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 CASIMIR MAREMMA. 
 
 VOLUME I.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/casimirmaremma01help
 
 g i/yrm 
 
 CASIMIR MAREMMA, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "FRIENDS IN COUNCIL,' 
 
 "REALMAH." ETC. 
 
 VOLUME 1. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BELL AND DALDY, YOEK STREET, 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1870.
 
 CHISWICK press: — PRINTED BY WHITTIXQHAM AND WILKLNS, 
 TOOKS COCRT, CHANCERY LANE.
 
 8£3 
 \zno 
 
 TO 
 
 THE LORD NORTHBROOK, 
 
 THIS WORK IS DEDICATED 
 
 WITH MUCH AiTECTION BY HIS FRIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 London, Dec. 1869. 
 
 J^
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Chap. 
 
 
 Page 
 
 
 Introduction .... 
 
 ix 
 
 I. 
 
 A Ministerial Eeception 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Maggie's Home .... 
 
 4 
 
 III. 
 
 Casimir's Character 
 
 17 
 
 lY. 
 
 A Letter to His Father . 
 
 . 25 
 
 V. 
 
 The House of Lochawe . 
 
 32 
 
 VI. 
 
 Casimir's Aspirations . 
 
 41 
 
 VII. 
 
 Domestic Kelationship . 
 
 51 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Social Questions .... 
 
 62 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Declaration .... 
 
 80 
 
 X. 
 
 Philosophical Comforts , 
 
 91 
 
 XI. 
 
 An Unwelcome Visitor . 
 
 100 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Kesults of Maggie's Visit 
 
 121 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Kuth's Supposed Rival . 
 
 135 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ruth's Resolve 
 
 146 
 
 XV. 
 
 Lord Glenant and Maggie 
 
 154
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 Chap. 
 
 XVI. Lord Lochawe perplexed 
 
 XVII. Euth's Self-sacrifice 
 
 XVIII. The Old Count's Danger 
 
 XIX. Preparations for the Journey 
 
 XX. Ruth in a New Character 
 
 XXI. The New Private Secretary 
 
 Page 
 
 169 
 176 
 186 
 199 
 210 
 219
 
 INTRODUCTIOlSr. 
 
 [E have written another book. Those 
 persons who have read a previous 
 work^ called " Realmah/^ will know 
 who the ive are ; but as there will be many^ 
 perhaps^ who will read ^''Casimir Maremma" not 
 having read "Realmah/^ it will be necessary to 
 tell them who are the we. 
 
 My name is Alexander Johnson^ and I am the 
 private secretary of Mr. Milverton^ one of a num- 
 ber of friends called '' Friends in Council.-'^ 
 
 When Mr. Milverton wrote " Realmah/^ we 
 read it out, bit by bit, to the other friends. 
 The critics said, and I think said justly, that 
 this mode of proceeding broke up the interest 
 of the story. We resolved not to commit a simi- 
 lar error this time : nevertheless we resolved to
 
 X INTBODUGTION. 
 
 have the advantage of our friends' criticism upon 
 the work ; but we determined to give it them, 
 en bloc, as the French say, and Mr. Milverton 
 resolved, on a certain day, when they were all 
 assembled together at his house, to tell them that 
 he had written this story, and to place it in their 
 hands. 
 
 Those friends are, as I mentioned at the com- 
 mencement of " Eealmah,'^ Sir John Ellesmere, 
 and a great politician and man of letters, to whom 
 I shall give the name of Sir Arthur Godolphin, 
 a Mr. Mauleverer, and a Mr. Cranmer. 
 
 They had all met in Mr. Milverton's study. 
 We meant, he and I, to take a favourable oppor- 
 tunity, in the course of the conversation, of men- 
 tioning what we had done ; but before doing so, 
 we allowed the conversation to proceed in the 
 haphazard way in which such conversations ordi- 
 narily do proceed ; and it happened that the 
 friends began to talk about a topic which is just 
 now very frequently discussed in society, namely, 
 the rights and privileges which should be granted 
 to women. Mr. Mauleverer was very hard and
 
 INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 bitter, as I tlionglit, upon tliis subject. I will 
 give his own words, and tlien relate the conver- 
 sation exactly as it proceeded from this point. 
 
 Mauleveeer. They are, if possible, more noxious 
 animals even than men. Look at their baby-shows, 
 their attendance at pigeon matches, the wonderful 
 follies they have committed in the last ten years 
 in the article of dress, and their general perverse- 
 ness and absurdity (the present company of course 
 excepted). 
 
 The most detestable form that animal life has 
 taken is that of the young male of the human species, 
 and after that, the young female. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Do you mean, Milverton, to allow 
 him to go on talking in this way ? 
 
 Milverton. Well, Sir Arthur, I am with him as 
 regards baby shows and pigeon, matches and feminine 
 dress ; but, of course, I think he talks with his usual 
 provoking exaggeration of condemnation. I, who 
 owe so much to women, and who think them to be 
 the choicest production of nature, cannot, of course, 
 agree in what he says about them, and, I am sure, 
 says only to provoke us to take their part, and, if 
 possible, to magnify their merits. 
 
 Ellesmere. I shall have something, too, to say 
 in favour of boys. I admit that they are very mis-
 
 xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 chievous, sometimes cruel (cruel from mere thouglit- 
 lessness), and, generallj speaking, audacious and in- 
 considerate. But how frank they are ; how truthful ; 
 how easilj led when you put anything high-minded 
 and anything good before them ! Remember 
 Arnold and Rugby, Vaughan and Harrow ; and, 
 in short, being a boy myself, as I know Mauleverer 
 thinks me to be, I shall be ready to do battle for boys 
 to any extent when the proper time for battling comes. 
 But, meanwhile, Milverton, do you say your say 
 about women. 
 
 Lady Bllesmeee. Yes, Leonard, do speak up for 
 us, and show that we are not the wretches that this 
 misanthrope would make us out to be. It is very 
 mean and contemptible of him to say, as he always 
 does, " present company excepted." And my sister, 
 too, who always thinks of what he likes for dinner, 
 and studies him more than anybody else ! 
 
 Milverton. Well, my dears, I do honestly think 
 that women suffer under certain wrongs, politically 
 and legally speaking. I think that those who are, as 
 the law calls them, femmes soles, ought to have the 
 right of voting, if the same conditions of voting 
 belong to them as to men. 
 
 I think, moreover, that it ought to be the study of 
 every man who has power and influence in the world, 
 to favour the employment of women in any occupa- 
 tions that are not unfitted for them.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xiu 
 
 Returning to the question of Yote, I tliink that 
 women ought to be allowed especial privileges. They 
 ought to be allowed to give theii' votes, as we do at 
 the universities, in writing. I have a horror of 
 women being subjected to the inconveniences and the 
 dangers — 1 wish to underline that word dangers — of 
 crowds and public assemblages. The woman to 
 whom I owe most in the world, died of a very 
 slight blow received accidentally — died of that 
 horrible disease, cancer, and it has made me fear, 
 mortally fear, all such injuries to the delicate struc- 
 tures of women. 
 
 I think women possess a common sense and a 
 power of looking at things in reference to the imme- 
 diate present, which are peculiar to themselves. I 
 believe that we should not have had the bloody and 
 ferocious wars which we have had, if women had 
 possessed more power in the world. They are so 
 eminently practical ; — they think first of the hus- 
 band, and the son, and the brother, and the house- 
 hold ; and then they wish life to be beautiful and 
 comfortable for all of us. The abstract considerations 
 which rule us, have comparatively little weight with 
 them. Honour and glory, and balance of power, and 
 progress of the human race, and the ardent desire of 
 making all other peoj)le think as we think, are not 
 so potent in women as in men. 
 
 Ellesmeee. I decline to be an emu.
 
 xiv INTBODUCTIOK 
 
 Mr. Cranmer. What does lie mean ? Nobody that 
 I heard asked you to be an emu. 
 
 Ellesmere. I will explain. Lady Ellesmere and I 
 went for our Easter holidays to a town renowned for 
 its beauty and its antiquity, which my lady had never 
 seen. This dangerous fellow (here he pointed to 
 Milverton) has made me unpleasantly famous, or as 
 I should rather say, infamous, as one of the " Friends 
 in Council." The neighbouring potentate, a great 
 duke, hearing that we were at this town, called upon 
 us, bringing a letter from the duchess, inviting us to 
 spend a day or two at their palace. Of course Lady 
 Ellesmere said that she had not the proper "things" 
 (" fifty new dresses and nothing to wear ") to pay 
 a visit to the duke and duchess ; but I overruled 
 her. I am obliged to be stern sometimes; and we 
 went. The truth is, I was tired of the town : there 
 are so many grand things to be seen in it; and 
 compulsory sight-seeing is one of the chief miseries 
 of human life. 
 
 The Duke's house is a show-place, the show-place 
 of the county. There are acres of great pictures. 
 As Milverton knows, I don't care very much about 
 pictures. Lady Ellesmere did her duty in seeing 
 them. Women are always true to the convention- 
 alities ; but there were creatures to be seen in the 
 duke's grand park which fascinated me — you know
 
 INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 how fond I am of animals. There were kangaroos 
 running about almost wild, as if thej were in their 
 native bush. 
 
 Mrs. Milveeton. I have never seen a kangaroo, 
 John. What is it like ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Imagine a magnified and beatified 
 rat. I have a theory that the Rodents are the most 
 amiable creatures in creation. Thej are the best 
 fathers and mothers of families. Ask the Lord 
 Chancellor ; he will tell you that the fiercest applica- 
 tions for livings for their children come from the 
 Rodent family amongst men — the rats in politics, for 
 instance. 
 
 Well, a kangaroo is like a magnified rat ; in fact, a 
 rat as big as a donkey, which has sat upon its hind 
 legs, considering schemes of intelligent benevolence, 
 until its fore legs have dwindled down into compara- 
 tive insignificance, so that it has to rely upon its hiad 
 legs as its principal means of locomotion. Its ears, 
 like those of a bat, have been developed by listening 
 perpetually to the dictates of an enlightened con- 
 science. Then they have another great merit. 
 When the little kangaroos make a terrible noise 
 in the nursery, and prevent theii' wretched fa- 
 ther, who is underneath them, from writing sound 
 legal opinions, or reading good books, the mamma- 
 kangaroo pockets the kangaroo brats, and there
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is no more noise heard. If I were to descend into 
 the lower sj^here of creation, I would be a kan- 
 garoo. Altogether it is a charming animal, and it 
 surprised me how anybody could have the heart to 
 kill it. 
 
 Mauleveree. But about the emu : you have wan- 
 dered from the subject, Sir John. Why do you de- 
 •cline to be an emu ? 
 
 Mrs. Milveeton. I ask what an emu is like. 
 
 Ellesmere. An emu is a bird about five feet 
 high, like an ostrich. It has a silly expression of 
 countenance, but all its movements are exquisitely 
 graceful. 
 
 There was a moat in the duke's park where one of 
 these emus had built a nest, and was sitting diligently 
 upon the eggs. To my horror, I was told that this 
 emu was the male bird. Now I decline to sit upon 
 the eggs, and to do all this nursery business. The 
 female emus not only went out shopping, but they 
 attended at vestries and assisted at public meetings, 
 and, in fact, did all the masculine work. 
 
 I was shocked at the conduct of the male emu. I 
 talked to him seriously. I told him that he dis- 
 graced our gender. He had the silly, self-satisfied 
 look of a weak-minded person who is doing a very 
 absurd thing, and thinks all the time that he is doing 
 something so clever and so good. At last I got in
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 such a rage with him that I was about to throw 
 stones at him if one of the duke's keepers had not 
 come up at the time. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. You never told me anything of 
 this, John. 
 
 Ellesmere. I buried the dread fact in the depths of 
 my own mind. I did not wish to put such a bad 
 example before you, Lady Ellesmere. I began to fear 
 that you would relegate me to the nursery. I know 
 how prone yon are to tyrannize over your hnsband. 
 But I mean this anecdote to be my answer to the 
 woman-adoring Milverton. Let him give them votes ; 
 let him find ont employment for them ; but don't let 
 him encourage them to make me perform the work 
 of a male emu. Again, I say, I absolutely decline to 
 do that. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. You need not be afraid, John : 
 a bull in a china-shop would be a much more rea- 
 sonable, manageable, and harmless animal, than such 
 a man as you in a nursery. We can manage the 
 state, and we can manage the nursery, far better than 
 you rude men. We are like elephants : we can bring 
 under discipline the fiercest beasts of the forest, and 
 we can pick up a feather or a pin. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Well done. Lady Ellesmere : I think 
 we, who are on the side of the women, have the best 
 of the argument to-day. However, I must tell you 
 c
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 an anecdote which I think bears upon the question. 
 A clever boy, hearing a great deal of talk about 
 women's hopes, and women's rights, said to his 
 mother, — taking it for gi-anted that these hopes 
 would be fulfilled and these rights acknowledged : — 
 " I suppose, then, mamma, they will not any longer 
 have the inside of the pavement." 
 
 Ellesmere. That is a clever boy. Don't talk to 
 me any more against boys, Mauleverer. You see 
 how they can hit the right nail on the head. Of 
 course, if womeji make themselves equal to us, they 
 will no longer, as the boy says, " have the inside of 
 the pavement ;" and there was a time, not long ago, 
 when they had the whole of the pavement to them- 
 selves, and when we men walked in the gutter. 
 
 There is no doubt, seriously speaking, that it is the 
 difierence of the sexes — difference in thought, in aim, 
 in pursuit, in everything — that makes the chann 
 of men's society to women, and of women's society 
 to men. Look at it amongst savages. Depend upon 
 it the big Blue-Feathered Hawk would not dote upon 
 his beloved squaw, the Fine-Footed Deer, if she took 
 as many scalps as he did, or, in fact, if she took any 
 scalps at all. The fine art of scalping belongs to him, 
 and is his function. It would be a very rare male 
 " Reviewer" indeed, who would love a woman, 
 because she, too, was a " Reviewer."
 
 INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 MiLYERTOX. The right appropriation of work is 
 one of the crncial difficulties of the world. One of 
 the greatest books that has to be written, and which 
 will be written some day by some one who is both a 
 practical man and a philosopher, will have for its 
 subject the right appropriation of work. Several of 
 the greatest misfortunes and miseries of the present 
 day have been caused by work having been given to 
 individuals which could be well done only by govern- 
 ment, and by work having been done by government 
 which essentially belongs to individuals. 
 
 Ellesmeee. That's right, Milverton : one can 
 always rely upon you for some grand maxim being 
 enunciated which it is almost impossible, or, at least, 
 which it requires nearly superhuman wisdom, to act 
 upon. 
 
 I can't enunciate these grand maxims ; but I can 
 throw out a suggestion or two as to what women 
 might be judiciously employed upon. Now, when 
 we go to see Cranmer, there is a telegraph office at 
 the great town nearest to his place, conducted by a 
 pleasant comely little maiden, who gives great satis- 
 faction in her work. 
 
 The last time I had any business with her, she 
 said to me, " If you please. Sir John, we might 
 make this telegram much shorter." "Pray do so, 
 by all means, my good girl. I love shortness in all
 
 XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 things, though my friend Mr. Milverton (you've 
 heard of him, I suppose) does not." And she did 
 shorten the telegram, and saved me half-a-crown. 
 
 Lady Ellesmeee. You were not so mean as to 
 pocket the half-crown, John. 
 
 Ellesmeee. No : I went to the book-stall, to see if 
 I could lay it out profitably in a book for her. I 
 would not exceed the half-crown : it should be all her 
 own gaining. 
 
 SiE Aethue. I wonder what book he did get. 
 
 Ellesmeee. Not " Realmah," you may be sure, 
 nor even one of your famous books, Sir Arthur. I 
 was afraid to give any of your sentimental stuff to 
 my sedate little maiden. No : after a long study of 
 gorgeously-illustrated paper covers, I chose for her 
 a little book, called " The Lives of Illustrious Men." 
 And she, good girl, pretended to be much pleased 
 with it. 
 
 By the way, I have an idea, a brilliant idea, which 
 will aid Milverton in his grand work about the 
 judicious appropriation of human labour. What a 
 difficulty it is to give presents ! Let us establish a 
 class of people, whose business it shall be to advise 
 upon the giving of presents. Women would do this 
 best. I have sometimes lost a hundred pounds, I 
 believe, in being dragged about to shops by Lady 
 EUesmere, to buy some trumpery jDresent.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 Now imagine that there was a lady, a middle- 
 aged, judicions, sensible woman of the world, whom 
 one conld consult upon such matters. Mrs. Pleasem- 
 all, we will call her. I send for her, and I say, 
 " Mrs. Pleasemall, a foolish friend of mine (shall we 
 say his name is Johnson — Alexander Johnson ?) is 
 about to marry. Here is a cheque for £22, two for 
 yourself, and twenty for the marriage present to 
 him. He is Scotch ; I dare say you have a separate 
 class of presents for those wise and judicious crea- 
 tures, Scotchmen. Lady Ellesmere will tell you all 
 about him and about Miss Thompson, whom he is 
 going to marry. Good morning." 
 
 I should thus save seventy-eight pounds. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. Poor man ! like Her Gracious 
 Majesty, the Queen, he does not know the plea- 
 sure of shopping. 
 
 Ellesmeee. ISTow I am quite in earnest in what I 
 am going to say. I assure you I have thought of 
 many new occupations both for men and women. I 
 have often employed my thoughts in that direction. 
 But I shan't disclose them without being paid for it. 
 I do not give anything without a quid pro quo. I am 
 a most money-loving^ man. I will sell them to Mil- 
 verton, if he likes — £5. 6s. 8d. for each thought. 
 
 ^ For fear our readers should believe this self-abasing 
 statement, I cannot help saying that it is utterly un-
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. They say it is advisable to go 
 out of doors, in order to learn anything about the 
 doiQgs in one's own house. I find out a great deal 
 about my erring husband in these conversations that 
 we have here. He never told me anything about 
 the emu, nor about "the comely little maiden" in 
 the telegraph office. I see now why he is so fond of 
 telegraphing when we are at Mr. Cranmer's. 
 
 true. Sir John is a most generous man. He always 
 tells me to bring to him any case of distress that I 
 know of; but he is as odd in this as in all other 
 matters. He says, " I am infinitely obliged to you, my 
 dear Sandy, when you bring me any good case — any- 
 thing in which I can be of real use. But it must be 
 something which you can follow up, and work out 
 handsomely. The great art of charity is to push some 
 worthy person through some great difficulty. 
 
 " Never believe them. You think that they have told 
 you all. They can't tell you all. It is asking from poor 
 human nature too much, to expect that they will tell you 
 all. You make out that £10 will clear this man ; that 
 is what he tells you. Give him £20. You can do it 
 delicately, saying : ' Ten pounds to clear you, and ten 
 pounds to prevent your falling back into the same state 
 again; and, perhaps, that will do, though less would 
 not. Be wise, and come to me whenever you want 
 money.' Of course do the best to be sure that the 
 person whom I am to aid is worthy of it. But do not 
 be small-minded and pedantic in your mode of relief."
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 Ellesmere. It is a true bill. And is it not natural 
 that one should prefer having telegraphic dealings, 
 which are seldom pleasant things in themselves, with 
 a gracious maiden rather than with a gruff man ? 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. Is not this rather like what is 
 called flirtation ? 
 
 Ellesmere. My dear woman, there are flirtations 
 and flirtations. Flirtation, as you choose to call it 
 — the flirtation which I mean — is natural, reason- 
 able, inevitable. When man and woman meet, 
 there is this thing always to be considered — 
 namely, that if they are not within the prohibited 
 degrees, however different their ages, education, and 
 other circumstances may be, they might have mar- 
 ried, or might marry. Suppose — and suppose — and 
 suppose (I leave you to fill up the supposes) why 
 then we might be much more intimate with one 
 another than we are at present. Thus they think, 
 or might think, to themselves. There are always 
 sweet, hazy possibilities of this kind, which are un- 
 consciously in presence, and which give a singular 
 grace and beauty to the intercourse between men 
 and women ; which create that gallantry (I prefer 
 that word to flirtation) which Charles Lamb has so 
 admirably described in one of his sweetest essays. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. This is very prettily said, John. 
 I did not know that you had so much
 
 xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Ellesmere. I believe I have mentioned to jou be- 
 fore, Blanche, that though I am not the Camomile, 
 I have lived. with the Camomile, and know how 
 camomile tea is made. 
 
 Mrs. Milverton. This is not so prettily said, John. 
 If you mean to intimate that, having lived much with 
 my husband and Sir Arthur, you have learnt how 
 to express yourself sometimes properly and prettily, 
 I think you might have referred to the rose and not 
 to the camomile. 
 
 Ellesmere. Oh the vanity of the woman ! I do be- 
 lieve she thinks that if I had not had the inestimable 
 advantage of living with her husband, I should have 
 been a boor of the coarsest description. However, 
 to come back to the subject of women's employment, 
 I say that there are many employments that hitherto 
 are not appropriated by women, which they are 
 thoroughly fitted for, and which they would perform 
 quite as well as men, or better. For goodness' sake 
 hand over those employments to them ; and keep 
 them quiet, if you can, by work. 
 
 Milverton. I wish to lay before you 
 
 Ellesmere. How serious this conversation is be- 
 coming. When a man like Milverton says, " I wish to 
 lay before you," something is coming (I know from 
 direful experience) with reference to sanitary affairs, 
 or the currency, or the Irish Church, or the re-
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxv 
 
 spective merits of direct and indii^ect taxation, or some 
 of the ineffable botherations which are inflicted npon 
 mankind, and which 
 
 MiLVEETON. I say, I wish to lay before you, and 
 to have the advantage of your criticism upon 
 
 Ellesmere. I did not know you were so fond of 
 criticism. 
 
 MiLVEETON. — Something which my friend John- 
 son and I have prepared. 
 
 Ellesmeee. Oh ! another " Realmah." Some 
 people press friendship a little too far. 
 
 MiLVEETON. We have written a tale respecting 
 which we wish to have your advice and your criticism ; 
 and it is a tale in which women take a leading part. 
 
 Ellesmere. We shall be ready to read it. I sup- 
 pose Eteocles had to read all the plays which Poly- 
 nices could not get the managers in Thebes to look at ; 
 and that was the reason why the two brothers quar- 
 relled so fearfully. Oh, yes ; we will read anything 
 which Milverton and Sandy have written. " Go 
 where glory waits thee :" that is, read anything 
 that your friend may take it into his head to write. 
 
 Me. Ceanmee. Upon my word, Sir John, you are 
 too bad. 
 
 Ellesmeee, The ex-secretary to the treasury is a 
 wonderfully merciful and amiable man, so long as you 
 do not ask him for a Government halfpenny. He
 
 xxvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 likes us common people to be amused in any way, so 
 that it prevents us from asking him, or his successor, 
 for money. That explains to me why I saw Cranmer 
 the other day looking on with great satisfaction at 
 a company of acrobats. It pleased the people, and 
 did not cost the Government, his dear Government, 
 anything. I did not observe that he associated him- 
 self witji the people in giving anything when the hat 
 came round. 
 
 Me. Cranimer. I need hardly tell you that this is 
 all a fable. I do not waste my time in that way. 
 
 Ellesmere. Waste your time, indeed ! The acro- 
 bat business is very like that of making a grand 
 financial statement in the House; and you official 
 persons might learn a thing or two from the adroit 
 antics of the men in fleshings, poor fellows ! 
 
 Sir Arthur. I am delighted to hear, my dear Mil- 
 verton, that you are going to give us, and after us, I 
 trust, the world, a new story. 
 
 Ellesmere. Ugh! there they are, at it again, the 
 two authors. It always delights me to hear that 
 air in "Judas Maccabeus" — 
 
 Wise men flatt'ring, may deceive us 
 With their vain mysterious art, 
 
 as it always puts me in mind of authors saying 
 nauseously civil things to one another.
 
 INTUODVGTION. xxv 
 
 Now I'll tell you something, Milverton, much 
 better worth your hearing than Sir Arthur's civil 
 speeches. I will tell you what the world says of 
 you. 
 
 MiLVEETON. Thank you, Ellesmere : it is pro- 
 ceeding according to custom for a friend to tell one, 
 maliciously, what the world has told him — knowing 
 the pleasure that it is to one's dear friend, to hear 
 the bitterest satire of oneself. 
 
 Ellesmeee. Don't get into a rage, my dear fellow. 
 What does Doctor Blair say ? " He who suffers his 
 mind to be inflamed by anger, indulges in a brief 
 insanity ; but, during that brevity of time, may do 
 some deed which shall convert temporary insanity 
 into permanent madness ; and the latter state shall 
 be welcome as being the only refuge from remorse." 
 That is rather too good for Blair ; but it applies to 
 Milverton, when he hurls a book at my head, as he 
 often does, for my having said that, as a writer, he is 
 not perfection. But in the present case it is not 
 what I say, but what other people say. They do 
 say, that when you indulge in fiction, you can paint 
 no characters but such as are detestably amiable — 
 model young men, for instance. I hate models. If, 
 like Cervantes, without his genius (that is what the 
 world says, not I), you begin by depicting an ab- 
 surd character, you cannot help becoming fond of
 
 xxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it, and making it out,* after all, to be very grand 
 and very noble. Besides, yon don't understand or 
 believe in a villain, my dear fellow. Your views 
 of life are limited. Yon know nothing of Old Bailey 
 practice. Yon are an innocent. 
 
