fess that he shares in Lady Veneer's practical view of the matter. tion of Longfellow as In spite of his admira a poet, he never could piece, in which, as it see the beauty of this seems to him, the allegory is absurd, and the moral intended to be conveyed consequently, a failure. But it is a great favourite with the ladies. But why was Gerald mute? A change indeed has come over his spirit, when he can listen without caring to reply, to disparagement of Byron, once his favourite poet. Gerald! who once flew at cant as a bull charges at a red rag. O courage of mediocrity! Audacity of dulness! Intrepidity of imbecility! A Lady Augusta Welborne sitting in judgment upon Byron! A mite criticising a megatherium! "Pah, pah! of civet, good apothecary. agination." Give me an ounce Sweeten my im Sweeten CHAPTER VII. THE LAST ORDEAL. SINCE his arrival at his twenty-first year, Gerald had enjoyed an allowance of a thousand a year, and was now living in very handsome apartments in the Albany. On a certain morning, about six weeks previous to the first anniversary of Miriam's death, Gerald was sitting in a rich brocade dressing-gown, and slippers. Although it was twelve o'clock, the table was still covered with breakfast, which appeared to have been untasted, with the exception of a cup of coffee, which Gerald was slowly drinking. The Times was lying on the table, but Gerald appeared occupied by his own thoughts, as he sat listlessly gazing on an oil painting which hung on the opposite wall. Was it the portrait of his affianced, Lady Augusta Welborne? No, the picture represented a beautiful girl of nineteen, clad in a jacket of crimson cashmere. In short, it was the portrait of Miriam as she has already been described in Book III. Chapter V. This portrait had been painted by an eminent artist, from a very perfect coloured photograph which had been taken of Miriam, in the pride of her youth, bloom, and happiness. picture was marvellously like the original, and was executed with such skilful fidelity, that it offered a startling illusion of life. There was a knock at the door. vant announced Mr. Downey. The The ser Gerald re moved his eyes from the picture, and took the paper, in which he affected to be deeply absorbed when his friend entered the room. It was easy to see from the meeting of the two men, that they were not on the same familiar footing as they had been. "Will you have some breakfast, Downey ?" asked Gerald. "No, I thank you," replied Downey, "I have breakfasted. Pray go on with yours. I see you have hardly begun. You did not use to breakfast so late, Gerald." The words were simple, but they seemed to imply a sort of reproach. "No," said Gerald, "my habits have changed in this respect, as in some others." "Yes," said Downey with his old bluntness, you are very much changed." 66 The conversation languished. Instead of the former animated discussions on politics, literature, metaphysics, and all the important topics of the day, the silence was only broken occasionally by a few insignificant remarks. At length after a long pause, Downey said abruptly: you for "Gerald-I came here to speak to once, after the old fashion. Will you excuse the liberty I am going to take. I want to ask what is the meaning of the great change which has come over you ever since Mirhe glanced towards the picture and then corrected himself; "ever since your heavy loss you are another sort of man. I must tell you so, Gerald-you won't be angry with your old friend for speaking his mind once in a way, will you?" "No," said Gerald, "why should I?” "Well then," continued Downey, "why have you totally abandoned your old freedom of thought? Why have you left the party of reform, the cause of liberty and progress, the cause of the people, Gerald, for the Conservatives? The change is too sudden to proceed from sincere conviction. Why have you cut Freeman, and Anticant, and the Liberator? Why have you lost all sympathy for Abstract Truth? May I go on? You are not angry?" "No," said Gerald; "Ah! there it is. "go on." You don't speak like |