to defend acts done in his absence, and to make compensations for which he has no funds from the corps. Nay, even it may become a question for a jury, whether the butt was a reasonable and proper butt, looking at all the surrounding circumstances of time and place. Ten feet high, or even the targets alone, might be ample on Salisbury plain; while ten feet multiplied by five would be insufficient in some of the populous neighbourhoods of London or Liverpool. Should the metropolis ever be fortified in the manner suggested in a very able paper recently published in a contemporary journal, the earthworks themselves will probably solve the question for the Middlesex companies, by supplying excellent butts at their bases; in the interim, however, the position is an uncertain one, and there can be no doubt corps will be exposed to the risk of suits both at law and in equity, from which, in our opinion, in the prosecution of a public object, they ought to be relieved. It will have to be settled whether the commission of the volunteer officer protects him for acts done without negligence in the discharge of his duty, although they may occasion injury and loss to others; and in the present uncertainty occasioned by the novelty of the subject, we suggest that the Government inspector should be called on to certify the fitness of all butts for rifle practice, and that his certificate be held conclusive in the courts of judicature of the country. This would at once narrow the questions at issue very considerably, and be a great protection, as well to the public as to corps and their commanding officers.

As

matters stand at present, it is certain that officers commanding volunteer companies incur risks that do not attach to officers in the regular service, simply because all ball practice is carried on by the latter in places absolutely safe; and, besides, their commission protects them. With the volunteer officers, however, it is a question yet to be settled, whether their commission protects; and it will take some time to erect absolutely safe butts throughout the country; and we

therefore warn all volunteer officers commanding of the absolute necessity there is of adopting every precaution, and requiring a most rigid observance of the rules that have been laid down at Hythe relating to ball practice. Had this been done, the shooting of the dog, which brought so much odium on Volunteers, could not have happened. No shooting about by individuals at their own will and pleasure should be permitted at all. The ball practice should be at the butts, and butts alone, and always in the presence of an officer or serjeant, and the results always registered. If men will practise otherwise, they should do it with their own rifles, and at their own proper risk and costs.

Having thus shown the difficulties that beset the obtaining of rifle ranges, and the risks incurred in the use of them, we have to consider what measures should be taken to assure the proper amount of ball practice by the Volunteer on the one side, with the greatest possible safety to the public on the other. It is a problem by no means easy to solve. We strongly maintain, as a first step, that all that pertains to the actual rifle practice-that is to say, the weapon itself, the ammunition, and the range should be supplied by the country. The rifleman, in finding time and uniform, makes the far larger sacrifice to say nothing of the many incidental expenses of railway travelling, and the like; and, even if an extra halfpenny in the pound is added to the income-tax, he helps to pay it. At present, the rifles themselves are supplied, and the ammunition and ranges should follow; but, if these be withheld, we then insist that a compulsory power should be conferred by statute, enabling corps to lease the butt-ranges in their respective neighbourhoods, making all reasonable compensation to the occupiers of the land. In all probability, recourse would seldom be had to the Act, as the knowledge that it might be resorted to would facilitate negotiation. Neither of our suggestions need interfere with the free action of the system, which freedom should be maintained

strictly inviolate. The movement can only be carried out to its grand ultimate end, of every man in England who is capable becoming a Volunteer, by the energy and free-will of the people themselves. We would only give it 'greater play, and a more extended action, by releasing it from the obstacles that now impede its progress, and by making the Government responsible for the ranges. Already the movement has achieved wonders, and the infant of yesterday has expanded into the giant of to-day, clasping with the arms of a Briareus the whole length and breadth of the land. To all classes it appeals alike as a source of pleasure and advantage; it combines duty with pastime, health with sport; it banishes sloth and inaction, and frowns upon dandyism and tinsel; it strengthens the love of country, and enhances the blessings of home; it gathers men together in a generous rivalry and cheerful exercise, and will sustain and renew-perhaps increasethe pristine vigour of the race.

And it

was time that some such diversion should

have reached us. In the higher ranks, the manly love of sport was becoming bastard and degenerate-the miserable battues had well-nigh trodden out the old keen zest and love of it; in the middle ranks, the eagerness for business and habit of money-getting was fast absorbing every thought, to the detriment of all the higher and nobler instincts; while the lower classes, struggling in the contest for life, were too far apart from the rest to feel that there was an identity of interest for them. The people were still "the lords of human kind;" but it required some strong stimulus to awaken all the native energy of the race. This the rifle movement has done, and the fondest aspiration of the "high chief of Scottish song," should the stern necessity arise, would now certainly be realized

"And howe'er crowns and coronets be rent,

"A virtuous populace will arise the while, "And stand a wall of fire around our much-loved isle."

BY THE AUTHOR OF

CHAPTER XXII.

DEPARTURES EXPECTED AND UNEXPECTED. THERE was a silence of a few seconds after the Captain had finished his story, all the men sitting with eyes fixed on him, and not a little surprised at the results of their call. Drysdale was the first to break the silence, which he did with a "By George!" and a long respiration; but, as he did not seem prepared with any further remark, Tom took up the running.