 MiLVERTON. I know vcry well what this means, 
 and I must answer it seriously. Sir Arthur has seen 
 a great deal of life as a statesman and as a man of 
 letters ; you, Ellesmere, have seen a great deal of 
 life as a successful lawyer ; Mr. Cranmer has also 
 seen a great deal of life as an official man : has 
 any one of you ever met with this deep, designing, 
 deliberate villain ? 
 
 Ellesmere (after a feio moments^ silence). Yes : 
 Sandy, there. 
 
 MiLYEKTON. Now, Ellesmere, do, for once in your 
 life, if only for one five minutes, be serious. 
 
 Ellesmere. Well, Sandy is jealous of me ; he does 
 not like my coming into your study in the audacious 
 manner in which I am accustomed to invade that 
 sanctum sanctissimum sanctorum. Accordingly, being 
 anxious, as a deep, deliberate, designing villain, to 
 injure me to the uttermost, he recommended to me, 
 the other day, to undertake a course of Scotch 
 metaphysics. He wished thereby to ruin me profes- 
 sionally — to ruin me socially, making me a bore of 
 the first magnitude — and also, by the confusion
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxix 
 
 between right and wrong, which a course of any 
 metaphysics (Scotch, German, or English) engen- 
 ders, to make me a very wicked and unscrupulons 
 man. 
 
 Yes, I say, Sandy is a deep, designing, deliberate 
 villain. 
 
 Mtlveeton. Putting aside this nonsense, I do de- 
 clare (one must sometimes say a word for oneself), 
 that my view of human nature is the right one. 
 Everywhere there is so much beauty of character and 
 so little of deliberate villany. Even vulgarity, which, 
 as Ruskin well says, is a form of death, is only a 
 negative thing. It is the absence of something good 
 rather than the presence of something evil. 
 
 Lord Melbourne was a clever man, was he not ? a 
 man after your own heart, Ellesmere. Lord Russell 
 once told me that Lord Melbourne was asked what 
 his experience of mankind, as a prime minister, had 
 taught him to think about men. "Oh !" said Lord 
 
 Melbourne, "they are d d good fellows in the 
 
 main : deuced vain, you know ; you can never get at 
 the bottom of their vanity , but capital fellows in all 
 other respects." And, if I recollect rightly. Lord 
 Russell's opinion coincided with Lord Melbourne's. 
 I say " ditto " to Lord Melbourne and Lord Russell. 
 
 I^ow I want to call your attention to something 
 which I should think must often have occurred to all
 
 XXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of you, as it has to me. From some accidental cir- 
 cumstance, you are brought into close contact with 
 a stratum of society which you had never known 
 before. Are you not astonished to find what clever, 
 what agreeable, what amiable people there are in that 
 stratum ? You wonder that you had never heard of 
 any of them before. I tell you that the riches we 
 possess in the pleasant varieties of human character 
 are immense. 
 
 Mauleveeer. This is really too bad; I cannot 
 stand it. I agree with you, Sir John, that Milverton 
 perambulates a sort of fool's paradise, and idiotically 
 magnifies the merits of every human being he comes 
 near. 
 
 Ellesmeee. My dear Mauleverer, pray don't say 
 such things : you are almost rude. I think as you 
 do ; but you'll see how prettily I will put it. I 
 learnt the art of estimating and describing character 
 from a Jesuit Father. I never read but one sen- 
 tence of his works ; but that sentence was so 
 admirable, and has so thoroughly impressed itself 
 on my mind, that I believe that I am the greatest 
 admirer of the good father's writings now in exist- 
 ence, and perhaps the only one. 
 
 Cranmee. I wonder what is coming. I never 
 knew that Sir John was such a theological student 
 as to have read even a sentence of a Jesuit father.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Ellesmeee. I do not mind the clumsy sneers of 
 my financial friend. A very learned man he would 
 be who should recollect but one single sentence of 
 every great writer he had read. 
 
 I suppose you are not so ignorant, all of you, as 
 not to have heard of the Albigenses and of Simon de 
 Montfort — a man not in very good odour with Pro- 
 testant historians, seeing that he slew and burnt 
 thousands upon thousands of " heretics." Well, a 
 certain Father Velly wrote a history of these doings. 
 When Simon de Montfort, in this history, dies, the 
 good father thus describes him: ^^ Homme incom- 
 pa/rdble, s'il avoit etS moins amhitieux, moins cruel, 
 moins perfide^ m,oins colere, et Tnoins vindicatif." 
 
 I think I have before now declared to this good 
 company what is my humble opinion about many 
 grammatical rules. The grammarians enunciate a 
 rule, and then they give pages of exceptions. To 
 my poor ungrammatical mind, it almost seems as if 
 it were not worth while to lay down the rule at all, 
 considering there are so many exceptions. My two 
 amiable friends, Mauleverer and Milverton, difier 
 only in this : Milverton learns the rule and forgets 
 the exceptions ; Mauleverer learns the exceptions, and 
 takes them to be the rule. Milverton exclaims, in 
 his innocent way, " JTomme incomparable T^ Mau- 
 leverer exclaims, " Homme arnibitieux, cruel, perfide,
 
 xxxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 vindicatif !^^ I, like a wise man, combiiie both rule 
 and exception, and am thus enabled to describe all 
 human characters accurately. I can thus touch off 
 the female character to perfection. " Incomparable 
 creature, woman ! " I say, " if she were less vain, less 
 poutative (I like to coin a word sometimes), less 
 disobedient, less expensive, and less determined to 
 have her own way in everything ! " What an his- 
 torian, with the aid of my Jesuit instructor, I should 
 have been ! By the way, you must know that the 
 good father was perfectly sincere, and meant to 
 praise his hero, as I should mean to praise my hero 
 or heroine. 
 
 I once before made good use of this quotation from 
 Father Yelly. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. I knew this was coming. I 
 wonder that John has been twenty-four hours in 
 the house without telling the story he is now 
 going to tell you. If he had not made an occasion 
 for telling it, I should ; for I have found out that it 
 is one of the first duties of wives to introduce the 
 good stories of their husbands, however tired they 
 may be of them. This one is something against 
 myself, and therefore John has an especial pleasure 
 in telling it. 
 
 Ellesmere. Never mind her malice, it is an ad- 
 mirable story, and has a moral to it, Cranmer ; a good, 
 stout moral.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxiii 
 
 You know the muddled way in wliich one is in- 
 troduced to people at a London dinner partj. I took 
 down a ladj to dinner. We liad been introduced, 
 but neither of us had caught the other's name. She 
 talkefl away valiantly, for she was a very good 
 talker. At last the conversation turned upon Lady 
 Macbeth and the great actresses who had represented 
 that character. My fair neighbour said that these 
 great actresses had mostly been tall, graceful, dark- 
 haired women, " whereas," she added, " as I suppose 
 you know, the real Lady Macbeth was a little fair 
 woman, with auburn hair, and small determined 
 features, just like that pretty little woman at the 
 top of the table to whom that elderly gentleman, 
 sitting next her, is so very attentive." (N. B. I 
 always put in the word "pretty" here, for reasons 
 which will be obvious ; but it is the only fabulous 
 part of the story.) I said " they are only talking 
 what we call "shop," or shop-gossip, which is the 
 next thing to it. He is a Judge, and she is the 
 wife of a Queen's Counsel ; and they are probably 
 settling who is to be the new Vice- Chancellor. But 
 your remark shows great discernment. I am well 
 acquainted with that lady : indeed, I have been 
 married to her for several years ; and you are quite 
 right. She is a very resolute, managing kind of 
 person : very like Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Of course the lady went into all manner of pro- 
 d
 
 xxxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 testations ; but I soothed her by telling her how 
 mnch I admired Lady Macbeth in her conjugal 
 relation — an erring hostess, but a perfect wife. 
 
 Sir Arthur. I can't quite agree with you there. 
 She was a very good hostess, too. 
 
 Ellesmere. As we say sometimes now of people 
 who live in the country, " nice people to dine with ; 
 but not a pleasant house to sleep at — Macbeth's." 
 And then I brought out my quotation from Father 
 Yelly, of course saying that Lady Macbeth was 
 " Femme incomjpardble, si elle avait ete moins amhi- 
 tieuse, moins cruelle, moins jperfide, moins sanguinaire !'' 
 
 'MiLVERTON. I agree with you, Ellesmere. She 
 was a wonderfully good wife. The ending of that 
 scene, where Banquo's ghost appears, must be a 
 great surprise to most men and women who carefully 
 consider it. If they would own the truth they 
 would confess that, from their own experience, they 
 expected something quite different. But, instead of 
 " How could you ? " " and I wonder you did," " and if 
 you had but listened to me," "and if you weren't 
 so foolish " — I mean all these sayings put into good 
 poetry — there merely comes some answer about the 
 hour of night, and the tender, wifely remark — 
 
 "You lack the season of all natures, sleep." 
 
 There are no vulgar upbraidiags between that well- 
 matched, highly-bred, but most wretched couple.
 
 INTBOBUGTION. 
 
 Ceanmer. I am not mucli given to play-reading; 
 but I recollect that this paragon of wifely goodness 
 says some horrid things abont a baby. 
 
 MiLVEETON. She never said them, I assure you. It 
 is quite a mistake. The greatest poets, and the 
 greatest creators of character, are obliged sometimes 
 to belie the characters they have created, by putting 
 strong words into their mouths, which the said 
 characters never used. Only, as I have intimated to 
 you before, the poet or the novelist has so little room 
 to work in, that he is obliged to make his characters 
 say strong things. They are merely representative, 
 these things. Macbeth and Lady Macbeth utter 
 only a few hundred lines, and, of course, there must 
 be some things in these few hundred lines put a little 
 too strongly. 
 
 Now if you had to describe such a character as 
 that of Ellesmere in fiction, you would require a large 
 expanse of canvas to do it in. You see it is in the 
 continuity of perverseness, the assured pertinacity of 
 cavilling, and the length and breadth of vexatiousness, 
 that Ellesmere excels. When you have a fellow of 
 infinite contentiousness, who, if left alone for a time, 
 would make faces at himself in the glass, you can't 
 hit him off in a short scene or two — that is, if you do 
 not exaggerate a little. If you have only a small 
 space to give him, you must make him talk concen-
 
 xxxvi INTBOD UCTION. 
 
 trated Ellesmere, — such talk as lie never really did 
 talk. Some people say he is like Mercutio, " without 
 his genius;" (" That's what the world says, not I ; ") 
 and if in any fiction you could only allow him the space 
 that Mercutio occupies, you must make his dramatic 
 talk very different from his real talk — must give 
 much more force and expression to it. So, with Lady 
 Macbeth. 
 
 Ellesmeee. Oh dear! the malignity of some people, 
 if one does but venture to hint that they have a 
 fault. 
 
 Cranmer. I am quite bewildered by you people. 
 After I have been some time at Worth-Ashton 
 I hardly know what I am to believe, or what to think, 
 about anything. But where was the moral, the stout 
 moral, to Ellesmere's story ? 
 
 Ellesmere. Moral : — When you are in a company 
 that is not thoroughly well-known to you, you should 
 assume that every body is closely related to every 
 other body, and also that every body of whom you 
 are inclined to say anything disparaging is a near 
 relative of your neighbour on the right, or of your 
 neighbour on the left. You know I never object to 
 truth being told ; but there are foolish and prejudiced 
 men who might not approve of their wives being 
 likened to Lady Macbeth. 
 
 MiLVERTON. Well, I believe I am right in my view
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxxvii 
 
 of hnman beings ; and I mean to abide by it. In this 
 tale I describe sundry human beings, and I declare I 
 have drawn from, real life. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Ellesmere always accuses us men of 
 letters, Milverton, of flattering one another. I am 
 going to controvert his censure in the present in- 
 stance, and to say something which may be unplea- 
 sant for you to hear. But, as the schoolmaster says 
 of whippings, I do it for your good. 
 
 In my humble judgment, there is one great error 
 which runs through all your writings that I have 
 hitherto seen, and which I hope will be absent from 
 this new tale ; but I expect it will not be ; for, to 
 speak very plainly, the fault is engrained in you. 
 
 Ellesmere. Hurrah ! IS'ow we are going to have 
 some fun. No people are so bitter against one an- 
 other as these literary men, when once they have 
 taken the buttons off" the foils, and have deviated 
 from politeness into truth. 
 
 Milverton. Do not mind him. Sir Arthur ; we will 
 take care -to baulk his happiness by not quarrelling, 
 whatever you may say. 
 
 Sir Arthur. Then, in few words, I must say that 
 you always mix up the ideal and the immediately 
 practical in a way which must, I think, greatly 
 militate against your future fame as an author. 
 
 Milverton. Very good ; let it so militate.
 
 xxxviii INTBOB UGTION. 
 
 Do not think me rude, Sir Artliur, in making tHs 
 curt reply. Another distinguished man of letters 
 has made a similar criticism. After my good 
 friend Johnson had published our " Realmah," Lord 
 Lytton wrote to me a most admirable letter of criti- 
 cism upon it. He made a similar remark to yours, 
 and he pressed it further. He said you might live 
 hereafter as an author if you would not mix up the 
 merest temporary questions with all that is ideal in 
 your works. These temporary questions are sure to 
 be settled soon in some way or other ; and then all 
 that part of your writing which relates to them, be- 
 comes dead wood. These are not his exact words ; 
 but they convey the substance of his remarks. It was 
 an excellent letter, for he is a master of the art of 
 criticism. Now, for my reply. 
 
 Every man must be true to his own nature and his 
 own genius, however poor that nature, and however 
 creeping that genius may be. I should never have 
 written one line — to tell the truth, I do not care 
 much for mere literature, I mean for success in it — 
 if I had not had some practical object in view. 
 Something strikes me as a great evil, or as a suffi- 
 cient remedy for some evil, and I must put that 
 something forward. I choose the method of doing 
 this which appears to me most likely to gain the 
 greatest number of hearers, or readers. Believing,
 
 INTBODUCTION. xxxix 
 
 as I do, in tlie intelligence and goodness of the great 
 majority of readers 
 
 Ellesmeee. Flattery, gross flattery, to the mob ! 
 
 MiLVEETON. — I do not hesitate to pnt that before 
 them in the best form that I can. Presently I will 
 tell you an anecdote in relation to this. 
 
 Ellesmeee. Give us the anecdote now, it does 
 enliven talk so much. 
 
 MiLVEETON. No, I will not : I go on to say that 
 you must take me for what I am — a man longing to 
 bring some improvement into men's action upon im- 
 portant, present, practical circumstances, and who 
 does not care a dump — one solitary dump — about 
 what the world may think of him, or of his writings 
 hereafter, so that he can do the least present good. 
 
 SiE Aethue. I will never again say a word against 
 your proceedings, my dear Milverton. 
 
 MiLVEETON. That is like your generosity, Sir Arthur. 
 
 Me. Ceanjiee. I am wholly with Milverton. We 
 have plenty of difficulties in the present time. Let 
 us do what we can to overcome these difficulties, and 
 never mind about fame. 
 
 Mauleveeee. I don't think much about fame : it is 
 only the reputation of fools amongst the more select 
 (perhaps I should say, the more intense) of then' 
 species — it is all folly. As Browning finely says, 
 
 " What does the world, told truth, but lie the more ? "
 
 xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Mes. Milverton. You are quite riglit, dear. I do 
 not wish to be the wife of a man who should enjoj 
 future fame. I would rather you did something that 
 was of use, even of the slightest use, in the present 
 generation. 
 
 Lady Ellesmere. Never mind them, Leonard ; go 
 on in your own way. 
 
 Milverton. Thank you, Mildred ; I mean to do so. 
 In this tale I have sought to show how emigration 
 should be carried on. I do not see why this tale, 
 which is greatly drawn from real life, should not 
 apply to the next age as well as to this ; but if it only 
 applies to this age, and if it only does the least good 
 in this present time, I am content. And so I 
 believe will be my good friend and trusty private 
 secretary, Alexander Johnson. 
 
 , Now do not let us talk any more about myself or 
 my work ; but do all of you read it, and say what 
 you may have to say, either for it or against it. 
 
 Ellesmere. But Milverton was to give us an 
 anecdote. I love anecdotes ; and, besides, I have 
 often observed that the anecdotic? form is the only 
 one in which we get from Milverton any of his 
 peculiar experience of life. He will not tell you 
 anything directly of all the remarkable people he 
 has seen ; but he will sometimes favour you with an 
 anecdote about them.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xH 
 
 MiLVEETON. I will favour you with two, Ellesmere, 
 to-day. N'umber one bears upon number two, and 
 number two bears upon tbe subject. 
 
 In my young days people of the same party in the 
 state lived much more intimately together than they 
 do now. For instance, there were cabinet dinners 
 once a week ; and I think it would be a very good 
 thing if that practice were to be revived. Moreover, 
 the great men of the party lived more intimately with 
 the younger men — with what were called " the rising 
 young men." I remember an old statesman coming 
 to me once at the end of the day's work, and saying : 
 " Let us have a walk, my dear Leonard." He called 
 me, you see, by my Christian name. He was of a 
 Johnsonian nature, and loved to walk from Downing- 
 street to Fleet-street and back. As we walked, the 
 veteran statesman began to tell me what had influ- 
 enced him most in life. It was not the speeches he 
 had heard in the House ; it was not the pamphlets 
 which had been addressed expressly to him ; it was 
 not what had occurred in cabinet discussions ; but it 
 was the chance sayings, the sayings that he had 
 casually heard, perhaps, at a dinner- table, which, 
 not having been meant for him, yet had hit him 
 hardest, and had made the greatest impression upon 
 him. 
 
 So, of anecdote number two, which I am now
 
 xUi INTRODUGTION. 
 
 going to tell joii, it certainly was not meant especi- 
 ally for me ; but it has had the greatest influence 
 upon me for many years. I was in office in Ire- 
 land, serving under that excellent man, the late 
 Lord Carlisle, then Lord Morpeth. Of course, as an 
 official person, I used to attend the castle chapel. 
 Whenever the Archbishop of Dublin (Whately) 
 preached, there was always to be seen a common 
 soldier, looking up at the archbishop reverently, and 
 paying the greatest attention to the sermon. Some 
 one asked the soldier why he always came when the 
 archbishop preached. He replied, " The archbishop 
 is so easy to understand ; one can follow all he says." 
 Now, as you may imagine, the archbishop preached 
 sermons of great pith and purjDose ; but, of course, 
 they were eminently clear and eminently methodical, 
 and there were no needless fine words in them. I 
 believe that the whole regiment, as well as this com- 
 mon soldier, would have delighted in those sermons ; 
 but it happened that it was only that one common 
 soldier who had found out their merits. 
 
 Kow, what encouragement there is in this anecdote 
 for a man to say his best, so that he says it clearly 
 and methodically, and without needless pedantry. I 
 hate the notion of "talking down" to anybody. I 
 believe that you may talk your very best to every 
 one, so that you guard yourself from being technical
 
 INTBOnUGTION. xliii 
 
 and pedantic. I have often thought since of this 
 common soldier ; and he has encouraged me in the 
 endeavour to be clear and precise, but not, if possible, 
 shallow, when addressing the humblest classes of the 
 people. 
 
 I do so mourn over the obscurity which sometimes 
 prevails in the writings of great men, when I think 
 what a much larger audience thej might have if they 
 would only labour to be clear as well as profound. 
 Macaulay used to say that he wished every sentence 
 of his to be so clear that every footman should under- 
 stand it. 
 
 You will see how this anecdote, about the soldier 
 came into my mind when I was speaking of the great 
 intelligence that is everywhere diffused amongst the 
 people. The truth is, we are much more equal in 
 intelligence than is generally supposed. We bother 
 uneducated men with hard words and allusive state- 
 ments, and then wonder that they do not under- 
 stand us. By allusive statements I mean those state- 
 ments which, either in some substantive or adjective, 
 allude to something which you have no right to sup- 
 pose that any ordinary hearer, or reader, will under- 
 stand. Gibbon is almost always allusive. Addison 
 is not, and may be thoroughly " understanded of the 
 people." The great Greek writers wrote for the 
 whole of their nation, and were, I believe, thoroughly
 
 xliv INTBODUCTION. 
 
 imderstanded of their people. I always very much ad- 
 mired that treatise written by the present Astronomer 
 Royal, wherein he aimed to make the most remark- 
 able results of astronomical research intelligible to 
 those persons who had not studied the higher branches 
 of mathematics. The great lecturers of the present 
 day, Tyndall and Huxley and others, seem to me to 
 have a similar high purpose ; and I look upon it as 
 their greatest reward when they can make unscien- 
 tific people understand the results, at least, of scien- 
 tific research. 
 
 As for poets, I think it monstrous on their part if 
 they cannot make their noblest ideas, which must be 
 drawn from the commonest relations of life, intelli- 
 gible to the meanest capacity. Do you suiDpose that 
 Whately's sermons, which this common soldier ap- 
 proved of so highly, were not deep ? If you do, you 
 are very much mistaken. 
 
 Sir Aethur. Surely, Milverton, there are many 
 things which can only be addressed to men of the 
 highest culture ? 
 
 Milverton. I deny it. 
 
 Ellesmere. I think Milverton is right. I have 
 always, in my humble way, pursued the same plan, 
 and have addressed common jurymen much as I ad- 
 dress the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council 
 — of course with more explanation. But I agree
 
 INTBODTJGTION. xlv 
 
 with Milverton, substantially, that if yon have a great 
 argnment to lay before people, yon can lay it fully 
 before men of unpractised intelligence as well as be- 
 fore men of practised intelligence, if you will only 
 take the pains to do so. 
 
 Mauleveeee. Your anecdotes, Milverton, are very 
 valuable, especially the latter one. It shows, as 
 I have always thought, that there is but small differ- 
 ence in the intelligence of men, and that they are 
 all equally contemptible. 
 
 MiLVEETON. On the contrary : equally great, 
 equally perceptive, and equally emanations from the 
 Deity. 
 
 Cranmek. It falls to me — poor, humble, official me, 
 to bring you high-flying personages back to the 
 point at issue. I am often inclined, only you would 
 think it rude, to say to you, " Question, question," as 
 we do in the House of Commons. Milverton was 
 informing us how little he cared for future fame, 
 and I was agreeing with him that work for the pre- 
 sent generation was the thing to be done. How 
 many, or rather how few, of you authors and states- 
 men will have any niche in the Temple of Fame when 
 you have been dead and buried thirty years ? 
 
 Ellesmeee. I have always thought how different 
 are the fortunes of different men, and of other ani- 
 mals too— of dogs, birds, and insects. There is the
 
 xlvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 butterfly wliicli goes sauntering (can jou say " saunter" 
 wlien a creature flies ?) from one blossom to another, 
 which, lives out its pretty life, and dies its welcome 
 death — dies, if you like, 
 
 " Unwejot, unhonour'd, and unsung." 
 
 And there is the butterfly (the butterfly of fame) which 
 is the victim of some cruel vagabond of a collector, 
 and is pinned down in his famous collection. 
 
 Sir Arthur wishes Milverton to be the pinned- 
 down butterfly ; but I doubt, with my friend Mil- 
 verton, whether he would be any the happier for 
 being a butterfly of that peculiar species called 
 Milvertoniana, which would be exhibited in the 
 British Museum collection of those interesting in- 
 sects. I agree with him in one thing. I don't 
 care a dumj) — that was his elegant expression — for 
 future fame ; and I must say I sympathise with 
 Milverton and antijjathise, if I may coin this word, 
 with Lord Lytton and Sir Arthur, for I think it is 
 of little use to write books for the future, as the 
 future will take care of itself, and will be sure to 
 have too many, rather than too few, authors of its 
 own. 
 
 MaulEveree. I do not like this butterfly simile of 
 EUesmere's. It is too derogatory. 
 
 Ellesmere. Upon my word, Mauleverer must be
 
 INTEOD UGTION. xlvii 
 
 veiy unwell to-day. He is so tender and so lauda- 
 tory. 
 
 Mauleveeer. I would rather compare a great man 
 to the sun. I suppose you must call a popular 
 writer, such as Sir Arthur Godolphin, a great man, 
 for he is super-eminent amidst rubbish. Well, there 
 is the sun. It would not be too much to say, that 
 when he sends out six hundred million rays, five 
 hundred and ninety- nine million of them are what we 
 call wasted, going into uninhabited space. A few 
 of his rays strike the little bodies that are servilely 
 moving round him ; but the greater part of his fiery 
 work is, according to our poor comprehensions, utterly 
 lost. So, with the great man : his efiluence, what- 
 ever it may be worth, can only influence a most 
 minute portion of the human race. 
 
