but a few withered leaves blown hither and thither supposed the prince to be dead; at length, howby the wind. The sun shone faintly on the ever, he revived, though not to the same life he dusky walls, and a faintness came over him as had lived before. The whole economy of his the sense of absolute silence and stillness fell thoughts and the constitution of his mind were upon his heart. He had no books from which he changed. He uttered no lamentations or threats, might have sought some relief; his chamber was but one fixed purpose seemed to have taken bare, containing nothing save an iron bedstead possession of his soul - life and death appeared and a wooden seat, on which from time to time to have become indifferent to him. He refused he threw himself in despair. The hours wore to utter one single syllable when an officer entered away, the shades of evening came on, and by to interrogate him, and the food which they at degrees thickened into absolute darkness, and length bethought them of offering to him, he moyet no attendant appeared either to bring him tioned away with a wave of the hand. Like his light or a morsel of bread. Being of a feeble sister, he found relief in sickness, and the death constitution, this long abstinence affected him so with which his father had threatened him apmuch that in the course of the night he fainted peared for many days to be coming of its own on his bed, and remained plunged in a sort of accord. stupor till morning. In due time Frederic recovered, and in the course of years he became king of Prussia. He then remembered the murderers of Kat. The chief murderer was, he knew, beyond his reach; and so, when he came to make inquiries, were the others, for, bearing in mind that he possessed a memory, they had vanished from the kingdom of Prussia, and sought refuge in other parts of Germany. Wilhelmina, whom, to the latest hour of his life, he loved tenderly, never forgot her attachment for Kat, and in the midst of war and political excitement, and the cravings of literary and philosophical ambition, Frederic often de voted whole hours to conversation with her. They then recalled the happy days they spent together with this only friend, whose memory they both cherished to the last. If it was Kat's ambition, therefore, to be loved, he succeeded, since he left in the minds of the two individuals he valued most, the deepest possible remembrance of his unexampled affection and fidelity.

When he came to himself, his mind was in a state of indescribable depression; stillness and silence continued to prevail throughout the fortress, where nothing but himself seemed to be endowed with life. Long he lay motionless on his hard pallet; but his feelings growing more and more painful every moment, he sprang on his fect and approached the window. Did his eyes deceive him, or was he plunged in some horrible dream? Concentrating all his soul in the sense of sight, he looked forth into the court with frantic terror. Darkness pervaded earth and air; yet through the gloom he could discern one object but too distinctly: it was the body of his gallant and intrepid friend dangling from a low gallows, which had been erected during the night, exactly opposite his window! He fell senseless on the floor, where he was found some hours afterwards by a common soldier, who, it is said, without orders, had sought the apartment out of pure compassion. For some time he'

CHAPTER XI.

ANOTHER OFFER OF MARRIAGE.

coronets, are the counters.

Could it be

provincial collector of Excise!
that he meant to suggest the preposterous idea
himself that he imagined such a consummation
to be actually one of the possibilities of life?
of his noble generosity, of his grand aspirations
Was it the object of his high-wrought sentiments,

from his moral elevation if he thought of her?
- to make it appear that it would be a descent
Was this the mark of his tireless industry, of his
sacrifice of self, of his brave devotion? And

did he even fancy, that while listening to his kindling words, and following the flashes of his pen, she felt the poetical contour of his head, the thick but feathery brown hair he shook from his proud brow, the soft deep light of his calm eyes, the stern horizontal line of his lips, contrasting with their more than womanly sweetness of form, as aids to the fascination? Insolent young man!

LOVE! What an absurd idea! fit enough, perhaps, to inspire the dreams of a young painter, or warm the style of a young author-rich enough for the prize of bucolical singers or contending grisettes, but of no account in the great game of life, where rank and power, fortunes and She in love? - how supremely ridiculous! Even if the object of her passion were a duke, would, for instance, that strawberry-leaf she once coveted have come all but within her grasp, if the weakness had been in the way to prevent her from playing her hand with address? But the young man had talked of love as if it had the power to level rank, to bring down the proud to the humble, the lofty to the lowly. What if she loved an inferior in station? What if she loved him-even that Claudia, having thus amused her imagination, promising unknown, whose pencil etherealized as ladies will sometimes do, dismissed the dream fat vulgarity, and whose anonymous pen she had with contempt. She grew a full inch taller; heard described as combining the elegance of she inflated her exquisite chest; and her lustrous Addison, the simplicity of Goldsmith, and the eyes lightened over her still features, as if they energy of Junius? Why, she might hope, in wanted no extraneous aid, but were able of process of time, by exercising due influence over her father-she, Claudia Falcontowerside into the wife of a government clerk, or a!

to sub

themselves

To make a sunshine in the shady place.

