she will deserve it. But that my lady should have shared such a fate, that cuts me to the heart, Mrs. Jackson."

Alice heard no more, vacancy was stealing over her senses, the cold dew stood upon her brow; she had remained at first silent and motionless from shame and emotion, she was so now from extremity of illness; she could not utter a word to call for assistance, she leaned against the cabinet for support, and as her senses vanished, fell.

The noise of her fall drew the women hastily to her side. Panicstricken, they glanced at each other, then raised her, carried her to her bed and applied restoratives. When she revived, her maid, a faithful and attached creature, was hanging over her.

'My lady," she said, "I fear I have been the cause of your illness; your ladyship had heard what was passing in the adjoining room? I can never forgive myself, nor say how sorry I am for what I have done."

"I had heard you, Jenkins. Make no reference to the past; never again allude to the subject, and if you love me, Jenkins, as I believe you do, speak of it to no one living. I will go and die with my father. I shall not be long here; I desire much to preserve a tranquil and submissive mind; your entire silence will assist

me.'

The maid wept and promised.

Alice was too weak to travel for a day or two. When she arrived at her father's door she was so languid and exhausted that he almost lifted her from the carriage, and then, as he supported her into the old room and placed her in the easy-chair, and taking his seat before her, looked upon her faded face and glassy eye, and contrasted it with the gay, sunny countenance, so beaming with happiness and goodness, which had shone upon him but eighteen months before, the big drops rolled from his manly eyes.

“Oh, Alice, that I had kept you to myself and to a happier lot! that I had never permitted your visit to Newby Grange!" he exclaimed. "I have given you to wretchedness and the tomb!"

"My dear, dear father, do not say

so," she replied, much affected; "I am certainly ill, and it would, perhaps, be false to flatter you with the idea that I shall recover; but my illness is sent by Heaven, and might have occurred though I had been still under your fostering care: it seems to me that the happiness of the months which preceded and followed my marriage were worth a common life. Indeed, my father, they embraced more ecstatic happiness than is spread over many a life which is not deemed unblessed. The memory of that time is most precious to me; I would not, if I could, undo the past. If I have been less happy of late, my sorrow is sacred to myself; I still love my husband with unabated fervour. You, father, will recognise with me all that the holy tie of marriage claims, and which your Alice delights to yield."

He pressed her hand and kissed her brow, but could make no reply. She pointed his attention to his grandson, who appeared in his nurse's arms before the window. He took the child and blessed him.

"You and I will enjoy the babe together, father," said she, as fondling him she returned him to the

nurse.

The best doctor that the neighbourhood could supply was employed to attend Alice, and her own physician came down from London once in ten or twelve days to see her. Both told the rector that there was no glimmer of hope that her life might be preserved. It was a question only of time. And, in fact, the father saw her fade from day to day.

Charles Duncan was at the hall visiting his uncle; he had not been in the neighbourhood since his last meeting with Alice, two days before his journey up to London to commence the career which had been inspired by his love to her. He had heard of her marriage, and, bruised in spirit and blighted in hope, he had kept away. Still he pursued his profession, though the dear object which had led him to embrace it was defeated, yet he was indebted to Alice for having awakened his energies and induced him, instead of hanging a burden upon his uncle, to adopt the more honourable course of exertion and self-dependence.

Now they were to meet again.

The day after her arrival at the rectory he called there. It was an affecting interview to both. A glance of his eye had once revealed to her all the secret of his love, now his look expressed, not indeed passion, but unabated interest, respect, pity, friendship, sad regret. There was

before him the woman with whom he should have found himself so blessed, and to whom he fondly trusted he should have returned a blessing, sinking into an untimely tomb, the victim, he suspected, though he did not know it, of an unhappy marriage -a heartless man. She who deserved a different lot, and he who would have secured her a different lot, why, why, had they not been thrown together? He did not lengthen his visit, nor did he trust himself often to repeat it; it was too much for his fortitude. Alice heard with interest of his success in his preparation for the bar; but her fond and faithful heart never for one instant wished her lot had been thrown in another union, never for one instant wandered from her lord. Estranged and faithless as he was, her whole soul was his, all her affections were yet twined around him, and she lived in memory of the past.

But her life was near its close. Her brother and sister had arrived; they had passed not quite a fortnight at the rectory, when increased cough caused rupture of a bloodvessel in the lungs ; the hæmorrhage could not be stopped; she felt that she was going, smiled upon those around, and pointed upwards, grew

fainter and fainter, and in a few hours sunk in the sleep of death.

She had attempted to articulate, but the doctors had interposed. She then wrote upon paper, which was held before her.

"Tell Lord Arthur that I know all, but that I loved him with faithful, unabated fervour to the end; tell him that my soul still sent forth her thanks to him for the unutterable happiness which he had once given to me; tell him that I lived upon the memory of it; tell him that I died blessing him and praying for blessings on him, and ask him to confide our son to my father's training."

