Page images

From The Athenæum.


The Benefit of Christ's Death, probably written by Aonio Paleario. Reprinted in Fac-simile from the Italian Edition of 1543; together with French Translation printed in 1551, from Copies in the Library of St. John's College, Cambridge. To which is added, an English Version made in 1548, by Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire. Now first edited from a MS. preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge, with an Introduction, by Churchill Babington, B.D. Cambridge, Deighton & Co.; London, Bell & Daldy.

[ocr errors]

manners when Mary released him; but he can hardly have been the coarse profligate which some describe him to have been, for he taught himself Italian during his captivity; and when in bonds, in the year 1548, the second year of the reign of Edward the Sixth, he translated this work "into our wulgare tonge," as he says in his touching and manly dedication to the Duchess of Somerset, wife of the Protector. The language and sentiments are not those of the low ruffian which Miss Strickland-with her usual carelessness and ignorance-describes him. Nor were his pursuits those of a ruffian and a debauchee.Strype pourtrays him as "very studious and A good supplementary chapter has yet to be well-learned. He understood mathematics well, added to the Curiosities of Literature; "-one he could paint excellently, he played absolutely that shall contrast the sentiments in anonymous well on musical instruments, he spake Spanish, and posthumous works with the practice of their French, and Italian accurately, and, which was authors. Examples would abound, from writers the crown of all, he was a man of great piety, of very early times down to those of a very recent and placed the chief good in virtue." He was period. Of all anonymous publications, however, indeed more of the scholar than the soldier; and probably none in its day created so wide and rather ingloriously ran away from " the battle of startling a sensation as the one published in Charing Cross," whither he was sent to oppose Italy more than three centuries ago, and entitled the advance of Wyat. Whether he wished for "The Benefit of Christ's Death." It was widely Wyat's success, that he might marry Elizabeth, arculated and eagerly read. But a book, the since he had no chance to marry Mary, is a conclusions of which were like those of Luther, doubtful question,-rendered the more doubtful that men were saved by faith and an imputed by Wyat's confessions and retractations. The righteousness, and that works were the mere evi-permission to travel, given to him by Mary, was dences of faith, very speedily attracted the atten- an honorable banishment; and he was welcomed tion of the authorities. In an incredible short at every Court, till death suddenly "cropped him space of time thousands of copies were destroyed. off at Padua." He died, not without suspicion The Italian version entirely disappeared; and of poison,-as was natural; for there was not Mr. Macaulay, in his review of Ranke's History likely to be safety in Italy for a Catholic nobleof the Popes,' declared that not only had there man who was said to have been affianced to such been, in Italy, an effectual suppression of religious an unsatisfactory Catholic as the Princess Eliza works, which were once to be found in everybeth, and who had translated an essay which was house, but that this one book in particular, Of pronounced to be highly anti-Catholic in sentithe Benefit of the Death of Christ,' written in ment. The full details of the death of this the Tuscan, often reprinted, and eagerly read in twelfth and last Earl of Devonshire-of his every part of Italy, having been found by the family-are still wanting to historical literature. Inquisitors to contain the Lutheran doctrine of It is Courtenay's translation of the Italian verJustification by Faith alone, had been proscribed sion that is given in this volume; and it has the and, he adds, “it is now as hopelessly lost as merit of being rendered from the original, wherethe Second Decade of Livy." Mr. Macaulay as the English translation of 1573, republished wrote thus in 1840, at which time there had been eight years since, was made from a French copy. an Italian copy of the supposed lost work in the library of St. John's College, Cambridge, for nearly a hundred years. It had been presented by Dr. Ferrari, "a tutor in the family of the Earl of Leicester." There was one other copy extant, in the possession of Herr Kopitar, the late Imperial librarian at Vienna. It is now in the library at Laybach.

