to reform the art of his age, and to elevate the taste of his countrymen, backed, as it was, by corresponding powers, we certainly consider neither a mistake, folly, nor a pretence, though it was unquestionably mixed with and tarnished by inordinate vanity, strong personal ambition, and all the vices of a jealous, irritable, and suspicious temper. Such an aspiration, however soiled with lower motives, would have won from all thoughtful men simply respect, sympathy, and admiration; and the more trouble and distress he had encountered, the more would the world have done justice to the inspiration of genius assuming the imperative consecration of a solemn mission, and have ranked the man who sacrificed fortune, ease, and peace of mind to preach to his countrymen, after his fashion, the deepest convictions of his soul, with those heroes and martyrs who have given up all that the world has to offer for the truth that was committed to them by one higher than the world. Certainly the last moral we should ever think of drawing from any man's life would be the deadly immorality of charging high devotion to a noble cause with folly, or even of selecting for especial reprobation the mistakes of men of whose lives such devotion has been characteristic. But Haydon, with all his passion for his art, and with all his ambition to win distinction by it, did not devote himself to it, did not make for it and to it the sacrifices which could alone have enabled him to triumph over the obstacles that the indifference of the public and his own want of independent resources created in the path he so obstinately pursued. What the situation he chose demanded, was that he should

scorn delights' as well as live laborious days. He could do the latter, but he wanted the self-denial and self-control, and rigid constancy of purpose which would have tolerated no indulgence, however harmless or even excellent in itself, that interfered with the main object of his life, with the mission to which he proclaimed himself consecrated for life by the instinct of his genius and his deliberate choice. He was a Paul acting out the prin

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ciple that the labourer was worthy of his hire, by taking on credit a fine house in the grand square at Corinth, and offering to convert his landlord in payment of the rent; preaching on Mars'-hill sublime doctrine, and sending round the hat for the charming wife and dear children who solaced the good man's labours at the close of the day; brow-beating Festus with terrible menace of righteousness, and sin, and judgment, and sending him a beggingletter afterwards, or soliciting from his worship an appointment in the body guard for his son, who had cost him a fortune in the schools at Athens, and now would not turn his learning to account. The man who would conquer the world to a faith, who feels the preaching of that faith a duty as well as a passion, will give no pledges to fortune, will encumber himself with no habits that give others control over him, and hamper him in the pursuit of his aim. Haydon, on the contrary, endeavoured to unite the self-will, the independence, the spurn of control, which mark the reformer and the martyr, with the pleasures of the man of society; and, by indulging habits of expense, and gratifying his passion for a charming woman, and his affection for his children, he spent money that was not his own, and suffered precisely the same inconveniences that universally follow such a course. It was

at his option to be the priest and martyr to high art, or to marry and beget children, and send them to expensive universities, and to live, in fact, at the rate of about a thousand the year; he strove to do both, and failed. We do not think his career deserves harsh terms, but we do think it full of warning to men whose aims are noble, but who are apt to pursue those aims without deliberately counting the cost of the struggle, and, when the cost comes upon them, vent their disappointment in exaggerated self-praise and exaggerated reproaches of the world, and, worse than all, throw over the claims of genius all the humiliation and disgrace that belong only to their own want of manly dignity, foresight, and self-denial.

CHAPTER XIX.

ONE day, when Emily was stand

ing in the little garden in front of her cottage, a gentleman named Brade, one of the police magistrates, happened to pass by, and see her face. Mr. Brade, whose disposition may be described as 'very gay,' admired Emily exceedingly, and he passed and re-passed several times, and stared at her. Emily observed this, and retired to the cottage, of which she very rarely crossed the threshold.

Mr. Brade made inquiry, and informed himself who Mrs. Harcourt was; and he further discovered what sort of a person her husband was. Mr. Brade's informant, a constable, also told him of George Flower's acquaintance with the lady, and suggested that it would be advisable to get Flower out of the way, before obtaining an introduction to Mrs. Harcourt.

