and looked over his shoulder while he dashed off hasty likenesses of such of the natives as he could induce, by means of bribes, to overcome their strong natural aversion to having their portraits taken; she never seemed to weary of his company; and if there was still an occasional touch of condescension in her manner, it is probable that Barrington, feeling as he then did, held such manifestations to be only fitting and natural as coming from her to him. And then, by degrees, there sprang up between them a kind of natural understanding, an intuitive perception of each other's thoughts and wishes, and a habit of covertly alluding to small matters and small jokes unknown to either of their companions. And sometimes their eyes met for a second, and often an unintelligible smile appeared upon the lips of the one, to be instantaneously reflected upon those of the other. All of which things were perceived by the observant M. de Fontvieille, and caused him to remark aloud every night, in the solitude of his own chamber, before going to bed: "Madame, I was not the instigator of this expedition; on the contrary, I warned you against it. I had no power and no authority to prevent its consequences, and I wash my hands of them." The truth is that the poor old gentleman was looking forward with some trepidation to an interview with the duchess, which his prophetic soul saw looming in the future. Fort Napoléon, frowning down from its rocky eminence upon subjugated Kabylia, is the most important fortress of that once turbulent country, and is rather a military post than a town or village. It has however a modicum of civilian inhabitants, dwelling in neat little white houses on either side of a broad street, and at the eastern end of the street a small church has been erected. Thither Jeanne betook herself one evening at the hour of the Ave Maria, as her custom was. The door swung back on its hinges, and Jeanne emerged from the gloom of the church and met the dazzling blaze of the sunset, which streamed full upon her, making her cast her eyes upon. the ground. She paused for a moment upon the threshold; and as she stood there with her pale face, her drooped eyelids, and a sweet grave smile upon her lips - Barrington, whose imagination was for ever playing him tricks, mentally likened her to one of Fra Angelico's angels. She did not in reality resemble one of those XVIII-670 ethereal beings much more than she did the heathen goddess to whom he had once before compared her; but something of the sanctity of the church seemed to cling about her, and that, together with the tranquillity of the hour, kept Barrington silent for a few minutes after they had walked away side by side. It was not until they had reached the western ramparts, and leaning over them, were gazing down into purple valleys lying in deep shade beneath the glowing hill-tops, that he opened his lips. "So we really go back again to-morrow," he sighed. "Yes, to-morrow," she answered absently. "Back to civilization - back to the dull, monotonous world. What a bore it all is! I wish I could stay here for ever!" "What! You would like to spend the rest of your life at Fort Napoléon?" said Jeanne with a smile. "How long would it take you to tire of Kabylia? A week-two weeks? Not perhaps so much." "Of what does not one tire in time?" he answered. "I have tried most things, and have found them all tolerably wearisome in the end. But there is one thing of which I could never tire.” "And that—?" inquired Jeanne, facing him with raised eyebrows of calm interrogation. He had been going to say "Your society"; but somehow he felt ashamed to utter so feeble a commonplace, and substituted for it, rather tamely, "My friends." "Ah! there are many people who tire of them also, after a time," remarked Jeanne. "As for me, I have so few friends," she added a little sadly. "I hope you will always think of me as one of those few," said Barrington. "You? Oh yes, if you wish it," she answered rather hurriedly. Then, as if desiring to change the subject, "How quiet everything is!" she exclaimed. "Quite in the distance I can hear that there is somebody riding up the hill from Tizi-Ouzou; listen!" Barrington bent his ear forward, and managed just to distinguish the faint ringing of a horse's hoofs upon the road far below. Presently even this scarcely perceptible sound died away, and a universal hush brooded over the earth and air. Then for a long time neither of them spoke again,-Jeanne because her thoughts were wandering; Barrington because he was half afraid of what he might say if he trusted himself to open his lips. M CHARLES ELIOT NORTON (1827-) R. LOWELL and Colonel Higginson have given us vivid pictures of the quiet suburban village of Cambridge, in which stood the Harvard College of the early nineteenth century. Here Charles Eliot Norton was born. By eight years the junior of Lowell and by four of Higginson, Professor Norton is the youngest member of a notable group, and will pass into the history of American letters at the close of the little file which includes the Autocrat,- and by all rights save that of birth, Longfellow as well. In the great rush to ever-changing Western abodes, Mr. Norton has throughout his threescore years and ten associated the word "home" with the ample roof and ancient elms of "Shady Hill," where he was born November 16th, 1827. The years 1849-50, 1855-57, 1868-73, indeed, were spent in contented exile, beginning with a business voyage to India. Since 1874, however, he has taught faithfully at Harvard; not, like his father, a pillar of orthodoxy in the Divinity School, but filling a collegiate chair as professor of the history of art. C. E. NORTON In one of the most impressive of his numerous essays on social questions, Mr. Norton deplores the lack of permanency, of the deepstruck local root, in our domestic and social life. The happiest illustration of his thesis stood close at hand. In all the land there are few homes so restful, so refined, so hospitable, as << Shady Hill." This is, however, by no means a spot secluded from the busy world of men. More perhaps