[ocr errors]

This remarkable treatise has been translated into many languages. Perhaps the most able of the English translations is that by Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire, himself a remarkable man. It was the fact of an Italian treatise advocating the doctrine of Justification by Faith written by a Siennese Catholic of great learning, and translated by such a man as Courtenay, that reminded us of the work composed by Leibnitz: from none of these individuals were such productions by any means to be expected. To speak first of Courtenay. He was that victim of Henry the Eighth's enmity to his murdered father, who was kept prisoner in the Tower from his twelfth to his twenty-sixth year. He was unpolished in

The literary life of the supposed author is soon told. Antonio della Paglia, or Aonio Paleario, was born, about the year 1500, at Veroli, in the Campagna of Rome. He became eminent, both as a cleric and scholar, and enjoyed congenial intercourse with men as learned and eminent as himself. In 1534, he removed from Rome to Sienna, "where he was made public teacher of Greek and Latin, and lecturer on philosophy and belles lettres." His published epistolary correspondence was extensive, but his merit was far above that of a clever letter-writer. Vossius described his Lucretian poem on "The Immor tality of the Soul" as "a divine and immortal composition," and Morhoff pronounced his prose Latin to be equal to anything in Cicero. It must have been during his residence at Sienna that he secretly wrote and anonymously published his treatise on the benefits of Christ's death. At the close of the year 1542, having fallen into disgrace and danger because of his well-known leaning towards the principles of the Reformstion, he delivered an oration before the senators

and ability with which Mr. Babington has per formed his editorial office. Let us add our hope that, as an original work has been discovered which Mr. Macaulay pronounced to be as irrecoverable as the lost Decade of Livy, the like good fortune may happen to the missing historical fragment of the illustrious son of Patavium. There may be something in the old tradition that the long-desired manuscript of the credulous historian lies among dusty records in a mosque

General Survey of the History of the Canon of the New Testament during the first four Centu ries. By Brooke Foss Westcott, M. A., late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.

of Sienna in his own defence. In this speech he refers, in majestic Latin, to a little book in the Tuscan tongue, in which he had explained the benefits derivable from Christ's death, and for which he had been held as worthy of death.He nobly adds, that it is not the time for a Christian to die in his bed. "It is a little matter," he says, "to be accused, to be cast into prison, to be scourged, to be hung from a rope, to be sewn up in a sack, or to be flung to wild beasts. It becomes us to undergo these punish-in old Fez. ments and to suffer in flames at the stake, if by such means the truth can be brought to light."For the details which serve to prove that Pa-4 leario was the author of the treatise, and that Cardinal Pole may probably have had a hand in it, we must refer our readers to the elaborate and interesting Introduction to this volume. By THE object of Mr. Westcott's General Survey whomsoever written, it was most infelicitously is not merely to establish the authenticity of the answered by orthodox clerics, who labored to Canon, or received books of the New Testament, prove that Heaven was justly due to men for by quotations in the Fathers and other writers their good works. Paleario was banished from up to a period when no one will dispute that the Sienna, but he found refuge and employment New Testament was authoritatively received by during ten years at Lucca, where he filled the Christians, but to show its influence upon the office of public orator to the senate. Subsequently character and ideas of the Fathers themselves, as we find him professor of elocution at Milan, well as upon the doctrine and opinions of Chriswhere he was, however, again overtaken by hot tians and Heretics, so far as materials exist for persecution. He sought to escape from this, by the Exhibition. The establishment of the auflight to Bologna, in 1561, but the heavy hand of thenticity of the Canon by quotations from Pius the Fifth fell upon him, and after an im- Christian writers has been done so clearly by Paprisonment of three years, that Pontiff sent the ley's condensation of Lardner in the Evidences, greatest ornament of the Reformed cause in Italy that little remained to be accomplished on that to the gibbet. One of the four grounds of Pa- question. To deduce the Christian and ecclesileario's condemnation to the ignominious death astical character of each Father from his writwas thus stated:"Videbatur attribuere justifi-ings, and to show the influence that the New Tes cationem soli fiducia in divinâ misericordiâ tament exercised upon the Christianity of the remittente peccata per Christum "-"He seemed age, is a newer field, and from the nature of the to attribute justification to reliance alone on the case more difficult of treatment. There is little remission of sins, by divine mercy, through doubt respecting a quotation from Scripture, or Christ." The same doctrine had been held by the sense in which the writer uses it. These Hilary, St. Augustine, and St. Bernard; seven facts being established, there is no doubt that of the most eminent of the theologians at the the book quoted by a Father was in existCouncil of Trent had also declared that faith alone was the basis of justification, ascribing the latter to the merits of Christ; and many a living Cardinal, like Contarini, also believed in this Lutheran doctrine, but they had not published their belief, or sought to bring others over to it, as Paleario had done: and for doing which he encountered the death, which he feared not at all If thereby truth might live.

