on all the others he was ready with interesting comments and speculations. Observing this, and wondering within myself at his apathy with regard to the young lost poet, as I had reason to be proud of Keats's growing fame, I ventured to talk about him, and of the extraordinary caprices of that fame, which at last had found its resting-place in the hearts of all real lovers of poetry.

I soon perceived that I was touching on an embarrassing theme, and I became quite bewildered on seeing Miss Scott turn away her face, already crimsoned with emotion. Sir Walter then falteringly remarked, "Yes, yes, the world finds out these things for itself, at last,' and taking my hand, closed the interview-our last, for the following night he was taken seriously ill, and I never saw him again, as his physician immediately hurried him away from Rome.

The incomprehensibleness of this scene in duced me to mention it on the same day to Mr. Woodhouse, the active and discriminating friend of Keats, who had collected every written record of the poet, and to whom we owe the preservation of many of the finest of his productions. He was astonished at my recital, and at my being ignorant of the fact that Sir Walter Scott was a prominent contributor to the Review, which, through its false and malicious criticisms, had always been considered to have caused the death of Keats.

My surprise was as great as his at my having lived all those seventeen years in Rome, and been so removed from the great world, that this, a fact so interesting to me to know, had never reached me. I had been unconsciously the painful means of disturbing poor old Sir Walter with a subject so sore and unwelcome that I could only conclude it must have been the immediate cause of his illness. Nothing could be farther from my nature than to have been guilty of such seemingly wanton inhumanity; but I had no opportunity afterwards of explaining the truth, or of justifying my conduct in any way.

This was the last striking incident connected with Keats's fame which fell within my own experience, and perhaps may have been the last, or one of the last, symptoms of that party-spirit which in the artificial times of George IV. was so common even among poets in their treatment of one another; they assuming to be mere politicians, and striving to be oblivious of their beart-ennobling pursuit.

and imaginative region of poetry. The headstone, having twice sunk, owing to its faulty foundation, has been twice renewed by loving strangers, but each time, as I am informed, these strangers were Americans. Here they do not strew flowers, as was the wont of olden times, but they pluck everything that is green and living on the grave of the poet. The Custode tells me, that, notwithstanding all his pains in sowing and planting, he cannot "meet the great consumption." Latterly an English lady, alarmed at the rapid disappearance of the verdure on and around the grave, actually left an annual sum to renew it. When the Custode complained to me of the continued thefts, and asked what he was to do, I replied, "Sow and plant twice as much; extend the poet's domain; for, as it was so scanty during his short life, surely it ought to be afforded to him twofold in his grave."

Here on my return to Rome, all kinds of happy associations with the poet surround me, but none so touching as my recent meeting with his sister. I had known her in her childhood, during my first acquaintance with Keats, but had never seen her since. I knew of her marriage to a distinguished Spanish patriot, Senor Llanos, and of her permanent residence in Spain; but it was reserved for me to have the felicity of thus accidentally meeting her, like a new-found sister, in Rome. This city has an additional sacredness for both of us as the closing scene of her illustrious brother's life, and I am held by her and her charming family in loving regard as the last faithful friend of the poet. That I may indulge the pleasures of memory, and unite them with the sympathy of present incidents, I am now engaged on a picture of the poet's grave, and am treating it with all picturesque advantages which the antique locality gives me, as well as the elevated associations which this poetic shrine inspires. The classic story of Endymion being the subject of Keats's principal poem, I have introduced a young Roman shepherd sleeping against the head-stone with his flock about him, whilst the moon from behind the pyramid illuminates his figure and serves to realize the poet's favourite theme in the presence of his grave. This interesting incident is not fanciful, but is what I actually saw on an autumn evening at Monte Tertanio the year following the poet's death.

goodness, half from a belief in the personal goodness

CHEERFULNESS of temper arises half from personal

of others.

We should not forsake a good work because it does not advance with a rapid step. Faith in virtue, truth, and Almighty goodness, will save us alike from rashness and despair.

early association ?

CHAP. I.-HOW SHE CAME TO US.

