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anderruptionat this" himsel Possib,ghts.
before—of the difference between him- who had his prayer-book under his arm. self and the object of his thoughts. The young Scotchman looked on with Though he found it very possible at wondering eyes while the village priest times to comfort himself with the knelt down by his parishioner's bedside thought that this was a very ordinary and opened his book. Naturally there was interruption of a Scotch student's work, a comparison always going on in Colin's and noways represented the Armida's mind. He was like a passive experigarden in which the knight lost both mentalist, seeing all kinds of trials made his vocation and his life, there were before his eyes, and watching the result. other moments and moods which were “I wonder if they all think it is a less easily manageable ; and, on the spell,” said Colin to himself; but he whole, he wanted the stimulus of per- was rebuked and was silent when he petual excitement to keep him from heard the responses which the cottage feeling the false position he was in, folk made on their knees. When the and the expediency of continuing here. curate had read his prayer he got up Though the feeling haunted him all and said good-night, and went back to day, at night, in the drawing-room- Colin ; and this visitation of the sick which was brightened and made sweet was a very strange experience to the by the fair English matron who was young Scotch observer, who stood rekind to Colin, and the fairer maiden volving everything, with an eye to who was the centre of all his thoughts Scotland, at the cottage-door. —it vanished like an evil spirit, and " You don't make use of our Common left him with a sense that nowhere in Prayer in Scotland ?” said the curate; the world could he have been so well; “ pardon me for referring to it. One but, when this mighty stimulus was cannot help being sorry for people who withdrawn, the youth was left in a very shut themselves out from such an inwoeful plight, conscious, to the bottom estimable advantage. How did it come of his heart, that he ought to be else about ?". where, and here was consuming his “I don't know,” said Colin. “I strength and life. He strayed out in suppose because Laud was a fool, and the darkness of the December nights King Charles a " through the gloomy silent park into “Hush, for goodness sake," said the the little village with its feeble lights, curate with a shiver. “What do you where everybody and everything was mean ļ such language is painful to unknown to him; and all the time his listen to. The saints and martyrs demon sat on his shoulders and asked should be spoken of in a different tone. what he did there. While he strayed You think that was the reason? Oh, through the broken, irregular village- no; it was your horrible Calvinism, and street, to all appearance looking at the John Knox, and the mad influences of dim cottage-windows and listening to that unfortunate Reformation which has the rude songs from the little ale-house, done us all so much harm, though I the curate encountered the tutor. Most suppose you think differently in Scotprobably the young priest, who was not land," he said with a little sigh, steering remarkable for wisdom, imagined the his young companion, of whose morality Scotch lad to be in some danger ; for he felt uncertain, past the alehouse he laid a kindly hand upon his arm and door. turned him away from the vociferous “Did you never hear of John Knox's little tavern, which was a vexation to liturgy ?" said the indignant Colin ; the curate's soul. “I should like you "the saddest, passionate service! You to go up to the Parsonage with me, if always had time to say your prayers in you will only wait till I have seen this England, but we had to snatch them as sick woman," said the curate ; and Colin we could. And your prayers would went in very willingly within the cot not do for us now," said the Scotch tage porch to wait for his acquaintance, experimentalist; “I wish they could ;
but it would be impossible. A Scotch could tell him anything; but certainly peasant would have thought that an about ecclesiastical arrangements and incantation you were reading. When the Christian year," said the irreverent you go to see a sick man, shouldn't you young Scotchmån, “a little might like to say, God save him, God forgive suffice;" and Colin spoke with the him, straight out of your heart without slightest inflection of contempt, always a book ?” said the eager lad ; at which thinking of the twentieth Sunday after question the curate looked up with Trinity, and scorning what he did not wonder in the young man's face.