She motioned her father near her, pointed to the last sentence, and continued writing,—

"Father, will you accept the boy, my legacy to you, and plant him on hearth in place of your poor

your Alice ?"

The father sobbed, "I will, I will, my child."

She was continuing to write, but the characters were illegible, the faint hand fell; she smiled upon them all and sunk to rest.

The paper was sealed and sent to his lordship with the tidings of her death. It is no part of my story to describe Lord Arthur's feelings on receipt of this intelligence. He hastened to England. He did not deny his wife's dying prayer. The boy blessed the rector's solitary hearth, and grew up under his training not like his father.

ARISTOCRATIC predilections have much less influence in the House of Commons than might have been expected from the aristocratic composition of that body. A nameless, landless adventurer, with character, nay, sometimes even without it, but destitute of introductions, and with no admiring friends to herald his presence by their praises or to hail his first efforts with applause, has a much fairer field open to his abilities there, than he would have, perhaps, in any more plebeian, but at the same time more jealous, assembly of his fellow-countrymen. With the sole exception of the property-qualification required; and that we know is found to be in some cases no hindrance even to the most needy men; there is really no barrier to the advancement of a new-comer in proportion to his personal claims. The House of Commons, in fact, is an open market for talent. Great avidity is shewn in seeking for it, and the utmost generosity in acknowledging it when it makes itself apparent. This disposition even sometimes goes the length of inducing an overstrained courtesy; and mediocrity will, for a brief period, be allowed to usurp the honours, or at least a portion of them, which are only the due of sterling talent. Energy, perseverance, boldness, nay, even a respectable loquacity and an ambitious fluency of speech, will receive applause which ought to be reserved alone for that intellectual superiority which is so rare. Still, this readiness to approve has its advantages. If some are clevated who do not strictly deserve it, none who really excel are ever defrauded of their right position. Of late years, the road to office, and therefore to power and honour, has been more open than ever to men who have entered parliament solely in conse

quence of the free choice of their constituents, and who have not had any direct connexion with the aristocracy. In fact, there is a clear stage for all; and if there be favour shewn, in the first instance, to some more than to others; if the habit of associating in private life breeds in some cases a natural preference, or a previous reputation acquired at the bar, on the platform, or in literature, induces flattering expectations; all these predilections vanish when the hour of trial comes; and homage is paid to talent wherever it exists, or of whatever order it may be, without reference to either personal likings, political feeling, or party connexions.

It is at once interesting and encouraging to witness their reception of a maiden effort. One is not prepared to meet with so much liberality of sentiment, so much delicacy and consideration, in a body of men so miscellaneous in composition. Even the most practised speakers at the bar or at the hustings shrink with a vague undefined dread from the idea of exhibiting their powers before a critical tribunal of such traditional authority. Yet, formidable as the trial appears to those most entitled to expect success, and appalling to the wholly uninitiated, they would be inclined to smile at their own apprehensions, did they know beforehand how very little will serve to propitiate the good-will, in the first instance, of the House of ComIndeed, the less has been expected, the more ready is the approbation afforded to the slightest evidence of talent. It is generally whispered about, at the clubs or elsewhere, that Mr. the new

mons.

member for such a place, intends to take part in the debate that night, and a respectable, often a very numerous audience, is to be depended

upon, an audience, the greater portion of whom have a lively remembrance of the day when they were themselves in the awful position of the new speaker, and who experience, therefore, a degree of sympathy for him different from ordinary curiosity. Ready as they are to pounce upon the slightest blunder of a practised speaker, or to assail with boisterous ridicule some hardened offender, such as the Sibthorps and the Bowrings, the hesitating, trembling orator, who is now stumbling through his maiden effort, must be, indeed, very far below par, if even his blunders be not received with a kind and charitable encouragement. His hearers watch with an amiable alacrity for the slightest symptom of originality, or of what may in time develope into debating skill, and never fail to hail the nascent germ of eloquence with approving cheers. If the new speaker, as in the case of Mr. Macarthy or Mr. Seymer last session, really delivers himself of a stirring and powerful address, their enthusiasm knows no bounds.

Com

pliments pour in on the happy orator from all sides, and he is overwhelmed with congratulations on his success, even from those on whom that success may have been the means of inflicting a severe blow.

To no class of members is this courteous indulgence extended with more alacrity than to those who are known to belong to the bar. Their choice of that profession is taken as a sort of guarantee that they have considered the difficulties of public speaking; and the training which a barrister receives before he can qualify himself to practise, is likely to make a first attempt more successful than in the case of a mere amateur speaker. But there is another reason why lawyers, on their first entrance into the House, are regarded with special interest. In these days of facile official promotion; when persevering mediocrity so often reaps the honours which at one time could only be attained by men profoundly versed in the law, or who possessed a genius for legislation; when it is no uncommon thing to see the most shallow of nisi-prius lawyers, without parliamentary talents or weight in the profession, rising only because Government abhors a vacuum, to fill the

post of highest law adviser to the crown; when ministers, of whatever party, have looked around them for persons fitted to fill vacancies caused by untoward accidents, and at last, in despair, have been compelled to appoint, on the mere principle of rotation, those whom, in their consciences, they know to be all but unqualified;-in such a dearth of forensic eminence, it is not surprising that every fresh arrival in the House from the courts of law should be looked upon with a curiosity savouring much of favourable prestige, when it is not known in how brief and insufficient a period that which is now but a speck on the horizon may become a formidable and overshadowing power, by the comparatively unknown advocate being metamorphosed into a solicitor-general.