Fancy a somewhat unfashionable, but exceedingly comfortable old house; with a small garden behind and a still smaller garden in front, half way up the City-road; fancy five brothers, four of them in the prime of life, and the other a boy fresh from school, and you will have some idea of the heroes of this story, and where they lived. I, Arthur Bell, am the youngest of those brothers. Our parents died long before I can remember, leaving us the house in the Cityroad and an income of £500 a year. But before going any further, I must describe my brothers, who were anything but "worldly," led respectable, knowledge-loving lives; and looked upon marriage as all very well for ordinary people, but a thing far beneath the thoughts of such wise and sensible fellows as themselves.

Matthew, the eldest, and head of our household, was what the irreverent would have called a "fogey," and I believe he had been a "fogey" ever since the time when he was first allowed to follow his own ideas. Old-fashioned in his dress (high collars, double-folding stocks, and that sort of thing), he looked much older than he really was; but though a "fogey," he was, in our opinion, a paragon of common sense and wisdom. He was of a scientific turn of mind, read all the works on new discoveries, and generally came to the conclusion that, " strange to say, ideas very similar had at one time occurred to him."

George, my second brother, was an amateurartist. Ever since I could remember, he was going to send a picture to the academy; but as soon as he had begun one subject he was struck with a "splendid idea" for another, and set to work upon that: it somehow happened that his great works were never finished.

William was given to chemistry, and a back room on the ground floor was fitted up with everything necessary for the practice of medicine. He called it the surgery (George had even painted the word on the door), though, considering the odd things it contained, it reminded me more of the laboratory of some alchemist of olden times. The worst of it was, William was always inventing some new medicine and wishing to try its effects upon the first of his brothers who showed the slightest signs of being ill.

Frank, who was just past thirty, courted neither art nor science, though he was far from idle, making it his business to visit the tradespeople, settle accounts, and all that sort of thing. Now Frank had passed his youth at a German college, and it was rumoured that his life in Fatherland had been far from

steady; but Frank was now as well-conducted as the others, though it was evident that he had not always been so, for whenever Germany was mentioned, brother Matthew would immediately change the conversation.

And nyself. Just left school, nearly seventeen, neither very dull nor very clever, particularly fond of literature, nearly all my knowledge of the world derived from books, and with an idea that there was a great deal of happiness in life, some of which would of course fall to my share.

We had two servants. Thorman, butler, footman, and cook in the bargain, and his wife, who did the remainder of the household work. Every Saturday a charwoman haunted the premises, but it seemed to me that her chief employment was continually popping in and out with a mysterious jug concealed under her shawl.

Hitherto, between my brothers and myself, there had been a sort of imaginary gulf, which was perhaps only necessary in a household composed of four steady middle-aged gentlemen and one bit of a schoolboy; the latter being supposed to have no higher ambition than to be top of the class and to think that happiness consisted in being home for the holidays; but now a monarchy of four kings and one subject was to be changed into a republic of five, which meant that I was to enjoy everything my brothers enjoyed and live as they lived, and had been living for many years. We came down between eight and nine, and during breakfast divided the Times into five portions, changing the sheets about until we had all obtained as much information about the world in general as we required. And then came the serious business of the day. Matthew retired to his room and was deep in science for the rest of the morning; George put on a canvas suit and pottered about among his unfinished pictures, unsettled at which to work, and generally only just making up his mind when the bell rang for dinner; William made the lower part of the house unbearable by the peculiar odours which came from his "surgery;" and Frank, amongst other domestic duties, ordered the dinner, often even assisting in the cooking, an art which he learnt abroad. I took to literature, sending every conceivable form of contribution to the magazines of the day, many of which were returned, many more were not, and about two or three times a year I was encouraged by seeing myself in print and receiving a P.O. order from some editor whose standard of excellence I had managed to reach. We dined at three, and over our wine and dessert read novels. It may seem strange that brothers, themselves above the follies and failings of "poor humanity," should

of its natural wondrous beauty), answered for herself:

"It won't hurt me," she said, "I'm used to it; father is always smoking!"

"Poor little Pet," said her mother, "she talks of her father as if he were still alive."

"Her father, then-" I began.

"Was buried two days ago," said the widow.

