1853.]

to make any. But here was a child who seemed to take to him at once; there was not a dash of forwardness in her manner, but she was not afraid of a certain hardness in him which had deterred other children; perhaps it was that he had so much less of it this morning than usual; however this might have been, she sat down at his side without hesitation, and talked to him with an ease and grace which captivated him at once, and apparently the Belgian nursemaid too, who stood by gazing from time to time admiringly upon her young charge.

I think papa and mamma would like you,' said the little girl, musingly, after she had conversed with him for some time; they do not see many persons, scarcely any English; but I think they would like you. Will you tell me your name, that I may tell them all about you?'

'My name is Merton,' said Uncle Peter.

That is very strange; it is their name and mine,' said the little girl; I am called Merton, Helena Merton.'

Uncle Peter started, and looked fixedly upon his young companion; the truth flashed upon him at once; there was no great resemblance of feature to his nephew, but there were tones in her voice which had already reminded him of something, he knew not what, which he had heard before. The voice was like Charles Merton's, but still more it seemed to him like his brother's.

Can you tell me your father's Christian name,' he said, quietly, 'my little girl?'

Yes; it is Charles."

He sat for some moments in silence and indecision as to what should be his future movements. If his nephew and his niece were at Spa, he must certainly leave it, was his first thought. Need he do so? was his second-need he doom himself again by prejudices, the folly of which he was beginning to see more clearly, to a desolate old age, cheered only by the venal society of a woman like Mrs. Howard? Why not be reconciled to his nephew at once, and, with this child, whom he already felt that he could love, go back and fill the old house at Hursleigh with gaiety and delight? But

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how be reconciled? Who was to make the first overtures? Not he; and would his nephew? If he had not made them before, was it likely that he would now? And then, again, the thought of Lady Helena recurred, whom he had so long been accustomed to picture to himself as haughty, disdainful, and extravagant, that even the different picture conveyed of her character by their landlady at Brussels had not succeeded in conveying a thoroughly different impression of her to his mind.

'Charles is papa's Christian name,' repeated the little girl, and now will you tell me yours?'

It is of no consequence,' said Uncle Peter gravely. Another silence succeeded, broken again by the little girl.

It is raining,' she said; 'look what large drops!'

They were large indeed-the first of a heavy shower: they lay black and broad upon the stones beside them. Thicker and faster they came, till the trees became no shelter, and at length the best thing seemed, to be reconciled to a thorough wetting, and reach home as soon as possible.

'We do not live far from here,' said the little girl, ' and there are trees the whole way.'

They gained the high road, shaded by a long avenue of limes-they hurried rapidly along, Uncle Peter protecting his little friend with his large umbrella, but deriving little benefit from it himself, until they came to a small white house, separated from the road, with a garden

in front of it.

apartment, he imagined to be his nephew's.

But Charles Merton was at Liège that day on business, and Lady Helena was too much engrossed with anxiety about the little girl having been out in the rain, to understand more from her story than that an old gentleman, an Englishman, had given her the protection of his umbrella.

Was it not odd, mamma; his name was Merton ?' persisted the little Helena.

6

'Very,' said Lady Helena. But I trust, my dear child, you may not take cold; you have been so much better since you came to this place, that it would be sad indeed if this wetting were to throw you back.'

The rain continued all that day, and the greater part of the next; but in the evening, Uncle Peter considered it sufficiently dry for him to venture forth from his rooms, to which he had been imprisoned for the most part during the rain.

He took a short walk in the very opposite direction to his nephew's house; he then went for a short time to the Redoute, where he had been accustomed to go and look at the papers in an evening; but this night, when he got hold of the Times, he could not command his attention sufficiently to understand it; he felt nervous and uncomfortable; he cast his eyes continually upon the group of persons similarly occupied with himself, to see if any addition, and what, had been made to their number; he looked up at every fresh entrance into the room, but he saw none but the faces-with many of which he had now become familiar that were wont to frequent the place. At last he threw down the paper, and walked to the gaming tables; he looked round them both. There were old, hard faces there, and young eager ones; but they did not interest him to-night. There was a fashionably dressed young Englishman carelessly losing a low mountain of little gold pieces, and a sharpfeatured woman of the bourgeois class accumulating with wolf-like rapacity a high mountain of large silver ones. But his eye wandered over all, and rested upon none; then he gave a sigh of relief, perhaps because he did not find what he

so strangely wished and as strangely dreaded to behold there; and then he took up his hat and stick, and descended the stairs.

In the dark archway which leads into the street, two persons were talking; he stopped involuntarily, arrested by the tones of one of the two voices.

I think I shall go in, and have a shy at the tables,' said one voice.

No, you wont,' said the other; 'you will come and have some tea with my wife.'

'I never take tea,' said the first voice, hesitatingly.

At all events, you wont go in there; or if you do, you wont play. My own experience has been so fearful' (the voice here, which he had recognised, grew low, but was perfectly distinct in its intense earnestness) that you will not deny me such benefit as I may derive from it, in the right it gives me to advise another.'

