cient halls; perhaps the girl's sweet voice, which might be heard singing up and down the gloomy corridors from morning till night, served to exorcise them, or the living sunshine of her presence banished every darker superstition. Nor were they so lonely then, for the youthful and the noble came to stay there for weeks together; at which times they danced every night in the old banqueting-hall until the faded banners seemed to catch the contagion of their wild mirth, and swayed to and fro with a quick, restless motion. It was on one of these occasions that Helen's long hair, escaping from its fastenings, swept the marble floor as she whirled round and round in the gay waltz, and then, stopping all of a sudden and colouring to the very tips of her little slender fingers, took as long again in her agitation as there was any need to wind it up, while her partner's whispered praises only served to increase her embarrassment.

Helen knew that she had beautiful hair, she had been told of it a thousand times; but it was something quite strange to hear that she herself was also beautiful-at least in his eyes, who poured forth all this sweet flattery, and if so she cared for no other admiration in all the world. But she would not tell him this; but only laughed and shook her head, declaring that she did not believe one word of all those pretty speechesbut her blushes betrayed her.

was

The following morning the young Count de V- called to ask her of her mother for his bride; and the news soon spread over the country that the gentle Helen Wengaged to be married to him in the spring, after which event they were still to reside, for the present at least, at the old hall; which was good tidings for the poor, who loved her dearly, and would have been sorry indeed to have lost their kind benefactress.

Helen never danced so much after this, but loved better to sit apart, but not alone, in the deep recess of the old-fashioned window. Some of her young companions used to wonder among themselves what they could find to talk about night after night, but grew wiser perhaps before long. Not only the Count, who

might be supposed to be somewhat prejudiced by his affection, or the fond and happy mother, but even the very domestics, noticed the striking improvement in Helen's personal appearance-she really was growing beautiful! There was a bright colour upon her fair cheek, a light on her tranquil brow and in those meek, loving eyes, inexpressibly touching.

A few weeks before the wedding was appointed to take place, the Count de V had occasion to go up to London on business of importance, which was not, however, expected to detain him above a day or two; but lovers' partings are always solemn things. For the first time, the timid Helen not only suffered but returned his embrace, clinging to him with a sad, foreboding tenderness. And when he would have quitted her at length, she called him back once more to her side, as if she could not bear the thought of their separation, even for so short a time.

"Why, I scarcely know what to make of you, my little Helen!" said her lover. "Your cheeks are burning, and yet your hands feel as cold

as ice!"

"Yes, I am silly to agitate myself in this manner when you will be back again so soon. There, go now, and God bless you!"

That night the girl was in a high fever, caught, it seems, at a neighbouring cottage, where she had been to visit a poor sick child.

"Mother," said she, in the intervals of her delirium, "I am glad that Henri is not here; he would have been so grieved at my illness, and I shall be well again by the time he comes back."

"I hope so, dearest!" And Mrs. W- likewise thought that it was best he should be absent, since his presence could not do any good. Like Helen, she had no fear. But, meanwhile, the fever increased in violence, and the physician himself evidently grew anxious as to its re

sults.

"Mother," said the invalid again, as she heard them talking together around her bed, "whatever happens, do not let them cut off my hair? He would be so sorry!"

"But still more so to lose you, my precious child!"

"Ah! has it come to that? Take it, then, and God's will be done!"

Mrs. W cut off all Helen's beautiful tresses with her own hands, for she knew her life was at stake; and now that the invalid felt it also, she never moaned or shrank back, for life was very dear to her. And then, gathering it together, the fond mother put it carefully aside, with many tears. Helen could not weep; her eyes were dry and burning, her temples throbbed strangely. A few hours afterwards she beckoned to her mother, and asked her to send for Henri, which was immediately done; but it was all over when he came back, and he had only to follow his young betrothed to her early grave.

Soon after this the Count de Vwent abroad, and the poor bereaved mother was left alone, with nothing but that sweet hair-love to console her.

