THE BENEFIT OF CHRIST'S DEATH.
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 a 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.

66

A good supplementary chapter has yet to be added to the Curiosities of Literature; "-one that shall contrast the sentiments in anonymous and posthumous works with the practice of their authors. Examples would abound, from writers of very early times down to those of a very recent period. Of all anonymous publications, however, probably none in its day created so wide and startling a sensation as the one published in Italy more than three centuries ago, and entitled "The Benefit of Christ's Death." It was widely arculated and eagerly read. But a book, the conclusions of which were like those of Luther, that men were saved by faith and an imputed righteousness, and that works were the mere evidences of faith, very speedily attracted the attention of the authorities. In an incredible short space of time thousands of copies were destroyed. The Italian version entirely disappeared; and Mr. Macaulay, in his review of Ranke's History of the Popes,' declared that not only had there been, in Italy, an effectual suppression of religious works, which were once to be found in every house, but that this one book in particular, 'Of the Benefit of the Death of Christ,' written in Tuscan, often reprinted, and eagerly read in every part of Italy, having been found by the Inquisitors to contain the Lutheran doctrine of Justification by Faith alone, had been proscribed and, he adds, "it is now as hopelessly lost as the Second Decade of Livy." Mr. Macaulay wrote thus in 1840, at which time there had been 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.

manners when Mary released him; but he can
some describe him to have been, for he taught
hardly have been the coarse profligate which
himself Italian during his captivity; and when in
bonds, in the year 1548, the second year of the
reign of Edward the Sith, 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 careless-
ness and ignorance-describes him. Nor were
his pursuits those of a ruffian and a debauchee.--
"very studious and
Strype pourtrays him as
well-learned. He understood mathematics well,
he could paint excellently, he played absolutely
well on musical instruments, he spake Spanish,
French, and Italian accurately, and, which was
the crown of all, he was a man of great piety,
and placed the chief good in virtue." He was
indeed more of the scholar than the soldier; and
rather ingloriously ran away from "the battle of
Charing Cross," whither he was sent to oppose
the advance of Wyat. Whether he wished for
Wyat's success, that he might marry Elizabeth,
since he had no chance to marry Mary, is a
doubtful question,-rendered the more doubtful
by Wyat's confessions and retractations. The
permission to travel, given to him by Mary, was
an honorable banishment; and he was welcomed
at every Court, till death suddenly "cropped him
off at Padua." He died, not without suspicion
of poison,-as was natural; for there was not
likely to be safety in Italy for a Catholic noble-
man who was said to have been affianced to such
an unsatisfactory Catholic as the Princess Eliza-
beth, and who had translated an essay which was
pronounced to be highly anti-Catholic in senti-
The full details of the death of this the
ment.
twelfth and last Earl of Devonshire- of his
family-are still wanting to historical literature.
It is Courtenay's translation of the Italian ver-
sion that is given in this volume; and it has the
merit of being rendered from the original, where-
as the English translation of 1573, republished
eight years since, was made from a French copy.

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 This remarkable treatise has been translated Greek and Latin, and lecturer on philosophy and into many languages. Perhaps the most able belles lettres." His published epistolary corresof the English translations is that by Edward pondence was extensive, but his merit was far Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire, himself a remark- above that of a clever letter-writer. Vossius able man. It was the fact of an Italian treatise described his Lucretian poem on "The Immoradvocating the doctrine of Justification by Faith tality of the Soul" as "a divine and immortal written by a Siennese Catholic of great learning, composition," and Morhoff pronounced his prose and translated by such a man as Courtenay, that Latin to be equal to anything in Cicero. It reminded us of the work composed by Leibnitz: must have been during his residence at Sienna from none of these individuals were such produc- that he secretly wrote and anonymously publishtions by any means to be expected. To speak ed his treatise on the benefits of Christ's death.first of Courtenay. He was that victim of Henry At the close of the year 1542, having fallen into 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

disgrace and danger because of his well-known leaning towards the principles of the Reformation, he delivered an oration before the senators

304

A

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 and ability with which Mr. Babington has per refers, in majestic Latin, to a little book in the formed his editorial office. Let us add our hope Tuscan tongue, in which he had explained the that, as an original work has been discovered benefits derivable from Christ's death, and for which Mr. Macaulay pronounced to be as irrewhich he had been held as worthy of death.-coverable as the lost Decade of Livy, the like He nobly adds, that it is not the time for a good fortune may happen to the missing historiChristian to die in his bed. "It is a little mat- cal fragment of the illustrious son of Patavium. ter," he says, "to be accused, to be cast into There may be something in the old tradition prison, to be scourged, to be hung from a rope, that the long-desired manuscript of the credulous to be sewn up in a sack, or to be flung to wild historian lies among dusty records in a mosque 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 Paleario 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 By THE object of Mr. Westcott's General Survey interesting Introduction to this volume. 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 fiduciæ 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 exist Council 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
a book, does not admit of such positive conclu
sion, and is a more difficult task; while the effect
upon the reader is different, because he has
mainly opinions instead of facts. This peculiar
ity is inevitable; and if Mr. Westcott is some-
what fuller and more inclined to discussion than
might be desirable for literary effect, the second-
ary object of the writer must be considered,
which is to trace the growth of the Catholic
Church, and to establish its connection with the
authenticity of the canon of the New Testament.
The execution, though wanting in the force or
brilliancy to which we have been of late accus-
tomed in historical disquisition, exhibits a famil-
iar acquaintance with the literature of the sub-
ject, and a perception of the circumstances by
which the early Christians were surrounded and

They who love Italian literature will find pleasure in perusing this treatise in the original, simply as a literary luxury. Apart from what it teaches, there is music in the sound of its teaching, if such a phrase be admissible. The French translation is somewhat harsh; but Edward Courtenay's English version, with its modernized orthography, rings like true Saxon, and each successive phrase falls pleasantly on the ear. With every opinion advanced it is not to be supposed that all readers will agree. If the treatise is strongly Lutheran on the article of faith, it is as profoundly Calvinistic on the subject of predestination; on which point the author is far less happy than when treating of faith and works. But it is not our mission to enter upon controversy; and we will conclude by expressing our hearty approval of the zeal influenced.-Spectator.