6

'How seriously you take the loss of a five-franc piece.'

'Yes; because a fortune may follow it. Come along.'

'Well, you must promise me a song from Lady Helena to make up for my self-denial.'

They walked out. It was moonlight; but the pavement was shadowed by the tall white houses, and neither of the two perceived the short figure of the old man, which followed them at some distance.

Uncle Peter saw them both enter the house where he had parted with his young companion. The upper windows were open, and voices, and occasionally a light laugh, could be heard by him as he stood outside. And then, after a while, for he remained there long, came the sound of a piano, and of a woman's voice, deep, and rich, and clear. It seemed of unusual compass and considerable cultivation. First, he heard an elaborate piece of foreign music. Then a few chords were struck, and some simpler English songs were sung. He could hear the words of them as he stood outside. One there was that he knew well, and had been very fond of in days gone by; but he had not heard it for long, and it came over him now with a power which brought the tears to his eyes. It was one of the Irish

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melodies' Oft in the stilly night.' The words of the last stanza rang in his ears. He could not shake them from him. He walked up and down, repeating them. It seemed that they must have been written for himself, to describe the situation in which he had been so long.

At last, the front door opened, and the visitor departed. They were now alone-Charles Merton and his wife. An irresistible impulse came over the old man: he walked up to the door, and rung the bell.

It was opened by an old servant of Captain Merton, who had remained with them through all their reverses, and who recognised him at once. He ushered him at once up stairs. He had nerved himself for a scene the thing, of all others, he most dreaded; but, as is not uncommonly the case in such cir cumstances, no scene was enacted. They were glad to see him, and of course surprised. Charles Merton introduced him to his wife; a glance at whom dispossessed Uncle Peter at once of the last of his prejudices, if any yet remained in her disfavour.

All seemed to be natural, and in the common course of things; if he had spent every evening with them for months he could not have felt more at home.

They talked of ordinary subjects; wished to order tea for him, which he declined; and then, when he rose to depart, Charles Merton said, in his old frank tones

'You will let us see you again, uncle; I have not yet introduced you to one of my family-the little Helena.'

'I will breakfast with you tomorrow,' said Uncle Peter, if you will permit me, taking you on my way back from my spring; but I need not an introduction to Helena-we are already friends;' and he explained their previous meeting, and Lady Helena was surprised of course that she had not at once detected who the child's companion had been.

He came the next morning to breakfast, and afterwards proposed a walk to his nephew, in the course of which, by a series of blunt questions, he ascertained the whole history of his affairs.

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And why did you not let me know all this before?' said Uncle Peter, when he had learned everything.

'I wrote to you before we left England, and told you much of what you have asked me about now; when I received no answer to my letter, it can scarcely surprise you, I think, from your knowledge of my character, that I did not write again.'

'Wrote to me before you left England? I never got your letter. I have never heard from you since your marriage.'

It is surprising that you did not receive my letter; I carried it to the post myself, too anxious at the time about its result not to take every pains that it should reach its destination. I did not tell my wife then that I had written it; she knew all, and was reconciled to the worst. I longed indeed that that worst might not come, but I would not destroy her heroic fortitude by suggesting a hope of assistance in our difficulties, which might be, as indeed it proved, delusion. And yet,' he said, thoughtfully, 'I am glad, dear uncle, you never got my letter. Had I got easily out of my troubles, I should never perhaps have learned, as now I have, to overcome so completely the habits which had led to them. I should never have known my wife, too; never seen such strength and gentleness of character in her as I did not believe existed upon earth. And

more, I should never have known myself, my selfishness, and sin. I have learned much intellectually in these last few years, for I have studied hard with a hope to turn my labours to account in some way so as to improve our position. But I am chiefly of all thankful to the moral lessons which I have received from her, and which I feel to be the most valuable and the most indelible of all.'

Uncle Peter was sadly perplexed about the missing letter; too long an interval had elapsed since it had been written for him to entertain any chance of discovering what had become of it; it was therefore with very little hope of obtaining any information on the subject that he said to his servant, when he came into his room that evening

'Thompson, I have learned this morning that a letter sent to me by my nephew four years ago, one of great importance, miscarried, and never reached me.'

6

I always said, sir, you never got it,' exclaimed the old servant, quickly and indignantly.

Uncle Peter prosecuted his inquiries, and learned that the letter had in due course arrived at Hursleigh, that it had made a considerable sensation in the servants' hall, where Charles Merton had ever been held in high consideration,' and where his estrangement from his uncle and Hursleigh had been unceasingly deplored. Thompson remembered the letter coming; he remembered the expectations which had been formed about it among the old servants; he remembered its being taken into the saloon by a new footman recently engaged, who had not been present at the discussion among them about the letter, and who knew nothing of the Captain. He remembered himself asking Thomas how his master looked when he received the letter, and Thomas saying that he did not know there was a letter for Mr. Merton; that he had given all three to Mrs. Howard. He always had his suspicions that his master never got that letter; and he was plunging into a history of the very unfavourable prepossessions entertained from various little circumstances against Mrs. Howard in the servants' hall, but was checked decisively by his master, who did not suffer the familiarity of an old servant to go so far as to listen to reflections from him upon a relation and a guest of his own.

