philosophy, science, I should be the first to concur in the value of the system. But I see, instead, intellectual cynicism, intellectual apathy, an absorbing love of physical exercise, an appetite for material pleasures, a distaste for books and thought. I do not say that these tendencies would at once yield to a simpler and more enlightened system of education; but the results of the present system seem to me so negative, so unsatisfactory, as to justify, and indeed necessitate, the trying of educational experiments. It is terrible to see the patient acquiescence, the humble conscientiousness with which the present system is administered. It is pathetic to see so much labour expended upon an impossible task. There is something, of course, morally impressive about the courage and loyalty of those who stick to a sinking ship, and attempt to bale out with teacups the inrush of the overwhelming tide. But one cannot help feeling that too much is at stake; that year by year the younger generation, which ought to be sent out alive to intellectual interests of every kind, in a period which is palpitating with problems and thrilled by wonderful surprises, is being starved and cramped by an obstinate clinging to an old tradition, to a system which reveals its inadequacy to all who pass by; or, rather, our boys are being sacrificed to a weak compromise between two systems, the old and the new, which are struggling together. The new system cannot at present eject the old, and the old can only render the new futile without exercising its own complete influence.

The best statesmanship in the world is not to break rudely with old traditions, but to cause the old to run smoothly into the new. My own sincere belief is that it is not too late to attempt this; but that if the subject continues to be shelved, if our educational authorities refuse to consider the question of reform, the growing dissatisfaction will reach such a height that the old system will be swept away root and branch, and that many venerable and beautiful associations will thereby be sacrificed. And with all my heart do I deprecate this, believing, as I do, that a wise continuity, a tendency to temperate reform, is one of the best notes of the English character. We have a great and instinctive tact in England for avoiding revolutions, and for making freedom broaden slowly down; that is what, one ventures to hope, may be the issue of the present discontent. But I would rather have a revolution, with all its destructive agencies, than an unintelligent and oppressive tyranny.

CHIPPINGE.

BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.

CHAPTER I.

THE DISSOLUTION.

BOOM!

It was April 22, 1831, and a young man was walking down Whitehall in the direction of Parliament Street. He wore shepherd's plaid trousers and the swallow-tailed coat of the day, with a figured muslin cravat wound about his wide-spread collar. He halted opposite the Privy Gardens, and, with his face turned skywards, listened until the sound of the Tower guns smote again on the ear and dispelled his doubts. To the experienced, his outward man, neat and modestly prosperous, denoted a young barrister of promise or a Treasury clerk. His figure was good, he was above the middle height, and he carried himself with an easy independence. He seemed to be one who both held a fair opinion of himself and knew how to impress that opinion on his fellows; yet was not incapable of deference where deference was plainly due. He was neither ugly nor handsome, neither slovenly nor a petit-maître; indeed, it was doubtful if he had ever seen the inside of Almack's. But his features were strong and intellectual, and the keen grey eyes which looked so boldly on the world could express both humour and good-humour. In a word, this young man was one upon whom women, even great ladies, were likely to look with pleasure, and one woman-but he had not yet met her-with tenderness.

Boom!

of a

He was only one among a dozen who within the space few yards had been brought to a stand by the sound, who knew what the salute meant, and in their various ways were moved by it. The rumour which had flown through the town in the morning, that the King was about to dissolve his six-months-old Parliament, was true, then! So true that already in the clubs, from Boodle's to Brooks's, men were sending off despatches, while the long arms

Copyright, 1906, by Stanley J. Weyman, in the United States of America.

of the semaphore were carrying the news to the Continent. Persons began to run by Vaughan-the young man's name was Arthur Vaughan; and behind him the street was filling with a multitude hastening to see the sight, or so much of it as the vulgar might see. Some ran towards Westminster without disguise. Some, of a higher station, walked as fast as dignity and their strapped trousers permitted; while others again, who thought themselves wiser than their neighbours, made quickly for Downing Street and the different openings which led into St. James's Park, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the procession before the crowd about the Houses engulfed it.

Nine out of ten, as they ran or walked-nay, it might be said more truly, ninety-nine out of a hundred-evinced a joy quite out of the common, and such as no political event of these days produces. One cried, 'Hip! Hip! Hip!'; one flung up his cap; one swore gaily. Strangers told one another that it was a good thing, bravely done! And while the whole of that part of the town seemed to be moving towards the Houses, the guns boomed on, proclaiming to all the world that the unexpected had happened; that the Parliament which had passed the People's Bill by onea miserable one in the largest House which had ever voted-and, having done that, had shelved it by some shift, some subterfuge, was meeting the fate which it deserved.