PART XI-BOOK III.

CHAPTER XVII.-WANDERINGS.

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." BUT Sylvo's place, which was very well for a The sunshine burned upon the London streets, visit of two or three weeks, did not retain its at upon the hosts of people who have no holiday, tractions for a longer residence, and there was no aud pleasure-seekers from the country, innocenttelling when the unhappy house at Twickenham ly unaware that "all the world" had forsaken might be habitable. Mr. and Mrs, Cumberland the busy Babylon. Mrs. Cumberland almost rewere people happily independent of fashion; it pented of her visit to London; and Mary, who mattered very little to them that the "season" was was not above the horror of being unfashionable, ending, and people rushing everywhere out of Lon- began to urge retreat again with much perseverdon. Mrs. Cumberland was suddenly seized with ance. They drove down to Twickenham only to a desire to spend a few weeks in town; and Mary find Mr. Cumberland peering over his spectacles -albeit Mary was by no means so indifferent to with his curious eyes at the mass of indiscrimi fashion as her mother was-eagerly seconded the nate rubbish which encumbered the lawn, and atproposal. It was in vain that Sylvo, somewhat taching turrets and pinnacles and rounding cordiscomfited, echoed Mr. Mansfield's protest thatners at his own sweet will, fearless of criticism. there was nobody" in town. "There are a Already, if the steamboat passengers up and great many charming people, my dear Sylvo," down the Thames were not the happier for Mr. said Mrs. Cumberland. "I am thankful to say Cumberland's improvements, they were the more my friends are not of an exclusive caste; I can amused; and it was even said that Mr. Shenkin find some one worth visiting in London all the Powis had undertaken a voyage as far as Hampyear round." ton 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. 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 rustic 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."

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

DXCVII. LIVING AGE. VOL. IX. 20

lent envy. There was always a crowd of gazers 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. Cumberland'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."

CHAPTER XVIII-MALVERN.

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.".

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

me?"

"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, If Mrs. Burtonshaw had objections, it did not Lizzy-what is the good of all these humdrum seem that they were particularly important. quiet days, do you think? We never do any Mary being in the state of mind to which change thing-were we made for any use, do you supof one sort or another was indispensable, eagerly pose? Elizabeth! why can you not answer lent her assistance, and within a few days the little party set out once more. "We know no one there we will be quite alone, Lizzy," said Mary, with a sigh. Perhaps Miss Cumberland did not appreciate as her mother did the romantic delights of solitude, but Mary was eager to set out from this desolate London, echoing with emphasis the universal declaration that "no one was in town." An express North-western train might have made London populous in a very few hours for Mary, but "nobody" was in it now.

"My dear love, we will not stay long-we will 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.

But Zaidee bore with wonderful fortitude the journey which carried her farther and farther away from Sylvo. Zaidee's fresh young spirit, and eyes shining with life and interest, traced all these inland roads with pleasure. The apple trees on the pathway clustered with their russet fruit, and the pollard willows bristling over every little stream-the great Vale of Severn with its churches and towns, and that odd miniature mountain which has lost its way so strangely,

For Mary was as much given at ever to a comparison of ideas, and as curious to know her companion's opinion; while Zaidee, for her part, was not very much more disposed to "rational answers than before.

"I think God made the days," said Zaidee, "and he must see some use in them. We have to live our lives out, however long they may be. Do people sometimes wish for long life, Mary? If it was fifty years, or sixty years, what a dreary length of way!"

"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."

Zaidee made no answer. They were seated upon the hill of Malvern, with some gray slopes towering above them, yet, at a considerable altitude; as far as they could see on every side, a vast level of cultivated country stretched into the skies,-low down at their feet lay the houses of the little town, the gray towers of the abbey, and the setting of rich orchards in which these habitations 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 "I think you are very innocent, Lizzy," said your hand, so dwarfed are they by the long dis- Mary, suddenly starting from an apparent contance, give a strange attraction to the scene. templation of the landscape before her, of which Of itself it is not a beautiful scene, and a dull landscape, in reality, she saw nothing. "You sky sweeps down upon it, blending its unfeatured never understand at all, nor seek to understand, breadths with the clouds of the horizon; but the what all Aunt Burtonshaw's hints and double air, which has travelled many a mile since last it meanings are full of. There, now, you look encountered any eminence, comes fresh and full quite incredulous. Is it my fault if your upon this hill-side; and the eye, which is never thoughts are always at the end of the world? satisfied with seeing, takes in with a peculiar Who can you have to think of, Elizabeth? I gratification this singular extent of space pre-suppose you never found out that Aunt Burtonsented to it, and revels in the world of air and shaw had double meanings at all?" 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; f 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 for ward 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 any man" held her fate in his hands.

that

"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,