They accordingly disappeared together, and I went back, in form at least, to contingent remainders, with a lingering misgiving in my mind for which I could not account. The fellow was fair-spoken enough; his occupation was a natural one, and his manner seemed frank, although impudent. But still, his unannounced visit, and the recollection of the few words I had overheard on the railway, made Lord St. Leonards more misty than ever.

In a little while re-entered Briggs, with a face of portent, Do you think that gemman lucky, sir?-I never seed the like, he is making picters out of nothin'. He go washin' and washin' a bit o' glass with nothin' at all on it, with a candle end a-lighting on him in the coal-cellar, and then comes the picter in black and white, as tho' a fairy had drawed it. It beats me, it does. Come you and see, sir, how he has made the old house.'

Brigg's introduction to the world of science and art in the coal-cellar had evidently awed him. I quite sympathised with his admiration and wonder; for although the art is now one of the commonest of marvels, I never see that amazing disclosure of the sun picture without an intense feeling of interest. The science is still in its infancy. We may be surrounded by photographs, for aught we know, and the means of rendering them visible may yet be discovered. So I followed the steps of the enthusiastic neophyte to the dark abode of his preceptor.

Good light,' said the artist. These two are pretty sharp, and will, I think, print well.'

He held up the two negatives to the candle, and they seemed to deserve his praise. But in one of them I saw the secret of Briggs's reverential amazement.

They were two views of the western front of the house, taken from the terrace; and right in the centre of one of them-portly,

haughty, and scornful to the lifewas Briggs, not as though sitting for his portrait certainly, but awful and dignified as nature and education had made him. He could not restrain a chuckle as he saw me looking at it.

'A rum start that, sir,' said he, in default of more appropriate terms. 'Upon my word-a great success,' said I; a capital likeness, Briggs, and in your proper place, too.'

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'Well, sir, it do go to my heart to see me a-standin' by the old house so natural like. The gentleman says he will give it to me to hang up in the pantry when it is printed, as he calls it.'

'Willingly,' said the artist, if Mr. Briggs will sit again; and, if I might make bold to ask it, would you, sir, help in the foreground ?'

There is something which appeals to the most ignoble part of man's vanity in being asked to sit for your picture; but it is always sure to be pleasant, as the likeness, when taken, is to displease. But on this occasion I resisted, and returned to my work, all my doubts having vanished; and Briggs, and the footman, and all the maids, and the coachman, and the groom, had a photographic séance which lasted several hours.

CHAPTER XIII.

A RIDE WITH M'CLELLAN. The afternoon was bright and sunny; and after some more successful attempts to address myself to the mysteries of real property, I sallied forth to enjoy the delicious breeze, and bask among the flowers. I found my artistic friend packing up his camera, and preparing to depart, evidently not depressed by the hospitality of Briggs, and much disposed to conversation. Briggs, he said, was quite a gentleman, and had sat to him like a rock. He was also complimentary and pointed in his praise of the fairer part of the

establishment-the nymphs and dryads of Dagentree. I walked along with him down the avenue of old elms which formed the approach. 'Are you from the States?' said I. 'I am from many States,' he said, nasally as on our first meeting; 'but blessed if I know which I last came from.'

I am sure you lived in America by your pronunciation of the language. You must have learned it

there.'

'I rather think I have, among a collection of the sweepings of creation. You may call it a choice assortment from all the foreign markets-Jews and Christians and Turks, Poles and Germans, Barbarian and Scythian, bond and free, and Irish and niggers; guess it's a consolidated empire anyhow.' 'Cracked a little at present,' I said.

'It will splice the easier. It's like a pot of treacle; you may take out a ladle full, but it all joins again. I have seen three armies spread-eagled and obliterated, but they always reappeared.'

'What! did you serve in the war ? '

'No, sir, I never served; I only commanded my own company.'

'Which of the armies were you attached to ? '

'Faith, there was little attachment in the case-no love lost, as they say. I commanded a troop of specials on M'Clellan's line."

'A corps of specials! What were they?'

was sent by the nobs at Washington to look after M'Clellan.' And he gave me a look of mystery and importance, which, enhanced by Briggs's beer, had a very effective and dramatic air about it.

"They made him safe, they did; winning would not suit their book; he was not to win, and he did not win, nor ever had a chance.

'Little Napoleon, as they called Mac, was a clever, plucky fellow, and if he had been left to deal with those in front, blest if I don't think he would have licked them. But the rascally coons behind him were more than he could manage, and some of us were sent to make him safe.

'It was just after the great strategic movement, when M'Clellan drew together his crumpled-up army from before Lee and Beauregard, after six days' fighting, that I joined the camp beyond the swamps on the banks of the James. Finely planned it was by the Secesh, that attack. They knew that our man was not to win, and that General Pope here, and General Hooker there, were to snap their fingers at his orders. So, Beauregard slipped neatly away from Corinth, and he and Lee came down on little Mac like a flash. M'Clellan fought like a tiger cat, but it was three to two, and he was nearly swallowed with the hair on. If the Southerners had known what our men knew, we should never have heard of Gettysburg.

'We joined at City Point, and found the army some miles up the river. They were a precious lot. There was not a blackguard over sixteen in all Europe who was not there. I aint no wise tightlaced, sir, but I give you my word, I don't believe that when Satan went to war he commanded half such a set of scoundrels. The General did all one man could do. He was always among them, toiling and bullying and coaxing, but

they were a hopeless team-devils to fight, but the camp was no better than a kettle of fiends.