"And now?

"It is a fine pieture," said Robert; but I would that either the face or the gown were out of it. The one is ideal and antique; the other is from the workroom of a fashionable milliner. It is, in fact, a classical statue painted, to which not Phidias himself could reconcile me."

Do you not think the face beautiful?"

"As beautiful as that of a Greek goddess; but with the satin gown trimmed with lace, we want a woman. A woman is compounded of soul and sense: wanting either, she is an imperfect being. In this face, the connection with the

But Robert still continued to work, to reason, to control, and Claudia to look, to suggest, to listen, to submit. They were indeed a curious pair -so like in their nature, so unlike in their character. They resembled a couple of parallel lines projected side by side, yet their meeting a mathematical impossibility. It may be conjectured that novelty had a great deal to do with Claudia's apparent humility. To her, it was a new sensation to feel and acknowledge superiority, for even her father's supremacy had not lasted beyond her early girlhood; and in later years, armed as she was with the prestige of rank, beauty, and talent, the whole world seemed to bow be-earth is wanting. There is in it no memory, no fore her, either in the superstition or the hypocrisy of conventional life. Perhaps the new feeling was a chance stumble upon natural feeling. Perhaps it is woman's position on the earth, as the Oriental apothegm asserts, to look up to somebody; and Claudia was obeying, after a fashion, the destiny of her sex without knowing it. However this may be, she never for a moment confounded the social with the intellectual man: it was very well for Robert to shake his ambrosial curls in the study-in the street, or the drawing-room, he might as well have shaken a scratch-wig.

regret, no love, no hope, no joy; nothing but the passionless, the divine repose, which can be fitly expressed only in marble. Did it never strike you that the greatest charm of a woman is her imperfection? - is the struggle of a brave but fragile creature with the destiny that enthrals her? When the struggle is over, our sympathy ends, for she is no longer a woman, but a disembodied idea."

"You are right," said Claudia, "that is a painted marble! But I fear it is late- what is the hour?"

"You forget that I have no watch," replied In these times, our adventurer was not invited, Robert, quietly. Claudia colored-a rare pheas formerly, to any of the public hospitalities of nomenon with her; and when Adolphus pulled the family. He often breakfasted, lunched, dined, hastily out, by its rich gold chain, a costly rewith the father and daughter; he came, in fact, peater, she flashed a look of contempt at the to be treated, in many respects, like an inmate vulgar meanness. Seacole did not observe this, of the house, but he was not presented in com- for his eye was at the moment on the dial-plate; pany, nor did he receive a single introduction. but seeing that she was about to go, he stepped This sometimes struck him as a curious circum-forward with the intention of offering his escort stance. He wondered whether they did not give to the carriage. Claudia, however, by a look, parties like other people in their station, and he and a scarcely perceptible movement which never wondered, more than all, whether Claudia did not failed in their effect, made him pause; and then join abroad in the gaieties of the London sea- taking Robert's arm, she bowed good-morning, son. But the house told no tales; it was never and moved away. out of its way, that house; and Claudia, in the domesticity of her habits, resembled a spirit, which, it is well known, always haunts a particular locality, such as a ruin, a church, or a closet, is never seen anywhere else, and is unchangeably the same in aspect and appearance.