than any other American in our generation, Mr. Norton has been a stern and fearless critic of everything in our social and intellectual life that falls short of his own highest ideals. This is one of the best uses to which brave and generous patriotism can devote itself. It is always easier to praise, or be silent, than to blame; to swim with the current than to stem the popular tide. The rapid material growth of our country, the successful strife with savage nature, the rush of immigration from every land, the fierce friction through which alone those motley forms of humanity can be merged in the new national type,- all these conditions have aided to mold many a heroic active career in America; but have made difficult, if not impossible, the "life contemplative." Perhaps it is not desirable that the scholastic recluse should ever find it easy to live out his selfish existence among us. The most self-centred dreamer of the dream divine we have yet known - Emerson-declared that he did but "Go to the god of the wood Our danger is rather that we shall neglect altogether those periods of solitude and meditation which are as necessary to the mind and soul as slumber for the body. Yet those who best realize this truth -strong-winged spirits like Ruskin, Carlyle, Matthew Arnold—are oftenest tempted to disdain the contented average man or woman of their time, precisely because their own eyes are fixed on existence as yet but half attainable even by themselves. an ideal There is a wide-spread tradition that each of the three great Englishmen just mentioned has regarded Mr. Norton as the foremost among American thinkers, scholars, or men of culture. In this last class, indeed, he would doubtless be generally accorded the most prominent place, especially since the death of his two dearest friends, Lowell and Curtis. Mr. Norton has always seemed less optimistic than either of these two. He has not appeared to share their buoyant confidence in the future of the race, and of our nation in particular. Nevertheless, remembering all that Hosea Biglow did to uplift and strengthen our patriotism, recalling how wisely, eloquently, and genially the Easy Chair pleaded for every social and political reform, we shall find decisive evidence of highest worth and general character even in this alone,—that Mr. Norton was the closest lifelong friend of each, the literary executor of both. Mr. Norton has not the technical training of an architect, sculptor, or painter. Indeed, though he preaches sincerely the superior ethical value and expressiveness of the material arts, he is himself a man of books, a critic of thought and style. Far though he has journeyed from the Calvinistic creed of an earlier generation, he retains all the moral fibre of his Puritan ancestors. Professor Norton's pathetic, almost despondent mental attitude toward the conditions of our day has perhaps been confirmed by his long devotion to the grim master-poet of Tuscany. For Italy his heartiest affection is expressed in his 'Notes of Travel' (1859). It is thirty years since he published a translation of the Vita Nuova,' wherein Dante's love poems were duly rendered in English rhymed verse. Mr. Norton and Mr. Lowell were the most faithful collaborators also upon the poet Longfellow's careful rendering of Dante in blank verse. 10709 Nevertheless, when Professor Norton's own translation of the 'Divine Comedy,' which he had interpreted to many successive classes of students, was finally printed (1891-2), it was wholly in prose. Of the faithful, lucid, somewhat calm and terse style employed in this rendering, an extended example has been offered already to readers of the 'Library.' Of course a prose version of a poem, itself a highly elaborated masterpiece of rhythmical form, will not satisfy every reader; but all the thoughts of Dante are here transferred. It is earnestly to be hoped that the 'Convito' also will be given to the public in completed form. As originator, president, and soul of the Dante Society, Mr. Norton must be credited with most of the modest sum total thus far accomplished on American soil in Dantesque research and publication. In the direction of his professional teaching, Mr. Norton's chief public volume is his Church Building in the Middle Ages.' Here by three noble examples - the cathedrals of Venice, Siena, and Florence -the author illustrates his favorite thesis. A poem, more perhaps than a picture or a statue, may be in large part the miracle of a moment, the fruit of creative genius manifested in a single man: into a supreme masterpiece of architecture the physical and moral character of a whole race is built, and therefore finds therein its fullest expression. Mr. Norton may also well count as a great service to art the foundation of an "Archæological Institute of America," which he served for many years as president and most active member. This society sent out the first American archæological expedition,-to Assos in Asia Minor, 1881-3,-founded the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, and has just shared in the creation of the sister school in Rome. This movement has already gone far toward revolutionizing and giving fresh life to the study of classical antiquity in America. For a series of years also Mr. Norton shared with his friend Lowell the editorial work of the scholarly old North American Review: a publication which is still painfully missed, for it has no real successor. ་ Amid all these heavy cares, shared by comparatively few helpers, Mr. Norton has answered cheerfully in every crisis to the call of civic and patriotic duty. (The remarkable reappearance of the "scholar in politics» during the last two decades has indeed nowhere been more striking than at Harvard.) Lastly, this busy student, teacher, and author has responded no less patiently to every call, however unreasonable, on his personal sympathy. Many an old Harvard man will recall, with sincere remorse, how often his crude intellectual ambitions or moral perplexities were suffered to encroach on crowded hours and limited physical strength. Toward his chosen |