 Ellesmere. JSTo: Mauleverer is quite well, I see, 
 to-day ; for, though pretending to compliment great 
 men, he contrives to throw a depressing " effluence," 
 to use his own fine word, over the whole of man- 
 kind ; and, besides, he has an opportunity of dis- 
 playing that knowledge of astronomy with which he 
 is not unwilling to daunt and dazzle us. I be- 
 lieve he likes astronomy so much, because it affords, 
 according to his reading of it, an opportunity of 
 subduing us to his own low level of hopes and aspi- 
 rations.
 
 xlviii INTEOBVCTION. 
 
 Mauleverer always puts me in mind of a character 
 in one of Dickens's works — in his earliest work, the 
 one before Pickwick. The good man, I forget his 
 name, is asked to be a godfather ; and he makes, at 
 the Christening dinner, a speech, contemplating the 
 future miseries of the infant and of his parents in 
 regard to him, which oration melts all the company 
 into tears, and is very much admired because it makes 
 every body very miserable. Dumps is his name : I 
 recollect it now. Dumps is always a power in this 
 world. 
 
 Mr. Mauleverer did not make any reply ; but 
 rubbed his hands,, in the soft^ slow^ and yet em- 
 phatic way^ which he is wont to indulge in^ when 
 he thinks he has been particularly successful in 
 suppressing us. 
 
 Mr. Milverton resolved to close the conversa- 
 tion at this pointj and said^ " Now we will have 
 the excursion that we promised ourselves for 
 to-day^ and we will go and watch the sea come 
 gently in over the oyster-beds at Hayling. The 
 silent, wise, fruitful oyster teaches us men many 
 a most useful lesson.^^
 
 INTEOBUGTION. 
 
 xli 
 
 The conversation was thus broken up, and 
 several copies of the first revise of our tale 
 '' Casimir Maremma/^ were placed in the hands 
 of our '^ Friends in Council/'
 
 CASIMIR MAREMMA. 
 
 Chaptee I. 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTIOlSr. 
 
 <o»g.g:sQg^^g^ 
 
 HE soul is said to be dual : wliy 
 should not the life be dual too ? 
 And, certainly, mine is dual." Thus 
 soliloquized a very young-looking man, who 
 formed one of a crowd which thronged the rooms 
 of the Prime Minister of England, at what is 
 called ^^a ministerial reception." 
 
 A very young man, literally speaking, he was 
 not. His was one of those fair complexions which 
 make their happy owners appear to be younger 
 /^ than they are. His features were not remarkable 
 either for beauty or for expression, with one 
 striking exception. He had a habit of looking
 
 2 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 fixedly at you in a way which bore no resem- 
 blance to a stare^ but which seemed to say most 
 distinctly^ "I wish to know who you are^ and 
 what you can tell me ? " Indeed^ a consuming 
 curiosity had, as it were, burnt itself in upon 
 the countenance, and left little else to be dis- 
 cerned in it on a first acquaintance. 
 
 The young man did not speak to many people, 
 and was not welcomed with any warmth by those 
 he spoke to. He was, evidently, merely one of 
 those persons who fill up rooms, and help to 
 make what is humorously called Society. 
 
 One thing was notable in his demeanour — 
 that he occasionally looked at his hands; and 
 that once, having taken ofi" one of his gloves, he 
 showed the utmost hurry and confusion in put- 
 ting it on again, and blushed as if he had been a 
 young girl discovered in wearing something out 
 of fashion, or committing some solecism in good 
 manners. 
 
 The Prime Minister's party was at length, 
 after the usual noisy and fussy dreariness of such 
 entertainments, brought to its conclusion. Not
 
 A MINISTERIAL RECEPTION. 8 
 
 that it had lasted long; but then, as Canning 
 well said, in reference to some sermon which 
 he had been expected to praise because it was 
 short — a thing may be short and tedious too. 
 However, the party had come to an end ; and 
 then, and not till then — for it would seem as if 
 the young man, up to the last moment of the 
 party, had hoped to see something, or hear 
 something, or be instructed in something — he 
 went moodily away. 
 
 The cabman hesitated a moment, after re- 
 ceiving the direction given him by the young 
 man, and asked a second time for this direction 
 to be repeated. Then, nodding his head once 
 or twice, and talking to himself, the driver 
 obeyed the order he had received, and drove 
 rapidly in the direction which had been indicated 
 to him by his fare.
 
 Chapter II. 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. 
 
 HERE must be some good reason for 
 
 poverty being the rule instead of 
 tlie exception^ in human life. 
 One advantage which^ at any rate, the poor 
 have, is, that they hear the worst that can be 
 said of them in the plainest manner ; whereas 
 some of the upper classes, if they are not in 
 Parliament, may go through life without having 
 once ascertained thoroughly what is thought of 
 them by their friends and neighbours. 
 
 The current of our story takes us at once from 
 a place where only polite dislike is politely ex- 
 pressed, and where nothing worse is said of a 
 man than that he is a bore, or of a woman, that
 
 MAGGIE'S EOME. 5 
 
 she is ill-dressed and tiresome^ to a place where 
 every thought is expressed in the plainest and 
 the coarsest terms — from a prime minister's 
 drawing-room to a house in one of the meanest 
 suburbs of this great metropolis. 
 
 The house in question, though now disfigured 
 and almost disguised by the squalor which sur- 
 rounds it, had once been a house of some pre- 
 tension. Indeed it had been a manor-house^ and 
 but little imagination was required to picture it 
 in the midst of green fields and rivulets, the 
 quiet abode of some rich citizen. An architect 
 would notice the care that had been taken in 
 building it^ and the lavishness of expense that 
 had originally been bestowed upon it. There 
 were arches over the windows ; and, though 
 blackened by the accumulated smoke and filth of 
 a century and a half, there were the remains of a 
 portico which had once been a labour of art. 
 The house_, even now, needed no substantial 
 repair. The staircases alone, trodden by such a 
 multitude of heavy feet, were in a ruinous con- 
 dition. The front door was open, as it had been
 
 6 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 in days long by-gone : now, from there being 
 nothing to steal, as then from there being no 
 robbers in the peaceful village which the house 
 formerly commanded. 
 
 In an upper room of this house there was a 
 young man at work with a turning lathe. He 
 had just come back from his work at a great 
 factory in the neighbourhood, and was engaged 
 in making some experiments in machinery on his 
 own account. He might have been twin brother 
 to the young man whom we have seen at the 
 Prime Minister's party : the only difference was 
 that this twin brother, if brother he were, was 
 begrimed with the griminess of factory labour, 
 and was dressed in the coarsest clothes. 
 
 Suddenly there was a noise throughout the 
 house of many voices in fierce altercation, amidst 
 which there rose occasionally the plaintive screams 
 of a young girl who was evidently undergoing 
 some personal chastisement. 
 
 The young man left his work, opened the door 
 of the room, and listened attentively. 
 
 " Poor Maggie again," he said, '^ what can I
 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. 7 
 
 do to save her ? If I go down and interfere, 
 tliere will only be more punishment for her when 
 I am not here to take her part — just as there was 
 the other day for that poor cab-horse in whose 
 behalf I interfered. I think I will go, though ; 
 it is worse than usual. Amongst them they will 
 kill that poor child some day.^' 
 
 He had not time, however, for much reflec- 
 tion. A noise, as of many people coming up the 
 stairs, was heard ; and he closed the door. In 
 a moment more it was burst open, and in rushed 
 a young girl of about seventeen years of age. 
 She did not, however, fulfil one^s idea of a girl of 
 that age, for stinted fare and hard usage had 
 made her look both younger and older. Her 
 unkempt hair floated behind her. The upper 
 part of her dress was torn off ; and, on her white 
 shoulders, there were the angry marks of recent 
 punishment. Close behind her came a fierce, 
 coarse woman, two repulsive-looking men, and a 
 tribe of young children. It was, indeed, " poor 
 Maggie." Not, however, called '^'^ poor Maggie" 
 in that melancholy house ; but '^ silly Maggie,"
 
 8 CASIMin MABEMMA. 
 
 '' mad Maggie/^ with other epithets too coarse to 
 mention. 
 
 The girl fled to the young man^ laid hold of 
 him_, and exclaimed, " Oh ! George, good George, 
 do save me from them \" 
 
 " Let him, if he dares,^^ said one of the men : 
 "we should like to see him at it. She is our 
 sister, eats our bread, and does little or nothing 
 to get her bread for herself.^^ 
 
 They then poured forth the coarsest abuse both 
 of him and of her. 
 
 " See," said one, " what gentleman George is 
 about. This is the way the beggar is going to 
 bring down our wages. ^^ 
 
 For a moment their fury was directed from 
 the girl to the turning lathe. Gentleman George 
 gently removed the girl's arms from him, put her 
 in the corner behind him, and began to fight 
 in the cause of silly Maggie and the turning 
 lathe. 
 
 It was well that gentleman George had studied 
 the noble art of self-defence at the hands of an 
 eminent professor of that useful as well as noble
 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. 9 
 
 art, for he had now enough to do to protect 
 himself as well as Maggie and the turning lathe. 
 He had not only to hold his ground against 
 Maggie^s two brothers, who were men quite as 
 powerful as himself, though not as skilful, but 
 also to protect Maggie, who could do little for 
 herself, from incursions which were made upon 
 her in the comer by the fierce virago, her sister- 
 in-law, and by the junior members of her amiable 
 family. Moreover, there was a crowd collected 
 at the door, and there was but little doubt 
 which side they would ultimately take, if gen- 
 tleman George were to get the better of his 
 assailants. 
 
 This nick-name, "Gentleman George,^^ had, 
 perhaps, been given him from an old song which 
 was current many years ago ; or, perhaps, it was 
 an original nick-name given him because he had 
 been unable to conceal that his birth and breed- 
 ing were superior to those of his fellow-work- 
 men. 
 
 The noise of the conflict had been like that 
 of an Homeric battle, and had, for some time.
 
 10 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 been audible in tlie street, wliere, at every house, 
 rough and squalid-looking beings might have 
 been seen looking from the open windows ; all of 
 them feeling that it was a great shame that the 
 row should not be transacted in the street where 
 every body could see it. For these rows were the 
 plays, operas, concerts, and oratorios which the 
 inhabitants of that quarter most delighted in 
 witnessing, and, indeed, were the only festivals 
 at which they had a chance of assisting. Human 
 nature likes to see a good earnest downright 
 quarrel, whether in parliament or in the back 
 slums. And it must be confessed that a good 
 quarrel brings out all the dramatic elements of 
 character innate in every man and woman, and 
 furnishes the grandest of plays. 
 
 Some stern critics of this kind of entertain- 
 ment were, however, not far distant. There 
 was a cry raised of " the police,'' two or three of 
 whom made their way into the house. Intelligence 
 of this was as quickly communicated through- 
 out the building as the entrance would be of 
 ferrets into a rabbit-warren. The fight in gentle-
 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. ii 
 
 man George's room, which was at a most critical 
 point for gentleman George's safety, and for that 
 of poor Maggie and the turning lathe, was ab- 
 ruptly broken off; and his assailants, men, women, 
 and children, made their way down the stairs 
 more quickly even than they had come up, in 
 order to repel or deceive the new enemies who 
 had arrived, so inopportunely for them, upon the 
 scene. 
 
 For some time there was the confused noise of 
 many voices and of much objurgation : then all 
 was silent. There were no longer any heads out 
 of any windows in the squalid street. The play 
 was over, and its merits were to be discussed at 
 many tea-tables at which shrimps and water- 
 cresses were the most tempting viands, and 
 where the names of silly Maggie and gentleman 
 George were much brought in question. The 
 men for the most part maintained, with many 
 oaths and adjurations, that " silly Maggie '' was, 
 after all, not half a bad girl, and that her brothers 
 were great brutes ; while the women declared that 
 poor Maggie was an idle, good-for-nothing slut.
 
 12 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Meanwhile, what was going on in gentleman 
 George^s room ? Have you ever, reader, owned 
 a dog which, before it came into your possession, 
 had lived with cruel people, and which bore many 
 marks of their ill-usage — a point of resemblance 
 which was not absent in the present case; and 
 have you noticed that, though it trusts and 
 believes in you, it has, from previous habi- 
 tude, retained the fawning, anxious, frightened 
 gestures that belonged to its former state of 
 existence ? If so, you can more aptly picture to 
 yourself what happened in that dreary room on 
 that memorable evening, for memorable it was 
 to be to both of its occupants. 
 
 Poor Maggie gathered herself up from her 
 comer ; smoothed, as best she could, her tangled 
 hair; did what dressing she thought needful — ■ 
 chiefly by shrugging her shoulders, and bring- 
 ing up her clothes around her by that primitive 
 method ; and then, in a sidling, crouching man- 
 ner, gradually approached her protector. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. George,^^ she said, ''^I am so sorry; 
 I would not have come if I could have helped it ;
 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. 13 
 
 but they were so hard upon me_, Jenny the worst 
 of all." 
 
 Here she gave a look at her shoulders,, upon 
 which the red raised marks of a leathern strap^ 
 kept on purpose for her punishment^ were visible. 
 His eye followed hers^ and he exclaimed, '^'^My 
 poor girl, what a sad fate is yours ! " 
 
 She needed no further encouragement, but 
 sprang towards him, and, with her face upon 
 his breast, while he smoothed her hair, sobbed 
 out her sorrows to him. 
 
 Maggie, though haggard-looking, was a very 
 lovely girl, and her misery could not conceal 
 her loveliness. Her ancestors, or ancestresses, 
 must have been Irish. She had that beautiful 
 blue eye which is so often to be met with in 
 the Limerick lasses, and to which such a depth 
 of tenderness is given by the dark, solemn eye- 
 lashes, and the beautiful dark hair. 
 
 Now gentleman George, though a very good 
 young man, against whom the female inhabi- 
 tants of that quarter had nothing to say but 
 that he was a little too good, and whose whole
 
 14 CASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 soul, as far as that soul could "be interpreted by 
 the people by whom he was surrounded, seemed 
 to be given to his work at the factory, was yet a 
 young man, and was not utterly insensible to 
 poor Maggie's charms. Indeed, if he had been 
 the twin-brother whom we fancy we had seen at 
 the Prime Minister's party, he might have said to 
 himself that, unless it were a certain Lady Alice, 
 there was not one in that gay throng who could 
 be compared with Maggie for beauty, if she 
 could be made happy and be well-dressed. Some 
 such thought — a dream of his, perhaps, of what 
 might be seen in the upper classes — did enter 
 his mind. 
 
 " Maggie," he said, ^^ dear Maggie, be a good 
 girl ; bear with it all, or with as much as you can 
 bear, for my sake, to please me." And here, I 
 am afraid, I must acknowledge that he kissed 
 her, and pressed her to his breast. 
 
 The girl, with a delicacy that princesses might 
 have envied, knowing, with the fine instinct of 
 her sex, that it was pity, and not affection, 
 which made gentleman George fondle her — she
 
 MAGGIE'S HOME. \5 
 
 tliought, too^ tliat she was far too abject a crea- 
 ture to be noticed by liini_, except for kindness' 
 sake — disengaged herself from the young man's 
 embrace, and went to the turning-lathe. The 
 turning-lathe had suffered most in the contest, 
 and Maggie was loud in her exclamations of the 
 injury that had been done to it, and how gentle- 
 man George must grieve over it. 
 
 '^I wish you would go away from here/' she 
 said, "and then I shall be no more trouble to 
 you, or to anything you care about." 
 
 Then George said, "We must go down to 
 them, Maggie, or they will come up to us. Don't 
 be afraid ; I will make it all right." 
 
 So saying, he took her by the hand, and they 
 went down together into the living-room of her 
 brothers. 
 
 These quarrels amongst the poor are wonder- 
 fully short-lived. Instead of being greeted with 
 a new outburst of fury, the young couple were 
 only greeted with an outbm'st of jeering of the 
 coarsest kind. 
 
 Gentleman George, however, was afraid to
 
 16 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 leave tlie girl in the hands of those who should 
 have been her natural protectors. He joined, 
 artfully enough, in the abuse of the police ; 
 boasted, with sundry oaths — a boast which was 
 received with shouts of laughter — how he could 
 have fought them all, and the police into the 
 bargain ; stood an unlimited quantity of gin ; 
 and the evening was closed in coarse revelry. 
 
 Gentleman George drank like the others, and 
 did not refuse his full share; but, with a craft 
 which seemed to be of a kind superior to his 
 order, did not neglect to pay the greatest atten- 
 tion to the eldest brother^s wife, the mother of 
 the hopeful family. Between them it was agreed 
 that, if Maggie was not punished for the next 
 month, a certain bright blue and yellow shawl 
 should be the reward of this lady's forbearance. 
 
 It was with a sad heart that gentleman George, 
 at a late hour for that neighbourhood, betook 
 himself to his room, and gazed on the ruins of 
 his turning-lathe, thinking, however, much more, 
 and much more sadly, of the many human ruins 
 which surrounded him.
 
 Chapter III. 
 CASIMIR'S CHAEACTER. 
 
 T need hardly be said tliat the two 
 young men whom we have seen in 
 such different circumstances in the 
 course of the preceding chapters,, were but differ- 
 ent phases of one and the same person ; and that 
 person I shall proceed minutely to describe. 
 
 His name was Casimir Maremma. He was 
 bom in one of those provinces in the East 
 which may be considered debatable land; and 
 the government of which^ and the national 
 existence of which^ are connected with what 
 is called^ in European cabinets^ ^' The Eastern 
 Question." 
 
 His father. Count Maremma, was a man 
 of moderate fortune, who lived entirely on 
 
 I. c
 
 18 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 his own estate. In early life the Coun.t had 
 travelled much^ and had married an English- 
 woman. He had then retired to his estate, 
 which, after the death of his wife, he never 
 left. Casimir's mother died when he was ten 
 years old; and ever afterwards the Count 
 abjured society and lived a lonely life with 
 his son and his son's tutor. 
 
 The Count was a man of genius, or, at 
 least, almost a man of genius. He was very 
 studious, but the subjects of his studies were 
 always eccentric. The only things that in- 
 terested him were the most recondite anti- 
 quarian, physical, and metaphysical researches. 
 He was very indolent, and his days passed 
 away in that unaccountable fashion in which 
 musing, indolent, thoughtful men get through 
 time. 
 
 Eemarkable men may differ in many respects 
 in their youth ; but there is one in which they 
 mostly agree. It is in a love of solitude. They 
 either find, or make, a solitude for themselves, 
 which they people with their fancies.
 
 EIS CHABACTEB. 19 
 
 Thus it was with Casimir Maremma. He 
 had some interchange of thought with his father, 
 which interchange of thought grew to be more 
 frequent and more deep as he advanced from 
 boyhood into manhood, but to no other human 
 being did he tell his thoughts. 
 
 The bent of his strange character was early 
 made manifest in his studies. Resembling his 
 countrymen in their wondrous aptitude for ac- 
 quiring languages, and having a learned German 
 for his tutor, Casimir rapidly acquired a sufficient 
 knowledge of the dead languages, and also of 
 French, German, and English. This last lan- 
 guage he spoke as a native ; for, in his earliest 
 years, he had been tended by an English nurse 
 and an English mother. But, anticipating in 
 his precocity the use of all languages, he merely 
 cared for them as the means of getting at some- 
 thing which he wished to know. He had hardly 
 begun to master a language before he began to 
 insist upon its telling him something ; and when 
 he found it could not tell him what he wanted to 
 know, he dropped it. The sweetness of Virgil,
 
 20 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 the grace of Horace^ tlie lusciousness of Catullus, 
 were, to a certain extent, lost upon him. He 
 said to himself that they did not tell him any- 
 thing ; and, as he had soon acquired the mastery 
 over his tutor, he was, for the most part, able 
 to direct his own course of study. Lucretius 
 held him much longer than the rest of the Latin 
 poets, and was, perhaps, the first work in the 
 Latin language that had any interest for young 
 Casimir. 
 
 In the natural sciences he took fiercely for a 
 time to chemistry; but, at length, he again said 
 to himself that it did not tell him anything about 
 the real nature of things. There were, however, 
 at the end of the last century, or at the beginning 
 of this, certain works written which treated of 
 the nature of atoms. His father's library, which 
 was as strangely composed as his father's mind, 
 contained these books; and the young Casimir 
 had never wearied of studying them. 
 
 This young man was one of the most inqui- 
 sitive of human beings. But his inquisitiveness 
 was of the strangest nature. He mastered two
 
 HIS CHABACTEB. 21 
 
 or three of the great metaphysical systems, re- 
 ceiving much aid from his German tutor in that 
 work ; and, when he had mastered them, he said 
 to himself, with all the arrogance of youth, 
 "There is nothing in them/' 
 
 So far, as regards his studies. The time then 
 came for him to travel. The parting of father 
 and son was sorrowful; but still, not nearly so 
 sorrowful as might have been expected, consider- 
 ing that each was to the other the only real friend 
 and companion in the world. The son, however, 
 was chiefly anxious to find out something by his 
 converse with the world ; and the father, to hear 
 of that something. Indeed the father felt as if 
 he were sending out into the world a part of 
 himself, which would come back to himself rich 
 in new thought and knowledge. 
 
 Count Casimir set out upon his travels. 
 These travels he conducted in the same strange 
 manner in which he had conducted his studies. 
 He looked everywhere for types of being, and 
 did not care to repeat the observation of similar 
 things. Thus he travelled through a great part
 
 22 CASIMIB MAREMMA. 
 
 of France, Germany, Italy, and America — the 
 southern, as well as the northern part of America. 
 His rate of travelling was very fitful. Some- 
 times he travelled with much rapidity over a 
 great extent of ground. One commercial city 
 was like another commercial city, and he did not 
 care to master more than one ; but in that one 
 he, perhaps, stayed a long time. One mountain 
 was like another, and the ordinary desire of 
 ascending mountains was not his, for he knew 
 that there was little hope of finding any one at 
 the top of the mountain who would tell him any 
 new thing. Indeed, to the aspects of nature, 
 and to the beauties of art, he turned a some- 
 what indiff'erent mind. He might have said 
 with the poet — 
 
 " I see them all so excellently fair, 
 I see, not feel, how beautiful they are. 
 
 Only with Count Casimir the word ^^ care '' might 
 have been substituted instead of ^' feel." 
 
 And yet he wished, beyond all things, to gain 
 knowledge through feeling. Hence, he resolved
 
 BIS CHABACTEB. 23 
 
 to live the life of any class of people whom lie 
 wished to understand. Herein lay his great 
 originality ; and this accounts for his being 
 found in the two very dijfferent positions which he 
 has occupied in the two preceding chapters— one, 
 as a guest at a prime minister's reception ; and 
 the other, as a poor artisan in the most squalid 
 part of the suburbs of London. 
 
 Notwithstanding his strange mode of life, and 
 his peculiar ambition — not to be somebody, but 
 to understand something — he had a great deal 
 of common sense, and was gifted with that tact 
 which belongs to the Eastern races. One wild 
 idea, however, occupied his mind. He had a 
 hope of meeting with some exceptional being, 
 who should possess, in some direction, powers 
 greater than those allotted to the ordinary mass 
 of mankind, who would lead him into some secret 
 path of knowledge, enabling him better to under- 
 stand this world of manifold confusion. 
 
 Some of the fables of the ancients had made 
 a deep impression on him. He used, as a youth, 
 to say to his father, ^^ There has been a Hercules ;
 
 24 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 there has been a Lynx ; there has been a Pygma- 
 lion, or a Prometheus : indeed, there have been 
 men who knew something, or could do some- 
 thing more than we now know or can do. There 
 has been somebody closer to Nature than we 
 have ever been. Perhaps there is some one 
 who, even now, unconsciously, possesses such 
 powers. ^^ 
 
 Count Casimir had now been travelling for 
 the greater part of seven years, having, how- 
 ever, returned home, and remained with his 
 father, during one or two intervals of six months 
 during that period. 
 
 In personal appearance he was not remarkable, 
 except for the expression, before-mentioned, of 
 his eyes, and the way he fixed them upon you. 
 He did not stare at you ; but he looked at you 
 as if you were an inanimate thing which he was 
 considering, and of which he wished to know the 
 inmost, and the whole, nature. 
 
 He was not above the middle height, and, 
 though of slight figure, was deep - chested, 
 strong, and agile. He was a person who could 
 dare and endure much.
 
 Chaptee IY. 
 
 A LETTER TO HIS FATHER. 
 
 >N order to make the reader thoroughly- 
 acquainted with Count Casimir,, I 
 cannot do better than give, from 
 time to time, the letters which were addressed 
 by him to his father. I subjoin one which was 
 written at the time when our story commences. 
 It is as follows : — 
 
 Sunday. 
 My dear Fathee, 
 I wrote immediately on my return from Alexan- 
 dria, and did not fail to acknowledge the receipt of 
 your most welcome letter, and of the bills it enclosed, 
 which have been duly honoured. 
 
 How delighted the Herr Professor must have been 
 at discovering an inscription so near to our home. 
 You and he, my dear father, will forthwith com-
 
 26 CASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 mence a new edition of Gvuter's Inscriptions — a book 
 whicli, I remember well, you both used to pore over, 
 but which did not much delight poor ignorant me. 
 
