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settled this morning. The particu- he makes me. And I don't want lars are on this paper, which I will such an absurd allowance as I had leave with you. Of course the sum before going out of the Guards into due to you is not exactly the same as the line-I mean to be a soldier in that which my father borrowed be- good earnest. Too much pocketfore I was born. There is the inter- money spoils a soldier-only gets one est -- compound interest ; nothing into scrapes. Alban Morley says the more. I don't understand such mat- same. Darrell, too, says "Right, no ters; Darrell's lawyer made the cal- gold could buy a luxury like the payculation-it must be right."

ment of a father's debt!' You canWaife had taken the paper, glanced not grudge me that luxury—you dare at its contents, dropped it in confu- not !- why? because you are an sion, amaze. Those hundreds lent honest man. swelled into all those thousands re- “Softly, softly, softly,” said Waife. turned! And all methodically com- “Let me look at you. Don't talk of puted – tersely - arithmetically - money now-don't let us think of down to fractions. So that every money! What a look of your father! farthing seemed, and indeed was, his 'Tis he, 'tis he, whom I see before lawful due. And that sum invest- me! Charlie's sweet bright playful ed in an annuity of £500 a-year !– eyes —that might have turned aside income which, to poor Gentleman from the path of duty-a sheriff's Waife, seemed a prince's revenue ! officer! Ah! and Charlie's happy

"It is quite a business-like com- laugh, too, at the slightest joke ! putation, I tell you, sir ; all done by But this is not Charlie's it is all a lawyer. It is indeed,” cried Lionel, your own (touching, with gentle dismayed at Waife's look and ges- finger, Lioneľs broad truthful brow). ture. "Compound interest will run Poor Charlie, he was grieved-you up to what seems a large amount at are right-I remember. first ; every child knows that. You 'Sir,” said Lionel, who was now can't deny Cocker and calculating on one knee by Waife's chairtables, and that sort of thing. Wil "sir, I have never yet asked man for liam Losely, you cannot leave an his blessing—not even Guy Darrell. eternal load of disgrace on the head Will you put your hand on my head? of Charles Haughton's son.”

and oh ! that in the mystic world be"Poor Charlie Haughton,” mur- yond us, some angel may tell Charles mured Waife. " And I was feeling Haughton that William Losely has bitter against his memory — bitter blessed his son !” against his son. How Heaven loves Solemnly, but with profound humito teach us the injustice that dwells lity-one hand on the Bible beside in anger! But-but-this cannot be. him, one on the young soldier's bendI thank Mr Darrell humbly—I can. ed head William Losely blessed not take his money.”

Charles Haughton's son-and, hav “It is not his money—it is mine; ing done so, involuntarily his arms he only advances it to me. It costs opened, and blessing was followed by him really nothing, for he deducts embrace, the £500 a-year from the allowance

CHAPTER IIL.

Nothing so obstinate as a young man's hope ; nothing so eloquent as a lover's tongue.

Hitherto there had been no refer- suddenly. Not half-an-hour before, ence to Sophy. Not Sophy's lover, Lionel Haughton was the last man but Charles Haughton's son had knelt in the world to whom willingly he to Waife and received the old man's would have consigned his grandchild. blessing. But Waife could not be Now, of all men in the world Lionel long forgetful of his darling-nor his Haughton would have been his choice. anxiety on her account.

The ex

He sighed heavily; he comprehended, pression in his varying face changed by his own changed feelings, how tender and profound an affection but if you knew all, you would not Lionel Haughton might inspire in a wonder to hear me say, 'I dare not heart so fresh as Sophy's, and so tena- ask Mr Darrell to bless my union cious of the impressions it received with the daughter of Jasper Losely.'” But they were separated for ever; Waife suppressed a groan, and she ought not even again to see him. began to pace the room with disUneasily Waife glanced towards the ordered steps. open window — rose involuntarily, “But,” resumed Lionel, “ go to closed it, and drew down the blind. Fawley yourself. Seek Darrell ; com

"You must go now, young gentle- pare the reasons for your belief with man,” said he, almost churlishly. his for rejecting it. At this moment