To get Flower out of the way was far from difficult. There happened to be at large, near Bathurst, three men who had baffled all the efforts of the mounted police to capture them. A hundred pounds reward had been offered for the apprehension of each of them, and Flower had often sighed to take them 'single handed,' but he could not make up his mind to leave Emily unprotected, for he was in constant dread lest some person in power should be struck with her beauty, and, in his absence, cause her annoyance.

took

Brade, while sitting on the bench, up the newspaper, the Australian, and read the last daring act of the three men alluded to.

Doole was also a magistrate, then

sitting on the bench.)

This ought not to be,' said Brade. 'These men ought to be taken. Let us have a meeting in the private room, and send for George Flower.'

I have spoken to him already,' said the chief, but he does not seem disposed to have a venture. I don't know what has come over George Flower, lately. He is getting lazy and timid, I fancy.'

Let us all talk to him, and put him upon his mettle,' said Brade.

At the breaking up of the court, for the day, George Flower was sent for, and taken into the private room. The three magistrates vied with each other in painting the glory which attached to Flower's past career, and succeeded in inflaming the thief-taker's vanity; but he declined the errand they proposed, on the ground that it was not fair to rob the mounted police of their legitimate profits; besides, he pleaded, that he was tired of being made a target, and thought of retiring from the police, taking a wife, and keeping a public house.

Oh! a thousand pities!' cried Brade. Only fancy-what would the police be without you, George Flower ? You are the police! What are we, without you? What is the Government without you? Nothing! The convicts would take the country from us, if it were not for you; for the military could never keep down the convicts without the police, and I repeat that you are the police! And if you are bent on marrying and keeping a publichouse, why you would have these three hundred pounds to set you up one hundred would buy you a cask of rum, another a cask of gin, and the third, a cask of brandy; and then, after such an exploit, the prettiest girls in the country will be dying to marry you. What a finish to your fame it would be!'

1853.]

'As to the money for setting up a public house,' said Flower, argumentatively, I could easily manage that. And as for the pretty girls,' he added, with a smile playing on his lips, there is no lack of them. But the fact is, I don't want to go.'

'Come, come, George,' said the chief magistrate, 'undertake it as a personal favour to all of us, and I promise you that if you are successful your conditional shall be changed into a free pardon.'

'I don't care about a free pardon now,' said Flower; 'I don't want to visit my native land again-I have now an inducement to remain in this country, and I wouldn't go home to-morrow if I could.'

Ah,' cried Brade, 'I begin to think, George, that you suspect that one of this gang is more than a match for you. They say he is monstrously clever, cunning, and courageous.'

A match for me, Sir!' said Flower. I believe there's only one person that's a match for me,' and he significantly pointed with his fore-finger-insinuating that the person he alluded to was down below.

However, since you are all so determined upon it, I will go, and bring in this clever fellow you speak ofdead in a cart, and t'others tied to the cart's tail-and I'll do it before this day six weeks.'

'Bravo!' cried out the three magistrates. Brade, in his ecstasy, held out his hand and shook warmly the small but vigorous fist of the dauntless thief-taker.

Flower that night left Sydney; but before he went on his journey he paid a visit to Emily. He found her in excellent spirits, which were strangely in contrast with his own melancholy frame of mind, for he fancied he would never see her again. He gave Emily a great deal of excellent advice, and when he bade her adieu he kissed her hand.

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pressed his implicit belief in the convict's innocence, and then informed Roberts that he desired his opinion upon a point of law on so delicate a subject that he did not wish to submit it through an attorney to counsel. Roberts was of course highly flattered, and gave Mr. Brade a very sound opinion on the imaginary case which Mr. Brade verbally made known to him, and knowing well where Roberts lived, he inquired what was his address, in order that he might convey to him some sense of the obligation under which he said he was labouring. Roberts without hesitation gave Mr. Brade the number of his house in Castlereagh-street, and on the following morning Mr. Brade called, and presented Roberts with five sovereigns and five shillings, delicately folded up in a piece of silver paper. Whilst he was talking to Roberts, his eye rested upon Emily's piano, and upon a basket, containing some Berlin wools. You are musical, I perceive,' said Mr. Brade, addressing Roberts in the tone of an equal.

I am not,' replied Roberts, but Mrs. —, that is to say, my wife, sometimes amuses herself.' Roberts just then felt too proud to say that his wife gave lessons.