ence when he wrote, and that in the writer's mind the book was of religious authority. The cumulative evidence derived from successive quotations by successive writers in successive ages has a striking, curious, logical kind of interest, and was prevented from becoming te dious by the extraordinary art and power of Paley. To deduce the character of a man or the opinions of the age from the general tenor of They who love Italian literature will find a book, does not admit of such positive conclu pleasure in perusing this treatise in the original, sion, and is a more difficult task; while the effect simply as a literary luxury. Apart from what upon the reader is different, because he has it teaches, there is music in the sound of its mainly opinions instead of facts. This peculiar teaching, if such a phrase be admissible. The ity is inevitable; and if Mr. Westcott is someFrench translation is somewhat harsh; but what fuller and more inclined to discussion than Edward Courtenay's English version, with its might be desirable for literary effect, the secondmodernized orthography, rings like true Saxon, ary object of the writer must be considered, and each successive phrase falls pleasantly on which is to trace the growth of the Catholic the ear. With every opinion advanced it is not Church, and to establish its connection with the to be supposed that all readers will agree. If authenticity of the canon of the New Testament. the treatise is strongly Lutheran on the article The execution, though wanting in the force or of faith, it is as profoundly Calvinistic on the brilliancy to which we have been of late accussubject of predestination; on which point the tomed in historical disquisition, exhibits a famil author is far less happy than when treating of iar acquaintance with the literature of the subfaith and works. But it is not our mission to ject, and a perception of the circumstances by enter upon controversy; and we will conclude which the early Christians were surrounded and by expressing our hearty approval of the zeal influenced.-Spectator.




BUT Sylvo's place, which was very well for visit of two or three weeks, did not retain its attractions for a longer residence, and there was no telling when the unhappy house at Twickenham might be habitable. Mr. and Mrs, Cumberland were people happily independent of fashion; it mattered very little to them that the "season" was ending, and people rushing everywhere out of London. Mrs. Cumberland was suddenly seized with a desire to spend a few weeks in town; and Mary -albeit Mary was by no means so indifferent to fashion as her mother was-eagerly seconded the proposal. It was in vain that Sylvo, somewhat discomfited, echoed Mr. Mansfield's protest that there was "nobody" in town. "There are a great many charming people, my dear Sylvo," said Mrs. Cumberland. "I am thankful to say my friends are not of an exclusive caste; I can find some one worth visiting in London all the year round."

deed, was in the flutter of departure; even the good people who could only afford a fortnight's holiday, and who were innocent of fashion, closed up their windows and "went out of town." The sunshine burned upon the London streets, upon the hosts of people who have no holiday, aud pleasure-seekers from the country, innocently unaware that "all the world" had forsaken the busy Babylon. Mrs. Cumberland almost repented of her visit to London; and Mary, who was not above the horror of being unfashionable, began to urge retreat again with much perseverance. They drove down to Twickenham only to find Mr. Cumberland peering over his spectacles with his curious eyes at the mass of indiscriminate rubbish which encumbered the lawn, and attaching turrets and pinnacles and rounding corners at his own sweet will, fearless of criticism. Already, if the steamboat passengers up and down the Thames were not the happier for Mr. Cumberland's improvements, they were the more amused; and it was even said that Mr. Shenkin Powis had undertaken a voyage as far as Hampton Court, to survey with horror the extremely "London in August! I admire your taste, I am original specimen of domestic architecture which sure, Maria Anna," said Mrs. Burtonshaw. But the philosopher was elaborating out of his comeven these dreadful sarcasms of Mrs. Burtonshaw fortable square box. The holiday people on the did not deter her sister. Sylvo had found no op-river no longer passed this pretty corner with siportunity of giving Zaidee that other chance. lent envy. There was always a crowd of gazers He thought it might be as prudent to leave her time to contrast this place of his, and all the delights and honors of which its mistress would have full possession, with "some shabby house in London," where his own graceful attentions would be wanting. One of Mrs. Cumberland's friends who was on the wing for her place in the country, willingly handed over her house to Mrs. Cumberland. If not a shabby house, it was rather a faded one, with little rooms, and no remarkable advantages of position, so far as these rastic people could judge. Mrs. Burtonshaw was seized with shortness of breath the very first day of their entry into it; she thanked Providence she was not obliged to live in rooms of such proportions. Very different from Sylvo's place, my dear," said Mrs. Burtonshaw; "you are pale already, Elizabeth, my sweet love! Maria Anna ought to have more thought for you."