We can remember a girl at school who kept the hair of all her young companions and friends, braided in neat little braids, with the initials of the original possessors attached to each, and had already accumulated quite a store of these treasures, to which she was continually adding ; for Catherine was possessed of one of those happy and affectionate disposi tions that seem to love every thing and every body that comes in its way. She was, perhaps, somewhat too visionary and romantic for this cold and every-day world; but that was far from being a fault in our eyes then-or now, for the matter of that; only that we pity where we used to sympathise. "Alas for those of the passionate feeling and the dreaming hope!" Meeting her some time afterwards in society, we inquired concerning these school-day treasures. Catherine laughed.

"Ah!" said she, "I have burnt them all long ago. "What was the use of keeping such silly things?"

"So it is," as poor L. E. L. saysand no writer was ever better skilled in the hidden revealings of the human heart, except that they bore, in general, too much the sombre hue of her own sad and prophetic spirit"So it is. What changes are wrought in a few passing years! How do we

grow cold, indifferent, and incredulous, we who were so affectionate, so eager, so confiding! We set out in life with believing too much, and end in believing too little."

Leigh Hunt mentions some one who, as he writes, "in pure classic taste and graceful tenderness, kept the hair of a deceased friend in two marble vases." But to us there scems something cold and overdrawn in this exquisite refinement of sensibility, and we infinitely prefer the poor old country-woman's glassbottle!

We were told the other day of a little school-child who cried bitterly upon being shewn the hair of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, queen of France, which is said to have turned as white as snow in one single night of terror. She had heard and read of this many and many a time without thinking much about it, but that was very different to the real sight of that silvery tress, "bleached by sorrow."

"Which would you rather have?" asked her mother," the hair, or the ring?" The latter was of massive gold, and sparkling with gems; but the veneration in that child's heart was brighter still.

"The hair, to be sure, mamma!"

Oh, yes, hair is more precious than jewels a thousand times, especially when it is that of the loved or dead! We smile to receive the one; the other makes us weep and tremble in the midst of our deep happiness. The former is displayed with pride; the latter, hidden in tenderness. Hair-love is the secret dream of a fond heart; at once a poetry and a reality! A luxury to the happya consolation to the afflicted-a blessing to the bereaved! A lock of hair, as it has been powerfully expressed, "is an actual relic of the dead; as much so in its proportion as ashes, and more lively and recalling.” Now, half caressingly, it twines its long silken folds round our fingers with a living fondness--or we fancy it; while our breath stirs its thin threads until it moves and speaks with the sweet, still voice of an undying memory! Verily, we have a gentle faith in hair-love!

"IN republics," said Dr. Johnson, "there is no respect for authority, but there is a fear of power;" a remark which puts in a strong light the natural insubordination and disorganisation engendered in all societies where it is attempted to enforce an unnatural equality. In the House of Commons, which is as nearly as possible the perfect model of a wellregulated popular assembly, the reverse of the doctor's aphorism is exemplified. There we behold certainly no fear of power, but at the same time there is exhibited an unequivocal respect for authority. So little, indeed, do the representatives of the English people betray that levelling spirit which seeks to bring down to one low standard all social and even intellectual superiority, that they really go out of their way to pay respect to authority wherever it can be found; and the authority which they acknowledge with the most alacrity is not that which is created by the breath of the sovereign, but that which is generated by the involuntary homage of mind to mind. Some individuals there are who strive hard to rebel against this generally acknowledged sovereignty,-who estimate any one unit out of the 656 members of the House as being equal to any other unit; and who would allow no experience, no consideration of the relative importance of the constituency by whom the individual member has been delegated, to weigh with them in inducing respect for one more than for another. But

these are rare exceptions to the general rule prevailing in the House, in innumerable instances where there has been spontaneous recognition of superior talents, or of more extensive acquaintance with particular subjects.