 I can hardly give you an idea what a comfort it is 
 to me when Sunday comes round again. I begin 
 the week with a heavy heart, which feeling lasts till 
 Wednesday has been passed, and then I begin to 
 count the hours to Sunday. We (I mean our class) 
 know little of the joys of this day of rest. As a 
 working man, I now know something about them. 
 This is the day, too, on which I take a solitary walk 
 into the country ; and the country about London is 
 very beautiful when you get to it. The people are a 
 good and religious people ; but their religious ex- 
 ercises do not suit me much. 
 
 This is the day, too, on which I have time to write 
 to my dear father. You may bethink you, father, 
 that you have every day to write to your far-off son. 
 
 Shall I tell you a thought that came into my mind 
 as I was walking to-day? It was, when I was on 
 Richmond Hill — the Richmond Hill I have often 
 heard you talk of, where you used to walk with my 
 mother. 
 
 I took up a common pebble, and I said to myself, 
 I should be contented if I only knew what that 
 stone could tell me ; if, springing into life, it could 
 but narrate its whole history. I am a restless crea-
 
 A LETTER TO EI 8 FATHER. 27 
 
 tiire, as you often tell me — restless for knowledge; 
 but it seems as if that pebble could tell me all that 
 I care to know. 
 
 But I must not pursue this thought. You will 
 hardly care to know what I have been thinking, so 
 much as what I have been doing, and what I have 
 been suffering. 
 
 First, I will tell jou where I am. I am at this 
 moment sitting in a little room, in a mean house, of 
 which the different rooms are let out to many lodgers, 
 which house is in one of the most squalid suburbs 
 
 of London. The name of the suburb is . The 
 
 street is very narrow, and from my window I look 
 into a room on the opposite side where there are 
 three rough-looking men and two coarse women 
 drinking, and apparently, from their gestures, quar- 
 relling. 
 
 I find my week-day work not very difficult, but 
 requiring constant attention. I do not know what 
 old nurse Bettina would say if she were to see my 
 hands, which are in a pitiable plight, for I was at 
 first very awkward at my work. 
 
 It seems to me that I have already gained a great 
 deal of knowledge of the people ; but I hardly know 
 how to tell it to you. As they say at public dinners, 
 and in works of fiction, I feel more than I can ex- 
 press. I think I know what a working-man here is
 
 28 CA8IMIR MABEMMA. 
 
 likely to say or do on any given occasion ; but I 
 cannot exactly describe his nature. In fact, my 
 dear father, there is a great deal of originality 
 amongst these people, and they differ one from 
 another more than any other people I have ever 
 lived amongst. Still, of course, there is a general 
 resemblance pervading a class. The class amongst 
 which I live are very good-natured, and are very 
 little given to envy. A great deal might be made of 
 them; there is good stuff, and they would follow 
 leaders very faithfully. Their language is inex- 
 pressibly coarse, and they seem to have but two or 
 three adjectives, which they apply indiscriminately 
 to everything. For instance, I heard a man, whom 
 just now I followed from the baker's, say, " That it 
 was a bloody little pie that his missus had made, 
 and there would be a sanguineous row amongst his 
 sanguineous children when they came to see the san- 
 guineous little pie." I need hardly say that I have 
 Latinized the adjective in the latter parts of the sen- 
 tence, for I have a sort of horror of this coarse word 
 which is being always dinned into my ears. I am 
 obliged sometimes to say it myself, else I should be 
 found out. 
 
 I assure you, though I dwell upon these trifling 
 details, I have not lost my time, and have made 
 many notes of the views held by those amongst
 
 A LETTER TO HIS FATEEB. 29 
 
 whom I live, upon strikes and combinations of work- 
 men. These things, however, are not for a letter, 
 but we will discnss them when I have the happiness 
 to see yon again. 
 
 I delivered all your letters of introduction, which 
 procured me a most kind reception, especially from 
 the Earl. I cannot but fancy, my dear father, that 
 you must have been rivals in love in former days, 
 from the way in which he speaks of my dear mother. 
 His second daughter, the Lady Alice, is very beau- 
 tiful, and has a smile which sometimes reminds me 
 of that in my dear mother's picture. The Earl and 
 my mother were cousins, were they not ? 
 
 They took me the other day to a great political 
 party at the Prime Minister's. It was like all other 
 parties, somewhat wearisome, but Lady Alice showed 
 me who were the notable people, and I looked at 
 them. There was one thing, however, which asto- 
 nished me not a little. The Leader of the Opposition 
 was at this party, and seemed quite at his ease. We 
 could not do this at home, could we, my dear father ? 
 It is a great advance of civilisation. When I 
 talked about it to the Earl, he told me that there 
 was a club, at which the chief political men on 
 both sides meet. They have a dinner once a 
 week during the session. At this dinner politics 
 are talked about most freely ; but nothing dis-
 
 30 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 courteous is allowed to be said, or ever has been 
 said, even in times of the greatest political excite- 
 ment. The English are certainly like no other 
 people in the world. Now, in such an apparently 
 trifling thing as the existence of this club, I see how 
 the English revolutions have been conducted without 
 bloodshed, and with that appreciation of the merits 
 of compromise, which seems to be the peculiar pro- 
 perty of the British mind. They never seem to 
 push anything to its logical conclusion, and there are 
 no executions after a victory. They are a wonder- 
 ful people for knowing how to live together. It is 
 an odd idea, you will say, my dear father, but in their 
 most serious affaii^s they always seem to me a little 
 like boys at play. They delight in fun and play- 
 fulness of every kind ; and they love an adversary 
 who gives them an opportunity for hard hitting. 
 
 Tou can hardly imagine how difficult it is for me to 
 keep up the two characters which I am now obliged 
 to maintain. The change of dress, and the occupation 
 of two sets of apartments, are most difficult ; but I 
 have, as you know, had to manage such things before. 
 The state of my hands cannot, of course, be concealed 
 from the family, but they lay it all to the ship- 
 work I did coming here, and to my work at ma- 
 chinery ; and then they know that I had a turning- 
 lathe at my other lodgings, where the Earl called
 
 A LETTER TO HIS FATHER. 31 
 
 upon me the daj after I left your letter, and for- 
 tunately found me at work with it. They think me 
 an odd fellow ; and oddity, as you must know, is 
 not a recommendation in England, notwithstanding 
 each of them is odd enough in his own way. But it 
 is generally pretty well concealed by a good varnish 
 of conformity. My repute for oddity serves me well. 
 I am now going to call at Lochawe House, so no 
 more, till next Sunday, from your very loving son, 
 
 Casimir Maremma. 
 
 P.S. — Please give my dutifal and affectionate re- 
 membrances to the Herr Professor, and my love to 
 the dear old Bettina. 
 
 I could get you a wonderful bull- dog here. We 
 delight in bull- dogs and pigeons in this district, and 
 have some choice specimens of the former ; but I 
 must wait till I can bring one to you myself.
 
 Chapter V. 
 THE HOUSE OF LOCHAWE. 
 ^.cr=g^<v? g.jg ^^^^ ^^ Locliawe was the Earl 
 alluded to in the young Count^s last 
 
 letter ; and the scene of our story now 
 changes to Lord Lochawe's house. This house 
 gave indication of the taste^ or rather, the want 
 of taste, of this well-known statesman, for it was 
 furnished with the utmost simplicity, and there 
 was not anything that could be called a work of 
 art to be found in it. There were a few por- 
 traits of distinguished statesmen in the EarFs 
 study — of Canning, Peel, Huskinson, and Lord 
 Palmerston ; but, elsewhere, the walls were per- 
 fectly bare. 
 
 The one great pleasure of the EarPs life was 
 business. The harder the business, the more
 
 THE HOUSE OF LOGHAWE. 33 
 
 there was of it, tlie more intricate it was_, and 
 the more research it deman(ied_, the more did 
 it delight the mind^ and the soul too, of Lord 
 Lochawe. Under-secretaries of State, and private 
 secretaries, who had served under him, and did 
 not understand his nature, had sometimes, with 
 well-intentioned kindness, but with unconscious 
 unkindness, sought to save him labour; but 
 they soon found out their mistake, and the witty 
 Delmar, who was once his private secretary, was 
 wont to say this of his master: — "After his 
 Lordship has done all his own business ; when 
 there is no cabinet box, and no despatch, left un- 
 answered ; after he has done all my work for me ; 
 and after he has tied up all his papers with red 
 tape, if one of the housemaids of the office wanted 
 to go with her lover to the play in the evening 
 (it would then be late), and were to ask his 
 Lordship to dust out the office for her, such is 
 his good-nature, and such his love of work, that 
 I believe he would gladly do it/^ 
 
 This passion for work often indicates a heart 
 not fully occupied; and so it was with Lord
 
 34 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Lochawe. The astute young Count had discerned 
 the truth. Lord Lochawe had been passion- 
 ately fond of the young Count's mother. This 
 had been the only romance of his life. After it 
 was over, and Count Maremma had carried off 
 his bride, Lord Lochawe married very properly 
 a woman of his own station, very fair, rather 
 beautiful, somewhat cold, and very business- 
 like. Their marriage had been blessed with two 
 daughters and a son. The eldest daughter had 
 married, and was the Duchess of Brecon. The 
 second daughter, Lady Alice, was still unmarried, 
 but had many suitors. The eldest son. Lord 
 Glenant, was, as often happens, the exact oppo- 
 site to his father — not entirely in nature, but 
 in his pursuits ; and he devoted to pleasure the 
 Lochawe vigour which his father gave to business. 
 The father and son were on excellent terms ; 
 and when Lord Glenant was living at home, 
 they occasionally met in what are called the small 
 hours of the night, the son coming home from a 
 ball, and the father beginning to light his fire, 
 and to set to work at the business of the day.
 
 TEE HOUSE OF LOCH AWE. 35 
 
 Lord Lochawe had been delighted to receive 
 Count Casimir. The sight of the young man 
 had brought back the sensation of youth to the 
 Earl, and he felt for '^ the Sclavonian boy/^ as he 
 called him, those peculiar feelings of tenderness, 
 dashed, sometimes, with slight and transient 
 feelings of dislike, that often render the after- 
 tenderness more touching, which men feel for 
 the children of women whom they have loved 
 and lost. 
 
 There was one room in Lochawe house 
 which, though not resplendent in works of art, 
 was highly decorated, and most gracefully 
 adorned. Its occupants at the present moment 
 were two young* girls. One was Lady Alice, 
 and the other Miss Ruth Sumner. Each of 
 these young ladies requires, and deserves, de- 
 scription. 
 
 Lady Alice was one of the most beautiful 
 young women of the day ; indeed her beauty 
 was, of its kind, perfect. Often in these so- 
 called perfect beauties there is some defect or 
 deficiency which mars the beauty. Their ges-
 
 36 CASIMIB MAUEMMA. 
 
 tures are ungraceful_, or their faces are inexpres- 
 sive. But it was not so with Lady Alice. She 
 moved as gracefully as one of Mozart's melodies,, 
 and every feature was informed by bright expres- 
 siveness. There was a touch of languor about 
 her, and it will hereafter be seen whether she 
 had much depth of character or not, but all that 
 was visible about her was beautiful. She had 
 exquisite tact, and always said the right thing to 
 the right person — a quality which must have 
 been derived from some remote ancestor, for it 
 was not known either in Lord Lochawe or in 
 his deceased wife, both of whom, like many 
 other respectable and good people, had given 
 some pain in their lifetime hf plain speaking, 
 unleavened by anything like tact. 
 
 Ruth Sumner was a very different kind of 
 being from Lady Alice. Her mother, an 
 orphan, and a near relation of the Lochawes, 
 had been brought up by Lord Lochawe's 
 parents. This mother had married, to the in- 
 tense disgust of her family, a dissenting minister, 
 a man of much originality of mind, and of great
 
 THE HOUSE OF LOCH AWE. 37 
 
 resoluteness of purpose. She had died in child- 
 birth, and the present Lord Lochawe had taken 
 charge of her child Ruth, and had brought her 
 up with his children. What had become of 
 the dissenting minister nobody knew, for the 
 Lochawes never said anything about him. It was 
 conjectured that he was dead, or had gone as a 
 missionary to India. Ruth Sumner was not re- 
 markable either for good looks or for bad looks. 
 Inheriting some of the beauty of the Lochawes, 
 the upper part of her face was almost beautiful ; 
 but the lower part was somewhat stern, and re- 
 minded the few persons who had known him of 
 the dissenting minister. She was small in stature ; 
 but exquisitely formed. 
 
 The day was beautiful, and the sun streamed 
 in through a window near which Lady Alice was 
 sitting. The girls, both of whom were fond of 
 art (though Ruth viewed this rather as a sin), 
 had placed transparencies of coloured glass in 
 two of the panes of the window, and at this 
 moment a faint yellow light fell upon the features 
 of Lady Alice.
 
 38 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Ruth rose from lier seat_, drew back the hair 
 from Lady Alice's forehead,, and said, " Now you 
 would make a good picture of a saintly nun, with 
 the yellow tint of fasting upon you, and even 
 Lord Lochawe might endure the picture. There 
 is a little weariness about it too, which would, 
 perhaps, make it more nun-like; but you must 
 not smile. Nuns do not smile, you know." 
 
 " My father is too weary of his pictures at 
 Lochawe, even of that beautiful Correggio, to 
 wish for any more. Besides I am not a great 
 favourite. I am too perverse and silly, and get 
 up late, and make a mock at business. But 
 whatever our merits may be, we shall be cut out 
 by this Count Casimir, even the serious Ruth, 
 who can copy letters accurately, talk business, 
 and who is as good as a private secretary .'' 
 
 '^It's not right, dear Alice, to jest at your 
 father." 
 
 ^^ He does not like me the less for a little jest- 
 ing ; and if we were all as solemn as you, Ruth, 
 it would be a dreary household. We do not see 
 much of Glenant as it is ; but then he would never
 
 TEE HOUSE OF LOCH AWE. 39 
 
 come near us. I can^t imagine what papa sees 
 in this Count tJasimir^ for he does not talk busi- 
 ness : he only looks it at you." 
 
 ^^The Count is a very remarkable man^ 
 Alice." 
 
 " There^ you talk like an American, ^ One of 
 the most remarkable men_, sir_, in our country ! ' 
 I want to know what this remarkable man likes 
 or cares for. The poets are invaluable to us 
 young women and young men. I do not know 
 how we should get on without them. They are 
 as good as the opera, or the High Church, to 
 talk about at balls and evening parties. I tried 
 him upon Tennyson, and then upon Browning ; 
 and asked him to explain passages. He did ex- 
 plain them, but did not seem to care for them at 
 all. And then, he sits here for hours — last 
 Sunday, two mortal hours." 
 
 ^^ But I think you rather pressed him to stay, 
 did you not, Alice ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I did. I feel as if he was a sort of 
 poor relation come up from the country, though 
 the Maremmas are not, I believe, particularly
 
 40 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 poor. One feels one must be civil to him. 
 And tlien_, papa likes him so much, and always 
 cross-questions me as to whether I pressed him 
 sufficiently to stay. Do you observe how papa 
 will look at him when he thinks he is unob- 
 served. Even our grand Duchess of a sister has 
 condescended to wonder, and duchesses seldom 
 wonder, you know, Ruth, as vulgar people do, 
 what papa can see in that young man. I wonder, 
 for my part, what he does on week days. It is a 
 noble occupation, turning a lathe, and highly 
 intellectual.^^ 
 
 Here the conversation between the two girls 
 was interrupted by the entrance of some visitors.
 
 Chaptee VI. 
 
 CASIMIE'S aspieatio:n's. 
 
 NOW give two letters which I find 
 were written by Count Casimir at this 
 time. They chiefly serve to show 
 the nature of his thoughts at this period, and 
 do not carry on the story of his fortunes at 
 all. They will, however, be interesting to those 
 who may wish to study the character of a 
 remarkable man; and to perceive the gradual 
 change in his aspirations — from a desire to know, 
 to a desire to do, something. 
 
 Sunday. 
 My dear Father, — 
 I have again to thank you for a most kind letter. 
 I am very glad to find that you approve of what I 
 have been doing. I do believe, as you said, that
 
 42 CASnilE MAREMMA. 
 
 s 
 
 England is the conntrj best worth studying in the 
 world, and that it is a country that will still have 
 immense influence upon the world's destinies. 
 
 I am not writing to you in my old lodgings in the 
 east end of the town, and I have also given up my 
 work as an artisan there. I think I have seen enough 
 of it, and have learnt enough about the views and 
 feelings of the poorer classes in that part of the 
 town. 
 
 One thing remains impressed upon my mind : I do 
 not see how our views and hopes of civilisation can 
 be promoted while there remain these immense 
 masses of squalidity attached to most of the great 
 towns in Europe ; and, indeed, to some of those in 
 the JS'ew "World too. I should like, if I were a 
 despot, to raze to the ground all the quarter of 
 London in which I have lately been living ; but what 
 is to become of the inhabitants ? 
 
 Do you know, my dear father, that I am beginning 
 to think that emigration is the only remedy left us 
 for these great evils. It is only recently that this 
 idea has dawned upon me. I used to scorn it 
 formerly. I used to say we ought to be able to 
 make people thrive in their own country. No 
 country is highly cultivated enough ; and there are 
 wastes everywhere as in our own dear country. 
 
 But now I see this : I see that so much has been
 
 HIS ASPIRATIONS. 43 
 
 done in tlie old countries that requires to be undone. 
 I talked with the Queen's physician the other day. 
 Through the Earl I have become acquainted with 
 many of the scientific people. Finding that I was 
 interested in sanitary afiairs, and in the poor ; and, 
 also, that I had peculiar knowledge of the district in 
 which, unknown to him, I had lived, he said, " From 
 the peculiar formation of that soil, and its relative 
 position, not a single house ought ever to have been 
 built there. It is almost undrainable." 
 
 Now what does all this lead to ? It leads to emi- 
 gration. I think I told you, in some previous letter, 
 that the lower classes here are really a very docile, 
 kind-hearted race, very free from envy. A man 
 might lead a great swarm of them to happier climes. 
 Think over this, my dear father, and do you and the 
 good Herr Professor tell me all that your lore can 
 tell about ancient emigration. 
 
 Now, to more personal matters. I see a great deal 
 of the Earl's family, our cousins. The Duchess is a 
 mere woman of the world. I wish I could give you an 
 idea how beautiful Lady Alice is, and how winning. 
 She is considered to be the greatest beauty in London 
 society, and at balls and evening parties all the 
 young men are asking me for introductions. There is 
 another cousin of ours, a certain Miss Ruth Sumner : 
 probably you have never heard, or have forgotten,
 
 44 CASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 all about her. Lord Lochawe's cousin, an orphan 
 who was brought up with him, married a dissenting 
 minister; and this Ruth Sumner is his daughter. 
 The mother is dead, and no one knows where the 
 minister is. This Ruth Sumner is a girl worth ' 
 studying — full of purpose. I think you would like 
 her. She is not beautiful. 
 
 Tell the good Bettina not to fret about my hands. 
 They are becoming proper and gentlemanlike since 
 I have left off work. 
 
 You think I laugh at you and the Herr Professor 
 about Gruter's Inscriptions; but I value all know- 
 ledge, and should never venture to laugh at any 
 knowledge that is dear to my dear father. 
 I am, as ever, your loving son, 
 
 Casimir Maremma. 
 
 P.S. — The Earl is such a different man from you 
 that I cannot, sometimes, help being amused at the 
 idea of his having been the rival of my governor for 
 my mother's hand. This word "governor" will 
 rather astonish you. It is the favourite word in 
 England for a father. It looks as if it were very 
 dignified and respectful, and equal to "honoured 
 sir ;" but it is used most familiarly, and is almost 
 what they call a slang word. 
 
 P.S. No. 2. — There are no such things as hawks
 
 EIS ASPIRATIONS. 45 
 
 to be had in England now. Hawking is qnite given 
 up, so we cannot execute Count Kresinski's commis- 
 sion ; but I have brought awaj from my old quarters 
 a bulldog for you — such a bulldog. She — for it is a 
 she — has about her the scars of many battles, and is 
 unapproachable almost, except by her master. Oddly 
 enough, however, she takes to Lady Alice, who makes 
 much of her. Certainly there is something very 
 potent in relationship. Yenus — that is the name 
 of the creature — evidently knows that Lady Alice is 
 a second cousin of mine, and behaves accordingly. 
 She — Yenus — has a great dislike though, to the Earl, 
 and we are obliged to keep her away from him. 
 
 My dear Father, — 
 
 I have many things to tell you, and to talk to you 
 about. 
 
 In the first place, let me entreat you to discourage 
 our good Professor from writing upon any subject 
 connected with politics, especially upon the subject 
 you mention. I always feel that it is somewhat of 
 an impertinence in me to venture to give you advice ; 
 but, my dear father, consider by whom you are sur- 
 rounded. There are spies everywhere about you. 
 
 You have read much of English literature; yon 
 must have read "Tristram Shandy." Did you not 
 feel that you were something like "my father" in
 
 46 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 that remarkable book — ready to discuss every earthly 
 or heavenly subject ? Now it is only in England that 
 such a book could have been produced, for it is only 
 in England that a Mr. Shandy would have been per- 
 fectly safe, especially if he had been Count Shandy, 
 and a magnate in his own country. 
 
 I send this letter to you by a very safe hand, 
 whom I have sent on purpose, in order that he may 
 communicate to you intelligence that I had better 
 not put upon paper. Lord Lochawe thinks as I do 
 upon this matter. 
 
 Though I have ceased to belong for the moment 
 to the poorer classes, I have not ceased to go on 
 with my work ; but the work has been rather that of 
 thought than of action. I must tell you, my dear 
 father, a thought that has much pressed upon my 
 mind of late. There are many worlds in the uni- 
 verse. I cannot help thinking with Fontenelle that 
 they are inhabited. N^ow it is not probable, is it, 
 that the development of these worlds should at all 
 times be simultaneous, nor that they should partake 
 the same rate of development ? I imagine all of 
 them to be left to the operation of free-will in their 
 inhabitants, also to the operation of certain general, 
 physical, and metaphysical laws. 
 
 ]N"ow, to take our own earth. Does it not seem as 
 if, contemplating this generation, we are, at the same
 
 HIS ASPIRATIONS. 47 
 
 time, too much and too little developed? This is 
 a most uncomfortable state — a state of transition. 
 How intelligent we are ! How much some of us 
 perceive that could be amended. How forward we 
 are ; at the same time, how backward. With what 
 fearful inequality is education distributed amongst 
 ns ! Then, again, there are such dreadful physical 
 inequalities. Look at the houses of the rich and the 
 houses of the poor. These hardly seem to belong to 
 the same class of beings. In any great improvement 
 for mankind which we may contemplate, whole 
 masses of towns must be destroyed. With the pre- 
 sent dwelling-places of the poor, it is impossible to 
 have high civilisation for the general body of man- 
 kind — that is, in the older countries. You, doubt- 
 less, see the drift of my remarks — namely, the 
 foundation of new states ; the organizing of emigra- 
 tion in a way that it has not been organized for more 
 than two thousand years. 
 
 Looking back at what I wrote to you during my 
 travels in North and South America, I feel now that 
 I did not sufficiently dwell upon the wonderful ad- 
 vantages to be found in those countries for the 
 formation of new states. I wish I could convey to 
 you all that I felt when contemplating the vast plains 
 of Paraguay. That country impressed me with the 
 idea of a terrestrial Paradise. I assure you I do not
 
 48 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 exaggerate. All the most valuable products of the 
 earth are there. The climate is delicious. The 
 rivers are magnificent; and, my dear father, even 
 we may live to see the time when river-power will 
 be made far more subservient than it is to the wants 
 of mankind. You used to talk to me of English 
 parks. I declare to you they are nothing when 
 compared with the boundless parks of Paraguay. 
 The whole country is practically uninhabited. Here 
 we are oppressed with the perpetual sight of bricks 
 and mortar, and with the not always welcome sight 
 of crowds of human beings. There the sight of a 
 human habitation or a man was most welcome, from 
 its rarity. Again, it is not even as if these regions 
 were the remotest parts of the earth — far distant 
 from what we fondly call the centres of civiliza- 
 tion, instead of being within easy reach by a transit 
 occupying only a few weeks. 
 
 Enough of this. You must see to what end my 
 thoughts are tending more and more. I want to 
 begin habitation on some new ground, to which new 
 inhabitants shall bring the large experience of past 
 errors. 
 
 The other day I could not help telling them at 
 Lochawe House what I was thinking upon this 
 great subject. The Earl (he is never hard upon my 
 fancies) admitted that there was a great deal in what
 
 HIS ASFIBATIONS. 49 
 
 I said, but that all emigration was counteracted by 
 the growth of a certain provincial smallness which 
 infested all rising communities in foreign lands. 
 " You cannot emigrate away from man, my dear 
 boy " — he always calls me his " dear boy " — and 
 thus saying, he left the room. 
 
 Lord Glenant said that the leaders of emigra- 
 tion generally had a miserable time of it, as, in- 
 deed, had all those who tried to do anything good 
 in the world. " When I go with my father to the 
 parish church," he added, "and pray for the 'noble 
 army of martyrs,' I always include discoverers and 
 inventors, and statesmen and poets, and what my 
 friend, I^apoleon the First — a fussy but a discern- 
 ing man — called ideologists, such persons as my good 
 cousin Casimir." 
 
