a certain condescending manner of pronouncing the words, very pretty,' hard to be borne patiently; and when one answers, 'I am glad you like it,' the rejoinder of, But I really do think so,' is still more afflicting. I recollect that once, a person, wishing to convey an indirect sarcasm, expressed his preference of the most puerile and insignificant of all my compositions."

"That was, indeed, a refinement of malice," said Miss Merton. "But to be serious, tell me something of your literary friends; those who, as you have told me, have encouraged and cheered you on your way."

"Ah! that is quite a different thing. No dry sententious advice, such as I have described, ever comes from them. If they wish me to try something new, they put me in the way of thinking of it for myself; and when they think praise is deserved they give it freely and generously. It is from them that I have met with most encouragement and fewest suggestions."

"And you," said Miss Merton, "are not one of those poetesses who repine at the comparative solitude of mind consequent on their peculiar talents ?"

"No, no! but then I am so happy at home," said the young authoress. "It is true," she added, smiling, "that there are some whimsical inconsistencies in our lives, when we are managers of a household as well as authoresses; and the sudden transitions from the ideal to the actual are often really comic. For instance, I am writing something very tragic. "What can I do to save you?' cries my hero. 'Would that the sacrifice of...' 'Six pound of kitchen candles, ma'am,' exclaims the cook, popping her head into the room. On another occasion, I am describing my heroine. 'She was tall yet delicately formed, fair as... A quarter of pork, ma'am,' says the undaunted cook, 'a nice little quarter, very white and not too fat. Interruptions of this kind are of course very frequent in my small establishment."

"Now, if you had numbered this among your trials, I should not have been surprised," remarked Miss Merton. "But as to society, have you such as you can like about you here?"

"I suppose society is much the

same in every country neighbourhood," replied Mrs. Verner. "It is only by a happy accident that I now and then meet a person of my own tastes and habits,-indeed I speak of them to none but my husband from year's end to year's end, generally. But there is abundant kindness among those who dwell about us, and with some of them, no lack of good sense and information. Few,

I believe, are aware of the nature of my pursuits, for I am somewhat careful to conceal them. You know how much I always detested the idea of ever becoming the pet poet of a coterie. Did I ever tell you of my being once at a party in which I found myself treated professionally? Never was any thing more ridiculous. The people of the house,-excellent people and old friends,-were whispering my praises, and asking this person and that person whether they had read my compositions. To crown all, I was specially introduced to a brotherpoet (as I was told), a gentleman who sang his own verses to the amazing delight of a group of young ladies, who cried, How exquisite! how touching!' à l'envie l'une de l'autre. Never have I felt more foolish or more provoked than I did on that happy occasion."

6

"I hope you do not dislike speaking of your pursuits," said Miss Merton. "If so, you have allowed me to tax your good nature cruelly."

"Believe me," answered Mrs. Ver

ner,

"I am delighted to talk to you of any thing that interests you in the least. I avoid the subject in general, because I do not wish to be flattered, or criticised, to my face. Besides, I assure you, it is thought a very trifling talent,-that of putting into words such ideas as all people, or almost all, flatter themselves they possess. Many a one quotes Wordsworth touching ' voiceless poets,' and looks unutterable things, leaving me convinced, of course, that if the language of verse, 'that lowest attribute of poetry,' were but given, all I could do would speedily be surpassed."

"I must confess," observed Miss Merton, "that you have given me a new view of the trials of an authoress. We are accustomed to hear much of the unhappiness of literary women in their domestic life; of the

want of sympathetic taste in their husbands, if husbands they have; too often, alas! of their own errors. Pathetic lamentations, too, have we heard, touching the envy and jealousy of their less gifted sisters, the malice and cold-heartedness of the world, till we have almost been persuaded that the pursuit of literature, in the case of a woman, was incompatible with the possession of happiness."