Little Pet had left her seat to get a better view of the snow-covered scenery; but, finding her head was not so high as the window, and, perhaps thinking what a comfortable seat my railway wrapper would make, she climbed on to my knees, and after confusing my brothers for some time by the strange questions she asked them, fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. Under such circumstances we were obliged to talk to the widow; and by degrees we learnt her story. It was a very common one: her husband had been obliged to give up his situation in London through illness, and a few months since, his health being slightly improved, had found employment in Liverpool. There he died, leaving his family almost penniless in a strange town. The widow, who was without friends, was on her way to London, hoping that her late husband's employers would find her work. Matthew was just saying that he knew an elderly lady who wanted a companion, when we heard a strange noise, the carriage seemed-but it is impossible to describe exactly what occurred at such a time: all I know is that a few seconds after the crash, after being violently shaken, and thinking that death was close at hand, the carriage was lying, my side upwards, in a muddy stream, and at least two feet under water. Luckily I had held on to the strap, and had, by so doing, been able to keep my seat. Frank, who somehow had scarcely received a bruise, though he had been from one end of the carriage to the other, climbed up and opened the door. We were close to a bank, which Frank had no difficulty in reaching so lifting out Pet, who was unhurt, he left me to assist the others. One by one we managed to get them from the carriage on to the bank ;and then we were able to see what had happened. Matthew, who was senseless, had apparently a broken arm; George and William declared themselves so much shaken that they could not move without assistance; and the poor widow was dead. The engine had run off the line, and down a steep bank, dragging the whole of the carriages after it; but ours, being near the end, had come less violently than the others. We were in a lonely part of the country, without a house or a human being in sight, and around us was a mass of broken carriages, from the ruins of which the few unhurt travellers were trying to rescue their less fortunate companions. Two or three men proposed seeking assistance; and, as Matthew was now sensible, I offered to be one of the party. Wishing to get poor little Pet, who was wondering why her mother did not speak, away from the scene, I carried her with me; and so we

walked over the damp, marshy ground, myself, at last, feeling so weak and exhausted that I felt I could not walk much further. After walking nearly two miles we suddenly came to a large, old-fashioned inn, standing by itself in a hollow in the midst of the marshes. Several labourers were standing round the bar, and, as soon as we told our story, they hurried off with my companions to the scene of the accident; but I was unable to move, and hearing that bedrooms were plentiful at the "Golden Dragon," I requested that one might be prepared for my brothers. The landlady, who had many children, took charge of Pet, who was soon fast asleep on a sofa in the parlour, unconcious, poor little creature, that she was now an orphan.

Presently a straggling procession was seen advancing towards the inn, and the "Golden Dragon" was soon as full as it had been in its day," when stage-coaches and postingcarriages were continually stopping before it, and when, at hunting or fair times, its old walls would echo with the laughter of a merry, and maybe often a far from sober company. But at the present time it was the abode of suffering and misery. Many people had been killed when the train fell down the bank; many had died whilst being carried to the inn; and the grief of their surviving, and often wounded friends, terribly impeded their own recovery. The doctor, who came from a long distance, after seeing to the worst cases, visited my brothers. He said that Matthew would have to keep to his bed for some days; but the others were happily more frightened than hurt.

And as day after day went by, the "Golden Dragon" was the scene of many a melancholy event. Inquests were held on the dead; and maimed people whom we hoped would live, and who had talked of the coroner as a man who could not possibly concern themselves, grew worse and worse, until at last the jury were called to sit upon them. Scarcely a day passed without a funeral, and all who were able followed the bodies to their graves. It was just as if some dreadful plague ravaged the land; and, after a time, we became so familiar with death, that it seemed robbed of half its mysterious terrors.

For nearly three weeks we stayed at the "Golden Dragon:" Matthew's arm was much better; the rest of us were as well as ever, and our last evening at the inn had arrived. All five of us were smoking long clays in the barparlour with the landlord and landlady, and talking seriously (the landlady, by the way, only doing the latter); and our talk was about Pet. If her dead mother had had any friends who knew of her departure from Liverpool, or expected her arrival in London, the accident was so well known, and a list of the dead had been published in so many papers, that we should have heard from them if they cared about coming forward: no one doing so the body had been buried; and Pet, who, childlike, soon forgot her loss, was now as happy with the children at the inn as if she had never known any other

existence; and strange to say the child had taken a fancy to such youth-despising creatures as the five brothers of this tale; seemingly imagining that our sole duty was to amuse her whenever she wished to be amused.

"Dear little creature!" exclaimed the landlady. "Would we were rich enough to keep her always; but having so many of our own-' "It could'nt be thought of for a moment," continued her husband, "its hard times, but if the child is not claimed she must go to the parish."