 Lady Alice was very witty, and contemplated the 
 misery of life in a country where there was only a 
 barbaric and provincial opera. 
 
 Ruth Sumner (there is a great deal in that girl, 
 my dear father) was the only one who sympathized 
 with me ; and in her earnest, modest way, maintained 
 with me that the chief thing left for some great man 
 in this day to do, was to organize emigration, and to 
 found a state, which would profit by the want of 
 organization that prevails even in the greatest civi- 
 lized states, and which should at least avoid some of 
 their most patent errors. 
 
 I. E
 
 50 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 The difficulty — the, perhaps, fatal difficulty — 
 would be to provide a race of governing men. 
 Colonists are mostly poor, very poor. To provide 
 the means of life is their first object. But, if one 
 could only bring out from the close parent hive a 
 perfect swarm having its nascent rulers in it — 
 surely it is not a mere dream of enthusiasm that 
 a state might be educed, in these lovely fertile regions 
 I have spoken of, which should be both an aid and 
 an example to all the other states of the world. 
 
 Forgive me, my dear father, if I have inflicted 
 upon you too long a letter; but you know that, at 
 any rate, I do tell you all that presses most earnestly 
 on my mind. 
 
 I have sent off all the books you wish to have, and 
 have added some others which you did not mention. 
 Amongst these are works by Mr. Buckle and Mr. 
 Lecky. I think they will greatly interest you. 
 
 I am, as ever. 
 
 Your very dutiful and loving son, 
 
 Casimir Maremma.
 
 Chapter YII. 
 DOMESTIC RELATIONSHIP. 
 
 I HERE is a very disagreeable kind of 
 young English gentleman to be found 
 occasionally in certain classes of the 
 present day. Disrespectful to his superiors,, su- 
 percilious to his equals^ and insolently indifferent 
 to the feelings of his inferiors, he endeavours to 
 compensate for his want of knowledge and expe- 
 rience by an outward bearing, which seems to 
 claim superiority without having auy thing to 
 back it. 
 
 To a superficial observer, Lord Glenant might 
 have seemed to be one of this class of young- 
 Englishmen, but in reality his character was quite 
 apart from theirs. He was extremely good- 
 natured. His indifference to effort of every kind 
 
 ^'^IVERSUY OF
 
 52 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 did not proceed from a contempt of other men, 
 but from a conviction that the objects they aimed 
 at were very little worth obtaining. He was 
 totally without ambition of any kind. Had he 
 been in a lower sphere of life, and obliged to earn 
 his bread, he would have earned it, but at the 
 same time he would have been indifferent to the 
 prizes to be obtained in any walk of life which he 
 should have chosen. He respected other people, 
 admired their industry, admired their perseve- 
 rance, but did not share their hopes or their aspi- 
 rations. He admired his father, but thought that 
 the laborious old earl wasted his time and his life 
 in efforts that would lead to nothmg, and in work 
 which other people might do quite as well. Lord 
 Glenant had travelled largely, and had mingled 
 in the society of many capitals. A greater con- 
 trast could not well be found than that which ex- 
 isted between him and his foreign cousin. Count 
 Casimir ; but the Viscount appreciated the Count, 
 and did not view with any jealousy the mani- 
 fest interest which the Earl took in Casimir. 
 Lord Glanant thought that when the young
 
 DOMESTIC BELATIONSRIP. 53 
 
 Count should be older, lie would be wiser (by the 
 way. Lord Glenant was the younger of the two) , 
 and would discover that there was not much to 
 be found out, or much to be done, that was new 
 upon this earth. 
 
 It need hardly be told that Lord Glenant had 
 many times been, what he would call, in love, and 
 had, as he supposed, been loved, the real truth 
 being that he had never hitherto had the slightest 
 conception of what being in love is like. 
 
 He was now, however, fated to experience the 
 passion of love in what he imagined to be its utmost 
 force and urgency. The object of his love was his 
 cousin, Ruth Sumner. After the days of child- 
 hood, which they had passed together, he had first 
 begun to take an interest in her by the pleasure 
 he had found in teasing her for her business-like 
 habits, and in shocking her somewhat formal 
 notions of propriety. She regarded him with some 
 of the affection of an elder sister for a brother. 
 She fought his battles with the Earl ; concealed, 
 or managed to provide for, his pecuniary scrapes ; 
 and regarded herself only as a useful confidante
 
 54 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 to him. Day by day^ lioweverj lie began to rely 
 upon her more, and to admire her more ; and, what 
 is of more attraction than perhaps anything else 
 in the relation of woman to man, he began to find 
 in her conversation a charm which he did not 
 find in that of any other person. If he had 
 an hour to spare, and dissipated men are often 
 very busy men, and have but few hours to spare, 
 he used to come to Lochawe House to listen to 
 what his demure cousin Ruth would have to say 
 about the follies of mankind, and his own follies 
 in particular. 
 
 He often brought with him a favourite com- 
 panion of his, Charles Ashurst, who was only too 
 glad to come with him, as he was one of the 
 numerous suitors of the Lady Alice. This Charles 
 Ashurst, a young man, was the presumptive heir 
 to an Irish barony. He was a pleasant, good- 
 natured fellow, not very brilliant, but not de- 
 ficient in ability. 
 
 The five young people who figure in this tale 
 had all met together in the boudoir of Lady Alice, 
 and their several characters cannot be better
 
 DOMESTIC BELATI0N8EIP. 55 
 
 shown than in the conversation which there and 
 then took place. 
 
 ''Well, Casimir/' said Lord Glenant, ''you 
 have now seen some of our principal literary, 
 political, and scientific personages. Are we ' out- 
 side, savage barbarians,' as the Chinese call us, or 
 are we, as my father tells me when he condescends 
 to talk to so frivolous a person, leaders in the 
 great ' battle of the world ?' Ashurst, too, thinks 
 that there is nothing like an Englishman, espe- 
 cially if he can hit a leathern ball with a bit of 
 wood very hard, and if he can move a longer 
 bit of wood in water, so as to propel a canoe 
 very fast. It is no good telling this Sclavonian 
 philosopher about cricketing or boating. He 
 would not understand the words." 
 
 "If I were you, Casimir," said Lady Alice, 
 " I would decline to answer Glenant. If you 
 reply to him in his own vein with a jest, you 
 lower yourself to his level, and if you answer him 
 seriously, he will only find something to mock 
 at." 
 
 " Commend me to a sister for always taking
 
 56 GA8IMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 the shine out of her brother when he is most dis- 
 posed to shine. You see what comes from the 
 dreadful familiarity of brothers and sisters. I 
 suppose it is the same with wives after they have 
 been married a year or two, and have found out 
 all the weak points in their husband's characters." 
 
 ""Ah, Glenant/^ exclaimed Charles Ashurst, 
 with a sigh_, ^^ if you had ever been in love, you 
 would not talk as you do." 
 
 ^^ In love ! I don^t believe there is anybody 
 in London so much in love as I am at this pre- 
 sent moment." 
 
 ^' I should like, my dear Ronald," said Lady 
 Alice, '' to hear a description of the young lady. 
 Is she a friend of mine ? " 
 
 '^ I doubt the existence of friendship, Alice, 
 amongst you women. I can only tell you that 
 she has every vice of which I am innocent." 
 
 ^' Then, Eonald, she must have very few vices, 
 because, as your enemies would say, it must be a 
 small catalogue indeed which does not include 
 some of yours." 
 
 '' I tell you, Alice, that her vices are nume-
 
 DOMESTIC RELATIONSHIP. 57 
 
 rous; but happily they are not mine. She is 
 active^ energetic^, punctual_, gets up early^ writes 
 a good hand^ is fearfully ambitious^ and holds 
 that nobody will be saved who does not believe 
 in her nice little^ well-regulated^ well-defined 
 creed. But^ notwithstanding all this^ I love 
 her to distraction. Could I but persuade her 
 to look upon me without disfavour, we might be 
 a pair that would combine between us all the 
 vices of the civilized world." 
 
 " It seems to me_, Lord Glenant/^ said Ruth, 
 " that the lady of your love would not be much 
 flattered by your description of her. She is nar- 
 row-minded ; she has a poor creed ; she has what 
 you call ^vices.^ I suppose she is a beautiful 
 fool?" 
 
 ^^ No ; she is neither beautiful, nor is she a 
 fool. Miss Ruth. That is, she is not beautiful in 
 the eyes of the world in general ; but she is beau- 
 tiful in my eyes, more beautiful than any other 
 woman. And her only fault is, that she thinks 
 too highly of the world and hopes too much 
 from it."
 
 58 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 " I suppose/' said Lady Alice^ " we must not 
 ask of what nation site is." 
 
 " Yes, you may/' said Lord Glenant. " She 
 is English, or rather she is Scotch ; and I always 
 maintain that an Englishman, or a Scotchman, or 
 an Irishman, must be an uncommon fool if he 
 does not find in these islands a woman who is 
 suited to him, for the women of these countries 
 are the women of the world." 
 
 '"'' Lord Glenant, dear Alice, speaks with all 
 the wisdom of experience, for it is evident that 
 he has studied the women of all countries. '^ 
 
 ^^ I think you have all forgotten," said Count 
 Casimir, " that Glenant addressed to me a 
 question, asking whether I thought that the 
 British were outside, savage barbarians. Well, 
 of course, I do not think that you are outside, 
 savage barbarians; but, if I must tell the 
 truth " 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, tell the truth," said Lord Glenant, 
 " one knows, when a fellow begins in this way, 
 that he is going to say something* very un- 
 pleasant."
 
 DOMESTIC RELATIONSHIP. 59 
 
 '' Well, tlien, if I must tell tlie truth/' said 
 Casimir, ^^ you are a little harder than I expected 
 you to be, and less pious/' 
 
 ^^ Piety/' said Lord Glenant, " is not our forte. 
 But what do you mean, Casimir ? " 
 
 " Well/' said Casimir, " when I was being 
 taught English as a boy, my father used to give 
 me bits to learn by heart from the great English 
 writers in former days. A writer called George 
 Herbert was one of his favourites; and I re- 
 member well a poem of George Herbert's which 
 began thus : 
 
 Teach me, my God and King, 
 
 In all things Thee to see ; 
 And what I do in anything. 
 
 To do it as for Thee. 
 
 " And then it ended, if I recollect rightly, in 
 this way : 
 
 A servant with this clause 
 
 Makes drudgery divine : 
 Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, 
 
 Makes that and the action fine, 
 
 " Now I don't know that I find anything cor-
 
 60 CA SIMIB MARE MM A. 
 
 responding to this strain in you modem Englisli. 
 You have a great deal of the bulldog in you^ 
 
 but you have not so much of the " 
 
 '^Do not compare us to dogs^ my dear Casi- 
 mir/^ said Lord Glenant, ^^ for of course we shall 
 be found wanting if you do. One of the puzzles 
 of my life has been why dogs live with us_, and 
 love us as they do. The great metaphysical 
 puzzles do not disturb me much. I am content 
 to leave ^ subjective^ and '^ objective^ alone. The 
 doctrine of ^ contradictory inconceivables ^ (you 
 see I have read about these things) does not 
 perplex my commonplace mind ; but I cannot 
 discover the answer to the problem why dogs 
 love uSj and follow us about as they do. Some- 
 times I think it is because they are so very dull 
 of comprehension ; sometimes I think it is be- 
 cause they are so very imaginative^ and picture 
 to themselves that'we are saying such good and 
 such clever things when we are laughing and 
 talking in their presence. One thing I am cer- 
 tain of, and that is, that they would not worship 
 us as they do, if they understood our language."
 
 DOMESTIC RELATIONSHIP. 61 
 
 '*' Depend upon it^ the great art of loving is 
 not understanding; that is, perhaps, the reason 
 why I love my charmer so much, as I am sure 
 I do not understand her. — Good morning, my 
 Lord^^ (here Lord Lochawe entered the room), 
 '' or rather, good afternoon. I hope your Lord- 
 ship^s speech last night convinced your brother 
 Peers. I assure you I read it through, as a 
 dutiful son should, in more than one paper, 
 and it seems to me to be best reported in the 
 ' Times.' " 
 
 Hereupon the conversation became political; 
 and as soon after as they could, the young 
 ladies and the young gentlemen took leave of 
 Lord Lochawe, and went out to ride together. 
 Lord Glenant keeping very close to his cousin 
 Ruth, on the pretence, which was not far from 
 the truth, that she was a timid rider, and 
 required an attendant cavalier to be in close 
 proximity to the bridle of her horse.
 
 Chaptee VIII. 
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 
 
 [ANY, indeed most, of the letters 
 which passed between Count Casi- 
 mir and his father are lost. I have, 
 however, succeeded in recovering three more of 
 them, which must have been written at this early 
 period of our story. In each of these letters 
 it will be observed that a Mr. Thurston is spoken 
 of, who evidently, from these letters, as well as 
 from circumstances which will appear in certain 
 parts of the narrative, exercised much influence 
 over the young Count's course of thought and of 
 action. By those readers who only care for the 
 events in a story, and are not anxious to learn 
 the causes which form the character and conduct 
 of a hero or heroine, these letters may most
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 63 
 
 judiciously be skipped; but to otliers^, who are 
 desirous of ascertaining the real motives of the 
 persons described in it^ these letters will be very- 
 interesting. 
 
 There are persons — I am afraid I am one of 
 them — who_, when they hear a great composition 
 of Beethoven^ or of Bach_, only delight in the 
 little bits of melody which their^ comparatively 
 speaking, uneducated ears can feel and under- 
 stand ; and there are others to whose nicely tu- 
 tored and exquisitely refined hearing* every note 
 tells something, and goes to make up the won- 
 drous whole. And so, in a story, much that at 
 first hearing appears irrelevant, contains the real 
 essence of the story, and is the part to which 
 the most thoughtful readers will assuredly re- 
 turn. The story that is only a story — which has 
 nothing in it of history, or of philosophy, or of the 
 deep delineation of character — is read eagerly, 
 but is only read once. I do not say this to mag- 
 nify my own powers of description, which are 
 but small, but to account for my introducing 
 these letters, which may otherwise be considered
 
 64 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 an unreasonable interruption of the narrative, 
 but wliicli I hold to be essential, and which I 
 would rather give in the young Count's own 
 words than endeavour to supply, by a sort of 
 precis of these letters. 
 
 Mt dear Father, — 
 
 I am rather surprised, and somewhat disheartened, 
 at not having received any letter from, you for the 
 last four weeks. The apprehension which I men- 
 tioned in a former letter may appear to you very 
 timid ; but when one is at a great distance from 
 those whom one loves, one is a victim to timidity on 
 their behalf. 
 
 I have made a new acquaintance: indeed I may 
 almost say I have made a new friend. His name is 
 Thurston. He is a middle-aged man ; but, notwith- 
 standing the difference of our ages, he seems to have 
 taken a great fancy to me, and tells me everything 
 in the most unreserved manner. You have probably 
 never heard of him ; but he is a most powerful per- 
 son, and in his quiet way jDulls many strings. I first 
 met him at the Earl's table ; and the Earl had pre- 
 viously told me to pay great attention to him, as he 
 was a man somewhat of my own nature. 
 
 There is, though, this great difference between us : 
 he cares to know everything that is going on at pre-
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 65 
 
 sent — I mean the secret history of it. He does not 
 seem to care for knowing about the future, and 
 directing it. You would be perfectly astonished at 
 his knowledge of the most secret affairs both here 
 and on the Continent. For instance, he knew all 
 about you, and warned me to give you the hints 
 which I ventured to give. 
 
 Mr. Thurston's views about the future, or rather 
 about the immediate present, are most gloomy. He 
 thinks that government in this country is becoming 
 almost impossible. He says that all power is under- 
 mined. No, that is not exactly the word. He thinks 
 that all power is fettered in such a way that if ever a 
 time comes for prompt action by the government, 
 there will be no promptness. N'ow, he says, this was 
 all very well, and no great harm could come of it, 
 when the scene of action was at a distant place, like 
 the Crimea ; but, if that scene should be nearer 
 home, the want of promptitude and force will be 
 fatal. He complains that the statesmen of the day 
 deal with everything in a hand-to-mouth way, like 
 the members of the Stock Exchange ; and that there 
 is next to no far-seeing statesmanship. 
 
 Do you see, my dear father, how these views, 
 which may be somewhat exaggerated, fit in with 
 mine ? Every day I become more and more ena- 
 moured of my thought, that emigration is the main 
 F
 
 66 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 thing left to ns. I fell in the other day with an 
 historian who has written mnch about Spanish emi- 
 gration ; and he described to me how the Spaniards 
 candied out with them certain ideas which rendered 
 colonization much more facile. I take it, this was 
 from their partiallj Roman descent. For instance, 
 thej had the complete idea of a town in their minds. 
 The centre of it was to be a great square. In that 
 square were to be the cathedral, the governor's 
 house, the public offices, and tlie market-place. 
 
 1^0 w, you know, such an idea has never pervaded 
 the Anglo-Saxon race. All with them seems to be done 
 in a hap-hazard fashion, and each man does what is 
 good in his own eyes. This makes colonization much 
 more rapid, but much less secure, and much less grand. 
 A swarm of young bees takes out with it the idea of 
 a perfect hive, and executes that idea with the com- 
 pleteness of supreme instinct. There is no deroga- 
 tion from the original idea, but there is no improve- 
 ment. My ideal is this, that emigration should be 
 conducted by men whose minds are strongly set upon 
 gaining for the colonies they establish all the benefits 
 of our present civilization, together with some pro- 
 vision against its dangers. Say that this is Utopian, 
 if you like ; I put it only as an ideal. JSTow, in our 
 great European cities what is the most striking 
 defect ? It is the want of open spaces. You will 
 think me a sad Radical, my dear father ; but I have
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 67 
 
 often tlionglit that the chief use of kings has been 
 to keep open spaces in great towns. It is the king's 
 park, and the king's palace gardens, and the king's 
 hunting grounds, that are now, to use a phrase very 
 common here, the lungs of the Metropolis for the 
 people. JS'ow, to apply this maxim dii^ectly, if I 
 were to lead a band of emigrants I would keep this 
 Spanish idea of a great square in my mind ; but 
 I would also contrive to keep many open spaces, 
 allotting them to the public buildings. 
 
 Then, you know, my dear father, that there are 
 several great problems of government which are 
 being gradually solved in the old communities, notably 
 that of governmental interference. I have made up 
 my mind (you wdll smile at the impudence of a young 
 fellow like me presuming to make up his mind on 
 such matters) that there are several things which 
 must be subjected to continuous governmental inter- 
 ference. These things relate to education, medicine, 
 and sanitary well-being. 
 
 Again, where we fail in emigration in modern 
 times is, that our bees emigrate in twos or threes, 
 or twenties or thirties together ; and then there are 
 only room and play for one kind of work, for that of 
 the digger and delver and the artisan. Is it a dream, 
 a foolish dream of your enthusiast of a son, that he 
 could plan an emigration which would afford room and 
 scope enough for men of education and of station ?
 
 68 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 I have attained an odd kind of influence over Lord 
 Glenant. He lialf-likes, half- dislikes, me. He seems 
 to care for nothing ; but do you know I think this 
 joung man would make a remarkable emigrant ? I 
 must not weary you any more with these fancies of 
 mine ; but they are gradually usurping most of my 
 thoughts, and I know that you always like to know 
 what I am thinking about. 
 
 You jested in a former letter about the women of 
 my colony, and wanted to know whether this Numa 
 is to have an Egeria. By the way, if he is to be an 
 ^neas, he intends to carry his dear Anchises with 
 him. But to return to his Egeria, I suppose I am 
 very cold, or perhaps I demand an inordinate quantity 
 of sympathy, but I do not find many women that I 
 could live with, my dear father. They are so limited. 
 They think it very pretty that one should have what 
 they call great ideas ; but they look upon one merely 
 as a curious specimen of humanity — as a lion, as they 
 call it here. They would only play at greatness. 
 My two cousins tolerate me wonderfully ; and some- 
 times I think that Ruth sympathises with me. I 
 have not yet met with any one who is equal to her. 
 
 With kindest regards to the Herr Professor and 
 Bettina, 
 
 I am ever your loving and dutiful son, 
 
 Castmie Maeemma.
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 69 
 
 My Dear Father, — 
 
 Your last letter comforts me a little, but not much. 
 You say that our good Professor writes nothing that 
 can be considered dangerous. Writing at all is dan- 
 gerous in a country where all writers are " suspect." 
 I think I see you smile, and hear you exclaim, " My 
 boy with one of his aphorisms again." You remember 
 you used to say that aphorisms were things written 
 by the young for those who are younger than them- 
 selves ; but indeed I am right, my dear father, in 
 warning you, in every way that I can, of your 
 danger. 
 
 This is not, however, what I sat down to write to 
 you about. I have just had a long conversation with 
 Mr. Thurston, and I cannot help imparting the sub- 
 stance of it to you at once, while it is fresh in my 
 mind. He knows what are my present thoughts 
 about emigration. After talking a little about them, 
 he said suddenly, " Have you ever read any history ?" 
 I replied, " Only a little." He then said, " I have 
 been thinking a great deal lately about the Pope of 
 Rome and the Doge of Venice — I mean the Pope 
 and the Doge of former days ; and, somehow or 
 other, it seems to me that the result of my thought 
 has some little application to your subject. 
 
 " The Doge was mostly powerless, the Pope 
 mostly powerful. Yet at first sight there is a great
 
 70 CA8IMIB MARE MM A. 
 
 resemblance in their offices. Thej were both 
 elected for life : neither of them had any hereditary 
 claim. If the Doge had his Seignorj, the Pope had 
 his Conclave of Cardinals. But the Pope was the 
 ]\Iaster of his Council : the Doge the slave of his. 
 The Doge, as well as the Pope, often had nephews ; 
 jet how rarely we hear of the nephews of the Doge, 
 while those of the Pope always play a great part in 
 history. 
 
 " ]S^ow how do I account for this difference. I 
 account for it in the mode of election. The election 
 of a Pope was often the triumph of a faction, and the 
 Pope remained the head of that faction, which did 
 not afterwards seek to control him. The election of 
 the Doge was guarded in the most curious and 
 almost ridiculous manner, and absolutely prevented 
 the triumph of any faction." 
 
 Mr. Thurston referred me to a passage which I 
 quote : "At Venice, as many balls as there were 
 members of the great council present were j)laced in 
 an urn. Thirty of these were gilt. The holders of 
 gilt balls were reduced by a second ballot to nine. 
 The nine elected forty, whom lot reduced to twelve. 
 The twelve chose twenty-five by separate nomination. 
 The twenty-five were reduced by lot to nine ; and 
 each of the nine chose five. These forty-five were 
 reduced to eleven, as before ; the eleven elected
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 71 
 
 fortj-one, wlio were the ultimate voters for a Doge, 
 This intricacy appears useless, and consequently 
 absurd ; but the original principle of a Venetian elec- 
 tion (for something of the same kind was applied to 
 all their councils and magistrates) may not always be 
 unworthy of imitation." ^ 
 
 " N"ow when you arrive with your little colony into 
 your new country, Count Casimir, you will, of course, 
 abide mainly by the laws and customs of the mother 
 country. But if you ever have an opportunity of 
 regulating election matters, be so good as to perpend 
 the present state of things in Great Britain, and 
 indeed in Europe and America, as regards these 
 matters. 
 
 " All power in all countries is manifestly falling into 
 the hands of a democracy. I am not saying whether 
 this is good or bad ; but I do say that it behoves 
 us to look carefully into systems of election and re- 
 presentation if we do not mean to place all power 
 ultimately in the hands of very inferior persons. 
 Nothing will be more dangerous for liberty, I mean 
 for the highest liberty of thought and the best kind 
 of freedom for action, than for a state to be governed 
 by one representative assembly chosen directly by 
 the people at large. 
 
 ' Hallam's " Middle Ages," vol. I p. 480.
 
 72 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Much more he said, mj dear father, upon this 
 subject, and he gave many forcible illustrations, but 
 this is as much as I can remember accurately, and 
 perhaps as much as you would care to hear. But I 
 know that you do care to hear about these things, 
 and therefore I have written this long letter to you. 
 Besides, I have no one else to talk to about such 
 matters. Lord Lochawe would say that these dis- 
 cussions are most unpractical ; and the other mem- 
 bers of the family, except Ruth, would take no inte- 
 rest in them. 
 
 Kindest regards to the Professor and to Bettina. 
 Always your affectionate son, 
 
 Casimik Maeemma. 
 
 My Dea"r Father, — 
 
 Again my letter will be chiefly occupied by what I 
 have to tell you of Mr. Thurston's sayings. I do not 
 repeat his words to you because they are interesting 
 in themselves, but because they bear upon the subject 
 which is always in my mind. 
 
 We had a long conversation to-day, which he began 
 by saying that one point of interest which my scheme 
 of emigration had for him was, that it related to the 
 formation of a small community.
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 73 
 
 " Now look at the planet Mars," he said. (He has 
 the oddest way of bringing in things that seem to be 
 very remote from his subject. I will give you the 
 rest of his conversation as if it were a monologue, 
 without " he said," and " I replied." You must 
 conjecture what I did say from the current of his 
 talk.) 
 