Adolphus stared after them with a look that would have stabbed if it had been able; but astonishment was as well marked in his expression as rage. Was this the Philippi to which he had been dared by the vagrant of Wearyfoot Common? He pondered over the text till he This being the case, it may be supposed that was almost mad; and he now saw clearly what he was agreeably surprised one day while wan- he had only half suspected before, that it was to dering through the rooms of the Royal Aca- the same sinister influence he had owed his igdemy, to encounter her. She was with a lady nominious rejection by Sara. But the battle is and gentleman an elderly couple, and the not yet fought, thought he, grinding his teeth. group had just been joined by another gentle- Miss Falcontower is in a very different position man, when Robert went up frankly to Miss Fal- from Miss Semple: she may patronize him as contower, and was as frankly received. That one of the clever people, but as for anything other gentleman appeared to be more than sur-more, the absurdity of the idea is too monstrous. prised he was obviously struck with astonish- He, however, there is no doubt, will be burned ment, and a nervous flush rose into his face as to death in the blaze of her eyes, and Sara will he saw the young lady actually put her hand into that of the waif of Wearyfoot Common.

"You are just come in time, Mr. Oaklands," said Claudia, "to tell us what you think of that lovely portrait. It absolutely comes up to my ideal of female beauty." The critic looked at it for half a minute without replying.

"What is your opinion, Mr. Seacole?" said the young lady impatiently.

"It is exquisite-admirable! It is a thing to haunt the dreams both of day and night. I never saw a face-but one to equal it."

DXXVIIL

LIVING AGE. VOL. VI. 8

be punished for her insolence to me in the punishment of the audacious beggar's falsehood to herself. Comforting himself with this picture, more vivid than any that hung on the walls, and perhaps more ingenious in the composition, he strode through the now crowded rooms, and hastened to relate what he had seen to his adviser Fancourt.

When Claudia reached home, she found a messenger from Mrs. Seacole in the ball, with a note for her that required an answer; and being too much fatigued to write, she desired the man

to be sent up to the drawing-room, where she was Cape Madeera the whole time. There was would give him a verbal message. On reading treatment for a gentleman, wasn't it? But the the note, however, she saw that although only beer at the Chequers I can undertake to say is on one of the ordinary subjects that engage the slap-up." attention of ladies, it would be proper for her to reply in writing, more especially as she had found Mrs. Seacole a very agreeable acquaintance. The Mercury was therefore left for some time alone, just within the doors of the drawing-honor."

room.

He was a tall, angular man, of a grave and meditative aspect; and when the door shut behind him, he drew himself up as stiff as a footman's cane, and as dignified-looking, and stood examining the details of the scene, with obvious discrimination, turning his eyes slowly in all directions, but without moving his head. His attention was at length specially arrested by a particular object on a table before him, and he continued to gaze on it with an expression of profound meditation. When his reflections, so far, were properly digested, he moved to one side, slowly and noiselessly, to contemplate, from another point of view, what had attracted him. Even the object itself seemed to sympathize with the interest he betrayed; for the eyes-it was a small portrait-followed him step by step, and kept steadily fixed on him, while he remained plunged in a new abyss of thought. When he got out of this, he moved in the same way to the opposite side, followed by the unwinking eyes, and meditated again. He then glided round to the back, and directing his gaze to the canvas, studied it with an absorbed scrutiny that might huve ascertained the number of threads. Finally he came round again to the front, put his eyes close to the picture, touched the plump nose with his finger, apparently to make sure that it was a thing of reality, and then resuming his place near the door, remained lost in an unfathomable reverie. From this he was roused, after a time, by the lady's maid, who came in, put a note into his hand, opened the door for him, and when he had gone out mechanically, shut it briskly after him.

Stepping solemnly down the marble stair, and along the tessellated hall, where the fat porter was asleep in his chair of state, he found the door ajar, and went out. A well-powdered footman, in livery, without his hat, was taking the air on the steps, and to him the retiring Mercury addressed himself.

"Sir, I am obliged to you; and I admire your sentiments. Allow me to say that my name is Mr. Poringer."

"And mine is Mr. Slopper: proud of the

"Have a drain at my expense, Mr. Slopper?" "I am obleeged, Mr. Poringer; but I am just going out to take an airing with our Miss. Some night we'll meet at the Chequers."

And so we will, and some night soon; for I have not been able to find no parlor in London that ain't infested with the lower classes. But, my dear sir, talking of parlors, while I was in your drawing-room just now, I saw a portrait as like a lady of my acquaintance as if she had sat to be taken off and how that can be, or how her picture comes to be there, I can't make out. It's on a table not far from the door."

