vexata quæstio. In March, 1865, a select committee of the House of Commons was appointed to inquire into the best means of preserving the Forests, Commons, and Open Spaces in and around the Metropolis, and on the report of this committee the Government prepared a measure, moderate in substance and conciliatory in spirit, which is now under the consideration of Parliament, and which we hope soon to see acquire the force of a law.

Mr. Cowper's bill proposes to establish a board of commissioners, empowered to accept grants of manorial rights in any open spaces, and to hold such rights in trust for the public, and at the same time to create a local management, whose business it shall be to see that what is necessary to be done in the way of levelling, draining, and preserving is carried out. There is nothing compulsory about the measure; it is purely permissive and conservative. It checks, it is true, illegal aggression, but it at the same time confirms just claims. The lord of the manor loses nothing that he now honestly possesses; he will only be prevented from removing his neighbour's landmark and taking that which is not his. What rights he has he will still enjoy, improved, it is to be expected, by the care and supervision of the local homage to be created.

Some persons object that the bill does not go far enough, and they urge that the common lands should be purchased for the public, and

secured to them indefeasibly for evermore. But two or three difficulties in the way present themselves. Where is the money to come from to purchase these manorial rights? What a powerful opposition must necessarily be raised up against so sweeping a scheme! Will not the end and purpose of the measure be as effectively attained by a moderate and conciliatory plan ?

Colonel

All lords of the manor are not alike. It is the few, the exceptions, who wish to push their rights beyond the sacred limits of truth and justice. The lord of the manor of Banstead, Mr. T. Alcock, has offered to make a gratuitous grant of his manorial rights in the soil of | 1,400 acres, forming the waste lands of that manor, in order that they may be dedicated to the service of the public for ever. Bowyer, of Clapham, is willing to enter into an arrangement for continuing the Common in perpetuity to the public, in consideration of a moderate annual rent-charge. In the neighbourhood of Bristol a lord of the manor, with the sanction of Parliament, has already vested his rights in a common in trustees for the benefit of the inhabitants of that ancient and opulent city. There are many other lords of the manor, we are assured, who would be willing to cede their rights for the public use and enjoyment. Besides private individuals, many corporate bodies possessed of manorial rights would, we have no doubt, willingly come forward in the same patriotic spirit. The Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's, for instance, have expressed their readiness to surrender their manorial rights over Barnes Common for the benefit of the public, and when once the example has been set, great numbers would be quite certain to follow in the wake.

On the people of London the passing of Mr. Cowper's bill will confer an immeasurable boon. It will be a great relief to this vast multitude to feel that the open spaces around the metropolis will thus be practically secured to them and their children for ever. The Crown lands, especially, which have been left to the tender care of the Commissioners of Woods and Forests, will feel the beneficial effect of the law. We shall then hear no more such imbecile pleas and excuses as those officially put forward in apology for the destruction of Blackheath, namely, that "a revenue must be made out of the gravel;" and we shall not be insulted by the cool indifference of Whitehall underlings, who can look upon the gradual demolition of Epping Forest with no other reply, when a remonstrance is made, than a shifting of the eye-glass, and It's no affair

of ours."

HAROLD KING.

The two men seemed to have changed natures for the time being.

"Thank you, let me pull off my coat first," answered Lawrence, as coolly as possible; and he laid his rough pilot-cloth outer garment on the sofa, and put his hat on the top of it, before he came forward and availed himself of Mr. Forbes' politeness.

"It is awfully cold," he remarked, holding his hands over the fire and then rubbing them together; "and I don't know a walk I hate so much as that from Reach House here."

"I prefer Regent Street myself, certainly," answered Percy; "but these things are quite matters of taste."

"Yes," agreed Lawrence; and he sate looking into the blaze for a minute without making any further remark. Suddenly he lifted his eyes and, letting them range round the room, observed, "It seems strange to be sitting in the old place again with the old people gone."

"Old people, what do you mean?" inquired Percy, wonderingly.

'I mean the hopes and the fancies and the dreams that used to sit opposite to me as you are sitting now; I mean the people we create for ourselves, and who are more our companions than actual flesh and blood can ever prove; I mean the men and the women who walk through a door without opening it; I mean that I am an egregious egotist," finished Lawrence abruptly, and he dropped his eyes on the fire once

more.

There are some persons in the world who love whatever they pity: Percy Forbes'

affections were very closely related to his sympathies.

At that moment he liked Lawrence Barbour better than he had ever done, because he pitied him with all his heart and soul,-pitied him for his despairing look round the room, which had once been so full of happiness for him; where he had lived, while he loved with a hope of return; where he had worked for her sake, thought of her, borne the loss of her;

pitied him for his pale, worn face, for the anxious look in his eyes, for the fantastic confession he had just made.

The one man felt irresistibly attracted

to the other in that hour. He knew Lawrence was not an individual who wore his heart on his sleeve, and he valued his spontaneous confidence accordingly. He had not expected that the interview would even have commenced with an approach to friendliness, and the turn the conversation had taken was therefore gratifying to him in the extreme.