"What a strange story," he said; "and that really happened to you, Captain Hardy?"

To me, sir, in the Mediterranean, more than forty years ago."

"The strangest thing about it is that

the old commodore should have managed to get all the way to the ship, and then not have known where his nephew was," said Blake.

"He only knew his nephew's berth, you see, sir," said the Captain.

"But he might have beat about through the ship till he had found him."

"You must remember that he was at his last breath, sir," said the Captain; 66 you can't expect a man to have his head clear at such a moment."

"Not a man, perhaps; but I should a ghost," said Blake.

"Time was everything to him," went on the Captain, without regarding the interruption, "space nothing. But the strangest part of it is that I should have seen the figure at all. It's true I had

been thinking of the old uncle, because of the boy's illness; but I can't suppose he was thinking of me, and, as I say, he never recognised me. I have taken a great deal of interest in such matters since that time, but I have never met with just such a case as this." "No, that is the puzzle. One can fancy his appearing to his nephew well enough," said Tom.

"We can't account for these things, or for a good many other things which ought to be quite as startling, only we see them every day. But now I think

it is time for us to be going, eh, Jack?" and the Captain and his son rose to go.

Tom saw that it would be no kindness to them to try to prolong the sitting, and so he got up too, to accompany them to the gates. This broke up the party. Before going, Drysdale, after whispering to Tom, went up to Captain Hardy, and said,—

"I want to ask you to do me a favour, sir. Will you and your son breakfast with me to-morrow?"

"We shall be very happy, sir," said the Captain.

"I think, father, you had better breakfast with me, quietly. We are much obliged to Mr. Drysdale, but I can't give up a whole morning. Besides, I have several things to talk to you about."

"Nonsense, Jack," blurted out the old sailor, "leave your books alone for one morning. I'm come up here to enjoy myself, and see your friends."

Hardy gave a slight shrug of his shoulders at the word friends, and Drysdale, who saw it, looked a little confused. He had never asked Hardy to his rooms before. The Captain saw that something was the matter, and hastened in his own way to make all smooth again.

"Never mind Jack, sir," he said, "he shall come. It's a great treat to me to be with young men, especially when they are friends of my boy."

"I hope you'll come as a personal favour to me," said Drysdale, turning to Hardy. "Brown, you'll bring him, won't you?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure he'll come," said Tom.

"That's all right. Good-night, then;" and Drysdale went off.

Hardy and Tom accompanied the Captain to the gate. During his passage across the two quadrangles, the old gentleman was full of the praises of the men, and of protestations as to the improvement in social manners and customs since his day, when there could have been no such meeting, he declared, without blackguardism and drunkenness, at least amongst young officers, but then they had less to think of than Oxford men, no proper education. And so the Captain was evidently travelling back into the great trireme question when they reached the gate. As they could go no farther with him, however, he had to carry away his solution of the three-banks-of-oars difficulty in his own bosom to the Mitre.

"Don't let us go in," said Tom, as the gate closed on the Captain, and they turned back into the quadrangle, "let us take a turn or two;" so they walked up and down the inner quad in the starlight.

Just at first they were a good deal embarrassed and confused: but before long, though not without putting considerable force on himself, Tom got back into something like his old familiar way of unbosoming himself to his refound friend, and Hardy showed more than his old anxiety to meet him half-way. His ready and undisguised sympathy soon dispersed the few remaining clouds which were still hanging between them; and Tom found it almost a pleasure, instead of a dreary task, as he had anticipated, to make a full confession, and state the case clearly and strongly against himself to one who claimed neither by word nor look the least superiority over him, and never seemed to remember that he himself had been ill-treated in the matter.

"He had such a chance of lecturing me and didn't do it," thought Tom afterwards, when he was considering why he felt so very grateful to Hardy. "It was so cunning of him, too. he had begun lecturing, I should have begun to defend myself, and never have

If

felt half such a scamp as I did when I was telling it all out to him in my own way."

The result of Hardy's management was that Tom made a clean breast of it, telling everything, down to his night at the ragged school; and what an effect his chance opening of the Apology had had on him. Here for the first time Hardy came in with his usual dry, keen voice, "You needn't have gone so far back as Plato for that lesson."

"I don't understand," said Tom. "Well, there's something about an indwelling spirit which guideth every man in St. Paul, isn't there?"

"Yes, a great deal," Tom answered, after a pause; "but it isn't the same thing."

"Why not the same thing?"

"Oh, surely you must feel it. It would be almost blasphemy in us now to talk as St. Paul talked. It is much easier to face the notion, or the fact, of a demon or spirit such as Socrates felt to be in him, than to face what St. Paul seems to be meaning."

"Yes, much easier. The only question is whether we will be heathens or not."

"How do you mean?" said Tom. "Why, a spirit was speaking to Socrates, and guiding him. He obeyed the guidance, but knew not whence it came. A spirit is striving with us too, and trying to guide us-we feel that just as much as he did. Do we know what spirit it is whence it comes? Will we obey it? If we can't name it-know no more of it than he knew about his demon, of course we are in no better position than he-in fact, heathens."