"Oh, I remember-that's a good thing-& very good thing. I join my governor in opinion there, although I don't generally in matters of good. Would you believe it? he prefers an old, fusty, cracked picture to one new out of the shop!"

"Do you know the lady's name?"

"No, I don't; but she is a fine woman, to my taste, although, no doubt, a little passy. The gentleman who took her off is Mr. Oaklands." "The gentleman!"

If

"Yes, he is a gentleman, and no mistake, although I never saw the color of his money. you want to ask him about the lady, his address is in Jermyn Street, at Driftwood's, an individual who does pictures to sell."

"Is he a gentlemau, too?"

"He a gentleman! Why, I have drunk with him! No, no, he is no gentleman. But I hear the carriage coming round-I have the honor

"Excuse my glove;" and Mr. Poringer, hav ing shaken hands with his new friend, raised his hat not to the individual man, but to Flunkeydom represented in his person—and went on his way.

Mr. Poringer found no difficulty in obtaining Mrs. Margery's address from the artist; but Drift wood was more chary in his communications respecting Robert. He believed, in fact, that our May I take the liberty, sir," said he, "of re-adventurer was still busy with the cabinet-makquesting to know whether there is a parlor in ing, and he considered that to be too mechanical this neighborhood? I mean respectable-where an employment to be openly boasted of. The the lower classes is not admitted. I am parti-mysterious hints of Mrs. Margery had taken efcular on the point, I am." fect, and he really supposed this queer fellow, as "So am I, sir," replied the functionary. "Ihe called him, to be, in a worldly sense of the don't use none that ain't tip-top. There is the word, "nobler than his fortune." Robert had Chequers, not far round yonder corner; I call been warned against making public the nature that a respectable parlor, and I know what par- of his present employment, and, independently lors is." of the warning, he had no wish to do so. He was no richer than before, and he did not feel at all so much self-satisfaction. It seemed to him "Just so with me. Indeed, I generally take that his work, although fit enough for an ama beer, when it ain't a go of brandy. I was drove teur, was no legitimate trade; and the small stito this. When I lived along with Lord Skemp pend he accepted, although put on a footing the in Belgravia, it was all sherry and water with most soothing to his feelings, fretted him a good me for two year, till I found out that the sherry|deal. Still, matters appeared to go on swim

"And the beer? I own I like it good when it is beer."

'Why that that Boy him as found me on the Common, and wouldn't be lost in the Gravel Pits, and was sent away at last to forage for hisself.' Mrs. Margery was highly indignant at this description of her fovorite, and gave Mr. Poringer roundly to understand that he did not know who he was a-talking of. Mr. Oaklands

mingly. The accounts he received, from time to time, of the effect of his productions, were very flattering; he obviously became every day of more and more importance to Sir Vivian, who, in his assistance to the government, was now committed to a certain tone and talent; and the allusions of his patron to the future reward of his labors were distinct and unmistak-was an author and an artist, hand-in-glove with able.