But the case certainly did look awkward against Mrs. Howard; he thought long how it would be right to act concerning it; the footman,

Thomas, had long since left his service, having been discovered to be too impracticably stupid to remain. He felt that to charge Mrs. Howard with the suspected act would be only to meet with the most calm denial of all knowledge of it; nor did he see any means of bringing it home to her, even if he did not shrink, as he did, from the publicity which must attend any attempt to do so.

Hursleigh is now a happier mansion than it has been for many years; it has been just refurnished, and music, and flowers, and the merry voice of childhood, adorn its once deserted apartments. It is not a place, even now, where much entertainment of the neighbourhood goes on; but Lord Elsmore and his family are ever welcome guests, and sometimes some of the neighbouring families are invited to meet them. Mrs. Howard is never seen there, nor her daughters; it is said that she received one day a letter in the cramped hand of Uncle Peter, which arrived when she was in the midst of a select circle of morning callers; that she read the early part of it aloud, which described the entire restoration of the health of her dear relative,' and of his purpose of speedily returning to Hursleigh; but suddenly it was noticed that she stopped short, started, read on rapidly to herself, turned pale, rose from her chair, and with a hurried apology left the room and her visitors. A bell was speedily rung, and it is said that the small jug of very hot water which Hannah then carried up stairs in answer to it, was really used for the purpose for which it was demanded - to dilute a very considerable dose of sal-volatile.

1853.]

IT is recorded of Sir Martin

Frobisher, a renowned mariner in the time of Elizabeth, that when attempts were made to dissuade him from engaging in the discovery of a north-west passage, he declared, 'It is the only thing in the world that is left yet undone whereby a notable mind might be made famous and fortunate.'

This, be it remembered, was uttered nearly three centuries ago, since which period a vast number of attempts have been made by various nations to solve a problem full of interest to the man of science and commerce. For, when the early exploration of bold voyagers had dashed the hopes of the merchant by assuring him that if a passage

existed between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, it could never, on account of the enormous accumulation of ice, be used as a route to India, men whose aspirations ran higher than mere Mammon-worship felt desirous to lay bare the mysteries of the northern regions of our wonderful planet, where

blocks of sapphire seem to mortal eye

Hewn from cerulean quarries in the sky, With glacier battlements that crowd the

spheres,

The slow creation of six thousand years; Amidst immensity they tower sublime,Winter's eternal palace, built by time.

But we must not despise the early adventurers; for although it was with the view of attaining the land of pearls and spices by a shorter and less tiresome route than that round the Cape of Storms, that they went forth in their frail and small barks upon the dark northern waters; yet as pioneers in the great work of geographical discovery, and as men of indomitable perseverance and courage, they are entitled to our warmest admiration. And when we consider the nature of the Arctic Regions, and their vast area, our wonder is increased that throughout so many generations so many men have been found willing and ardent volunteers to explore those stern wastes even at the imminent peril of their lives.

If, then, such fame and renown were promised three hundred years ago, when Arctic exploration was in

VOL. XLVIII. NO. CCLXXXVII.

its infancy, to him who should discover the North-West passage, how greatly must the glory of such a discovery be increased at the present time, when so many trials have been made to solve the problem.

The name of M'Clure, as the fortunate discoverer of a passage between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans round the coast of North America, will stand out among the throng of Arctic voyagers with proud pre-eminence. We are not un

mindful that much of the path which he followed was already known, but he is entitled to all honour and praise for going forward when that path terminated, incurring by so doing great responsibility.

But this high prize has not been won by the English flag without great cost. While we exult that our small island, ever in the van of civilization and human advancement, has added fresh glory to its history by this discovery, we are painfully reminded that in all probability a gallant crew, headed by an officer who was Nelson's companion-his equal in courage, and as good as he was brave, have undoubtedly endured great hardships in their endeavours to accomplish an undertaking which it is impossible to deny is attended with many dangers.

This is a terrible penalty to pay for our victory, but it is the nature of all enterprises developing great results to involve considerable risk and suffering;-without these, where would be the glory?

Si non Euryalus Rutulos cecidisset in hostes,

Hertacidi Nisi gloria nulla foret.

Thinking of these things-for the probable fate of Franklin and his companions will haunt our imagination like the skeleton form in the halls of festivity-it is a cheering consolation to know that the humility and piety of the chief of the long lost Arctic voyagers which was shared by his officers, must have imparted great comfort to those under him in the dark and stern hours of trial. Like that devout gentleman and philosopher,' Sir Humphry Gilbert, who, when exploring the Arctic regions three centuries ago, endeavoured to console his unfortunate companions

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