No man, be it noted, called the measure the Reform Bill, or anything but the Bill, or, affectionately, the People's Bill. But they called it that repeatedly, and, in their enthusiasm, exulted in the fall of its enemies as in a personal gain. And though here and there amid the general turmoil a man of mature age stood aside and scowled on the crowd as it swept vociferating by him, such men were but as straws in a backwater of the stream-powerless to arrest the current, and liable at any moment to be swept within its influence.

That generation had seen many a coach start laurel-clad from St. Martin's, and listened many a time to the salvoes that told of victories in France or Flanders. But it was no exaggeration to say that even Waterloo had not flung abroad more general joy, nor sown the dingy streets with brighter faces, than this civil gain. For now-now, surely-the People's Bill would pass, and the people be truly represented in Parliament! Now, for certain, the Bill's ill-wishers would get a fall! And if every man-about which some doubts were whispered even in the public-houses-did not

get a vote which he could sell for a handful of gold, as his betters had sold their votes time out of mind, at least there would be beef and beer for all! Or, if not that, something indefinite, but vastly pleasant. Few, indeed, knew precisely what they wished or what they were going to gain, but

Hurrah for Mr. Brougham!

Hurrah for Gaffer Grey !

Hurrah for Lord John

Hurrah, in a word, for the Ministry, hurrah for the Whigs! And, above all, three cheers for the King, who had stood by Lord Grey and dissolved this niggling, hypocritical Parliament of land

owners.

Meanwhile the young man who has been described resumed his course, but slowly, and without betraying by any marked sign that he shared the general feeling. Still, he walked with his head a little higher than before; he seemed to sniff the battle; and there was a light in his eyes as if he saw a wider arena before him. 'It is true, then,' he muttered. And for to-day I shall have my errand for my pains. He will have other fish to fry, and will not see me. But what of that? Another day will do as well.'

At this moment a ragamuffin in an old jockey-cap attached himself to him, and, running beside him, urged him to hasten.

'Run, your honour,' he croaked in gin-laden accents, and you'll 'ave a good place! And I'll drink your honour's health, and Billy the King's! Sure he's the father of his country, and seven besides. Come on, your honour, or they'll be jostling you!"

Vaughan glanced down and shook his head. He waved the

man away.

But the lout looked only to his market, and was not easily repulsed. He's there, I tell you,' he persisted. And for threepence I'll get you to see him. Come on, your honour! It's many a Westminster election I've seen, and beer running, from Mr. Fox-that was the gentleman, and always a word for the poor man-till now, when maybe it's your honour's going to stand! Anyway, it's down with the mongers!'

A man who was clinging to the wall at the corner of Downing Street waved his broken hat round his head. Ay, down with the borough-mongers!' he cried. Down with Peel! Down with the Dook! Down with 'em all! Down with everybody!'

And long live the Bill!' cried a man of more respectable

appearance as he hurried by. And long live the King, God bless him!'

They'll know what it is to balk the people now,' chimed in a fourth. Let 'em 'Let 'em go back and get elected if they can. Ay, let

'em!'

'Ay, let 'em!

6

Mr. Brougham'll see to that!' shouted the

other. Hurray for Mr. Brougham!'

The cry was taken up by the crowd, and three cheers were given for the Chancellor, who was so well known to the mob by the style under which he had been triumphantly elected for Yorkshire that his peerage was ignored.

Vaughan, however, heard but the echo of these cheers. Like most young men of his time, he leant to the popular side. But he had no taste for the populace in the mass; and the sight of the crowd, which was fast occupying the whole of the space before Palace Yard, and even surging back into Parliament Street, determined him to turn aside. He shook off his attendant and, crossing into Whitehall Place, walked up and down, immersed in his reflections.

He was honestly ambitious, and his thoughts turned naturally on the influence which this Bill-which must create a new England, and for many a new world-was likely to have on his own fortunes. The owner of a small estate in South Wales, come early to his inheritance, he had sickened of the idle life of an officer in peace time; and after three years of service, believing himself fit for something higher, he had sold his commission and turned his mind to intellectual pursuits. He hoped that he had a bent that way; and the glory of the immortal three who thirty years before had founded the 'Edinburgh Review,' and, by so doing, made this day possible, attracted him. Why should not he, as well as another, be the man who, in the Commons, the cockpit of the nation, stood spurred to meet all comers-in an uproar which could almost be heard where he walked? Or the man who, in the lists of Themis, upheld the right of the widow and the poor man's cause, and to whom judges listened with reluctant admiration? Or best of all, highest of all, might he not vie with that abnormal and remarkable man who wore at once the three crowns, and whether as Edinburgh Reviewer, as knight of the shire for York, or as Chancellor of England, played his part with equal ease? To be brief, it was that held his eyes,

prizes such as these, distant but luminous,

incited him to effort, made him live laborious days. He believed