The quick lover's sense in Lionel his pride is more subdued than I have divined why the blind was drawn, ever known it. He will go calmly and the dismissal so abruptly given. into the investigation of facts ; the

Give me your address," said truth will become clear. Sir-dear, Waife; “I will write about—that dear sir-I am not without a hope." paper. Don't now stay longer-pray “A hope that the child I have so -pray."

cherished should be nothing in the "Do not fear, sir. I am not linger- world to me!" ing here with the wish to see her!“Nothing to you! Is memory Waife looked down.

such a shadow ?-is affection such a “Before I asked the servant to weathercock? Has the love between announce me, I took the precaution you and Sophy been only the instinct to learn that you were alone. But a of kindred blood ? Has it not been few words more-hear them patient- hallowed by all that makes Age and ly. Have you any proof that could Childhood so pure a blessing to each satisfy Mr Darrell's reason that your other, rooted in trials borne together? Sophy is his daughter's child ?” Were you not the first who taught

I have Jasper's assurance that her in wanderings, in privations, to she is; and the copy of the nurse's see a Mother in Nature, and pray to attestation to the same effect. They a Father which is in Heaven? Would satisfied me. I would not have asked all this be blotted out of your souls Mr Darrell to be as easily contented; if she were not the child of that son I could but have asked him to in- whom it chills you to remember! quire, and satisfy himself. But he Sir, if there be no tie to replace the would not even hear me.".

mere bond of kindred, why have you “He will hear you now, and with taken such vigilant pains to separate respect.”

a child from him whom you believe He will !" cried Waife, joyously. to be her father ?” "And if he should inquire, and if Waife stood motionless and voiceSophy should prove to be, as I have less. This passionate appeal struck ever believed, his daughter's child, him forcibly. would he not own, and receive, and “And, sir," added Lionel in a lower, cherish her ?"

sadder tone--" can I ask you, whose “Alas, sir, do not let me pain you; later life has been one sublime self-sacbut that is not my hope. If, indeed, rifice, whether you would rather that it should prove that your son deceived you might call Šophy grandchild, and you—that Sophy is no way related know her wretched, than know her to him-if she should be the child of but as the infant angel whom Heaven peasants, but of honest peasants sent to your side when bereaved and why, sir, that is my hope, my last desolate, and know also that she was hope--for then I would kneel once happy?' Oh, William Losely, pray more at your feet, and implore your with me that Sophy may not be your permission to win her affection and grandchild. Her home will not be ask her hand.”

less your home--her attachment will “What! Mr Darrell would con- not less replace to you your lost son sent to your union with the child of —and on your knee her children may peasants, and not with his own grand- learn to lisp the same prayers that child ?"

you taught to her. Go to Darrell"Sir, sir, you rack me to the heart; go-go! and take me with you !"

"I will-I will," exclaimed Waife; herself-assuring her, on his most and snatching at his hat and staff, solemn honour, that he was not now “Come-come! But Sophy should flying from her to resume his vagrant not learn that you have been here- life—that, without fail, please Heathat I have gone away

with you;

it ven, he would return that night or might set her thinking, dreaming the next day. hoping--all to end in greater sor- In a few minutes he reopened row." He bustled out of the room the room-door, beckoning silently to to caution the old woman, and to Lionel, and then stole into the quiet write a few hasty lines to Sophylane with quick steps.

EDWARD IRVING.