"Ah! speak gently and think tenderly of those whose sorrowful words might have led you to such a conclusion," replied Mrs. Verner, with much feeling. They may have been tried and found wanting, they may have erred grievously, yet look on them with an eye of pity, for in their earnest minds and passionate hearts lies hidden a fearful capacity for suffering. Think how little modern education, as it is called, does to prepare natures like theirs for the trials and temptations of life. Think of the dullness, the insipidity of society in general, the flat commonplacedness of ordinary conversation; and remembering all these things, judge not harshly of those ardent spirits which have failed in a contest with influences so uncongenial."

"Much has been said, and well said, of late, in various quarters," remarked Miss Merton, "on the subject of female education. I suppose that you are no great admirer of the system generally pursued ?"

"Indeed I am not," answered the younger lady; "and surely if we are to judge of things by their fruits, I have some reason for my dislike. Do you know I could sometimes think that youth, such as we can conceive it,-youth in its loveliness, and freshness, and ardour, was but a dream of the imagination. Youth without enthusiasm seems to me a melancholy sight; and yet, among the young of my own sex, with whom I associate, and on whom I look with interest, it is very seldom that I see a spark of enthusiasm. The cheek does not flush, the eye does not burn, in the presence of things beautiful and exalted. When I think of my own girls, now in the freshness of heart and spirit that belongs to childhood, I could wish they might remain children for ever,

rather than become the dull, emotionless beings I meet every where, under the denomination of young ladies. But we are wandering from our subject. We were speaking of literary women,-of women of genius."

Yes," said Miss Merton, "of their trials; and surely, among these we may class the isolation of their state when they enter upon the stage of life."

"I agree with you entirely," answered Mrs. Verner; " and remember, that though the process of 'being educated' has not had power to stifle their keen susceptibility, or tame the ardour of their spirits, yet as little has it taught them self-dependence, -as little,-speaking generally of course, has it furnished them with that wealth of mind or steadiness of purpose which, in the absence of support from without, might yet enable them to feel contented with the loneliness of their lot, in spite of the longing for sympathy that belongs to their womanly nature. And a being like this, a young creature tremblingly alive to the influences of this beautiful world, tremblingly conscious that but a thin veil separates this actual daily life from the world of spirits; a being, with whom the sense of immortality is as an actual presence lingering about her bed, and about her path,' and whose heart is stirred, as it were, by breathings of the air of Paradise,-yes, a being such as this finds herself unguided and alone in the midst of a society of her own sex, whose talk is of Berlin wool, bonnets, and balls, and whose life is worthy of their conversation. You smile, but you know there is much truth in what I say. The inanity and frivolity of which I speak are, I believe, the results of a false system of education, which sacrifices real good for the sake of display, and produces in the end a dismal monotony of mediocrity.

"Among women of superior powers, some are happy enough to be taught from their earliest years that it is on no earthly arm that they should lean for support, and to no earthly sympathy that they should look for comfort, in the troubles which time must bring to them. Over their restless hearts, the peace which is of God has breathed its holy calm; and for them the beauty

of the unseen world pierces the earth-born clouds of doubt and of sorrow, which hide it from duller eyes. Some, too, dwell in the light of love; their daily cares endeared to their hearts by the holiest affections.

"Blessed, indeed, are such as these! But for those poor suffering ones, who wander in the thorny paths of life, pining for happiness, and going astray after its very shadow,-let us think of them tenderly, and grieve for their errors, yet forbear to blame !"

The young authoress spoke with emotion, for the subject was one on which she evidently felt deeply. A moment afterwards, smiling at the enthusiasm she had betrayed, she added, "We have fallen upon a sorrowful theme, though our conversation began gaily. But whenever my mind dwells on the lone position which a woman of genius occupies, and on the earnestness and sensitiveness of feeling which must accompany her superior intellectual gifts, -remembering how much her heart craves, and how little the world has to give,-I cannot but tremble for her. You alluded to the envy and jealousy women of inferior abilities might feel towards a gifted sister. I believe a beautiful sister has more to dread on this score than the most talented."

"Do you speak from experience in both characters ?" asked Miss Merton, smiling.

