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white muslin, lately out of the schoolroom, very pensive and sentimental; an eager borrower of novels, a fluent quoter of poetry, and most keen in the discussion of all the fabulous histories, and all the romantic personages she could hear of, far or near. Mrs Vivian could not win her to that urgent oversight of the parish old women, which Mrs Vivian thought necessary; and Sophy could not tempt the languishing young heroine to plead for holidays and indulgences, or to join in secret projects for the delight and astonishment of Briarford school. Mrs Green did not happen to chime in harmoniously with the peculiar tone of Margaret, the only one of the family of tastes similar to her own; so Mrs Green was very generally given up in the Grange, with only the reservation in her favour that there surely must be something good in her, or her sensible husband would never have made such a choice; "but men," said Mrs Vivian, sententiously—"men, it must be confessed, when women are concerned, are often such fools!"
To the general astonishment, however, when everybody else relinquished her, Zaidee adopted Mrs Green-Mrs Green's name was An gelina-most unfortunate of designations. Her poor good husband, who was only John, threw all the blame of all her weaknesses on this celestial name, and would have called her
Sarah with good will; but not s Zaidee Vivian. Then, Mrs Grea took the warmest interest in all remantic and imaginary persons, and could "say" any amount of verses; the said verses having so much effect, at least upon the reciter, as to bring moisture to her pale blue eyes. With these conspiring circumstances to recommend her, Zaidee received into her special favour the curate's wife; and though she had yet poured out but few of her own private musings into the willing ear of her confidante, and found an unaccountable difficulty in doing this, yet still ber confidante, chosen and elected, Angelina was. Her being married was a drawback, certainly, and a still more annoying suspicion of her being silly had just darted across Zaidee's mind; but Zaidee had an infinite deal of glamour in her girlish eyes, and could so easily exalt and idealise-it was the age of "sweetness in the bud and glory in the flower" to Zaidee, and who was to profit by the "vision splendid " if it was not her selected friend?
"Philip does not know what Colonel Morton is to do here for some days, as my mother tells us; neither do I, Lizzy ;—it must be something about you."
Indeed, Percy, my mother has said nothing to me," said the soft liquid voice of Elizabeth.
"And the Captain? Does he say nothing?" inquired Percy, with a little impatience.
Nothing, Percy." A soft tranquil blush coloured Elizabeth's face-she was not discomposed in the slightest degree, but the pure blood came to her cheek in maidenly acknowledgment of her affianced bridegroom's
Perhaps neither of the individuals would have felt particularly flattered by their close conjunction; yet it was nevertheless true that Sermo and Angelina, with an attendant retinue of select old women from amongst Aunt Vivian's beadroll-old women who could tell stories-were Zaidee's most beloved friends.
"I would not let them treat me like a child, Lizzy, if I were you!"
"I can trust them," said the sweet answering voice, in such tones as subdued the boyish impatience of Percy. The youth turned away with a youth's affectionate enthusiasm, and a youth's quick but no less affectionate anger. "My beautiful sister!" muttered Percy, "not one of them all put our hands to it to throw Lizzy knows how good she is,-and_we'll away!"
You would have thought the familiar the queen-like figure so simple and abbreviation sacrilege had you seen yet so majestic, which, leaving the young brother in the little paved fore
court, which lay between the house and the moat, was now re-entering the open doorway of the Grange; for few who looked upon her lofty beauty could realise the character of Elizabeth Vivian, so full of sweet unconscious humility and child-like simpleness. This perfect unpretending and even unintellectual simplicity of hers, made her, by some strange magic, half sublime. Straightforward, and sincere, and innocent, Elizabeth made no investigations into the unknown, but stood on the clear ground of things obvious and actual, and on the daylight level of ordinary soberness and truth. She was not clever; perhaps this very fact helped her to the half adoration with which her brothers regarded her-but foolish she could never be.
Elizabeth read nothing but the Bible, which she loved to read, and sundry good books, which she did not love, but thought it right to study. This was the whole extent of her attainments in literature, unless the household receipt-book, or the young-lady volumes of patterns for "fancy" work, could be numbered among the miscellanies of literature. Two or three little feminine accomplishments she was exquisite in. She painted flowers with the sweetest natural grace and simplicity, arranged them with faultless taste, and did everything well which could be done with a needle. Besides these, there was no one fulfilled all the everyday household offices with so perfect a natural propriety. Elizabeth thought nothing beneath her, and dignified everything with that wonderful queenly grace of hers which every body was aware of but herself. Herself was aware of it with the slightest possible shade of annoyance. She laughed her low musical laugh, while she complained of being so tall, so solemn, so incapable of those light half-invisible movements by which her lively little mother kept all the household on the alert; but perhaps nothing did more contribute to the perfectly supreme and undisputed tenderness with which all the house regarded Elizabeth-respectful, yet protecting as the contrast between her perfect simplicity of humble mind and manners, and her imperial per
VOL. LXXVI.-NO. CCCCLXX.
son-it gave her every action a singular charm.