A GREAT preacher is a peculiar which thrill us with a pleasure perand unusual development of nature. haps more perfect in its kind than It is hard to prevail upon people to any other intellectual enjoyment. confess, in this age, that there is any- Music does not approach it, for the thing which cannot be learned—yet very soul of music is wistful-and few will be bold enough to place this there is no other art in which we among the list of acquirable faculties. cannot find something to be improved. An orator must be born, like a poet; There never was poem nor picture and even the limited circle of natural which did not leave something deorators shrinks into proportions more sirable unaccomplished, even in the contracted still, when we specify the consciousness of its devoutest admanner of the oration. A great mirer ; but the great orator charms preacher requires additional gifts in- his audience by the most perfect and dependent of the mere oratorical gift. faultless expression of human art. While his influence lasts, it is such If the speech is improvable, it is no an influence as is possessed perhaps longer oratory; and the natural reby no other development of genius- sult of its perfection is, that the audiand of all the endowments of human ence, excited to the highest point by nature, this is perhaps the rarest. that brilliant completeness, rest upon Great command of language, and it, and stand still there, in a pause of great skill in putting it together, are admiring satisfaction, acquiescence, powers of literature as well as ora- and content. Friends can but glory tory; and the charm of voice and in the thought that all opposition is gesture are common to the actor and silenced ; enemies themselves, being the mime as well as to the public human, can but hold their breath speaker. When you add the two to- with the universal sentiment. A gether, the result is a Burke or a great oration defeats reason and Macaulay-a splendid, cold-blooded, every mundane faculty-makes an dazzling mechanism of speech, só end of argument-fills, as with a meal, perfect in itself that it fills and satis- the hungry public appetite, which is fies the ear, and is independent of all so seldom content, and reduces the other results—the voice of a charmer, world to a condition of sudden calm to which the dullest cannot choose and momentary unanimity, which no but listen. But these endowments other exercise of power has a chance will not make a great preacher of the to bring. highest fashion of that order of man. Few human things share this atIt lies in the nature of true oratory tribute of perfection. Is this so perto produce this satisfaction and ful- fect, one wonders, because we shall ness of ear alike and mind. The have less need for this mortal tool of buzz of applause is but the natural language in the other world ? relief of that enthusiastic conscious- The effect of preaching is, and is ness of something complete and un- meant to be, different. It is not the improvable, with which we listen to ineffable applause of an audience, those full liquid resonant sentences satisfied and delighted to the highest

extent of which it is capable, but a world remains as it is, an “All's stir and tumult of new - awakened well." thought, a crowd of hasty, restless, The gift of preaching, in its widest eager suggestions, which surge around and most general sense, is, let us be the great preacher, who has sudden- grateful for our privileges, the most ly arrested the world. Content is the universally diffused of all gifts. Haplast thing in the world which this py is that man who has not expefashiou of oratory engenders. The rienced its special development in his highest aim of the pulpit is to bring own immediate and closest surroundall men, in the first place, to such à ings, and who has yet to discover the noble discontent as will stir them to remarkable fact, that it is the thing the deepest and most radical of re- of all others for which his wife, his volutions. The end of preaching is father, his mother, possibly even the something to be believed, something urchin at his knee, is most perfectly to be acted upon, something to do. qualified. We all preach, con amore, It has a practical application and to the extreme extent of our chance ; purpose, which reaches beyond the it is the one faculty common to range of oratory; and whereas the mankind. Honest people, who are gift of the orator, as bearing upon contracted by the limits of a private matters less important, may be exer- possibility, take it out in revenge, as cised with a certain degree of calm- is natural, upon their friends, and ness, and on a moderate amount of anybody who ever has exercised the conviction, the preacher who has a gift in public, is but too willing to right to be called great, must first repeat it on every feasible opportuthrow himself into his vocation with nity : but in this wide and general such a fervour and inspiration, that sense, we are grieved to say, the it is at risk of mind and balance, at power of preaching is less popular risk of the very greatness he is win- and welcome than it ought to be. ning, that he exercises his prodigious We are pleased to exercise it ourpower. He who would arrest the selves, but not to furnish material careless world in the midst of its oc- for the exercise, nor to receive it with cupations ; he who would compel the due and becoming humility; so that multitude to pause and listen; he it is impossible to deny that the word who would startle the everyday quiet has become a synonym for a very by instant proclamation of that di- unattractive necessity of life. And vine Might and Majesty—that awe we are not sure that the general bulk and terror of death, that glory and of authorised preachers throw much solemnity of life unseen-which are light upon the matter, or improve in nigh to every one of us, must first be a high degree the regard in which we so penetrated with the truth he hold it. Men taken from all classes speaks, so confident that what he and complexions of mind, and placed speaks is startling, terrible, glorious, in a position which largely enhances and of importance beyond all words, the natural human proclivity towards that the burden of his prophecy be- moral addresses and good advice, comes well-nigh the tenure by which stand on their little bit of platform he holds his reason and his life. This everywhere, most ready, and someis not the development of eloquence, times urgent, to tell us all that we staid and dignified, which commands have to do. We give them that rebishoprics and presidential chairs; it spect which the very name of God's is not a gift necessary for the com- service is enough to secure in this mon nourishment of the church ; but country ; but it is undeniable that it is the temper and mood of the old we are not always seized upon, prophets-the cry of one who cometh shaken out of our common lethargy, from the wilderness — the special and recalled to thoughts of our real arbitrary voice calling out from one object and destination, by the minage to another that world-wide re- istrations of our authorised teachers. port, with which these sentinels Perhaps the whole machinery of the answer each other across the heads of churches has become too absolute a hundred generations, and which is and regular for all the exigencies of not, and never will be while this this variable and changeful human. ity; perhaps an extraordinary occa- diction or the argument, which he sional office—the ministry of a wan- uses - but the force and fulness with dering apostle-might be of more ad- which he pours forth what is in him, vantage than we are apt to suppose a glorious storm of reproof, of disconanything so opposite to ordinary rule tent, of longing, of hope, sorrow, reand decorum could be. At all events, joicing, exultation,--the voice and it is true that preaching generally is passion of a man, the praise and detinctured with dulness to a very monstration of God. large extent, and that people do not It is not the calm of the pulpit, go to church, except in special in heaven knows-the calm of the pulstances, with very lively expectations pit drives us asleep, exasperates our of what they are to hear there ; while everyday toils and sufferings with at the same time it remains certain platitudes and placidities, coaxes our that no art of human skill, or inspira- superficial sympathies, appeals to our tion of human genius, has ever startled feelings—as if men had time to have the world into such a universal ex- feelings in these hard labouring days, citement as this gift of preaching, in when everybody runs to and fro, and the hands of a man to whom Provi- knowledge and sadness grow upon dence had given the mastery of its the burdened world ; but the great extraordinary power.