"I answer no malicious insinuations," said Mrs. Verner, gaily. "If I told you all that the experience of my own heart and mind had taught me, I might reveal strange things. Who knows that I have not personally felt the dangerous power of the ' voice of the charmer,'-the voice of sympathy, or what seemed such,— pleading in delicious music amidst the wearisome monotony of common conversation? Who knows that I may not have turned from the vapid dulness of every-day life to the excitement of associating with what we poets call a 'kindred spirit? The heart is so credulous, so enterprising in pursuit of happiness!"

"Do you ask who knows if these things have been so with you?" said Miss Merton. "I hope with all my

heart that Mr. Verner knows they have not."

"Well, I hope he does," rejoined the authoress, laughing; "at least, it is as well he should believe that he does. But, in sober seriousness, you may depend upon it that the sameness of ordinary existence is a trial to the unquiet spirit of a woman of genius. Even negative happiness is not enough. There is a longing, not merely to exist, but to live, to experience all varieties of feeling, for even with painful emotions there is blended something that is not pain; we feel that, through our suffering, the soul has gained, even at the expense of the heart. Strange law of our mysterious being, that wisdom must be earned through suffering!"

"Where, then, is such a being to turn for happiness?"

"To Him who looks with pity on the weaknesses of humanity. Religion alone can control and guide the wild impulses of a nature so aspiring, yet so weak, so eagerly thirsting for good, yet so prone to be dazzled by evil. But our conversation has again deepened into seriousness. You must forgive me, for I have thought much on these matters. When I was younger, and less experienced, I walked the world' less calmly than I do now, for there seemed a strange contrast between the agitated restlessness of my own heart, and the calm, cold surface of society; between the carnestness of purpose with which I desired to do my part in life, and the quiet apathy that seemed to belong to those around me. For awhile I was bewildered. I asked if I were indeed dwelling among beings conscious that their spirits were immortal, and that this world was a place of trial? The dreams of my childhood fell from me, and I saw the world in its bare reality. I looked deeper, and saw the weakness of my idol, genius. By degrees I trust I acquired content, and something of true wisdom, but not till after many struggles. It is sad to see wealth of mind wasted, and wealth of heart lavished in vain, and yet we have seen these things."

"Often, too often," said Miss Merton. "The isolated position you de scribe must indeed be full of peril. And you think education might do

much to prepare those gifted ones for their peculiar trials? Yet you I would not have all women educated as if they were women of genius, and who is to decide fitly on the plan to be pursued? For, if every man is not a hero to his valet-de-chambre, most children appear to their parents singularly gifted."

"Of course,-like all mothers, I suppose," replied Mrs. Verner. “I have my own theories of education, and one of these days we will talk them over together. Our great aim,

it seems to me, should be, to put young people in the way of educating themselves; for, until they feel the necessity for self-culture, we can do little for them. But we are interrupted in good time," she continued, as her laughing children bounded into the room, followed by her husband; and the grave discussion gave way to lighter sallies, in which, if there was little wit, there was no lack of good-humour, or of the spirit of love which bound together the members of that happy household.

THE Whigs recognise the principle of an hereditary succession even in party leadership: an office under government and ultimately a seat in the cabinet, with occasionally an advance in the peerage, are as certainly secured by a kind of law of entail to the Whig lordling who turns his attention to politics, as is his paternal estate. Public honours and power, under the favouring forms of the constitution, have become, to a few families, almost a private property. We do not say that they inherit these things without deserving them; far from it: the sons of the great Whig families have often developed into statesmen, becoming by the force of their talents entitled to fresh honours; and in their turn founding new families, all with the like claims on their party. But they certainly have had a preference in the first start into life which has not been enjoyed by commoners generally, nor even by the scions of other noble families professing, perhaps, liberal politics, but not being within the charmed circle. An exclusiveness in the distribution of offices, and the initiation into the service of the state, has characterised the Whig party since it first became possessed of power under the consti

tutional form of government; nor, until the bold offer of Lord John Russell to Mr. Cobden, of an office under government, when that noble lord was forming an administration on the resignation of Sir Robert Peel, before introducing his free-trade plan, has there been any material symptom of a relaxation of that rigid rule of almost family preference. Mr. Macaulay's elevation to the cabinet is a brilliant exception; but the ground of his promotion has been, as we have shewn, exceptional also.