The guardian whom Squire Percy had associated with their mother in the charge of the family interests, was an old friend of the house, an invalided Indian officer, rich and of good repute. Colonel Morton had a son only a few years older than Elizabeth Vivian, no great match, as everybody said, but a very suitable one. Bernard was clever, while Elizabeth was not, but for the rest, all the advantage was on the lady's side; and Elizabeth's home admirers could not comprehend what she, so beautiful as they all thought her, could find attractive in the very plain dark man, mustached and sun-browned, whom their guardian presented to them, after many years' absence, as "my son," and all the retainers of the Morton family proudly hailed as Captain Bernard. True, he turned out a very agreeable man-well read, well bred, well informed. At first sight, these did not seem the qualities to secure the heart of Elizabeth ;-yet, whatever his means of wooing were, a successful wooer Captain Bernard Morton proved to be.
"She who might have made the greatest match of any young lady in the county; she who only needed to be seen!" cried the indignant Mrs Blundell, Elizabeth's aunt. Elizabeth smiled and blushed and shook her head, but made no other answer. If anything did ever dismay the composed and tranquil spirit of Elizabeth Vivian, it was this "being seen.' Admiration ruffled her calm, unless it was household admiration, which she liked well enough, setting it all down to the score of love and kindness; but to be seen! to be looked at like a picture or a statue !-almost Elizabeth was angry; and with a sweeter content she turned to the dark face of Bernard Morton, to the unassuming lot she had chosen, and the womanly life of home.
At the same time it was just possible that there might be a little truth at the bottom of Percy's boyish impatience and jealousy for his sister. She who made no exactions, perhaps, did not fare quite so well as if she had been more self-asserting. It was just possible that her betrothed and
his father calculated a little too much upon the easy acquiescence of Elizabeth. A slight cloud of pain crossed her forehead. "I should be sorry to think Bernard could feel so," was the thought that passed through her mind; -" and I to say I can trust them, and yet doubt like this." So Elizabeth set down the momentary pang as a fault of her own-much the most satisfactory plan of getting rid of ita plan which she constantly adopted -and came down to breakfast, after half an hour's retirement, with her most tranquil looks and most composed heart.
But Elizabeth was doomed to some agitation that morning. On the breakfast-table lay a letter from Bernard, urgently begging for the appointment of their marriage-day. This had been often postponed already, and the bridegroom was impatient. Why not have it when Philip came of age? Why not take advantage of one joyful opportunity to make another?
Surely they had known each other sufficiently long to obviate all scruples; why not yield this point to him?— and Captain Bernard urged his long affection, his impatient patience, his general profound submission to her wishes in all matters hitherto. "I did not know, really, I had had my own way so often," said Elizabeth, puzzled, but undoubting, as by-andby she discussed this matter with her mother. "It must be one time or another, my love," was Mrs Vivian's response; "and I don't see what good it is putting off the day;—you had better give way!"
So Elizabeth, with her usual gentleness, dropped the discussion. She did give way as was her wont; and it became known in the household that Philip's coming of age and Elizabeth's marriage should take place within the same eventful week. A whole lifetime of excitement and festivity, as Sophy thought, crowded within the little range of one seven days.
EDUCATION OF THE ROYAL ARTILLERY.
THE infallible symptom of newspaper correspondence has shown how energetically have been working the newly-excited military anxieties of the great public. A good deal has been in this way adduced, contrary to the grain of national complacency, and calculated to argue the existence of a disposition to find fault unscrupulously. This is not altogether a pleasing manifestation, but at least it is calculated to authorise the hope that we know the worst of our predicament, and that not much undiscovered evil can lurk behind. The amount of criticism, lately bestowed on our army statistics, might really seem almost to justify this hope with respect to our military arrangements.
But what has all the talk been about? We have had an abundant showing-up of weak points, and truly are in evil case if many more faults of arrangement beset us than those which have been already routed out. Yet it is remarkable that the national mind seems to have been given entirely to the matériel, and not to the personnel of war. Our wide-awake correspondents have been stumbling over the equipment of the men, or the misdoings of Mr Commissary-General So-and-so, or the medical arrangements, as undoubtedly in all of these departments there was a fine field for indignation. Yet no one seems to have had the slightest misgivings as to the men themselves; or to have suggested the inquiry whether we have been doing what we ought, to have men ready to take their places in the field as representatives of British Force. Taking it for granted that the country will always afford a sufficient supply to make up the brutum pondus of an army, what is the state of the case with regard to the officers? Are they to be found ready-made on demand? Clearly the public impression has been to the effect that they are so to be found, since no one seems to have doubted that persons would be ready to use the means for whose supply they have been so clamorous.