[ocr errors]

And it was very true that Zaidee was pale, and that the mother of Sylvo was more and more impressed with the attachment to her son, which was so apparent. Mary's soft cheek, too, owned a flutter of variable color, but this Mrs. Burtonshaw did not notice. The good lady audibly wondered whether Mr. Vivian, or that pretty sweet Mrs. Bernard Morton, would still be in town; but Mrs. Burtonshaw was not quite aware how important a question this was to both her young companions, or how often their thoughts made the same inquiry. But when they had been a week or two in London, it grew sufficient ly evident that Mr. Percy Vivian was not in town. Several of Mrs. Cumberland's "charm ing" acquaintances, who were of the circle of Percy's worshippers, reported that he had gone home to Cheshire; and that Mrs. Morton, though still detained by her husband's parliamentary duties, was also preparing to go" everybody," in


turning their attention to this grand effort of Mr. Cumberland for the Commonweal. Tho acacia on the lawn, being of a fastidious nature, had begun to droop and sicken in spite of the rude wooden railings put up to protect it, and shed its foliage in yellow flakes, no longer upon the beautiful head of Zaidee Vivian, or the clustering curls of Mary Cumberland, but upon the paper caps of plasterers, and carpenters, and sandy masonic locks. "We are getting on," said Mr. Cumberland, rubbing his hands with glee as the ladies of his family stood by in horror-stricken silence-" already making progress, sister Burtonshaw. Before the winter frosts set in, you shall see a very different-looking building, I assure you, from the thing you left. This crocket is from York, and the work of this oriel window copied from a beautiful example in Nuremberg. I do not reject authority-far be it from me to dispute the wisdom of the past--but I retain my own ideas notwithstanding, sister Elizabeth. But for my oversight and care, it would be impossible to harmonize the whole; and I expect the science of domestic architecture to date this build ing as the first in a new period. The buildings of the age shall be harmonized, sister Burtonshaw; a character of benevolent forethought shall be added to the conscientious morality of Mr. Shenkin Powis: there is not an addition here which does not represent, really or symbolically, the celestial attribute of benevolence; but I have no time to enter into detail. No, by no means, I do not wish you to come home; women are always in the way of improvements; and I am glad to tell you that I am perfectly satisfied with the way we are going on."

The visitors got into their carriage, and drove away in respectful silence. Mrs. Burtonshaw, panting for words in which to express her admiration of Mr. CuLiberland's proceedings, could

find none sufficiently terse and expressive; and and settled itself in the wide flat of this level Mrs. Cumberland contented herself with a sigh country, where there is not another mound to of relief when they emerged from the dust with break the horizon- were matters more interestwhich this benevolent architecture filled the at-ing to Zaidee than to any of her companions. mosphere. They were quite cast out of their Mrs. Cumberland was languid, and reclined in a home, these unfortunate ladies. However benev-corner of the carriage. Mrs. Burtonshaw was olent the porch might be when completed, it interested, but depreciatory, making a perpetual threw most inhospitable obstacles in the mean comparison between Sylvo's place and this untime across the familiar threshhold, and access familiar country. Mary was wandering in her by door or window was equally denied to them. own thoughts, and noticed external matters only When they reached their faded drawing-room, by fits and starts; and no one knew how Zaiand looked out upon the closed shutters of this dee's eyes brightened at the sight of gorse and extremely fashionable and dingy little street, heather, and how friendly looked these grassy Mrs. Burtonshaw thought it the best possible op- heights of Malvern to one who had not seen for portunity for urging a return to Sylvo's place. eight long years the rugged elevation of Briar"You will go back to Essex now, of course, Ma- ford Hill. ria Anna, said Mrs. Burtonshaw; you will not shut up these dear children here, to pine away and lose their health again. Keep up your spirits, Elizabeth, my love-we shall soon return again-for I am sure you looked quite a different creature in Sylvo's place."

"But I cannot think of returning to Sylvo's place," said Mrs. Cumberland from her sofa. My dear Elizabeth, you are very kind, but we will take advantage of our opportunity, and have a change of scene. I have been thinking-we will not go to the coast, nor to Scotland, nor any place we have been before-we will go into the beautiful heart of England, my dear children. When your Aunt Burtonshaw and I were young, we were there once many years ago; we will go to Malvern we will quite enjoy ourselves being alone. My dear Elizabeth, I trust you have no objection; we shall be quite hermits, and enjoy that beautiful hill."