baronets, lords, and ladies without number, and That afternoon, while Mrs. Margery and her at this moment anxiously inquired after by a assistant were sipping their five o'clock tea, a family of the first distinction -as her cousin visitor made his appearance, and the whilom Driftwood informed her-a sure sign that the Wearyfoot cook, on seeing a remembrancer of denouement was a-coming out. We may add by the Common, started up and received Mr. Po-way of parenthesis, that Mr. Driftwood might ringer with a warmth of welcome which made have further informed her, if he had been in a that gentleman shrink. It is true, he admired communicative mood, that he had answered Sir Mrs. Margery; he considered that she was a wo- Vivian's questions in a tone of mystery befitting man well to do; and it was his intention that his own ignorance of the subject, and the vague very evening, if everything turned out to his lik- but grand impressions he had received from the ing, to make actual proposals. But he was not hints of Mrs. Margery herself. Mr. Poringer to be hurried for nobody; time enough for that listened to what he heard with profound attention, sort of thing: he must see his way beforehand and equally profound unbelief. He was a sensifrom one end to the other; and, accordingly, he ble man was Mr. Poringer, and had never changed made himself somewhat stiff and awful, yet, in a his opinion that Robert was actually the son of condescending way upon the whole, put away a woman of the name of Sall, and would have his glossy cane in a corner, smoothed the crown been a vagrant at this day-supposing him to of his hat, and laid it upon the top of a chest of have escaped transportation so long-if he himdrawers to be out of the dust; and lifting his self (Mr. Poringer) had not unfortunately interspeckless coat-tails from under him, sat down at fered with the designs of Providence, not knowthe table with his customary gravity and thought-ing what he was about in the mist. fulness. Mrs. Margery had hastily shovelled After tea, he sank into a fit of abstraction that some new material into the tea-pot, and substi- made Mrs. Margery, hospitable as she was, wish tuted the loaf-sugar basin for the soft; and a bell he would go away, and let her mind her business. being heard opportunely in the street, the girl, But by and by, turning to her with a solemnity at a signal from her mistress, had vanished, and that made her feel, as she afterwards said herself, was heard at the door screaming to the muffin-"took all of a heap," he intimated that he had a man: everything betokened a comfortable tea communication for her private ear; whereupon and an amicable chat, and the guest smoothed his meditative brow, and even executed the wiry, angular smile which was his customary manifestation of jolliness.

Try the tea if it is sweet enough,' said Mrs. Margery; and here's some thin bread and but ter till the muffins are warmed; but oh, Mr. Poringer, the milk is nothing like our milk at Wearyfoot! Though it ain't chalk and water, thank goodness, but milked in your own jugs from a real cow, all skin and bones, poor thing, and looks so pitiful while she stands at the doors of the houses, as if she felt it was unnatural, and was ashamed of it. And what are you doing now, Mr. P.? I thought you was at the Hall.'

The Hall's in town for the season, Mrs. Margery, including me and the lady's-maid; nothing is left but the women, and other inferiors.'

And what of Mr. Seacole and our young miss? I have had a long letter from Molly, but not one word of it in ten can anybody make out, and that word is in the Unknown Tongue.'

'My governor is off with Miss Sara, and good reason why, for her fortune turns out to be a mere nothing. He is a-going to be married to the daughter of a baronet and niece of a lord; a great match she is, but not not-not quite so sharp, as it were, as some other ladies is: she never calls me by my name, and I sometimes think she don't know it! By the way, what's come of what's his name?'

'Who?'

she desired Doshy to retire to the wash-house behind, and rinse out them laces, and not have done till she was called. The young woman's name, we may remark for the benefit of provincials, was Theodosia, but most of Doshy's friends would have thought that a nickname.

"Mrs. Margery," said Mr. Poringer, when they were alone, "you have here a comfortable business?"

"Yes, pretty tolerable."

"In the clear-starching line?

"Yes, and the getting up: ladies waited on by horse and cart."

"The good-will cost you a heap of money?" "Yes, a round penny."

"How much?"

"Just as much as it came to, Mr. Poringer." "I ask for information. But the business has increased, for I am told the horse and cart is new: it is, therefore, worth more, and would sell at a profit. Am I right?"

"No doubt you are, Mr. P., but if you want to buy it, it is not to be had, for I ain't tired of it, I assure you."

"But I am!" said Mr. Poringer suddenly, with one of his wiry angular smiles "and I'll tell you why, Mrs. Margery. You see, I am all for the public line. I am cut out for that, I am. Many a friend has said to me, says he, " Mr. P., you are made for the bar;" and, in short, I am determined to have a bar of my own-kept by

Mr. Joshua Poringer, in large gold letters, you | young women, there's more talking and chaffing know, with the mister left out."