On the other hand it is a singular fact, that the party in the state whose principles are generally declared to be as exclusive as those of the Whigs are asserted to be liberal; a party which numbers in its ranks more of the aristocracy of the country, and a less proportion of the commercial and the democratic interests; has always been remarkable for throwing open its arms to talent wherever it was to be found, and for bestowing the most valuable offices in the state upon distinguished persons, more on account of their intellectual merit than of their noble blood.

Earl Grey and Lord Viscount Morpeth, the eldest son of the Earl of Carlisle, are, at the present time,

next to Lord John Russell, the two most prominent inheritors of the political heirloom of Whig influence. The career of each has in several respects run parallel to that of the other: their claims on their party are as nearly as possible equal: their talents, allowing for certain differences of character, about which more hereafter, are as nearly as possible equal also: their public services, although in different spheres of action, have borne the same proportion: they were born in the same year: they entered parliament in the same year, each for a nomination borough, and, within a very few months of each other, they severally secured the representation of a great county: each has shewn a marked independence of individual character, while in the main paying due homage to the claims of party; each has earned a reputation, both for oratorical skill and official capability, in the House of Commons; so that they are qualified, not by their hereditary rank merely, but also by their talents and standing, to take a leading part in the House of Peers. In fact, these two noblemen present themselves in marked and almost natural contrast.

The practice of sending the eldest sons of peers, who hold by courtesy titles of nobility, into the House of Commons as representatives of the people, is one of the most singular of those compromises which are the very essence of political and social life in England. Of the advantage derived by the public from this arrangement there cannot be the slightest doubt. A senate composed of men inexperienced in public affairs, from their very station comparatively ignorant of public wants, and who would legislate more by their will than their reason, without being subjected to restraint or responsibility,-such a body of privileged dictators would be almost as dangerous as a purely democratic assembly. Their laws would have no moral sanction. However the constitution might assert or strive to enforce their claim to hereditary wisdom, certain it is that the merest crudities of a purely popular representative would find more willing support from the people than the most elaborate productions of such king-made oracles. But when they have previously served and under

gone training in the House of Commons, they have secured a personal as well as a legal claim on the respect of the nation. They are then recognised by their deeds, not by their titles only. The history of the chief party contests of their time is a record of their speeches and votes: they are identified in the minds of the people, of whatever classes,-Tory, Whig, or Radical, it is all the same—with the triumph of some favourite principle; or it may be only with its defeats, yet defeats which are not the less cherished, for they are looked upon as the precursors of future victories. Long before the time comes at which in the order of nature they are elevated to the peerage, their intellectual and political standing be comes ascertained, and they take a position at once. Their claim comes backed by the suffrage of the public; and it is yielded to at once. most active among the peers, those most entitled by rank and experience in the Upper House to hold permanently the lead on either side, at once give way when one of these chosen men of the House of Commons comes up with his certificate of superiority.

The

Besides the education in practical statesmanship which young noblemen so situated receive during a few years' campaigning in the House of Commons, a moral influence is exercised over them which is also of the highest advantage to the nation. They learn both by precept and example the value of public opinion, that indefinite but omnipotent and omnipresent agent in the political affairs of free countries. Few greater calamities can befall a nation than a necessary separation and antagonism, both of feeling and of interest, between the privileged and the unprivileged classes. If a nobility so situated be high-spirited, powerful, and deeply imbued with a sense of hereditary right, they will restlessly strive at an oligarchical tyranny. Revolution, in states so situated, is always more than a possibility, and democracy lours in the distance. On the other hand, if this privileged and isolated nobility be not animated by the higher range of ambitious motives, they will, from combining too much leisure with too much wealth, become depraved in their moral habits, spreading the poison of a vicious ex