understand, as was natural to his years." " I hope I do say it out of my heart," " Ah, you don't know what you are said the English priest, and stopped saying," said the devout curate. “After short, with a gravity that had a great you have spent a Christian year, you effect upon Colin ;"but in words will see what comfort and beauty there more sound than any words of mine," is in it. You say, 'if anybody could the curate added a moment after, which tell him anything.' I hope you have dispersed the reverential impression from not got into a sceptical way of thinking. the Scotch mind of the eager boy. I should like very much to have a long
“I can't see that,” said Colin, quickly, talk with you," said the village priest, -51 in the church for common prayer, who was very good and very much yes ; at a bedside in a cottage, no. At in earnest, though the earnestness was least, I mean that's how we feel in after a pattern different from anything Scotland, though I suppose you don't known to Colin; and, before the youth care much for our opinion," he added perceived what was going to happen, he with some heat, thinking he saw a smile found himself in the curate's study, on his companion's face.
placed on a kind of moral platform, as “ Oh, yes, certainly ; I have always the emblem of Doubt and that pious understood that there is a great deal of unbelief which is the favourite of modern intelligence in Scotland," said the curate, theology. Now, to tell the truth, Colin, courteous as to a South-Sea Islander. though it may lower him in the opinion ." But people who have never known of many readers of his history, was not this inestimable advantage? I believe by nature given to doubting. He had, preaching is considered the great thing to be sure, followed the fashion of the in the North ?” he said with a little time enough to be aware of a wonder; curiosity. “I wish society were a little ful amount of unsettled questions, and more impressed by it among ourselves; questions which it did not appear but mere information even about spiritual possible ever to settle. But somehow matters is of so much less importance! These elements of scepticism did nou though that, I daresay, is another point give him much trouble. His heart was on which we don't agree ?” the curate full of natural piety, and his inst continued, pleasantly. He was just all fresh and strong as a child's. , opening the gate into his own garden, could not help believing, any more than which was quite invisible in the dark he could help breathing, his natur, ness, but which enclosed and surrounded being such ; and he was half-amused and a homely house with some lights in the half-irritated by the position in whic windows, which, it was a little comfort he found himself, notwithstanding the to Colin to perceive, was not much curate's respect for the ideal scepts handsomer nor more imposing in ap- whom he had thus pounced upon. pearance than the familiar manze on the commonplace character of Colin's me borders of the Holy Loch.
was such, that he was very glad wo “ It depends on what you call his new friend relaxed into gossip, spiritual matters," said the polemical asked him who was expected at youth. “I don't think a man can Hall for Christmas; to which the possibly get too much information about answered by such names as he his relations with God, if only anybody heard in the ladies' talk, and reu
bered with friendliness or with jealousy, according to the feeling with which Miss Matty pronounced them which was Colin's only guide amid this crowd of the unknown.
“I wonder if it is to be a match," said the curate, who, recovering from his dread concerning the possible habits of his Scotch guest, had taken heart to share his scholarly potations of beer with his new friend. “ It was said Lady Frankland did not like it, but I never believed that. After all it was such a natural arrangement. I wonder if it is to be a match ?"
“ Is what to be a match ?” said Colin, who all at once felt his heart stand still and grow cold, though he sat by the cheerful fire which threw its light even into the dark garden outside. “I have heard nothing about any match," he added, with a little effort. It dawned upon him instantly what it must be, and his impulse was to rush out of the house or do anything rash and sudden that would prevent him from hearing it said in words.
“ Between Henry Frankland and his cousin," said the calm curate; “ they looked as if they were perfectly devoted to each other at one time. That has died off, for she is rather a flirt, I fear; but all the people hereabouts had made up their minds on the subject. It would be a very suitable match on the whole. But why do you get up? you are not going away ?"
“Yes; I have something to do when I go home," said Colin, “ something to prepare," which he said out of habit, thinking of his old work at home, without remembering what he was baying or whether it meant anything The curate put down the poker which he had lifted to poke the fire, and looked at Colin with a touch of envy.