I had long been thinking of something, and this seemed the right time to mention it to my brothers.

"Brothers," I said, "I am going to propose something."

They took their pipes from their mouths and listened, no doubt surprised at the idea of a proposition coming from me to them.

66

Brothers," I went on, "three weeks ago we agreed not to touch a certain sum of money until we found a good use for it-that time has now come. Let us adopt Pet. In doing so we take upon ourselves a heavy responsibility; but, whatever trouble and anxiety she may cause us, it will be pleasant to think we have rescued the poor child from a future of poverty, perhaps sin."

My wise brothers for once in their lives found themselves uncertain what was best to do; but the landlord and his wife, to say nothing of myself, so successfully upset all their arguments against my plan, that at last Matthew said, "Say no more about it. We will take her; but, for the future, she shall have five fathers, and heaven grant them strength to fulfil their duties."

Pet was not at all surprised when told she was to go with us to tell the truth, I believe she had long looked upon us as her rightful owners; and, when the carriage which was to take us to London (no more trains for Matthew) drove up to the door, Pet was so pleased with the prospect of the ride, that her grief at parting with the children could scarcely be called a grief at all.

Fancy the surprise (and luckily the pleasure) of Mrs. Thorman, when told that in addition to her other duties she would be expected to fulfil that of nurse. And as Pet took a liking to the old woman at first sight, I knew that those duties would be far from unpleasant; for I have noticed that servants, especially elderly servants, will do anything for children if the latter only love them in return. A room which had never been used within my recollection, and which we had called the spare-room, and sometimes Uncle Goodge's room, it being always in readiness in case that relative suddenly appeared in the Cityroad, was got ready for Pet; and soon after our arrival, our tired little daughter was carried upstairs by Mrs. Thorman, who looked more pleased with the child in her arms than she could have looked if we had suddenly doubled her wages. And then we smoked our pipes, looking very serious, and talking seriously, too;

for a change had come over us now: hitherto we had lived only for ourselves; now we had the care of a tender little bud, and on us it depended what that bud would be like when, by God's will, it should blossom into a flower. Dear little Pet! I can see her now as she looked the next morning, as fresh and fair as anything on the earth; and well remember the pleasure she showed in being in what she thought such "a great, grand house." She was not content until she had seen everything, been in all the rooms, and found out everything that was to be found out in the old garden. For the first few days we were all beside ourselves; everything was forgotten but the pleasure of thinking what a bright happy little creature had come to brighten up our somewhat dingy lives. But soon the novelty wore off, my brothers got tired of playing at children, and returned to their former occupations, and by general consent the care of little Pet was left almost entirely to myself. Old as I had always felt, old as I even felt now, I was not too old to take a pleasure in everything that pleased Pet; and the sunshine that had never shone on my youth shone so brilliantly on hers that some of its rays seemed reflected on myself; and I felt happier than I had ever felt before.

It was proposed that Pet should call us all 'Father," but as the child seemed to prefer addressing us by our christian names we let her do so; in fact there was something so innocently pretty in everything that she did do, that it was almost impossible to ask her to do anything but what she liked herself. At present she was too young for anything but play (my brothers said that it was anything but play to them to find their work-rooms turned upside down, and William had to be very careful to keep the door of his study continually locked); but when a year or two had passed, we had to recollect that Pet would not be a child all her life, and that "knowledge is power." So, not liking to send her to school, we agreed to teach her amongst us, though I need scarcely say that eventually Pet had but one tutor, and that was myself. Pleasant times those were. or two's "school" every morning, including even music for there was a piano in the house, and I did know a B flat from a bull's foot). With a pupil just as willing to learn as her master was to teach; and then a walk into the Regent's Park or over Primrose-Hill and away into the open country beyond Hampstead, Pet enjoying everything she saw and I doing the same because she did; and then home, somewhat tired and sometimes late to dinner, with such wonderful things to tell my brothers, that I believe, supposing such wise beings could feel envy, they almost envied us the life we led.

An hour

What a pity it is that little girls must grow up into young women! I have no doubt that many fathers and mothers have thought so too, though, if young men were asked their opinion on the subject, it might slightly differ from mine at the time of which I am writing. But here were we five brothers just the same as ever;