 " I think that planet must be inhabited by crea- 
 tures not largely differing from man and the other 
 animals that are upon our earth. Kow, when we 
 look at Mars, we perhaps do not think that the divi- 
 sion of its surface into states is the first thing almost 
 that we should wish to know about it — and tJie thing 
 which would tell us most about its history. At any 
 rate, this division into states has been the most diffi- 
 cult matter in our world, and has made the chief 
 noise of all the noises that have been so continuous 
 and so potent in it. 
 
 " IS'ow, I may be very wrong, but I am a great ad- 
 vocate for small states. I am a great believer in small 
 states. Look at Weimar. Look at the republics 
 of Genoa, of Florence, of Grreece, the Greece of 
 ancient days. Upon my word it may almost be 
 contended that the greatest men have been born, or 
 at any rate fostered, in the smallest states, especially 
 if we consider England as a small state ; and small it
 
 74 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 was when it produced some of its greatest men. The 
 Duchy of Saxe Weimar rejoices in a population of 
 about 270,000. Its Metropolis contains about 12,000, 
 a very trifling number compared to the inhabitants 
 of Clapham or Peckham, but what a large share in 
 the empire of modern mind belongs to Weimar with 
 its Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, Herder, and others ! 
 
 " You say that this is accidental. I do not agree 
 with you. You want to know what are the advan- 
 tages of a small state. I will tell you. Life is 
 easier in it. Wealth is not so potent. Men of 
 ability have more chance of being put in their proper 
 places. When they are in their proper places, they 
 are not worked to death by the routine work which 
 has to be undergone by men who attain to power in 
 large communities. Men live with greater freedom 
 from care and trouble in these small states. Did 
 you ever think how large a portion of our lives is 
 consumed in mere locomotion in the great cities of 
 great states ? Again, fashion is not so powerful. 
 !N'ow, a gigantic wave of folly passes over some 
 great nation, and, perhaps, infects a neighbouring 
 nation, causing all the female denizens of these great 
 states to encase themselves in hoops of iron, or to 
 overbalance themselves with huge masses of false 
 hair. If there were smaller communities, fashion in
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 75 
 
 dress would have less power, and would be stopped 
 at the many barriers. Good sense would have more 
 chance of being heard. Then, again, the press would 
 not be so powerful, and its power is an immense 
 danger at the present moment — likely, moreover, to 
 increase and become a much greater power, tending 
 to level down all individuality of character. 
 
 " Yes, I admit there are disadvantages. Small 
 states do not form a good barrier against the ambi- 
 tion of some huge neighbouring state. They are 
 always liable to be devoured. Then there is some- 
 thing provincial in their character. But there is 
 less danger from this defect than there ever was, 
 now that a man can so easily disperse his thoughts 
 into many nations by means of the rapid intercom- 
 munication of thought which exists in these times. 
 
 " You speak of America. One hardly dares to say 
 what one thinks upon this matter to the citizens of 
 the United States ; but, for them, for their culture, 
 for their real greatness, as well as for the peace and 
 happiness of the world, I, for one, think that it would 
 be a great blessing for them to be divided into three 
 or four states. I believe that thus there would be 
 more great men, more individuality of character, de- 
 veloped ; and that, in the end, civilization would find 
 great gain in this division.
 
 76 OASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 " Surely you will admit that cities may be too 
 large — too large for comfort, for society, for modera- 
 tion in the mode of living, and for the complete 
 culture of science, art, and literature. In such a 
 city as London, who but the favoured few can get 
 away from noise ? Who but the favoured few, who 
 are blessed with ample means of locomotion, do not 
 feel the difficulties and the annoyances which are 
 imposed upon them by the distances they are obliged 
 to traverse in this great city ? People are frightened 
 at the prospect of the supply of coal failing them at 
 no very distant period. A much greater, and much 
 more imminent cause for apprehension is to be found 
 in the continuous and rapid increase of this great 
 capital. How are the millions of its inhabitants to 
 get that most needful supply of the most pressing 
 necessity for life — fresh air ? Skill in locomotion 
 does not advance in equal rajoidity with the progress 
 of over-crowding. 
 
 " There is a writer of whom you, as a foreigner, 
 have perhaps never heard. His name is Cobbett. 
 He was a rough, hard, severe man, but a real lover 
 of his country. He wrote our language with more 
 force, terseness, and accuracy than almost any writer 
 we have ever had. He looked things straight in 
 the face ; and, when he could divest himself of pre-
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 77 
 
 judice, saw things clearly — more clearly than almost 
 any man of his time. He is not much read now, 
 but his works are well worth reading, especially for 
 yon, who wish to understand the nature of the com- 
 mon people, and to be a leader of them to new lands. 
 This man always called London 'the Wen.' I am 
 much of the mind of Cobbefct in this matter. A 
 great part of the possible beauty of our lives is pre- 
 vented and destroyed by this huge excrescence of 
 disease. 
 
 "I tell you, my young friend, that one of the 
 greatest problems of the present time is to guard 
 against an irrational centralization in great cities. 
 Centrifugal, and not centripetal, should be the effort 
 of mankbid for the future. 
 
 " You say it is mere chance that has produced, or 
 brought together, such eminent persons as have 
 appeared in the small towns of Athens, Weimar, 
 Genoa, Geneva, Florence, Padua, Venice. I con- 
 tend that it is in the nature of things that great 
 men should be thus produced, or at least should 
 thus have the greatest opportunities for culture 
 and development. They become known in these 
 small circles. They have far more chance of being 
 justly estimated. Do not think it egotism, my 
 young friend, but I myself feel that I should have
 
 78 CASIMIB MAREMMA. 
 
 had a much better chance in a much smaller state. 
 Now, if I were to seek the suffrage of my fellow- 
 citizens, I should be overcome bj 'shoddy.' What 
 I mean is, some eminent contractor, or some other 
 rich man, would be sure to get the better of me. 
 
 " I think that what I have said is at least sufficient 
 to make us sorry when small states are swallowed 
 up, and not to make us sorry when large states are 
 disintegrated. 
 
 " Patriotism ! Do you mean to say that patriotism 
 belongs to large states only ? To maintain that, 
 you must really ignore all history." 
 
 I am tired, my dear father, as you may imagine, 
 of writing this long letter. I have recounted but 
 feebly all that he said ; but you will supply all 
 deficiencies from your knowledge of life and of 
 history. 
 
 I have no more time to-day, and so must conclude, 
 being, as ever. 
 
 Your very loving son, 
 
 Casimie Maremma. 
 
 P. S. — " Shoddy " means cloth not made of fresh 
 wool, but of old material beaten together. 
 
 P. S. JN'o. 2. — One of the greatest problems of the 
 day, he said, is distribution. And this word must
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS. 79 
 
 not be limited, as the political economists would 
 limit it, to the distribution, amongst the consumers, 
 of the products of the producers, but must extend 
 to the distribution by judicious centralization, and by 
 still more judicious decentralization, of human beings, 
 whether producers, distributors, or consumers.
 
 Chaptee IX. 
 A DECLAEATIOK 
 
 ^^r|§)OW strange many of our tales of 
 
 m fiction must appear to any person 
 living in a country where polygamy 
 is allowed ! A good Turk^ listening to one of 
 these stories^ would simply exclaim, " Why doesn't 
 he marry them both, and have done with it." 
 Probably the Turk himself would be a man quite 
 contented with one wife ; but, rather than be in- 
 volved in such delicate embarrassments as the 
 tale describes, he would avail himself of the privi- 
 lege of being able to marry two or three wives. 
 
 These embarrassments mostly proceed from, or 
 are allied to, a presumptuous thought which 
 many people suppose has only been entertained 
 by that King of Castile, who said that, if he had
 
 A DECLARATION. 81 
 
 been consulted in the making of the worlds he 
 could have made a much better thing of it. 
 
 Most people^ unconscious how closely they are 
 following in the steps of this King of Castile^ are 
 wont to think how much more complete the 
 characters of mankind and of womankind would 
 have been^ if they, the critics, had been listened 
 to when the world of character was formed. 
 They would have combined the tact of this man 
 with the enthusiastic energy of that man — the 
 sweetness of this woman with the helpful energy 
 of that woman ; and out of the two combinations 
 would have made two sets of perfect characters 
 after their fashion. The world would have been 
 rendered somewhat dull by this judicious com- 
 bination and division ; but then it would have 
 been very near perfection. 
 
 Our hero, Casimir Maremma, at this point of 
 his fortunes, was not unlike the presumptuous 
 King of Castile. He sighed for the perfect 
 woman who should have the beauty, the grace, 
 and the sweet womanliness of his Cousin Alice ; 
 but who should combine with these merits the 
 
 G
 
 82 CASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 receptivity, tlie enthusiasm, and the largeness of 
 mind which belonged to his cousin Euth Sumner. 
 Then there was this in Ruth's favour, that she was 
 the one who seemed to understand him, and be- 
 lieve in him. And all great thinkers and great 
 workers sympathize with Mahomet, who loved 
 Kadija because she was the first person who be- 
 lieved in him. As for our hero, we cannot say 
 that he was in love either with Lady Alice or 
 with Ruth ; but he would, undoubtedly, have been 
 in love with a woman who should have combined 
 the qualities and the beauties of both of them. 
 
 Meanwhile, how did it fare with the other per- 
 sons of this domestic drama ? 
 
 Lady Alice was charmed, was indeed, to a cer- 
 tain extent, fascinated, by her cousin. She had 
 never seen any person like Casimir. It may be 
 questioned, however, whether her feelings were 
 those of love ; but, indeed, what young person 
 knows, at first, whether he or she is in love ? Love 
 is like sleep. It comes imperceptibly upon you. 
 No man has ever been conscious of the exact 
 moment when sleep came upon him — so of love.
 
 A DECLARATION. 83 
 
 Euth's feelings were not more decided than 
 Alice's, or rather were not more known to her- 
 self; but there is no doubt that she admired this 
 young man more than any other human being 
 she had ever seen. She began to wish that in some 
 way she could sacrifice herself for him_, or at least 
 to promote his grand designs. In Ruth's mind^ 
 love always took the form of self-sacrifice. 
 
 The Earl, as was hardly to be expected from 
 him — but affection sharpens observation — saw that 
 Casimir had some admiration for Alice, and that 
 Alice listened to Casimir in a way that she had 
 never before listened to anyone. The Earl could 
 not help wishing this admiration might on both 
 sides develope into love. It is a remark, which 
 those only who have seen much of the world will 
 fully appreciate, that some of the most unworldly 
 men are those who are most devoted to business. 
 Count Casimir was not, according to worldly 
 views, a suitable match for Lady Alice, who had 
 a large fortune derived from her mother, and who 
 had already been sought in marriage by great 
 personages. But the Earl pined to have Casimir
 
 84 GASIMIB MAHEMMA. 
 
 more nearly related to liim. It seemed to the 
 Earl tliat he would then have more right to in- 
 dulge in his affection for his early love, Count 
 Casimir's mother. Then, too_, he thought that 
 the young man would do great things ; and that 
 through his son-in-law, if not through his son, 
 the Lochawes might maintain that hold upon 
 government which, for generations, they had 
 maintained. 
 
 Poor Charles Ashurst, of all the persons in 
 this story, was the bluntest in perception. He 
 did not perceive, at any rate in its full extent, 
 the danger which threatened him from the pre- 
 sence of Count Casimir. Lord Glenant, on the 
 contrary, had the keenest perception of the 
 danger that threatened him; and he gave more 
 thought than he had ever given in his life to any 
 subject to see how he could avert this danger. 
 After much rumination, aided by innumerable 
 cigars, he came to the conclusion that his best 
 plan would be to speak out at once to Ruth. If 
 she gave him any favourable hearing, if she did 
 not utterly and at once reject his suit, he thought
 
 A BECLABATION. 85 
 
 lie might improve upon that favour, however 
 small it might be, and he knew that she would 
 be constant and abide by anything that she 
 had once said. He resolved, in the words of 
 the gallant and daring Montrose : 
 
 To put it to the touch, 
 And win or lose it all. 
 
 Fortune, often so cruel in her seeming kindness, 
 apparently favoured his design. Shortly after he 
 had made up his mind how to act, he happened to 
 come into his sister^s boudoir, when Euth and 
 Alice were together, and when Alice was singing, 
 " La donna e mohile, Qual piuma al vento." 
 
 " Now," he said to himself, " now is the time 
 that I will make the trial. Why should one be 
 afraid of any woman ? ^^ Notwithstanding this 
 brave soliloquy he had that shivering feeling 
 which comes upon all discreet and worldly persons 
 (and Lord Glenant, notwithstanding his follies, 
 was very discreet) when they venture upon ground 
 which is utterly unknown to them, for they have 
 none of the buoyancy of hopeful enthusiasm ; and
 
 86 CASIMIB MARE MM A. 
 
 knowing tliat failure is the rule rather than the 
 exception, always calculate that the chances are 
 rather against themselves. 
 
 He came and stood by his sister at the piano. 
 It may be observed that people like Lord Glenant 
 generally have great taste in_, and some faculty 
 for, music. He joined in the song with his 
 sister, and contrived to introduce certain words 
 which are not to be found in any authorised 
 copy of that most graceful and telling song. 
 The words were '^Vanish, and keep the coast 
 clear .^^ Now Alice loved her brother, and loved 
 Euth, and had long ago made up her mind that 
 it would be the salvation of her brother if he 
 were fortunate enough to gain Euth for his wife ; 
 and that Euth, too, would be happy in having 
 some such person as Glenant to manage, for 
 Lady Alice believed that Euth^s happiness lay in 
 having to manage people. Accordingly Lady 
 Alice was glad to obey her brother^s orders : she 
 vanished discreetly, and took care to keep the 
 coast clear. 
 
 Euth was sitting on a sofa, which was an addi-
 
 A declaration: sr 
 
 tional piece of good fortune for Lord Glenant. She 
 was a much finer musician than Lady Alice^ and 
 had been instructing her how to throw into the 
 song that wicked^ triumphant feeling of which it 
 is so capable. 
 
 Lord Glenant hastened to place himself on the 
 sofa close to Ruth. Presuming on his cousinship^ 
 he took hold of one of her hands and said, " What 
 a pretty hand it is, and forcible too as well as 
 pretty. A learned German taught me, Ruth, 
 how to estimate hands, and showed me how there 
 might be both delicacy and force in the same 
 hand : a love of art too, I see." 
 
 " To how many young women in France, Ger- 
 many, Italy, and North and South America, have 
 you made similar speeches, Lord Glenant ? " 
 
 " Is that a public or a private question, as the 
 witty Lord H — said, when, after much bepraising 
 Spenser, he was asked if he had ever read any of 
 the writings of that poet." 
 
 "A public question," Ruth replied; "for I 
 should not presume to enter into your private 
 affairs."
 
 88 CASIMIR MABEMMA. 
 
 " Well^ I may have said it to one or two young 
 women ; but to none with so much sincerity and 
 meaning as to my dear cousin Ruth." 
 
 " Lord Glenant !" 
 
 '' Now, why ' Lord Glenant ?' " 
 
 It is very hard upon a fellow to be addressed 
 in that cold way. He grows up from boyhood 
 with a girl, and they are Ruth and Ronald, or 
 Rue and Ronny; and then all of a sudden the 
 Ronald and the Ronny are discarded, and he is 
 held off at arm^s length, being talked to as if he 
 were a perfect stranger. 
 
 ^^ Well, Ronald, then ; but it is true what I 
 have said about the numerous young ladies in all 
 four quarters of the globe to whom " 
 
 ^' Xow Ruth, dear Ruth, you must listen to 
 what I am going to say." 
 
 Poor Ruth felt her heart sink within her. 
 She knew what was coming ; most young women 
 know full well when they are loved. Visions of 
 the awful ingratitude she was about to commit to 
 Lord Lochawe floated before her. Then, too, she 
 had a most tender, affectionate, sisterly feeling 
 for the young man himself. She knew the use
 
 A DECLARATION. 89 
 
 that she could be to him ; her heart was torn by 
 the conflict of contending thoughts ; but she had 
 seen Casimir Maremma^ and she knew now what 
 love might be. 
 
 Lord Glenant resumed. ^' I know that my 
 dear Ruth does not expend much of her time 
 upon novel-reading ; but even she must have 
 read several of those innocent productions^ and 
 doubtless she has read some one in which the • 
 herOj a sad scapegrace^ has told the heroine — a 
 heroine of whom the poor hero is generally most 
 unworthy — that if she would but look kindly 
 upon him^ it might be the turning point of his 
 life_, and that henceforward he would be all that 
 she could wish. He generally says something 
 about her being his Egeria^ his good angel^ his 
 guiding star. Consider it all said; for^ dear 
 Ruth, I am that scapegrace, and you are that 
 heroine. To win your love I would do all, and 
 be all, if I could, that you would wish. Ruth, 
 you know that you might make of me anything 
 that you pleased." 
 
 When he had finished this speech, he let go 
 her hand ; and, rather after the ancient than the
 
 90 GA8IMIB MABEMMA, 
 
 modem fashion of making love^ he then knelt 
 before her^ clasping both her hands in his. 
 
 The girl felt very sorrowful^ very sorrowful 
 for him, very sorrowful for herself, in having to 
 give so much pain to one she loved. She re- 
 mained silent for a few moments ; and, after the 
 fashion of most women in such circumstances, 
 tears came to her eyes. 
 
 " Dear Ronald/^ she said, ^^ it cannot, cannot 
 be. I should be false to you if I said it could 
 be. I love you very much, more than you can 
 believe ; but not with that love, that love which 
 you want from me ;" and, so saying, she stooped 
 down, kissed him, disengaged herself from him, 
 and fled from the room. 
 
 Lord Glenant rose up, took two or three turns 
 about the room; devoted Casimir Maremma to 
 the gods, not those in heaven, but those beneath 
 the earth ; and left the room, as much dispirited 
 and heart-sore as it is possible for that kind of 
 man to be. 
 
 '*" It is too late,^^ he said, " everything in life 
 comes just too late. I have only myself to 
 blame for this ruin to my hopes .■'^
 
 Chaptee X. 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL COMFORTS. 
 
 'FTER such a blow to Ms hopes and 
 affections as that which Lord Glenant 
 had just received_, it is common for 
 young men to vanish from the scene,, betaking 
 themselves to foreign travel^ or new enterprise 
 of some kind. But Lord Glenant had not much 
 faith in change of scene ; and it was he, or 
 some young man like him, who said, "What 
 a bore it is that we are always obliged to be 
 somewhere" — a sapng which would have de- 
 lighted a good Buddhist, who, according to his 
 desponding notions of religion and of life, objects 
 to individual being. 
 
 Lord Glenant returned to his lodgings at the 
 Albany, and sat down to meditate. It was in
 
 92 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 vain tliat his valet brought him his favourite 
 hookah, for he refused even the consolation of 
 smoking — a circumstance so rare that the valet 
 concluded that his master must be going to have 
 a serious illness, and hovered about him, expect- 
 ing that the doctor would be sent for. All his 
 servants loved Lord Glenant. 
 
 Lord Glenant^s meditations lasted long; and 
 the result of them was one which showed the 
 young lord^s thorough kindheartedness, for he 
 said to himself, " I will go and warn Charlie 
 Ashurst. I must not let him be such a fool 
 as I have been, and subject himself to a refu- 
 sal while the girls are under the glamour of our 
 Sclavonian cousin/^ Accordingly Lord Glenant 
 called upon Charles Ashurst, and found him at 
 home. When he had taken his seat, and accepted 
 a cigar, he said abruptly, after a few minutes' 
 silence, "^ Charlie, don't be a fool." 
 
 " That is comprehensive advice, Glenant, but 
 not quite so clear as comprehensive." 
 
 ^' My dear Charlie, when a wise man tells 
 another man not to be a fool, he always means
 
 PEIL080PHIGAL COMFORTS. 93 
 
 he is not to make a fool of himself about some 
 woman." 
 
 Charles Ashurst blushed, and looked very 
 much embarrassed. At length he said, '' If you 
 mean, Lord Glenant, as I suppose you do, that I 
 am unworthy of your sister, and that both Lord 
 Lochawe and you might most reasonably object 
 to a man in my position aspiring to her 
 hand—" 
 
 " Stop a minute, my dear fellow ; neither my 
 father nor I, you may be sure, think anything of 
 the kind." 
 
 "What then, Glenant?" 
 
 "Listen to my philosophy. There are four 
 kinds of fools in the world. First, there are the 
 fools pure and simple, who are neither frivolous, 
 nor serious, neither learned, nor wise, but who are 
 essentially commonplace fools. 
 
 "Then there are the frivolous fools, amongst 
 whom, I suppose, with all the candour and good- 
 nature of friendship, you will be ready to place 
 your friend Glenant. They do nothing, because 
 they see, when they are wisely frivolous, that
 
 94 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 there is nothing to be done, at least nothing 
 much worth doing, in this muddled world. 
 
 " Thirdly, there are the frivolously - serious 
 fools — the fools of business. I am too good 
 and respectful a son to place my honoured and 
 very dear father in this class. But if anyone 
 else should so place him, I should not feel it my 
 duty to call that person out. 
 
 " Fourthly, there are the romantic fools — the 
 people who think they have a mission in life, who 
 make Utopias, or live in them. In this class of 
 fools our cousin Casimir holds a foremost place. 
 
 ^''As a compensation for the miseries which 
 this last form of folly will entail upon its votaries, 
 it is to be noted that they are all-powerful with, 
 and all-attractive to, women, and that none of 
 the fools in the other three divisions have a 
 chance against them when they enter into the 
 lists. The wisest policy is to retire for a time, 
 and to leave the field to the Utopian. Mayhap 
 he will ultimately be too Utopian to succeed with 
 a creature so practical, and sensible, and really so 
 little Utopian as a woman.
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL COMFORTS. 95 
 
 " Am I clear, or am I not ? Is tlie advice I 
 give,, that of a Delphic oracle, or that of a man 
 who lives in the Albany and has seen something 
 of the world outside the Albany ? " 
 
 " I think, Glenant, I understand it all ; and I 
 was not without a suspicion that the case was as 
 you put it." 
 
 "You see, my dear Charlie, if you were an 
 eminent member of my fourth class of fools, I 
 would not counsel you to quit the field for the 
 present; but the truth is that, to my thinking, 
 you belong partly to class number two, of which 
 I am a distinguished member, and partly to class 
 number three, of which, as I before intimated, 
 some people would say, my most respected and 
 respectable parent, the Thane of Lochawe, is a 
 most distinguished member. You would have a 
 better chance if you belonged wholly to either of 
 these classes. 
 
 '^^But, speaking most seriously, my dear fel- 
 low, do not tempt your fate at present, or come 
 into competition with the heroic Casimir. I 
 have tempted mine, and have just had the
 
 96 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 felicity of being refused by the only woman 
 whom I ever really admired — my cousin Ruth. 
 She kissed me, Charlie ; she absolutely kissed 
 me, which was the most fatal thing of all — a 
 most kind, affectionate (detestably affectionate), 
 sororial kiss, the like of which I have had many 
 before from her, when we were boy and girl 
 together, and she had got me out of some scrape 
 with my very loving, but somewhat rigid, father. 
 There is no further hope for me, Charlie/^ 
 
 '^ My dear Glenant, I am so sorry. I do not 
 say it to flatter you, but I should have thought 
 that you would have prevailed with any woman.'' 
 
 " No, no, my dear fellow ; even the seriously- 
 frivolous individual has a better chance than I 
 have — parson, doctor, merchant, politician — 
 anybody who has before him a career which the 
 woman fancies she will guide and further. I 
 should have had fifty times more chance if I had 
 been a poor Methodist parson. 
 
 '' I tell you what Til do, Charlie. TU have a 
 mission myself. I'll never be cut out again in 
 this way by a Utopian. And you, too, you
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL COMFORTS. 97 
 
 must have a mission, if it is only a mission to 
 teach the world how to play at cricket." 
 
 " But how do you know, Glenant, that it is 
 this Casimir ? " 
 
 " I do not hioiv it, Charlie, but I feel it ; and, 
 in some matters, our feelings guide us more 
 surely than even our knowledge. 
 
 ^' I would take up the serious line, I say ; but 
 there is a sad drawback upon me. I see through 
 it all ; and there is much more need for Enthu- 
 siasm, than for Justice, to be blind. I make 
 a jest of things, but ^ you^d little guess,' as our 
 friend Hamlet says, ' how ill alFs here about my 
 heart,^ 
 
 " Do not be disheartened, Glenant. What is 
 a woman^s first refusal ?" 
 
 "Yes, but she kissed me, Charlie — she kissed 
 me. I would rather' that she had stormed at my 
 presumption. I shall never meet the like of her, 
 at least the like of her for me, so winning in her 
 seriousness, so gentle in her condemnation. And 
 then every word she utters, every gesture she 
 makes, is as beautiful to me as the movement of 
 
 I. H
 
 98 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 the trees or the clouds, obeying summer breezes. 
 Forgive the poetry; I am not often poetical, 
 Charlie. You know the musical notes she utters 
 after any one of her sentences, when she is in 
 earnest and much touched by the theme she is 
 descanting upon. Well, I never heard the like 
 of it in any other woman." 
 