It is not difficult to assume the judgment of a wise man on this subject.
He will see that the great difficulty of military supply is in truth with respect to officers, and that on them mainly must depend the effect of all national effort in the way of military organisation. Recent events may, on the first blush, appear to afford an inference tending the other waytending, that is, to show that we may dispense with excellence in officers, provided the men be sufficiently pugnacious and subordinate. The test, however, to which the Turkish armies have been brought, has been of very imperfect character, save in the one respect of their personal bravery. Their operations in Europe have been of confined extent, and of a character peculiarly suited to their genius. They have been leavened by a considerable intermixture of foreign officers, and supported by the near presence of their mighty allies. Above all, they have been commanded in chief by Omer Pasha. But what is the argument derivable from the campaign in Asia? Or could we have a clearer proof of the worthlessness of any mere numerical force, unless properly officered, than we derive from the spectacle of their continuous defeats?
It is too much to say that good officers will raise an army out of any kind of rabble. We might, perhaps, have thought so, but for the late failure with regard to those vagabonds the Bashi-Bazouks. They have made it clear that bodies of men may be so demoralised as to be unsusceptible of training, at least on the first intention. But this we say, that, up to the failure of Beatson and Yussuff, the stream of testimony went to show that there was no limit to a good trainer's power of adaptation. Our own Indian army is a standing proof that a force may hold together and act most efficiently in the field, though to a great extent recruited from alien races. When we bring the case home to ourselves, and speak of British armies, we are justified in the roundest assertion of their capability. We may affirm that here, if anywhere, is to be found the stuff whereof soldiers are
made, and that, if the finished article does not work well, it must be because of defective treatment. It is not enough to take friend Wart, and place a caliver in his hand and bid him "traverse." He will require a great deal more care and training than this before one can be content to march through Coventry with him. The day of actual battle comes only as the climax of performances required at his hands, and frequently as a positive relief from a long series of foregone endurances. He has to acquire habits of obedience and patience, and must be made to imbibe that esprit de corps which can be engrafted only on the consciousness that the body to which he belongs is held together by a worthy principle. Something there must be in him of patriotism, and something of unselfishness. The moral principle within the man must be developed in some strength, before he can be relied on as strong to endure the trials of monotonous encampings, or of such epidemic visitations as Varna and the Dobrudscha have lately witnessed. These are requirements far beyond the ordinary dreams of the class of men among whom the recruiting sergeant plies his vocation. It were indeed too much to say that this high tone of moral cultivation characterises the mass of any army under the sun. All that we can hope for is, that a certain number of individuals may be modelled after this sort, and so the whole body be brought, to a certain extent, under the constraining influence of good example. It is at least a field in which example has its most powerful opportunity.
And is it of this stamp that we can declare the rollicking young men to be who are the most likely to take the shilling, and follow the drums and fifes? Making every allowance for the numbers of those who are considerately and conscientiously led to enlist, must we not allow that a large proportion of recruits consists of those whom a harum-scarum disposition, to say the least of it, has led to that consummation? If it may be asserted -as in good truth it may-that, of any large number of persons grouped together, the majority will be those in whom the moral principle has not
been duly exercised, what shall we say of those now under consideration? It is no longer a question of persons maintaining a fair appearance. The prodigal who could not bear even a father's rule; the young gentleman broken down in his teens, because he could not use the blessings of his station with the least dash of discretion; even honest Hodge the ploughboy, who has no idea in particular of any thing, and only knows that he listed because somehow the sergeant talked him over,-what shall we say of them, and of any body of which they are largely constituents? Whatever we may think of their moral capacities, we must at least allow that the good within them is latent, and decidedly in need of being acted on by influences from without.
There is but one class of persons in the position effectually to afford these influences-that is to say, the regi mental officer. It would be difficult to imagine any relative position more thoroughly calculated to invest with the attributes of moral command. As a fact, it can scarcely be denied that the different regiments in the service do largely borrow their moral tone from that of the officers. Some of these regiments there may be, where comparatively little pains are taken to act on the men's consciences for better or for worse; and, according to the pains taken, we may suppose the observable result to be. But where the officers keep at the greatest permitted distance, there will still be many occasions when they must needs come before the observation of the men, as affording practical illustration of the mode in which they meet the moral requisitions of their position. It is not likely that they will be so observed without finding imitators. But, happily, there are regiments where the officers are fully alive to the depth of their responsi bilities, and expressly endeavour to act on the consciences of the men. These regiments enable us to judge how great is the effect to be produced by those who, starting with the pres tige of rank and education, make it plain by their line of conduct, that they are followers of a principle of good. Numerous are the private soldiers and non-commissioned officers who have