'One day, I and my men saw something was astir. A broiling, steaming, blasting day it was, the vapours rising from the marshes in clouds, and sucking the very marrow from the bones. M'Clellan and his staff rode out some four or five miles to reconnoitre, and took me with him, as he was fond of me, little thinking what I was after. The General took out his glass, and, after sweeping it round once or twice, says he

to me:

"Will you take a message back to camp for me?"

"I am your man," says I, and the General pulled out his notebook, tore out a leaf, addressed it to General Burnside, in a gummed envelope, and gave it to me.

'I set spurs to my horse, for I can ride a bit-spent three months in the Pampas-and went off full tilt along the corduroy road, until I had put a stretch of thicket between me and the General. Then I said to myself, We shall have a look at the message.

'The gummed envelope was no difficulty to a practised hand like me. I opened it and read as follows: The waters are rising, and we have

them. Let the whole force advance. reserve by the river.

The

'Not if I know it, I said to myself. I went quietly to within a mile of camp, and then dashed through it as if Beelzebub were on my crupper, and never drew rein until I reached City Point. There I took steamer for Washington, and delivered the General's despatch in -the proper quarter.'

'What a confounded scoundrel you must be.'

'I reckon so; but it was diamond cut diamond in those days. I had authority in black and white for all I did. You know how it turned out. Never a soul of the army came, the waters went down

VOL. LXXXV.NO. CCCCLXX.

in two days; Lee, who had been very uneasy, knew the chance was over, and my masters rejoiced over M'Clellan. But they nearly played away their own necks. I could show you, sir, what would make Broadway stare.'

With that he took out a wellworn pocket book, and, turning over some dirty letters, selected one which he was about to put into my hand, when he seemed to think better of it, and shut it up again. I saw the address of the letter, and a very yellow, greasy-looking epistle it was. It had a strange fascination for me, as connected with that bloody, terrible, and romantic war. He repossessed himself of it with some abruptness, and, as if thinking he had been indiscreet, exclaimed, 'Now you have my shave, and you may believe as much or as little of it as you like.'

'I please to believe it all,' said I. 'It has too much the air of truth to be a fiction. May I ask the name of the hero of it?

That hero has had so many names, both before and since, that I really forget which he had then; and so, Mr. Pemberton, your crossexamination has proved a failure.'

I laughed and told him he had the advantage of me, which he owed no doubt to the cordiality of Briggs, but the fellow puzzled me. As he warmed with his story, his vulgar phraseology and provincial accent had disappeared, and he was plainly a man of education.

'Devilish good ale old Briggs brews,' he said, as if seeing the impression he had made, but it sings in my head like a beetle at dusk. I wish you good morning, sir, and thank you for your civility to a wandering coon like me.'

'Before we part,' said I, 'will you tell me the name of the gentleman you and I travelled with the other day.'

He started, and an expression came over him of something more

D

than surprise. You and I, sir? Bless you, I never saw your face before.'

'Not on Monday last ?' 'Never, sleeping or waking, as far as I know.'

'At least, you came down on Monday with an elderly gentleman. Who was he?'

'If I am not too bold, sir, Briggs should not brew so powerful. I wish you good morning.'

He turned down the road and departed, and I sauntered homewards to the Grange.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE DASHWOODS.

What corner of the brain is it, I wonder, in which a thing lodges, which you know, and yet cannot remember? As I wandered along, I puzzled over the name I had seen on the back of the letter. I knew it, for my inner consciousness told me so; but, like some important despatch which Mary the housemaid, in the interests of tidiness, has stuffed into a China jar, it was nowhere to be found.

What was it, Trotter? No, not Trotter, certainly. Forrest ? Not unlike it, said the keeper of the pigeon-hole, but still not Forrest. Try again. Strong? It was one syllable, but not Strong. Finch? Like it again, though Finch is as unlike Forrest as it can be. I could get no nearer, and gave up the chase: but I was certain that I knew it, for all that.

At half-past six, Topham the groom, a spider dog-cart, and a long stepping grey were at the door to convey me to the Dashwoods'. Novelists are fond of describing the sensations of young ladies on the eve of a party. I know little of the sensations of young ladies; their confidences to me have been few, and such as they have been, I have found far from trustworthy. But although I had then reached the

ripe age of twenty-six, I was in all social respects a young man, who had seen very little of any society but my own rather narrow professional set, and felt, I am not ashamed to confess, a kind of quiver at plunging unsupported into a strange baronet's house. A shy man I do not call myself. In my own circle I am thought a cool hand, and few take liberties with me. But my reputation has not been gained without an effort; and little my comrades think how my heart will beat with excitement-how that anima vagula blandula will jump, and throb, and tremble, only be cause two or three pair of eyesthe windows of intellects not at all profound, are looking at me.

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So now, sitting behind the long stepping grey, was I filled with thick-coming fancies. I wished my visit were over. But,' said Reason, at twelve o'clock it will be over.' I wished I had not accepted. But,' said Reason, if you had declined, you would have fretted to death because you had not accepted.' What will they think of me? was, I fear, the prevalent colour of my thoughts. Not of my looks, for they are unobtrusive. I am not a walking Maypole like Dagentree, and there is nothing about me which would lead any one to turn round to look at me. Not of my manners either, for I acquired them in my father's house. 'What then,' said Reason, 'sets you a quaking in this way?' I could not tell, but quake I did down to the soles of my dress boots.

My drive of five miles was charming, through such scenes as Morland loved to paint. The wind wafted pleasant odours from hayfield and bean-field, and meadow flowers and roadside blue bells gave colour to the scene. The foliage, still in the fresh glory of a late summer, was in full splendour, and to me, to whom sunshine and air, and green grass were in themselves treasures, mainly I suppose because I