“Ah! something literary, I suppose ?" said the young priest, and went with his new friend to the door, thinking how elever he was, and how lucky, at his age, to have a literary connexion ; a thought very natural to a young priest in a country curacy with a very small endowment. The curate wrote verses, as Colin
himself did, though on very different subjects, and took some of them out of his desk and looked at them, after he had shut the door, with affectionate eyes, and a half intention of asking the tutor what was the best way to get admission to the magazines, and on the whole he thought he liked what he had seen of the young Scotchman, though he was so ignorant of church matters ; an opinion which Colin perfectly reciprocated, with a more distinct sentiment of compassion for the English curate, who knew about as much of Scotland as if it had lain in the South Seas.
Meanwhile Colin walked home to Wodensbourne with fire and passion in his heart. “It would be a very suitable match on the whole," he kept saying to himself, and then tried to take a little comfort from Matty's sweet laughter over “ Poor Harry!” Poor Harry was rich, and fortunate, and independent, and Colin was only the tutor; were these two to meet this Christmas time and contend over again on this new ground? He went along past the black trees as if he were walking for a wager; but, quick as he walked, a dogcart dashed past him with lighted lamp gleaming up the avenue. When he reached the Hall-door, one of the servants was disappearing up stairs with a portmanteau, and a heap of coats and wrappers lay in the hall.
“Mr. Harry just come, sir—a week sooner than was expected,” said the butler, who was an old servant and shared in the joys of the family. Colin went to his room without a word ; shut himself up there with feelings which he would not have explained to any one. He had not seen Harry Frankland since they were both boys; but he had never got over the youthful sense of rivalry and opposition which had sent him skimming over the waters of the Holy Loch to save the boy who was his born rival and antagonist. Was this the day of their encounter and conflict which had come at last?
To be continued.
CONCERNING THE ORGANIZATION OF LITERATURE.
The chronicles of the year 1863 record two incidents little noticed by the public or its instructors of the press, but which possess a certain importance, from their relation to what is called the Organization of Literature. In one of these incidents, the publication of the remodelled programme of the Guild of Literature and Art, lurks the admission of a failure, or at least of the inability of its promoters to perform the most important of the promises contained in their original plan. The other incident exhibits the germ of a new and fruitful project, which also aims at introducing an organic principle into the literary chaos. It is Lord Stanhope's speech at the dinner of the Literary Fund, when he deplored the present isolation of men of letters from each other, the absence among them of class-combination and concert, and when he indicated the desirability of organizing out of them an English body more or less resembling the French Academy.
The Guild of Literature and Art was founded in or about 1851, more than twelve years ago. Its founders were prominent authors and artists; Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton was and is its President, with Mr. Charles Dickens for VicePresident. Its members were to consist of persons following Literature or the Fine Arts as a profession, and mere membership was to be easily attainable. When the needful funds had been raised, the Guild was to be organized in quasi-collegiate fashion. There was to be a Warden, with a house and a salary of 2001. a year, presiding over two classes of recipients of the bounty of the Guild. One class was to consist of “members for life," elected by the Council from the ordinary members ; they were to be persons who had achieved some distinction in Literature or Art, and each was to receive an annuity of 2001. without a house, or of 1701. with it. The other class, also elected by the
Council, was to consist of “Associates," — men rather of literary or artistic promise than of distinction or note ; each of these was to receive an annuity of 1002, for life, or for a term of years, according to circumstances. As a condition attendant on the receipt of his annuity, each Life Member was to deliver annually three Lectures at Mechanics’ Institutions in town and country ; the Associates, again, were to employ a portion of their time “in gratuitous assistance to any “learned bodies, societies for the diffu“ sion of useful knowledge, &c., or, as « funds increase, and the utilities of the “ Institution develop themselves, in co“ operating towards works of national “ interest and importance, but on subjects “ of a nature more popular, and at a “ price more accessible, than those which « usually emanate from professed “ Academies."1 Such was the original scheme of the Guild of Literature and Art.