But withal he experienced a difficulty in knowing exactly what to answer, and ventured in his extremity to say

"You are looking fagged. or is it this wretched weather?"

Are you ill,

"I am worried," was the reply. "Excepting that, I am as well as ever I need hope to be. Do you remember the first day that we met? O God! I wish that day had never been!"

Now the way this sentence was constructed caused Mr. Lawrence Barbour's wish to appear personal; and imagining something of this kind, Percy Forbes discreetly held his tongue.

Glad enough he felt of his forbearance next moment, when Lawrence, raising his head, went on

"I do not say that, because I met you then, old fellow. Years ago I read a story in some ancient periodical-Wilson's 'Tales of the Borders' I think it must have been-about a woman who, believing in 'first foots,' thought the first foot who crossed her threshold on New Year's morning unlucky, and behaved herself rudely towards that individual. The story is vague and shadowy in my memory; but it came upon me as I crossed the bridge that you were my first foot on the threshold of a new life, and that I had de

VOL. II. NEW SERIES.

C

No. 28.

meaned myself after the fashion of the woman I speak of."

"I do not think you did," answered Percy; "but supposing it were so, what then ?"

"I recollect asking you if you were my evil fate. I believe I have acted to you ever since as though you were something of the kind. To-night I began thinking that you might perhaps be my good fate. It may be. Will you try ?" and Lawrence laid his hand on Percy's arm, while Percy, still nervous and constrained, asked,

"What do you want? what is it you require ?"

"I will tell you," Lawrence answered. "Mr. Sondes begged me to return to Reach House early this evening, as you know, and I did return early. There he sat in your sanctum looking like a ghost; and it did not require any very great amount of faith to induce me to believe his first statement, which was to the effect that he had not very long to remain in this world, that his disease was incurable, that it resolved itself into a mere question of time, and that consequently he desired to set his temporal affairs in order. All this can be no news to you. He tells me you have been in his confidence since before my marriage."

Percy bowed his head in assent, and Lawrence proceeded. "Some one has been doing me a friendly turn with Mr. Sondes-telling him I have been calculating on his deathtelling him falsehoods. Till to-night I thought that some one was you, Forbes; but now I know it to have been our manager, who shall clear out of the refinery to-morrow. This has nothing to do with the matter in hand, however. Mr. Sondes wants to place his niece beyond the power of adverse trade, and so proposes not to leave his share of the business either to her or me, but to sell out now, and invest his capital otherwise. He says he asked you to buy, but that you declined," Lawrence added;

And Percy answered, “I did.”

"Well, I want you now to reconsider your decision," went on his visitor; "I want you to look at what we can offer, before you finally decide against our proposition. It is a first-rate concern, it returns a handsome profit, it need involve no work to you unless you like, it is such an opportunity as might never present itself to you again.'

"I have not the necessary capital," said Percy Forbes, decidedly.

"Mr. Sondes will be satisfied with twenty thousand pounds," suggested Lawrence.

"I have not more than ten thousand pounds clear in the world, and that is invested," persisted the other.

decidedly; "let us be plain one with another. You have refused this partnership for three reasons, Mr. Sondes tells me: one, because your capital is locked up; another, because you would not like to be in business with me; and the third, because you think I should not like to be in business with you. Are we right so far?"

"Yes," agreed Forbes.

"Well, you mistake my feelings. Beyond all other men I should like to have you for my partner-beyond all other men, that is, except Perkins; and if you agree to change your business, I will do my best to make it comfortable for you."

"And why should I change my business?" demanded Percy Forbes.

"Because you are but a junior partner at the Reach Works; because you get but a (comparatively) very small return for your money; because you are not at the head of the firm; because you have to work harder than any labourer on the premises." 'Anything else? " asked Percy, as the other paused. He had risen during the course of the conversation, and was now standing in front of the fire, looking down upon Lawrence, who answered,

"Because we all want you," and then sat silent.

That is very kind," said Percy; “very kind, indeed, of you all. Now, suppose, Barbour, we go back a little. There was a time when I did not know what to do with my money; when it seemed as strange for me to have a few thousands and be clear of debt, as what it must to a rogue to be dropped in some strange country where people presuppose him honest. I was waiting to turn over a new leaf in my life. I meant fully to stick to the purpose I have since carried out. I intended to renounce the pomps and vanities of a world which had led me a long way on my road to the devil, but I did not know how. I carried about my thousands, begging some man to have mercy upon me; to put me into some way of earning my bread and making those thousands many."

"I remember," said Lawrence; "but what then ?"

"I came in those days to Mr. Sondes, hoping with all my heart and soul that he would take me into port. I sailed my craft into this East-End harbour, and he unceremoniously turned me out. He thought I should make ducks and drakes of my money; he fancied the refinery was a kind of heaven far beyond the deserts of any poor struggling mortal like myself, and negatived by his utter silence a proposition which I never had the