Of all the lawyers whose first appearance in the House of Commons is within our recollection, we can remember none, with the single exception of Sir William Follett (who at once achieved a signal triumph), to whom so favourable a reception was accorded as that given to Mr. Roebuck. Rumour had heralded his approach. It was said that he had already, in other fields of action, developed oratorical powers of a striking character, and that there was a boldness and vigour in his proceedings which indicated an original turn of mind. It was known, also, that he was the paid parliamentary advocate of the Legislative Assembly of Lower Canada; and it was inferred that his appointment to such a post was of itself a guarantee of some intellectual distinction. When Mr. Rocbuck made his appearance in the House it was scen from his aspect that he was a man possessing no ordinary mental power, although Nature had not been to him as liberal as to others in the gift of those personal advantages which are so great a help to the orator. The ardour, and, at the same time, the ease with which he plunged into the political disputes of the hour, shewed him to be of a bold nature, and not to be daunted by the novelty of his position, or that paralysing modesty of nature which makes men, even of a high order of mind, the slaves of conventionalities. The consequence was, that in a very brief space

of time, Mr. Roebuck acquired considerable notoriety, and no small amount of favour in the House; and although, as we shall presently see, there was much in both his words and his actions to draw down reprehension, still the mental vigour and determination of purpose displayed in his speeches, procured for him that amount of attention, and even of deference, which tact might, in the course of time, have fostered into permanent influence. It is true, he was feared more than he was liked; but to make yourself feared is to gain a strong position in a popular assembly. We are now speaking of the years 1833 and 1834; and we do not hesitate to say that at the close of the latter year, when Mr. Roebuck had been scarcely two sessions in parliament, he had already laid the foundation of a future reputation which might long before the present time have enabled him, through the usual channels of honourable promotion, at once to have served his country, which his talents would have qualified him to do, and to have advanced his own interests, for which his political position was at that time singularly favourable. But, by a stange fatality or infatuation, for which we must endeavour to account, he has wilfully thrown away all that position, and all that growing influence, until, from having been one of the remarkable and rising men in the state, he has dwindled down into a mere excrescence of the Liberal party, his weight in the House yearly decreasing in proportion to his despairing efforts to add to it. Brought into a position of influence by his talents, he has destroyed its advantages by his intemperance and want of tact. Self-raised, he is also self-destroyed. Let us look a little into his public life, that we may the better understand this wanton eccentricity in his personal character.

When, in the year 1827-28, the House of Assembly of Lower Canada determined on having an agent to represent their interests in England, Mr. Roebuck, who had already drawn favourable notice on himself, and who was, moreover, a connexion of Papineau, was selected as the most fit person to fill the newly-constituted office. It would have been difficult to provide a young man with a more

advantageous passport into the political world. It was a lever which, with skill, might be made a powerful auxiliary in clearing the pathway to power, for it supplied at the same time an honourable position and pecuniary means; but it was not in itself sufficient to establish its owner - much more must depend upon his own tact than on the weapon he used. Of an ardent temperament and an ambitious disposition, possibly, too, with an exaggerated opinion of his own powers, Mr. Roebuck sought to obtain entrance into the House of Commons; where alone his forensic functions, combined with his representative character, could be of permanent use either to himself or to his clients. In the torrent of popular feeling let loose by the Reform movement of the Whigs, an opportunity was found of accomplishing this object so much desired, and, at the same time with many other men professing extreme Radical opinions, he was borne into parliament. In 1832 he was returned for Bath, and, on the opening of the session of 1833, he made his first speech in the House of Commons. We should not be disposed to refer to this maiden effort, were it not that it was in every respect so characteristic of the man who made it, containing as it did the germ of his future parliamentary proceedings. As a mere piece of declamation, it was singularly successful. It is seldom, indeed, that a first attempt, in any assembly, possesses the vigour and force which marked the speech. It was seen at once, as well from the thoughts and language, as from the stern manners and abrupt delivery of the speaker, that a new element was to be introduced into parliamentary discussion; that strong language, plain speaking, and downright hard hitting, were thenceforth to take the place of those oily courtesies and ingenious circumlocutory modes of offence and defence in which legislatorial spleen had hitherto indulged. It was evident, too, that the new member had very great confidence in himself; that whatever might be the extent of his powers, he, at least, would not let them rust for want of being tried. There was an air of arrogance and self-sufficiency which would have been easily mistaken for an exag