Another custom of the IIouse of Commons is to acknowledge certain

VOL. XXXIV. NO. CCIV.

members as being the representatives and organs of the opinions of particular classes in the country. Those members have originally become entitled to this preference by reason of the confidence publicly reposed in them by those sections of the community. But as there are often several men equally trusted by each section, the House exercises a right of choice or selection, and by a sort of tacit understanding some one individual is chosen from the rest and recognised as leader,—on account, perhaps, of his possessing greater parliamentary talents than the others, or from his being a more temperate and practical man, one more easily dealt with, and whose judgment and steadfastness to his purposes can be more relied on. This arrangement, originally suggested by considerations of the public convenience, has become more and more necessary as the representative principle has been more extensively and practically carried out in the House of Commons. With the multitude of clashing class interests now represented there, the debates would present a chaos of conflicting opinions if some such arrangement as this were not adopted, if each earnest and honest, or zealous and unscrupulous advocate of the mercantile, or of the agricultural, or the shipping, or the monied interest, or of the numerous subdivisions of the higher and middle classes, were to be allowed to urge his own projects, or take his own course, regardless of the countermovements of others equally entitled with himself,-if, in fact, there were none of that subordination and mutual concession which experience teaches us are absolutely necessary to the effectual conducting of public affairs. The chief statesmen of the day find their advantage from this custom equally with the House of

U U

Commons. What the latter gain in simplicity of organisation, and in the good order of their debates, the former obtain in rapidity and precision of political combination, and the ready application of a certain test by which they can determine what will be the probable fate of any scheme of policy they may meditate proposing to the House of Commons. Without being delegates-for they claim and exercise an independence of judgmentthese leading members have such an identity of feeling with the classes which they severally represent, that they can almost at a glance determine whether a proposed measure will meet with their approbation; and in extreme cases, where they may not choose to take on themselves the responsibility of a decision, they have the means of immediately communicating with these their constituents in an extended sense of the term, and of ascertaining their sentiments. Thus, a minister, proposing a new political scheme, has within his grasp a sort of synopsis of public opinion; and its indications frequently lead to

the abandonment of measures which are found to be unpalatable. On the first night of a new proposition, these leading men will be found almost invariably expressing their opinions upon it, and those opinions are looked for with great anxiety by the public, as indicative of its ultimate fate.

One of the most distinguished and respected of these beacons of opinion is Sir Robert Inglis, the member for the University of Oxford. For nearly twenty years he has been the representative of the University of Oxford, and in that capacity has been recognised as the parliamentary organ of a large and most influential portion of the Church of England. Indeed, when we reflect upon the extent of his influence, and the respectability of his credentials, we are almost tempted to overlook some gentlemen who profess to represent the interests of certain new thinkers on doctrine and discipline, and at once to proclaim him the political champion of the civil interests of the Church. As will presently be shewn, he has strong personal claims on the respect of the House of Commons; but, undoubtedly, the great weight he possesses is mainly to be attributed to the highly

honourable position he holds in connexion with the Church. We have already said that nearly twenty years have elapsed since Sir Robert Inglis was first formally recognised in this exalted capacity, when he was sent to parliament by the University of Oxford. The circumstances under which that election took place contributed to attach a more than ordinary éclat to Sir Robert Inglis at the time. For some few years before, he had been in parliament representing nomination boroughs; but he had attracted much attention during that brief period. The debates on the Catholic question brought him into great prominency in the House of Commons, and supplied a test of the unswerving steadiness of his attachment to the national religion. The decided and earnest opposition which he gave on all occasions to the scheme of Emancipation endeared him to those who, like himself, believed it to be fraught with danger to the Established Church. The eyes of all the opponents of that proposition were fixed upon him, as being, if not the most eloquent and prominent, at least one of the most sincere of that great parliamentary phalanx, at the head of which Sir Robert Peel so long and so successfully opposed the aggressive efforts of the Roman Catholic advocates. When Sir Robert Peel, at last, suddenly resolved to abandon the cause to which so much of his public life had been devoted, it is almost needless to say he resigned his seat as the representative for Oxford University. It was now that the parliamentary services of Sir Robert Inglis were remembered,-not more, however, than his high reputation for classical attainments, his staunch devotion to the interests of the Establishment, and his exalted character; in which an exemplary piety was not obscured by an extensive knowledge of the world, an ability to cope with worldly men, a sound judgment, and an intimate acquaintance with political affairs. The University of Oxford rejected Sir Robert Peel and chose Sir Robert Inglis, in whom, from that hour, they reposed a confidence which has never been abused. He has served them, and that preponderating influence in the Church which they may be said to represent, with an unshaken fidelity and an