 '^ It's an odd thing, is it not, that any one 
 woman can have such a hold over us ? 'No man 
 can have assisted at my father's solemn official 
 dinners, without picking up, however unwillingly, 
 some knowledge of statistics. There are about 
 900 millions of men, women, and children in the 
 world. Now let's do a sum, Charlie, though you 
 and I are not great arithmeticians. Let us say 
 there are 250 million men, 250 million women, 
 and (five from nine there remain four) 400 million 
 children. Of the women, let us say (I like odd 
 numbers) there are at least 67 million marriage- 
 able. Of these 67 million there are QQ million 
 nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine 
 hundred and ninety-nine who are as painted 
 pictures for me, and there is only one Ruth. 
 
 " In a Christian country, and where the climate
 
 PEILOSOPEICAL COMFORTS. 99 
 
 is bad^ there is nothing, Charlie, really so in- 
 tolerable as poverty ; but there is nothing which 
 seems to the sufferer so intolerable as disappointed 
 love/^ From the utterance of this aphorism it 
 may almost be inferred that Lord Glenant was 
 not so completely miserable as might have been 
 expected. Those sorrows which can be philoso- 
 phized about, or even talked about, are not the 
 worst. 
 
 '^ Good-bye, I can't talk any more : I have said 
 what I came to say. Be ruled by me, Charlie ; 
 and, as I say, do not tempt your fate until this 
 dreadful Casimir is gone. He will go some day 
 to introduce the steam engine amongst the Kam- 
 schatkans, or some other enterprize of that kind. 
 Confound the fellow, I cannot help liking him 
 though — he amuses me so much — and I have 
 half a mind to go with him to the Kamschatkans, 
 even though Ruth should go, too, as his wife. 
 Ta, ta, old fellow; be wise.'' 
 
 So saying. Lord Glenant quitted the room, 
 and left poor Charles Ashurst to his melancholy 
 meditations.
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 AN UNWELCOME YISITOE. 
 
 SEANWHILE tlie one who disturbed 
 all these love arrangements which, 
 but for his unwelcome presence, un- 
 welcome, at least, to Lord Glenant and Charles 
 Ashurst, might have proceeded so differently, 
 was totally unconscious of the mischief and mi- 
 sery he had created. Men who are absorbed in 
 great designs have never spare time or thought, 
 to be conceited, or to think much about them- 
 selves. 
 
 Day by day Casimir was more and more at- 
 tracted by Ruth. She it was whom he some 
 times took apart from the others to tell her of 
 something which he had discovered, or was look- 
 ing into ; and their intimacy had so far advanced
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 101 
 
 that he had begun to make her work for him. 
 He did not know as yet that he could not have 
 had the same heart and hope in his work but for 
 her sympathy for it^ and with him. Euth accom- 
 modated herself so naturally to this partnership 
 in thought and work, and made herself so com- 
 pletely, as she had been accustomed to make her- 
 self, a woman of management and business, that 
 it appeared as if they were two youths at college 
 together, intent upon the same course of study, 
 but yet with no touch of rivalry. As for love 
 having anything to do with it, each of them would 
 have repudiated that notion as most unworthy 
 of two persons engaged in a great cause. But 
 the bystanders, proverbially clear in their ap- 
 prehension of such matters, knew full well that 
 these two were lovers, though they themselves 
 did not know it 
 
 Much, too, was to happen which would pre- 
 vent their enlightenment upon this point; and 
 Casimir Maremma had many things to undergo 
 which would put all thoughts of love out of 
 his mind.
 
 102 CASIMIR MABEM3IA, 
 
 He was sitting one day in his chambers study- 
 ing a big book relating to the condition of the 
 poor. It was the great work of Sir Frederic 
 Morton Eden, a work probably read by no other 
 young man of the day_, except indeed a certain 
 rising statesman who reads everything that has 
 any substance in it. Occasionally he desisted 
 froni his study of the big book, and then thoughts 
 of Lady Alice, Ruth, poor Margaret, Lord 
 Lochawe, and Lord Glenant were mingled with 
 thoughts about the poor, and about the topic 
 which had now become the principal topic in 
 Casimir^s mind, namely emigration. 
 
 He had not long been engaged in this com- 
 mingling of thought and reverie before there was 
 a knock at the door, and Mr. Thurston entered. 
 They were soon occupied in discussing the sub- 
 ject of emigration ; and in fact this was what Mr. 
 Thurston had come to talk to his young friend 
 about. 
 
 Thurston was one of those men in whom all 
 people are prone to confide — who go through 
 life, listening to innumerable secrets — indeed for
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 103 
 
 whom there are no secrets. There are_, in various 
 degrees, many such men, and many similar wo- 
 men. They are confided in, not so much from 
 the expectation of sjrmpathy, as from the certainty 
 of whatever you tell them being understood and 
 appreciated. Perhaps, however, there is little 
 diflference between understanding and sympa- 
 thizing. 
 
 " Let us look round the subject in everyway," 
 said Thurston, " if you have a real purpose you 
 are not to be hindered by difficulties ; and it is 
 well to understand them thoroughly. You see 
 when men are let loose, as it were, by emigration, 
 it is so difficult to retain any hold on them. The 
 old motives of persuasion and guidance are gone. 
 Then, again, so much time and thought must be 
 given to matters that are purely physical. You 
 have to extemporise all the means and arts of 
 civilization. Nothing is done to your hand. 
 Then too there are the accretions which follow, 
 often very unwelcome and very embarrassing — I 
 mean the new settlers, who come in a scattered way 
 by driblets, and over whom you have no control.
 
 104 CASIMIB MAREMMA. 
 
 Moreover, look at the jealousies there must be 
 in a new country. Here you have people who 
 have settled down in their respective classes. 
 There you have to make a new classification ; 
 and everybody wishes to be in the first class. I 
 don't wish to discourage you, my dear Casimir, 
 but you must look at all these drawbacks."*' 
 
 ^' I see them all, my dear Mr. Thurston, or at 
 least, I see a great many of them ; but sum them 
 all up together, and make the most of them you 
 can, they are not equal to the difficulty of having 
 to deal with a settled state of things which, from 
 the accumulated mischief of ages, has gone wrong. 
 
 Take • " (here Casimir mentioned the hideous 
 
 suburb in which he had lived) ; ^^ to do anything 
 there worth doing, you have to reform not merely 
 thousands of human beings, but to alter, almost 
 by destruction and re-construction, millions' worth 
 of property. Now to deal with property is always 
 the great difficulty." 
 
 " That is certainly a very shrewd remark for a 
 young one," Thurston replied. 
 
 " I remember once, when I was your age, try-
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 105 
 
 ing to cover over a pestiferous open drain^ which 
 for sorae distance^ passed through a place thickly 
 inhabited. I found I could manage the people ; 
 they were ready enough to aid me : but the 
 property was quite unmanageable ; and I had to 
 give up my well-intended effort in despair." 
 
 ^' ]N^ow, the main things Mr. Thurston^ which 
 encourages me is this — that it seems to me that 
 our present knowledge^ which in physical science 
 is enormous^ when compared with that of any 
 previous generation_, would enable us to lay down 
 such foundations^ physically speakings as should 
 make it difficult for these evils to arise,, which in 
 an old state^ are the results of centuries of igno- 
 rance." 
 
 '^The boy talks like a book/^ said Thurston^ 
 " like a very good book. (Aside) There is gene- 
 rally a touch of the pedant mingled with the 
 nature of the enthusiast." 
 
 " What are you sayings Mr. Thurston ? I am 
 sure it is something very satirical." 
 
 ^' No J my dear fellow^ I was only intimating to 
 myself that to play the part which 3^ou design to
 
 106 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 play in life^ one should combine the rather diffe- 
 rent ages of twenty-three and sixty-seven ; and 
 upon my word I think you do combine them. 
 But who is this ? " 
 
 Here there was a knocking at the door ; and, 
 to the astonishment of both of them. Lord 
 Lochawe entered. His Lordship was not a man 
 prone to pay morning visits. 
 
 Lord Lochawe shook hands warmly with his 
 young relative ; but there was a shade of cold- 
 ness in his manner of greeting Mr. Thurston. 
 Now, it is true that Casimir had made Mr. Thurs- 
 ton^s acquaintance at Lord Lochawe^s table. 
 His Lordship was well aware of that fact ; but, at 
 the same time, he had never intended that they 
 should become such great friends. Lord Lochawe 
 knew that Thurston was a man of many ideas, 
 and his Lordship did not approve of a man^s 
 having many ideas, certainly not of his having 
 more than one at a time, which one was to be 
 dealt with in a business-like fashion. Casimir 
 had too many ideas to please Lord Lochawe; 
 but, then, his Lordship trusted that most of them
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 107 
 
 would vanish as the young man should grow 
 older and wiser. Whereas Mr. Thurston was a 
 hardened o£fender^ and there was no hope of 
 clipping his wings. 
 
 Thurston perceived at once that his presence 
 was not peculiarly acceptable to Lord Lochawe, 
 and he soon took his departure. 
 
 Casimir waited in silence to hear what Lord 
 Lochawe would say. He felt sure that the 
 Earl had not called upon him without some 
 distinct purpose. 
 
 Visions of some scrape of Lord Glenant's^ or 
 some imprudence of his own in respect to Lady 
 Alice^ or Ruth Sumner^ crossed his mind_, and 
 made the young man^s heart beat quickly. If he 
 could but have known what was coming upon 
 him^ it would have beat more quickly — that is, 
 if he could but have seen a certain young girl 
 hurrying through the streets pursued furtively 
 by a little boy; both of them moving to the 
 quarter in which Casimir' s rooms were situated. 
 How fortunate it is that we do not see the evils 
 that are ad^vancing upon us ! if we did, we should
 
 108 CASIMIB 31 ABE MM A. 
 
 have no time for thought about anything 
 
 else. 
 
 Man is too blind a creature to indulge 
 
 In wishing — oft with anxious, straining, eyes 
 
 We watch the coming of some joy long-hoped for; 
 
 And now 'tis near. — But at its side a dark 
 
 And stealthy thing that we should fly like death, 
 
 Did we but see it, is advancing on us — 
 
 Yes, step for step, with those of its bright compeer — 
 
 The dark thing smiles to see us hailing both 
 
 With mad delight. 
 
 Lord Lochawe began^ with a touch of his 
 usual pomposity^ " My time, my dear boy_, as you 
 know, is very valuable. The Cabinet is at half- 
 past two to-day ; but I have something very im- 
 portant to say to you, which may affect the pros- 
 pects of your future life." Casimir grew pale, 
 thinking of Lady Alice and of Euth. ^^I have 
 received further intelligence respecting the dan- 
 ger that your father runs of being compromised 
 by his untoward political opinions, or rather by 
 the opinions of that empty-headed Professor who 
 was your tutor, and lives with him. I am afraid, 
 
 ^ King Henry the Second: an Historical Drama.
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 109 
 
 Casimir_, tliat that man lias done jou some mis- 
 chiefj too/^ 
 
 The young Count breathed freely again. He 
 loved his father very sincerely — more, far more, 
 perhaps, than any other human being as yet; 
 but he knew that he had given his father full 
 warning of the danger, and he felt, comparatively 
 speaking, comfortable on this point. 
 
 " I think you had better throw in your lot 
 with us," continued the Earl. " Great Britain 
 is the only country where there is a fitting career 
 for such young men as you. Your father must 
 come here. You shall be naturalized : you can 
 take your mother^s name of Gordon. We Peers, 
 as you know, do not interfere in elections ; but 
 there is a town " (here the Earl drew himself up) 
 ^^ which has always viewed the scions of the 
 House of Lochawe with a certain favour. You 
 shall enter Parliament. Glenant, poor fellow, 
 does not care for these things. I see he will 
 never alter ; but you might represent Aldengate 
 in the Lower House. For generations we have 
 always had such a representation. Besides, other 
 ties may come to keep you with us.''^
 
 110 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Casimir felt that lie blushed. He remained 
 silent, thinking how he should deal with this tor- 
 rent of new ideas and new circumstances which 
 Lord Lochawe had suddenly brought upon him. 
 The silence;, however, was not broken by him, 
 but, by a confused noise on the staircase of two 
 voices, one of which he recognized to be his 
 landlady's and the other a voice which sounded 
 strangely familiar to him. The altercation did 
 not last long, the door was opened, and who 
 should make her appearance but Maggie, 
 heated, out of breath, and looking, to use that 
 most expressive word, as '' draggle-tailed '' as 
 ever. When she had shut the door she leant 
 against it, not venturing to advance, and looking 
 quite bewildered. Casimir was the first to speak : 
 " What, you here, Margaret ; what brings you ? " 
 
 ^^ Oh ! don't be angry, Mr. George ! Oh, do 
 forgive me. Since you have been gone I haven't 
 had a moment's peace. They have threatened 
 to kill me. They say such things about you and 
 me. Let me stay with you. I'll be your ser- 
 vant — they will kill me if I go back."
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. Ill 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Lochawe had contemplated 
 this strange scene with an expression on his 
 countenance of the utmost disgust. As was but 
 natural, he put the worst construction on what 
 he had just heard. 
 
 Casimir turned to him and caught the full 
 force of the expression. If there was anybody 
 in the world he feared, it was Lord Lochawe. 
 Men of Lord Lochawe's temperament have a 
 peculiar power of quelling enthusiasts of Casimir^s 
 nature. 
 
 '' I assure you, Lord Lochawe, it is not what 
 you think; it is not, indeed." Poor Casimir 
 could not explain himself more fully in Margaret's 
 presence. 
 
 " It is not my business. Count Casimir, to 
 require any explanations from you of your private 
 conduct. I think we had better consider much 
 of what I have said to you unsaid, except, of course, 
 as regards my warning respecting your father." 
 
 ^^ Certainly, my Lord, I should not wish to be 
 the recipient of unwilling bounty." 
 
 " I do, indeed, now pity your poor father,"
 
 112 CASIMin MABEMMA. 
 
 said Lord Lochawe^ whose wrath was now rising ; 
 " Glenant himself could not have behaved more 
 unbecomingly/^ 
 
 This was about the severest thing that Lord 
 Lochawe could say; for_, though he loved his 
 son very dearly^ he thought him a model of irre- 
 claimable bad behaviour in certain respects. This 
 was not true ; but Lord Glenant had all his life,, 
 from a wild love of mischief, made himself out to 
 his respectable father to be infinitely worse than 
 he was. 
 
 ^^ But/' added the Earl^ ^^ Glenant is no hypo- 
 crite. You know the worst of Glenant from 
 himself; he never pretends to be anything but 
 what he is. The Lochawes may err ; but they 
 scorn to conceal their errors." 
 
 'Now, if there was a signal fault in Casimir 
 Maremma^s character it was that he was a little 
 too conscious that he was a very good young man 
 — a young man with difierent purposes from 
 other young men^ and not condescending to any 
 of their vices. This consciousness alone pre- 
 vented him from being a great man of the first
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 11.3 
 
 order, for their greatness is ever simple and 
 unconscious. 
 
 His anger now was roused^ and it quite over- 
 came his fear of the old Earl. '^ There is no 
 Lochawe/^ he said^ " if there have been Lochawes 
 from the flood, and I doubt not our ancestry 
 dates from that early period_, my Lord, who is 
 less of a hypocrite than Casimir Maremma." 
 
 The Earl rose on hearing this offensive speech, 
 made one of those haughty bows of his which 
 were well known in the House of Lords when he 
 condescended to assent to anything that had been 
 said by an adversary, and saying merely " Good- 
 morning, Count Casimir Maremma," quitted the 
 room ; not, however, as he passed the young 
 Count, failing to say in low tones which could 
 be heard by him alone, '^ and what a creature !" 
 
 Poor Margaret drew back from the door, scared 
 by the words of the old gentleman ; and, when he 
 had gone, folded her arms meekly and awaited 
 Casimir's reply. 
 
 You never know how anyone will behave in 
 any emergency ; not even how you yourself will
 
 114 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 behave in it. In vain we arrange a mode of 
 action for mankind in every possible circum- 
 stance ; but mankind, being a very eccentric 
 personage, declines to act in the way that we so 
 wisely lay down as natural. It always seemed to 
 me very pedantic in Horace to lay down rules of 
 behaviour, even for well-known characters — 
 
 Sit Medea ferox, invictaque; flebilis lo: 
 
 for Medea will, all of a sudden, be gentle and 
 tameable ; while lo will be wrathful rather than 
 tearful. 
 
 The Earl had scarcely left the room before 
 Casimir handed Margaret in the politest manner 
 to a seat ; helped her to take off her fragmentary 
 shawl ; brought her some biscuits and a glass of 
 wine ; and, in fact, treated her as a welcome and 
 expected visitor. Not one thought of being 
 unkind to her — the unintentional cause of so 
 much mischief to him — entered the mind of the 
 j^oung Count, for he was truly chivalrous. Mar- 
 garet ate and drank at his bidding to please him, 
 and then looked patiently and humbly at her
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR. 115 
 
 master, for so she regarded him. Meanwhile 
 he had sat down to think. His thoughts ran 
 thus : — " The new school of theology may say 
 what they like, but there certainly is a devil — a 
 being whose sole business it is to perplex and 
 mortify us. This is the second time only that 
 he (not the devil, but Lord Lochawe) has 
 honoured me with a visit — 
 
 Much honoured were our humble home, 
 If in its halls Lochawe should come — 
 
 and she must come, too, not only on the very 
 day, but at the very hour — the very minute — 
 that was the most inappropriately damnatory. 
 What could he think but what he does think ? 
 There is a great deal that is dramatic left in life, 
 notwithstanding we wear swallow-tail coats and 
 trousers. 
 
 " What could he think, I say, what could any- 
 body think, but just what they ought not to 
 think ? I was hard upon the old man, rude to 
 him. ^o doubt he is right in supposing that 
 there was a Lochawe very soon after the Flood,
 
 116 G A SIM IE MARE MM A. 
 
 but I need not have alluded to that fact so 
 pointedly. I jest; but it is with the heaviest 
 heart I ever knew. By the way/' and here 
 Casimir spoke aloud, and in the gentlest manner, 
 ^'how did you find me out, Maggie ? " 
 
 Maggie, encouraged by the kind tones of 
 Casimir's voice, prattled away ; and, in the cir- 
 cumambient fashion in which people of her class 
 talk, not only answered his question, but gave 
 him an account of all that happened in his ab- 
 sence. Sister-in-law had been very kind for the 
 first week after he left (Casimir had paid highly 
 for this kindness, and had promised more); then 
 she began to persecute Maggie; and they were 
 all so unkind ; and they told her how she might 
 get money from him ; and they threatened to 
 beat her if she didn^t find him out and get some ; 
 and at last they did beat her cruelly; but she 
 knew all the time where Mr. George was, though 
 she wouldn^t tell them, for they talked about 
 being revenged upon him. And how she came 
 to know was this : that she knew the man who 
 had helped him to bring away his turning-lathe
 
 AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 117 
 
 after he had given the rest of his furniture to 
 her sister-in-law. 
 
 She told enough in her rambling way to make 
 Casimir understand how it had all happened^ and 
 what sufferings the girl had gone through. He 
 blamed himself bitterly for not having made the 
 visit which he had intended to make to his old 
 quarters to see how the poor girl was getting on. 
 He declared to himself that he had intended to 
 go yesterday, but was sure that the personage, 
 to whom the new school of theology had denied 
 existence, had prevented him. There was a 
 touch of humour in his sadness which did not 
 make it less sad. He had a ^^ conceit in his 
 misery, a miserable conceit." He could not 
 help smiling at his thought ; and Maggie, taking 
 this as a sign of forgiveness, approached him, 
 and leant over his arm-chair. Everything, even 
 the merest trifle that was to occur this day, was 
 to be unfortunate to poor Casimir. 
 
 At this moment the woman of the house 
 entered. She was not a bad specimen of land- 
 lady ; and her faith in Casimir, as a good young
 
 118 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 man, had hitherto been unbounded ; but, as she 
 had been telling them down-stairs, " everything 
 was so deceiving* now-a-days, there was no 
 telling a good potato from a bad one till you 
 came to peel it; and, as for eggs, the likeliest- 
 looking ones had chickens in them." The good 
 woman's metaphors were always of a culinary 
 nature. 
 
 '' We can't have any of these doings here, Mr. 
 Count," she said ; " this has always been a most 
 respectable house, and I beg you^ll consider 
 yourself as given notice from to-morrow week ; 
 and as for this hussy, if she don't make herself 
 scarce this very minute, 1^11 send for the police, 
 for she a'most knocked me down in the passage : 
 the impudent creature ! " 
 
 Poor Casimir was far too much depressed, and 
 had been far too unsuccessful in attempting any 
 defence of his conduct to Lord Lochawe, to be 
 otherwise than most submissive to the landlady. 
 
 '^ Certainly, Mrs. Reddington, I will leave your 
 lodgings to-morrow week." (^'^ He spoke like a 
 lamb," as Mrs. Reddington afterwards said, '^''and
 
 AJSf UNWELCOME VISITOR. 119 
 
 I had almost a mind to make it up if he wouldn^t 
 do such things again") . '' But_, perhaps^ you mis- 
 judge me, Mrs. Eeddington. As for this young 
 woman, she shall go immediately, and with me. 
 Will you have the kindness to send for a cab ? " 
 ("And here," said Mrs. Reddington, he made me 
 a bow, as the foreign Lords do, and I couldn^t say 
 no more to him") . 
 
 When the young Count ordered the cab he 
 had not the slightest notion of where he should 
 conduct Maggie. She naturally supposed that 
 she was to be taken home again, and began 
 quietly to cry. Before the cab came, however, 
 Casimir had made up his mind to go to Mr. 
 Thurston. One thing he was sure of, and that 
 was that Mr. Thurston would listen to him, and 
 would believe all he had to tell, even if, which he 
 doubted, he should blame him for ever having 
 interfered in Maggie's behalf. He fortunately 
 found Mr. Thurston at home, told the whole 
 story, which we know, and found that he had 
 very little difficulty in persuading that good- 
 natured man (there was no Mrs. Thurston) to
 
 120 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 receive Maggie into his house as a servant. They 
 would then have time to arrange what could 
 finally be done with her. Casimir returned to 
 his lodgings^ and though it was still so early in 
 the day that the cabinet which Lord Lochawe 
 attended was not over (by the way never was 
 Lord Lochawe known to be so unbusiness-like, 
 and so distrait as at that cabinet) , Casimir fell at 
 once into a deep sleep. This has often been 
 observed to be the result of great mental agita- 
 tion or vexation, which according to a most bene- 
 ficent arrangement of nature,, seems to have a 
 stunning or numbing effect upon most persons. 
 
 And here^ for the present, we will leave him, 
 not without, in some degree, partaking his con- 
 clusion that sometimes, the very Principle of 
 Evil seems to be able to give its time and atten- 
 tion to one human being only.
 
 Chapter XII. 
 THE EESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 
 
 N tales of fiction^ as in real life^ we 
 often pity least those who suffer 
 most ; 01% rather^ we do not pity at 
 all those who suffer much. Our interest centres 
 whoUy on the young ; and we forget to pity the 
 old^ the uninteresting, the unromantic_, as if the 
 heart ever became too old or too dull to suffer. 
 
 We left the young Count Casimir in a state 
 of mind much to be pitied ; but Lord Lochawe, 
 elderly, uninteresting, and most unromantic 
 person as he was, should perhaps claim our pity 
 fully as much. Lord Lochawe^s circle of affec- 
 tion was a very restricted one. He rather 
 liked the general public for whom he had worked 
 faithfully the greater part of his life, but whom.
 
 122 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 if tlie truth were told^ lie tliought to be a 
 little ungrateful, in not recognizing his merits 
 and his services more amply. He had " a great 
 regard and esteem/' to use his patronising offi- 
 cial mode of speech, for two or three of the 
 gentlemen who had acted under him as private 
 secretaries and under-secretaries of state. He 
 loved his son. Lord Glenant, but thought him a 
 sad fellow, and felt that there was a great gulf 
 between them in thought and feeling which 
 could never quite be filled up by their mutual 
 affection. He loved his daughter, the Lady 
 Alice ; but there again he felt that there was little 
 in common between them ; and even her affec- 
 tionate mode of jesting, when she tried to divert 
 him from his work, was not understood by him, 
 much as he loved her. Ruth, he esteemed and 
 loved, but still it was not as he would have loved 
 a daughter. There his affection ended, or at least 
 had ended until Count Casimir had come into 
 the home circle of the Lochawes. In him the 
 Earl had found a young man after his own heart, 
 so wise, so earnest, so capable of being made
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 123 
 
 business-like — and then too with such a resem- 
 blance to the EarPs early love. 
 
 I said that the Earl had been very distrait 
 at the Cabinet ; so much so, indeed, that the witty 
 Mr. Hardlines had whispered to his neighbour 
 ^^ If I had known that old Lochawe would have 
 been so tame to-day, I would have brought with 
 
 me the heads of my bill for to which he will 
 
 have a hundred pedantic objections to make. I 
 don^t like to see a man so different from his 
 usual self, do you ? The dear old fellow is going 
 to have an illness, I think." 
 