We are

"Are we growing old, Elizabeth? not girls as we used to be," said Mary Cumberland. "Do you remember when we sat in that great room at Ulm, where mamma tried to make us think, and we would not, but quite made up for it when we were by ourselves? Do you remember all the sewing we used to do, and all our speculations? When Aunt Burtonshaw praised us for the one, she never dreampt of the other, Lizzy; but we never speculate now." *

[ocr errors]

No," said Zaidee. She was plucking up the short hill-side grass unwittingly with her hands, and thinking her own private thoughts.

"I suppose we were only looking at life then, and now we are in it," said Mary musingly. "Nothing concerned us very much, and we could wonder at everything. Life is a strange thing, Lizzy-what is the good of all these humdrum quiet days, do you think? We never do any thing-were we made for any use, do you sup pose? Elizabeth! why can you not answer me?"

If Mrs. Burtonshaw had objections, it did not seem that they were particularly important. Mary being in the state of mind to which change of one sort or another was indispensable, eagerly lent her assistance, and within a few days the little party set out once more. "We know no For Mary was as much given at ever to a comone there we will be quite alone, Lizzy," said parison of ideas, and as curious to know her Mary, with a sigh. Perhaps Miss Cumberland companion's opinion; while Zaidee, for her part, did not appreciate as her mother did the roman-was not very much more disposed to “rational tic delights of solitude, but Mary was eager to answers" than before.

set out from this desolate London, echoing with "I think God made the days," said Zaidee, emphasis the universal declaration that "no one" and he must see some use in them. We have was in town." An express North-western train to live our lives out, however long they may be. might have made London populous in a very few Do people sometimes wish for long life, Mary? hours for Mary, but "nobody" was in it now. If it was fifty years, or sixty years, what a dreary "My dear love, we will not stay long-we will length of way!" soon come back to Sylvo's place," said Mrs. Burtonshaw, patting the beautiful head of Zaidee. Mrs. Burtonshaw, thought it was very cruel of Maria Anna to shut her eyes to the dear child's feelings so wantonly. What did any one care for Malvern? and it was easy to see how deeply interested this poor dear was in Sylvo's place.

"Now, that is just in your old strain,”said Mary Cumberland. Why should it be a dreary length of way? I have no regard for churchyards and tombstones, for my part; I am not in a hurry to live my life out,-one may be a little dull now and then, and wonder what is the good of one's self, without such dismal thoughts as these."

But Zaidee bore with wonderful fortitude the journey which carried her farther and farther Zaidee made no answer. They were seated away from Sylvo. Zaidee's fresh young spirit, upon the hill of Malvern, with some gray slopes and eyes shining with life and interest, traced towering above them, yet, at a considerable altiall these inland roads with pleasure. The apple tude; as far as they could see on every side, a trees on the pathway clustered with their russet vast level of cultivated country stretched into the fruit, and the pollard willows bristling over every skies,-low down at their feet lay the houses of little stream-the great Vale of Severn with its the little town, the gray towers of the abbey, and churches and towns, and that odd miniature the setting of rich orchards in which these habimountain which has lost its way so strangely, tations were enclosed,-while striking up from

the fertile flat were little far-off cities, sparkling | Nevertheless, she had been an extremely impru with spires and gilded weathercocks, small an-dent guardian of her own happiness. Mr. Percy cient dignified cathedral towns, and a faint line Vivian, perhaps, might be quite unaware of this far away, of broken banks over-lapping each oth-rich gift lavished on him; perhaps he was aware, er, with a thin silver thread here and there shin- and did not appreciate the possession: but whating out between, gave note of the Severn, tree-ever Mr. Percy Vivian's sentiments might be, less and laborless, pursuing his path to the sea. there was no longer any safeguard for Mary; The multitude of roads mapping this strange, her good sense, as Aunt Burtonshaw predicted, wide landscape in every direction-the morsels had been no defence to her; she had thrown of village glistening in a chance ray of sunshine, away her heart. and churches which in fancy you could lift in your hand, so dwarfed are they by the long distance, give a strange attraction to the scene. Of itself it is not a beautiful scene, and a dull sky sweeps down upon it, blending its unfeatured breadths with the clouds of the horizon; but the air, which has travelled many a mile since last it encountered any eminence, comes fresh and full upon this hill-side; and the eye, which is never satisfied with seeing, takes in with a peculiar gratification this singular extent of space presented to it, and revels in the world of air and cloud upon that vast uninterrupted sky.