'Oh! you're married. I was not aware, or (he simpered and smiled) I should not have thought of calling in so rugged a costume.'

Oh, pray don't mention that. In this country one does not expect that those who have business to attend to should be always attired in the garb of morning visitors.' And Roberts went to the door and called out, Emily, my love, come down

stairs.'

Emily, in obedience to her husband's commands, made her appearance, much against her inclination, for she had from the window recognised in Mr. Brade the gentleman who had stared so strangely at her on a previous day. Mr. Brade stayed for several hours, chatting with Roberts and his wife, and on taking his departure he invited them to visit him on the ensuing Sunday, at his villa, a few miles from town, upon the South Head-road. Roberts accepted the invitation; but when Mr. Brade had gone, Emily ex

Y

Roberts, than whom a more cunning man never breathed, saw through Mr. Brade as quickly as Emily had seen through him and his visits; but Roberts was not a jealous man, and as his wife did not breathe her suspicions, he was determined to foster, rather than obstruct, Mr. Brade's desire to become acquainted with them; so he said, 'My dear love, it is highly desirable we should be on terms of intimacy with the magistracy. They have the power of recommending persons in my position for pardons, conditional or absolute, as the case may be. Who knows but that Mr. Brade, who is satisfied of my innocence, as you will hear him say yourself on Sunday next-Mr. Brade, a police magistrate, and lately an officer in her Majesty's service, like myself, and on the most intimate terms at Government-house--who knows whether he may not be the means of procuring my return to the land of my fathers, and ample compensation from the Home Government for the wrongs they have inflicted upon me by this unmerited banishment? Mr. Brade, my dear, is not a man like Flower; he is a gentleman, a person of exquisite sensibility and good taste. You see it in his manner, his address, and his conversation. It would be madness, my dear Emily, to spurn the spontaneous advances of a gentleman of his calibre and character.'

Emily was overcome by these arguments, and her scruples about visiting Mr. Brade speedily vanished.

Sunday came, and Roberts drove Emily in his gig to Mr. Brade's country residence, which overlooked a small branch of the harbour of Port Jackson, called Rose Bay, one of the most lovely spots in the world. The bay is almost semi-circular, and margined by a broad path of cream-white sand.

It

is so completely shut in that its waters are rarely troubled; and upon this Sunday they were as the smooth surface of an enormous mirror, which reflected the shadows of the trees and rocks that skirted this calm expanse of water. Butterflies were on the wing, and diamond birds were chasing each other from

bush to bush; the mocking-birds were singing in the mangrove trees, and from a distance there came upon the ear the low cooings of the bronze-winged pigeon. Heaths of every description were in full flower, but their perfume was drowned by the overpowering scent of the mimosa and the wild laburnum.

After luncheon, Mr. Brade proposed a walk round the bay, and promised to exhibit to Emily, from a certain peak, its transcendant beauty. They had not proceeded far when Roberts lagged behind, while Mr. Brade and his wife walked leisurely on. Emily looked behind her several times, and at length stopped and called to her husband, who was now out of sight,- Reginald, are you not coming?'

Roberts heard her voice, but gave no reply. He only smiled, and smoked more vigorously the cheroot which he had secretly lighted. He was premeditating a return to the villa for the purpose of draining the decanter of its delicious sherry. Again Emily stopped, and called out, Reginald!'

'I am afraid my husband will be lost,' said she to Mr. Brade.

At that moment Roberts was acting on his premeditation. He had drank nearly a tumblerful of the wine, and was pouring the like quantity of water into the decanter. He had heard Brade say, at luncheon, that this was a trick his servants were addicted to, and he concluded that they would have to bear the blame, when this impudent dilution was detected by their master at dinner.

Emily began to feel alarmed, for Mr. Brade's attentions, and the opinions he ventured to express, were offensive to the last degree. She declared she had seen sufficient of the beauties of Rose Bay, and would fancy the rest. She then left Mr. Brade's arm, and retraced her steps to the villa, Mr. Brade walking by her side, and paying her the most extravagant compliments.

When they reached the villa, Roberts was walking up and down the verandah, pretending to read a book. When he beheld his wife,