unfailing zeal, tempered by rare tact and judgment; and at the present moment, whatever may be the vague hopes of some, who would fain shew a political strength which, in fact, they do not possess, he is as firmly fixed in his seat as representative of Oxford as he was when first triumphantly returned in the year 1828.

Amidst the universal wreck of parties, Sir Robert Inglis has stood firm as a rock; although almost all around him, even the most distinguished and respected men in parliament, have, with an unblushing effrontery, broken their pledges and changed their opinions, he has been almost alone in an upright adherence to his principles. Where consistency is so rare, to have preserved it becomes by comparison an exalted political virtue. For the man who, amidst change and temptation on all sides, steadily pursues what he believes to be the right course, a deep respect is felt, even by those who are the most opposed to the opinions he so cherishes. This is the case of Sir Robert Inglis, who commands more unaffected admiration and confidence, even from the Dissenters in parlialiament, and those who are indifferent to questions affecting the Church, than any other public man of the day. But it is not mere consistency that gives him this influence. It is not alone that he has been for so many years the champion and advocate of the Church it is also the character of his championship and his advocacy. Earnestness and sincerity will always command involuntary respect. But when they are aided and enforced by superior intellectual powers, they carry an influence of a much higher order, and much more general application. Sir Robert Inglis, by displaying on all occasions such powers of mind, has secured the utmost weight that can attach in a popular assembly to the advocate of opinions and interests which are supposed to be not those of the general mass of the people. For, rightly or wrongly, such has been the effect of the persevering enmity of the open and still more of the insidious opponents of the Church, that, as an institution, it is looked upon by a large portion of the public as being inimical to their religious rights as well as their civil interests.

It required no ordinary combination of qualities to combat and conquer prejudices of this description without compromising fundamental principles. The subject is one, unfortunately, proverbial for the fierce hatreds it engenders whenever it is mooted. The most sacred objects, the most benevolent intentions, the purest views, are alike liable to misinterpretation when religion is the theme; and he must, indeed, be a miracle of judgment and goodness of nature who could, during so many years, have filled the perilous post of Defender of an institution exposed to so many enemies, traitors within and assailants from without, and yet have preserved the respect of all, in spite of exasperations which other advocates, if they do not provoke, yet find themselves unable to avoid. Occasionally, we have heard Sir Robert Inglis charged with bigotry. This can only have been the random suggestion of sectarian hatred. No one who knows Sir Robert, or has watched his public life, would countenance such an imputation. A sincere and zealous champion he is of the institutions which he believes to be necessary to the country's welfare, and, above all, of the Church, as being the great standard round which all the others rally. His determination to resist encroachment makes him watchful of even the slightest and most insidious approach of an enemy. Knowing as he does how an adverse principle may be insinuated into legislation, without any open, tangible attempts at the subversion of what exists, he will exhibit, in resistance to such attempts, the same earnestness, zeal, and ardour, that he would display if a bold and organised attack were made upon the whole integrity of the institution. Hence it has been supposed that he was prone to exaggerate and magnify the trivial parts of the great system he was called upon to defend, insensible to its larger and wider scope. But this tenacity in what, superficially regarded, may be considered as trifles, is, in fact, a wise precaution, which postpones at least, if it does not ultimately prevent, more serious struggles directly affecting the very existence of the Establishment. It is adopted and persevered in, not from a love of disputation or any desire to