"See, there is a bold road striking out by itself across all that wilderness of fields," said Mary. "What strange abrupt turns it takes; but it is not even crossed by another, so far as I can see that is a man's road, Lizzy,-for my part, I do not like travelling alone."


"It is not quite alone," said Zaidee, speaking low. "There is a little footpath hehind the hedge, sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other: some one might walk perpetually under the hedgerow side by side with the traveller on the high-road, and he would never know."

"Well, I cannot say that makes it much more comfortable," said Mary, laughing. "You are mysterious to-day, Elizabeth. I do not like your secret people who travel under hedgerows. I like daylight and the broad highway for my own share. You like this place, do you not? I suppose I do; I don't want any one to talk to me; I want to think, Lizzy. How far away you can look, straining your beautiful eyes, Mr. Vivian would say. What a weary length these days are for August days. Heigh ho!"

But Zaidee was so little disposed to interrupt Mary's thoughts by talking, that it was Mary herself who broke the silence first. Mary was in a strange mood of restless idleness; she was perpetually changing her position, as she half sat and half reclined upon this bank of luxuriant greensward; laughter that was rounded with a sigh, and sighing which incontinently burst into laughter, were the signs and symbols of Mary's state of mind. She was greatly in want of some little piece of excitement; her mind had a great deal too much scope, wandering back and forward in a restless haste, speculating on the future and on the past. Mary, half emerged from her first enchanted maze, was full of a restless disquietude; her whole life beyond seemed hang ing upon some uncertain decision-a nervous, anxious, troublesome uncertainty-a decision which she would be ashamed to expedite by any measures of her own. Mary was not a little ashamed of herself for the length her thoughts had gone already, and scornfully scouted the idea that " any man" held her fate in his hands.

"I think you are very innocent, Lizzy," said Mary, suddenly starting from an apparent contemplation of the landscape before her, of which landscape, in reality, she saw nothing. "You never understand at all, nor seek to understand, what all Aunt Burtonshaw's hints and double meanings are full of. There, now, you look quite incredulous. Is it my fault if your thoughts are always at the end of the world? Who can you have to think of, Elizabeth? I suppose you never found out that Aunt Burtonshaw had double meanings at all?"

"No, indeed. I always understand Aunt Burtonshaw perfectly," said Zaidee, with a smile.

"Which means, that you are perfectly unconscious of all her endeavors," said Mary. "Aunt Burtonshaw thinks-I really ought not to tell you-Aunt Burtonshaw believes you are very much interested in Sylvo, Elizabeth."

"Very much interested! I will not answer for the very much,'" said Zaidee; "but, indeed, I do think of Sylvo, Mary; only Sylvo will find some one better for him than you."

"You are a simpleton, and I will not enlighten you," said Mary. "What do you think of Mrs. Morton?" she asked abruptly, after a pause. Mary, but for very shame, would have been so glad to unbosom herself, and make a confidant of her friend-would have been so much relieved, indeed, if Zaidee had taken the initiative, and pressed into her confidence; but Zaidee was quite as shy of the subject as Mary was, though she was sufficiently clear-sighted to see how matters stood. Zaidee faltered a good deal. What did she think of Mrs. Morton-what did she think of Elizabeth Vivian, her cousin, the beautiful Elizabeth of the Grange? Zaidee felt herself change color painfully-she scarcely knew what to say.

"I heard Mr. Vivian say there was no woman like his sister; he ought to know best," said Zaidee.

It was an unfortunate speech in every way; unfortunate in its hesitation and faltering toneunfortunate in quoting Mr. Vivian-and, lastly, in the opinion it conveyed. Mary Cumberland did not choose that Percy should think his sister the first of womankind. She did not at all appreciate such an extent of fraternal affection; and Mary was piqued at the idea that any one knew better than she did what Percy's opinion was.

"I asked what you thought yourself, not what Mr. Percy Vivian thought," said Mary. "One does not care for having Mr. Percy Vivian's opinions at secondhand. He is a very great author, perhaps; but I would not quote him so often if I were you, Elizabeth."

When Zaidee raised her eyes in astonishment,

« PreviousContinue »