Tom made no answer, and, after a silent turn or two more, Hardy said, "Let us go in ;" and they went to his rooms. When the candles were lighted, Tom saw the array of books on the table, several of them open, and remembered how near the examinations

were.

"I see you want to work," he said. "Well, good night. I know how fellows like you hate being thanked-there, you needn't wince; I'm not going to try it No. 9.-VOL. II.

on. The best way to thank you, I know, is to go straight for the future. I'll do that, please God, this time at any rate. Now what ought I to do, Hardy?"

"Well, it's very hard to say. I've thought about it a great deal this last few days-since I felt you were coming round-but can't make up my mind. How do you feel yourself? What's your own instinct about it?"

"Of course I must break it all off at once, completely," said Tom mournfully, and half hoping that Hardy might not agree with him.

"Of course," answered Hardy, "but how?"

"In the way that will pain her least. I would sooner lose my hand or bite my tongue off than that she should feel lowered, or lose any self-respect, you know," said Tom, looking helplessly at his friend.

"Yes, that's all right,-you must take all you can on your own shoulders. It must leave a sting though for both of you, manage how you will."

"But I can't bear to let her think I don't care for her-I needn't do thatI can't do that."

"I don't know what to advise. However, I believe I was wrong in thinking she cared for you so much. She will be hurt, of course-she can't help being hurt-but it won't be so bad as I used to think."

Tom made no answer; in spite of all his good resolutions, he was a little piqued at this last speech. Hardy went on presently, "I wish she were well out of Oxford. It's a bad town for a girl to be living in, especially as a barmaid in a place which we haunt. I don't know that she will take much harm now; but it's a very trying thing for a girl of that sort to be thrown every day amongst a dozen young men above her in rank, and not one in ten of whom has any manliness about him." "How do you mean

liness?"

no man

"I mean that a girl in her position isn't safe with us. If we had any manliness in us she would be-"

P

"You can't expect all men to be blocks of ice, or milksops," said Tom, who was getting nettled.

"Don't think that I meant you," said Hardy; "indeed I didn't. But surely, think a moment; is it a proof of manliness that the pure and the weak should fear you and shrink from you? Which is the true-ay, and the brave-man, he who trembles before a woman, or he before whom a woman trembles ?"

"Neither," said Tom; "but I see what you mean, and when you put it that way it's clear enough."

"But you're wrong in saying 'neither,' if you do see what I mean." Tom was silent. "Can there be any true manliness without purity?" went on Hardy. Tom drew a deep breath, but said nothing. "And where then can you point to a place where there is so little manliness as here? It makes my blood boil to see what one must see every day. There are a set of men up here, and have been ever since I can remember the place, not one of whom can look at a modest woman without making her shudder."

"There must always be some blackguards," said Tom.

"Yes; but unluckily the blackguards set the fashion, and give the tone to public opinion. I'm sure both of us have seen enough to know perfectly well that up here, amongst us undergraduates, men who are deliberately and avowedly profligates, are rather admired and courted,-are said to know the world, and all that,—while a man who tries to lead a pure life, and makes no secret of it, is openly sneered at by them, looked down on more or less by the great mass of men, and, to use the word you used just now, thought a milksop by almost all."

"I don't think it is so bad as that," said Tom. "There are many men who would respect him, though they might not be able to follow him."

"Of course, I never meant that there are not many such, but they don't set the fashion. I am sure I'm right. Let us try it by the best test. Haven't you and I in our secret hearts this cursed

feeling, that the sort of man we are talking of is a milksop?"

After a moment's thought, Tom answered, "I am afraid I have, but I really am thoroughly ashamed of it now, Hardy. But you haven't it. If you had it you could never have spoken to me as you have.”

"I beg your pardon. No man is more open than I to the bad influences of any place he lives in. God knows I am even as other men, and worse; for I have been taught ever since I could speak, that the crown of all real manliness, of all Christian manliness, is purity."

Neither of the two spoke for some minutes. Then Hardy looked at his watch

"Past eleven," he said. "I must do some work. Well, Brown, this will be a day to be remembered in my calendar."

Tom wrung his hand, but did not venture to reply. As he got to the door, however, he turned back, and said"Do you think I ought to write to her?"

Well, you can try. bitter business, I fear."

You'll find it a

"I'll try, then. Good night." Tom went to his own rooms, and set to work to write his letter; and certainly found it as difficult and unpleasant a task as he had ever set himself to work upon. Half a dozen times he tore up sheet after sheet of his attempts; and got up and walked about, and plunged and kicked mentally against the collar and traces in which he had harnessed himself by his friend's help,— trying to convince himself that Hardy was a Puritan, who had lived quite differently from other men, and knew nothing of what a man ought to do in a case like this. That after all very little harm had been done! The world would never go on at all if people were to be so scrupulous! Probably, not another man in the College, except Gray, perhaps, would think anything of what he had done! Done !-why, what had he done? He couldn't be taking it more seriously if he had ruined her!