than business. And as for the furniture, we 'd.
have an estimate, and see what your means would
say to it. Mine is equal to the stock, for I have
made my calculations already, and penny for
penny is fair play. Not to mention the interest
that gets the house, or the figure of a man I am
for a parlor where the lower classes is not ad-
mitted, or the respectability of the name, in the
largest sized gold letter that is made- Mr.
Joshua Poringer, with the mister left out." Mr.
Poringer's eloquence, however, was thrown away.
And a good deal of it: for he could hardly be
persuaded that Mrs. Margery could intend se-
riously and definitively to decline so eligible an
offer. When the truth broke upon him at last,
he was as wroth as a grave, meditative man
could be, and said so much
- in a quiet way
to the disparagement of Mrs. Margery's person
and business, that that lady, with great dignity,
turned to her work again, and called to her maid
to have done rincing them laces - just to show
Mr. Poringer that his absence would be more
welcome than his company. Whereupon Mr.
Poringer got up, and with as much sobriety of
demeanor as he was accustomed to exhibit when
conscious of being drunk, walked steadily and
noiselessly to the drawers, took down his hat,
brushed it with his arm, drew on his gloves
leisurely, moved his shoulders to settle his coat,
took up his polished cane, and turned for the
last time to Mrs. Margery.

"Mrs. Margery," said Mr Poringer, edging his chair nearer hers, "you don't take me up! You are fit for better things than clear-starching, you are; you are fit to be a lady a landlady!" "Oh, what nonsense," said Mrs. Margery, laughing heartily-"I think I see me!" "You are indeed," said Mr. Poringer earnestly you are, upon my sacred honor! That is, with a silk gown, tidily put on tidily, mind me; your hair dressed and oiled; a clean cap - clean, I say on the back of your head; and a bunch of scarlet ribbons in front of the ears. Carefully made up in this way, you may depend upon it you would look as well almost as well as the landlady of the Chequers! Don't think I am drove to this: I could do better. But I have took it into my head. I took it into my head at the Lodge: I took it into my head as I was a-object?" walking on the Common in the mist, when that Boy found me; and I said to myself, says I, "Mr. P., the Plough is nothing. You shall be a landlord yourself one day- in great gold letters, with the mister left out—and as you will want somebody to furnish the house, and manage the bar, and look to the kitchen, while you are doing business at the brewery and distillery, and sitting in the parlor and being affable to the companyMrs. Margery, who does not leave the house as often as a lobster leaves its shell, Mrs. Margery shall be the landlady!"

"You mean kindly, Mr. Poringer," said Mrs. Margery- "you mean kindly in your own way, and I thank you. But nobody asked me to marry when I was a young, tidy woman. Nobody! - though I feel I should have made a good wife -and oh, so good a mother! -no mother, I am sure, would have doted so on her blessed darlings! But the time has gone by; and when I give Mr. Oaklands his bit nice supper to-night, and see that there is not a pin wrong in his bedroom, I shall thank God for a greater bounty than I deserve."

So that.- that Boy stays with you?" "Only till he gets to his own," said Mrs. Margery who had not meant to be so communica

tive.

"Well, you see, as to your being too old to marry, that's all stuff. I have known many older than you-a deal older. You are a comely woman yet, Mrs. Margery; and if you were not, what is that to you if I look over it? You would be just the thing at the bar, where, with

"Will you please to tell me, ma'am," said he, "Whether it is to me or the business you

"To both!" replied Mrs. Margery, spitting on a smoothing-iron to see whether it was hot enough.

"So much the better for me," rejoined Mr. Poringer; "for a woman that harbors vagrants, found on a common in the mist, and lifted, rags and all, over a gentleman's threshold, by these two fingers and thumb, is not fit to be made a lady of!" and so saying, he walked majestically away. Mrs. Margery smothered her indignation like a queen, till she saw that he had passed the window; and then, laying down the iron, she plumped into a chair, and had it all out in a hearty cry.

On that same evening, the subject of Mr. Poringer's concluding remarks was introduced into a conversation of a very different kind.

"Has Mr. Oaklands," said Sir Vivian Falcontower to his daughter, as they sat alone after dinner, "ever mentioned anything to you respecting his origin or family?"

"Never."

"Has it not seemed odd to you that he makes a mystery of it?"

"He makes no mystery of it-or of anything else. He stated at first, in your own presence, that he was of no family, which means distinctly enough that he was of humble parentage. Since then, he has not mentioned the subject, simply, as it appears to me, because he has nothing interesting to say about it; and it was no business of mine to question him on a matter that could not concern his connection with us."

"It will concern us, however, at the close of