Now, let us suppose that the needful funds had been collected for carrying out, on a scale of tolerable magnitude, this well-meant project. What, in that case, would have been the new, important, fruitful, principle in the scheme, distinguishing it from all others in operation, and claiming for it the sympathy and support of the public ? Certainly not that involved in the granting of annuities to authors and artists of some distinction ; for, out of funds provided by Parliament, the State, through the Pension-fund, already grants such annuities to such persons. I am speaking of the principle merely, as one already recognised and acted on by the State. I do not mean to say that every author and artist of merit who both needs and deserves a pension, receives one ; but simply, that in granting pensions, the Government does so befriend such per
1 Prospectus of the Guild of Literature and Art. 1851.
sons, and that there was, therefore, nothing novel in this part of the scheme of the Guild of Literature and Art, which sinıply proposed to do, with its own machinery and funds, what the State already attempted to do through the Government of the day, by the application of a parliamentary grant. The striking and original item in the project of the Guild of Literature and Art, was its proposal to pension the more promising of younger authors and artists, and to require from them in return, useful and honourable labour, with pen or pencil, on “works of national interest and importance.” This, and this alone, removed the aid to be given by the Guild from the category to which belongs the eleemosynary bounty of the Pension Fund, and of the Royal Literary Fund. It thus became to them, in some measure, what a system of reproductive employment is to the operatives of the New Poor Law. In return for slender, but acceptable pecuniary assistance, the juniors of Literature and Art were to perform profitable and worthy tasks, prescribed to them by their more experienced seniors; and here, at last, it might be fondly hoped, was a kind of Organization of Literature.
Alas, it is precisely this and its kindred items which make no appearance in the remodelled programme of the Guild of Literature and Art! The Guild received its charter of incorporation in 1854; and after nine years of a delay, caused, it is said, by some legal difficulty or obstruction, its matured scheme of operations, to be executed at early convenience, was shaped and published a few months ago. The warden has disappeared, and with him the old classification of members and associates. We see and hear nothing now of lectures to be delivered at mechanics' institutions, nothing of “gratuitous aid to learned societies," nothing of “co-operation in the production of works of national interest or importance.” In the remodelled programme, under the rubric of “ Objects,” there are two paragraphs which thus define the present aims of the Association :-"The Guild shall, in
“ the first instance, confine its operations “ to the foundation and endowment of “an institution to be called the 'Guild “ Institution.?” And then : — “The “ Guild shall grant annuities, to which “professional members of either sex, “and the widows of professional mem“ bers, shall be eligible. It will also “ erect a limited number of free resi“dences, on land to be presented for “ this purpose by Sir Edward Bulwer“ Lytton, and which will be occupied “ by members elected on this founda«tion. The several annuitants shall be “elected by the Council,” &c. &c. This is all. The members of the Guild are now in number fifty. After twelve years or so its funds amount to £3,694, of which £3,334 were “received for “copyright and performance of Sir E. “ Bulwer-Lytton's play of • Not so Bad "as we Seem.'” When the free residences have been built, and a few slender annuities awarded, what is there to make the public or men of letters zealously promote the further working of the scheme? Duly recognising the disinterestedness and kindly motives of its founders, one may predict, with something very like certainty, that the world is not destined to hear much more of the Guild of Literature and Art.
I turn now to Lord Stanhope's proposal for the formation of an English Academy or Institute, somewhat resembling the famous Académie Française. Lord Stanhope is entitled to a hearing, were it only as a man of letters, who has done good service to his untitled order. Recently the parliamentary originator of the National Portrait Gallery, it was he who conducted, years ago, through the House of Commons the Literary Copyright Act, on which the relations between authors and publishers are still based. His career has been one of considerable official as well as of continuous literary labour. He is a man of business, and not merely a man of letters ; no young enthusiast, but an experienced legislator, he is not likely to make a practical suggestion without having weighed all difficulties of execution and detail. There needs no demon