preacher ventures to go into his pulIt is not easy to pronounce upon pit a complete man, with all his nathe kind of qualities which make tural griefs and loads upon him, not great preachers. They have been, a whit less or more than God' has like other great men, of different cha- laden him withal, and under the racter and different temperament yoke, like us all, speaks, to us all, all throughout the different ages of the that is in his heart. It is thus alone world. The one thing needful is that one man rules over a thousand, that the speaker be possessed to that the common limitations of space the utmost extent of his capacity and number vanish, that the heart with the message which he bears of the crowd is pricked with sudden to the world—that he be too much consciousness of all it wants and absorbed in this to take time for has not-of all it has, and makes no the small dishonesties of eloquence thanksgiving for : such was the —that he be beyond thought of effect wrought some thirty years ago effect, of reputation, of prudence, of upon the curious crowds of London, the common barriers which limit by the extraordinary man whose common men—but that with a spon- name stands at the head of this page. taneous flood and overflow he give At once the greatest and the sadforth what is in him in that unfailing dest instance in modern records of confidence of response, sympathy, his prophetic race-a man whose and comprehension, which all great merest words lift up his reader still men have. It needs not that he into an atmosphere, sublimed and should be wise or always right, changed, out of the common breaththese are qualities of quite another a man standing so close and full at kind ; perhaps it is even impossible gaze upon his God, that the dazzle that the full swell of a merely mortal of that glory made motes in the comvoice should reach its height of sound mon sunshine, till the great soul fell at any time without a certain mixture astray, and pursued the motes inof error ; but it is certain that he who stead of the light. How it happens stands fearing and trembling over that a career so wonderful has passed his words, and hesitates to say what without record, save of the most he thinks, will, right or not, never be trifling and unworthy kind, it is very a great preacher. The man who is, hard to tell. Every circumstance of does not take time to think what interest unites around a man, who in style of preaching his shall be—he himself is as perfect an example as does not make up his mind to ad- any discrowned emperor of the fickle dress the intellectual, or the senti- popular favour, which crowns and mental, or the imaginative ; and the kills, and, more touching and true secret of his power is not, in the first than any Faustus, declares the morplace, the manner or the form, the tal weakness which accompanies all

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