 And now Lord Lochawe was in his study. 
 It was in vain that piles of papers neatly tied up 
 and set in order, and cabinet boxes with long 
 labels to them, claimed an attention which such 
 inviting documents and boxes had never before 
 failed to gain from the precise old man. He 
 wandered up and down, muttering to himself, 
 ^^ So like her, so very like her, when he was 
 most in a rage. He had her scornful indignant 
 smile when she heard of anything that was base, 
 or of any cruelty to the meanest of God^s crea-
 
 124 CASIMIB MAUEMMA. 
 
 tures. I would not have minded it if he had 
 been such an honest scamp as Glenant ; but the 
 boy pretended to be so good. To use a phrase 
 of the people's^ you would have thought that 
 butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. 
 
 And then^ too, he was studying the manu- 
 facturing interests of this country, forsooth ! He 
 wished to know how the common people worked 
 and lived ; and certainly he has made acquaint- 
 ance with the commonest of the common. I 
 hate a hypocrite, as I told him to his face. 
 Whatever the Lochawes have been, they have 
 never been hypocrites. And it was to this 
 fellow that I would have given my Alice. Good 
 God, how little we know of human nature, even 
 after sixty years' experience of it. And they 
 think that we statesmen see the worst side of it 
 too. But the fellow shan't break my heart. I'll 
 set to work. After all, work is the greatest 
 comfort." And, so saying, the stout old Earl 
 did set to work, and did find in that some 
 comfort. 
 
 His family soon found out that there was
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 125 
 
 something very wrong with the Earl. He had 
 a way of pursing up his mouth when he was 
 much displeased ; and this was a sign well known 
 to every member of his family. Lady Alice said 
 to Euth, " Papa^s mouth is e7i permanence to-day. 
 Something dreadful must have happened. Either 
 he is going to resign, or Glenant has done some- 
 thing even worse than usual. ^^ 
 
 For days the EarFs mouth remained set in 
 its most obstinate fashion. Ruth began to divine 
 that something worse had happened than a " dif- 
 ficulty" in the cabinet, or than any scrape of 
 Lord Glenant^s. Besides_, too_, she was the first 
 to notice that Count Casimir had suddenly ceased 
 to pay the visits which were wont to be daily 
 paid by him at Lochawe house. She resolved 
 to fathom the mystery. Now Lord Lochawe 
 was so accustomed to treat Ruth as a private 
 secretary^ and to be perfectly confidential with 
 her, that he had almost ceased to look upon her 
 as a young woman. He therefore easily sur- 
 rendered to her adroit questioning, and betrayed 
 to her the enormity, as he called it, of the young
 
 126 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Count's guilty the extent of his own suffering, and 
 the hopes which he had entertained for Lady Alice. 
 He little thought of the suffering he was inflicting 
 upon his hearer. She, with hira, could not but 
 think the worst; and Casimir's conduct in not 
 coming near them, seemed to be a convincing 
 proof that their thoughts were just. The Earl 
 too, who was the most honest of men, informed 
 Ruth, giving her thereby another unconscious 
 stab, that the girl was beautiful, most beautiful. 
 ^^ A miserable, dirty, draggle-tailed creature, my 
 dear, but not without beauty, not without much 
 beauty." And here, with that odd vanity which 
 besets men even in the most serious circum- 
 stances, the Earl could not help adding, '' The 
 Lochawes you know, my love (and Casimir is one 
 of us) have fine taste as regards beauty in women, 
 and it is perhaps owing to that that they are what 
 they are, my dear, — I mean as regards good 
 looks. But such a creature ! You have never 
 seen the like of her, nor I indeed, except when 
 I was on a Sanitary Commission as a young man, 
 and went, in my official capacity, to visit the 
 back streets of London. Such horrors ! "
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 127 
 
 In that beautiful passage of Dante, in which 
 the loves of Paolo and Francesca are told with 
 such exquisite force and delicacy _, that the story 
 remains for ever a gain for the world, a thing 
 that cannot be rivalled or surpassed, it ends with 
 the simple words, ^^We read no more that day." 
 With an agony corresponding in extent to the joy 
 depicted in Dante's story, for the passions are 
 alike in all ages, and the madness of supreme 
 love is ever the same, we may say of poor Ruth, 
 that she wrote no more that day. 
 
 Pleading a headache, that convenient malady 
 for women, she begged to be excused from 
 further work, and retired to her own room. 
 
 The Earl, who prided himself upon seeing 
 deeply into everything, saw through the head- 
 ache, and knew that it was an excuse. ^' Poor 
 Ruth," he said to himself, ^^ how tender-hearted 
 she is, how much she feels for me and for the 
 family." So you see the Earl was very far- 
 sighted, but not quite so far-sighted as to see 
 into the depths of a loving woman's heart. 
 
 The first thing that Ruth did, when she was
 
 128 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 alone in her own room^ was to look into the glass. 
 '^ 'No, I am not beautiful/^ she said, ^' no flattery 
 could say that I am beautiful. But, oh ! if they 
 could look into our hearts, these men might be 
 wiser than they are. No one will ever love him 
 as I could have loved him — each word so dear to 
 me that he uttered — each thought, before it rose 
 to utterance, so well understood by me." And 
 here she laughed hysterically. ^'^ The good old 
 man is as foolish as the rest of them. The 
 Lochawes have always had a keen sense of 
 women^s beauty. The fools ! the idiots ! and this 
 is what it comes to. '^ A wretched girl, such as I 
 know not of,^ forsooth ! As if I had not seen 
 them, as if I had not pitied them, as if I would 
 not have died for them — while I loathed them. 
 The dainty Count Casimir, too ! this virtuous 
 youth ! so set upon his grand designs to raise the 
 common people ! He has raised them forsooth — 
 this one at least. I cannot drive the thought of 
 this from me ; no, I cannot; for I do love him. 
 She would be his servant, would she, as the Earl 
 told me, and would not I ? Where should he go
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 129 
 
 that I would not follow him, content to be only 
 his servant. Shame upon me ! It is most un- 
 maidenly, but there it is ; and, as my Lord says, 
 dear proud old man, ^ the Lochawes never tell 
 lies to themselves,' nor, indeed, for that matter, to 
 anybody else — except this Casimir. He is not 
 of our lineage : I repudiate him, but I do love 
 him, though/' 
 
 Then there was the common-place interruption 
 of Ruth's maid coming to assist her to dress for 
 dinner. She went down to dinner calm and 
 composed as usual, took her customary part in 
 conversation, and Lord Lochawe's mouth was 
 not so compressed as it had been for the last few 
 days, for he had found much comfort in telling 
 Ruth of his troubles, and he occasionally inter- 
 changed a few words with her at dinner time, 
 which had a distant reference to the subject they 
 both had at heart, and which were quite unin- 
 telligible to the rest of the company. 
 
 Both Lord Lochawe and Ruth Sumner were 
 wrong in the conclusion they had come to that 
 Count Casimir's non-appearance at Lochawe house 
 
 I. K
 
 130 CASIMIli MABEMMA. 
 
 was a proof that their worst thoughts of him 
 were right, and that he was ashamed to make 
 his appearance there. On the contrary, his 
 first thought, after awaking from the deep sleep 
 which had fallen upon him on that memorable 
 day of Maggie^s untoward presence in his rooms, 
 was that he would go to Lord Lochawe; that 
 he would humble himself before the old man, 
 and apologize for the rude words which he had 
 uttered ; that he would insist upon being heard 
 as regards Maggie's story and his own ; and that 
 he would not leave the house until he had made 
 his peace. But the events of the last few days 
 had proved too strong for him, for he was now 
 upon his bed almost sightless, and in agonies of 
 pain. 
 
 It may be remembered that in a preceding 
 chapter it was mentioned that Maggie was fol- 
 lowed through the streets by a little boy. This 
 boy was one of her little nephews who had been 
 tempted by sundry pennies, given to him by 
 his mother, to act as a spy upon Maggie's pro- 
 ceedings. He had followed her into the house
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 131 
 
 and up the stairs ; had seen master George trans- 
 formed into a grand gentleman ; and had caught 
 a glimpse of that turning lathe which had been 
 the unconscious cause of so much misery to 
 Count Casimir. 
 
 The boy returned home, and had much to tell 
 his parents. The news was soon bruited about 
 amongst the workmen of that district. A meet- 
 ing of the club was held. The young Count 
 was denounced as a Frenchman, as a spy, as a 
 man who was going to take the bread out of their 
 mouths by some new-fangled invention, who had 
 only come amongst them to make himself master 
 of their peculiar craft, so that he might do them 
 most injury most certainly. Why, otherwise, 
 should one of the rich have come amongst them ? 
 Appearances were sadly against the young Count. 
 It would have required a force of imagination 
 not possessed by any of these poor workmen to 
 have imagined the profoundly benevolent pur- 
 pose for which he had come amongst them. 
 Then, too, there was the private wrong to be 
 redressed — the wrong that he had done to
 
 132 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Maggie, who would have been mightily asto- 
 nished to find that she had been suddenly 
 elevated into the position of a heroine and a 
 victim by the whole neighbourhood. It was 
 gratifying to hear how much her half-brothers 
 and her sister-in-law had estimated her, and how 
 impossible they now felt it to be to live without 
 her. 
 
 The day after Count Casimir had received the 
 inopportune visits of Lord Lochawe and Maggie, 
 he remained at home, much exhausted and de- 
 pressed by all that he had gone through, but 
 resolving to pluck up courage, and to make his 
 peace with Lord Lochawe on the ensuing day. 
 
 In the evening there arrived for him a small 
 deal box. He proceeded to open it, without the 
 least suspicion of its contents ; indeed, he sup- 
 posed it to be something which he had ordered 
 at a brass-founder's, and which was connected 
 with that unfortunate machine which had already 
 been of such great disservice to him. It was, 
 however, a missive from his enemies, clumsily 
 constructed, but still not so clumsily constructed
 
 RESULTS OF MAGGIE'S VISIT. 133 
 
 tliat it altogether failed to have the desired effect. 
 The thing partially exploded as he was bending 
 over it, and he received some injuries which were 
 nearly proving fatal to his eyesight, and almost 
 to his life. 
 
 By great good fortune Mr. Thurston happened 
 to pay him a visit that evening within a quarter 
 of an hour of the time of the accident. The 
 noise of the explosion had not been great — in- 
 deed it had been rather a flare than an explo- 
 sion — and, in the midst of his sufferings, Count 
 Casimir had retained sufficient power over his 
 thoughts, and sufficient command over his pain, 
 to think how this accident, if noised abroad, 
 would injure his great purposes. He implored 
 Thurston to keep the matter quiet, to manage 
 Mrs. Reddington, and to prevent the affair from 
 getting into the newspapers. Mr. Thurston saw 
 how important it would be for the sufferer that 
 his wishes in these respects should be obeyed, 
 and he took measures accordingly; first, how- 
 ever, sending for the eminent surgeon, Sir 
 James Mac Arthur. That good man, who had
 
 134 CASIMITt MABEMMA. 
 
 previously had some knowledge of Count Casi- 
 mir, was greatly distressed at finding Hm in this 
 state ; but, after listening to Mr. Thurston, ac- 
 quiesced in keeping the matter quiet. He did 
 not feel at all sure, he said, of what might be 
 the consequences as regarded the eyesight of 
 the young Count ; for the rest, he could answer. 
 There would be great pain and sufferiag, but 
 nothing that would be fatal to the life of a 
 young man.
 
 Chaptee XIII. 
 EUTH^S SUPPOSED EIVAL. 
 
 [R. THURSTON watched by his young 
 friend^s bedside the greater part of 
 that nighty and through a great part 
 of several succeeding days and nights. But he 
 was not the only watcher. The last thing 
 which Mr. Thurston would have done inten- 
 tionally would have been to have told Maggie 
 of Casimir's misfortune and present state of suf- 
 fering. A mere philosopher, however, has but 
 small chance against a woman's wit when he 
 seeks to conceal anything from her. Maggie 
 suspected something; and, by dint of watching 
 and listening — for she had no small scruples of 
 refinement — she soon learnt what had happened. 
 On the third day after his accident she was at
 
 136 CA8IMIB MABEMMA 
 
 the bedside of the sufferer. It may be won- 
 dered how she succeeded in passing the formi- 
 dable Mrs. Reddington, and establishing herself 
 in Casimir's room^ contrary to all the notions of 
 propriety with which Mrs. Reddington's mind was 
 instinct. But Maggie, who had been dressed in 
 decent clothes by Mr. Thurston^s good old house- 
 keeper, was a very different person to look at 
 from the dishevelled, draggle-tailed creature 
 who had forced her way into the house on a 
 previous occasion. Mrs. Reddington, at first, 
 did not even recognize her. Then she came as 
 Mr. Thurston^ s servant, and brought sometSing 
 dainty with her to justify her coming. More- 
 over, Maggie, in her odd way, possessed, in a 
 high degree, the great art of coaxing. Any- 
 how she conquered Mrs. Reddington; and, in- 
 deed, soon became a favourite with that good 
 lady. Maggie had no especial skill in nursing, 
 and was at first more useful in the lower regions 
 than the upper ; and, for the time, was more Mrs. 
 Reddington^s servant than she was Mr. Thurs- 
 ton's. For the first day or two she had only
 
 BUTWS SUPPOSED RIVAL. 137 
 
 come for a few hours ; but^ on the fourth day, 
 Mr. Thurston, unaccustomed to this work of 
 watching a sick person, was ill, and unable to 
 leave his own room. Accordingly, Maggie, with 
 or without his knowledge, established herself for 
 the whole day in Casimir's lodgings. 
 
 Mr. Thurston had felt that it was too sfreat a 
 responsibility for him to take upon himself to 
 conceal from Lord Lochawe the serious illness of 
 his near relative. Count Casimir. On the pre- 
 vious day he had called upon his Lordship, and 
 informed him of the state of things, making 
 somewhat lighter of Casimir's injury and illness 
 than was absolutely true, and also concealing the 
 cause of the injury, making it appear rather as 
 an accident than as anything intentional. He 
 did this, knowing that if the Earl, in his fussy 
 way, should demand an enquiry into the circum- 
 stances, it would greatly disturb Cassimir and 
 possibly prevent his recovery. Of course the 
 Earl did not fail to tell his trusty private secre- 
 tary, Ruth ; and it was agreed between them, 
 that, notwithstanding Casimir's wickedness, he
 
 138 CASIMIB M ABE MM A, 
 
 must not be neglected^ and that Ruth should call 
 at his lodgings the next day, and find out the 
 real state of things. The Earl could not quite 
 compromise his dignity by going himself, though 
 he longed to do so. 
 
 Casimir had fallen into a deep though uneasy 
 sleep when Euth Sumner called at his lodgings. 
 Coming in the EarPs carriage^ she was received 
 with due obsequiousness by Mrs. Reddjngton, 
 and what she heard from that good lady greatly 
 increased her fears. Still, knowing how people 
 of this kind are prone to exaggerate illness,, her 
 preconceived notions of Casimir^s state did not by 
 any means come up to the reality. She went up 
 stairs, attended by Mrs. Reddington^ and softly 
 opened the door. Maggie was sitting crouched up 
 in a large arm-chair, which was close to the bed. 
 She rose from it; and, raising her finger, said 
 gently, '' Hush, hush." In this attitude the girl 
 looked most beautiful. RutVs heart sank within 
 her as she contemplated the beauty of her sup- 
 posed rival, and noticed the familiarity of the posi- 
 tion in which she had first found her. She said to
 
 BUTE'S SUPPOSED RIVAL. 139 
 
 herself, " The old lord is right. The Lochawes 
 have certainly a fine sense of beauty." 
 
 The two girls remained for some time looking 
 at one another in silence. Maggie had resumed 
 her place in the arm-chair^ in a crouching but not 
 ungraceful attitude. At length the sufferer^ who 
 had been moaning uneasily for some time^ awoke, 
 and called for water. Maggie was at his side in 
 a moment, and as she gave the water to him, 
 slightly withdrew- the curtain. Ruth's horror, 
 on the first sight of Casimir, was unbounded. 
 She would hardly have known him again. An 
 injury of this kind seems even worse than it is. 
 The eyelashes were burnt, the eyebrows partially, 
 and also much of the hair. The eyes were closed. 
 The face had been dreadfully scorched. ^^ Oh, 
 Casimir, what is this ?" was all that she could 
 say. Meanwhile, Maggie was passing her fingers 
 through the hair that was left, and was soothing 
 him as a mother soothes her child. Euth saw all 
 this, and with no feelings of pleasure, for the 
 mind is large enough to feel, at the same time, 
 the intensest pity and the intensest disgust.
 
 140 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Casimir recognised the voice ; and said^ " Miss 
 Sumner _, thank you for coming. I suppose Lord 
 Lochavve knows about it — an accident — an un- 
 fortunate experiment. Do not let him be uncom- 
 fortable for me. I shall soon be all right again. 
 But come here, please. Read this to me." Here 
 he drew, from under the pillow, a foreign-looking 
 letter. 
 
 Maggie whispered to Ruth, " I would have 
 read it to him, you know. I can read English ; 
 mother taught me, before she died ; but I can^t 
 read this. Fm so glad you^re come." 
 
 Ruth sat down close by the bedside. She felt 
 she could hardly stand ; and Maggie took up 
 her old position in the large arm-chair. Ruth 
 began to read the letter. It was in French, and 
 was from the old Count Maremma. 
 
 Everyone, who has known misfortune, knows, 
 that, as is the way with great kings, it always 
 comes attended with a suite of courtiers like 
 itself. 
 
 In a few hurried words the old Count told his 
 son that the worst which had been anticipated
 
 BUTE'S SUPPOSED RIVAL. 141 
 
 had happened; that he was about to be de- 
 nounced by the government; that most of his 
 household had already fled; and that he, the 
 professor, and old Bettina were about to seek 
 their safety in flight. He did not yet know 
 where he should fly to. Moreover this letter 
 might be intercepted. A further letter would 
 give full particulars. 
 
 The last sentences were unheard by Casimir, 
 for he had fainted. The two girls, with Mrs. 
 Reddington^s aid, who was immediately sum- 
 moned, succeeded after a time in restoring him. 
 When he had been restored to consciousness, 
 Casimir did nothing but moan out incoherent 
 sentences about going to his father immediately. 
 Once he strove to rise from the bed, but was 
 gently restrained by Ruth and Maggie. After 
 a time he was silent ; and Maggie began to sing, 
 in a low voice, a song, which, during the last 
 day or two, she had often found useful in calming 
 him. At last overcome by exhaustion, numbed 
 by sorrow, and soothed by Maggie^s crooning, 
 Casimir fell again into a sound sleep.
 
 142 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Ruth rose to go. Maggie followed her, and 
 softly closed the door behind them. The two 
 girls stood upon the landing-place, confronting 
 one another — the supposed sinner, and the sup- 
 posed saint. But any superior being, who could 
 have looked into the hearts of both of them, 
 would have been much puzzled to say which was 
 the sinner, and which was the saint. In Ruth^s 
 heart there was the infinite passion of love; 
 there was also infinite shame, and almost infinite 
 remorse, as regarded that passion; there was 
 disgust, too, mixed with envy, as she looked into 
 the loving eyes of the other girl ; and, above all, 
 there was immeasurable pity for Casimir. She 
 thought more meanly of him, and less meanly. 
 One woman knows another well, far better than 
 any man, and Ruth felt the innocence and loving- 
 ness of this poor neglected child. How could 
 Casimir have had the heart to betray her ? But, 
 all the while, she felt that Maggie was very love- 
 able and very beautiful ; and that it was not so 
 surprising, or so very base, that Casimir should 
 have loved the girl. But then, her idol — the
 
 BUTE'S SUPPOSED BIVAL. 143 
 
 man she thought to be a great man (and Euth 
 had ever formed for herself an ideal of a great 
 man) to condescend to ignorance, and to be the 
 merest slave of passion. 
 
 Maggie interrupted these meditations, which 
 passed in a few moments through Euth's mind, 
 by these simple words, ^^ Do come again, dear 
 lady : come to-morrow. I can't get out every 
 day, you know. Somebody who loves him should 
 be with him always.^' 
 
 Poor Maggie could not have made a more un- 
 fortunate speech. That her love should be known 
 to this girl, and what was worse, that it should 
 be tolerated, was to Euth the height of indignity. 
 She said, angrily, ^^ Lord Lochawe will doubt- 
 less come himself. I cannot come again. Such 
 profligacy is not for me to see.^^ 
 
 Now poor Maggie did not understand the 
 word " profligacy ;" but she knew that it was 
 something very blameful. Drunkenness was the 
 thing that she thought was the worst in the 
 world. All her troubles had come upon her 
 when her half-brothers and her sister-in-law were
 
 144 C A SIM in M ABE MM A. 
 
 drunk. Moreover she had never heard anything 
 emphatic said without its being accompanied 
 with a coarse word^ or an oath. Whereupon she 
 uttered the following words in defence of her 
 " dear Master George." I am almost ashamed 
 to write them down^ and to make them come 
 from the mouth of a beautiful and innocent girl. 
 But they were said ; and it is no good pretending 
 that they were not said, or softening them down. 
 
 ^^It's a d -d shame/^ said Maggie, her 
 
 beautiful eyes expanding with wrath, " and its 
 
 all a d d lie. Master George never came 
 
 home drunk once during all the time he was in 
 our house. I'll swear to it, by God I will." 
 
 Ruth stayed to hear no more, but fled down 
 stairs, only muttering to herself, " All the time 
 that he was in our house, the wretches !" And 
 the swift horses of Lord Lochawe bore their 
 light freight, but if misery could be weighed, and 
 were a thing palpable and earthly, we should 
 have said, their heavy burden, to Lochawe 
 House. 
 
 We have given a picture, a faithful picture, of
 
 BUTE'S SUPPOSED RIVAL. 145 
 
 Buth Sumner's mind. We ought^ in justice, to 
 do tlie same with Maggie^s. Maggie did not 
 know what love was. Love rather belongs to 
 idleness ; and Maggie had not known a day for 
 many years in which she had not been hunted 
 down by ill-nature, or oppressed by work. Her 
 idea of a happy day was one in which she 
 escaped harsh words or harsher blows. She 
 loved Casimir, it is true ; but it was with the 
 love of a child for a protector. She would have 
 died* for him, in the extremity of her gratitude ; 
 but she respected him far too much, and wor- 
 shipped him too much, — the noblest, kindest, 
 cleverest being she had ever seen — to love him 
 as young women love young men. A more com- 
 plete innocence was never seen; and the mind 
 of the other girl — demure, proper, decorous, as 
 she was — contained whirlwinds of passion, as 
 yet unknown to, and undreamt of, by poor 
 Maggie.
 
 Chapter XIY. 
 
 EUTH'S EESOLYE. 
 
 GREAT traveller who had wandered 
 for many days and nights in sad dis- 
 appointment and trouble of mind^ for 
 he had lost his way, came at last into a fair 
 country. There was much that was new_, there 
 was much that was beautiful and remarkable in 
 that country; but there was nothing which 
 caused the traveller so much admiration, though 
 he had seen many countries, as this : There was a 
 tree in that country, the wood of which when 
 formed into caskets, had a property which was 
 magical. Whatever was put into these caskets 
 remained for ever there, and could never be taken 
 out. It seemed to the traveller, something awful 
 that you should have receptacles which held for
 
 BUTE'S RESOLVE. 147 
 
 ever what was once committed to them. But the 
 inhabitants of this country saw none of this awful- 
 ness. Out of these caskets could be taken exact 
 images of all that had been put into them. They 
 saw nothing wonderful in this. So lightly did 
 they treat these caskets that they were content 
 to put into them any kind of rubbish_, for the only 
 difficulty which this injudicious filling of the 
 caskets caused them was_, that they had to turn 
 over more of these articles of rubbish to get at 
 the image of anything they wanted. They saw 
 nothing magical^ or_, as I should rather say, pro- 
 vidential, in all this. Indeed, they said that the 
 substance out of which the caskets were formed 
 had acquired this magical quality for itself, or 
 that this 23roperty had been derived by a fortui- 
 tous concuiTence of accidental atoms. 
 
 The traveller wondered at their folly and de- 
 spised it ; but he forgot that in his memory he 
 carried about with him a receptacle which did 
 not differ much in its nature from those which 
 the inhabitants of this fair country estimated so 
 slightly and filled so carelessly.
 
 148 CASIMin MABEMMA. 
 
 The book of travels of this great traveller 
 naturally recurred to me when thinking of the 
 words that poor Maggie had, so unconsciously, 
 disgraced herself by uttering. How can we 
 expect that the young, however beautiful their 
 nature, will cease from reproducing what they 
 have heard uttered from their earliest years 
 — those lower layers of thought, feeling, and 
 expression which have been first placed into 
 those marvellous receptacles which we sum up in 
 one word, and call their memories ? 
 
 Ruth reached home an almost broken-hearted 
 woman. She felt it to be her duty to tell Lord 
 Lochawe of all that had passed. Her own 
 feelings were most bitter, and were most con- 
 fused. She had now no doubt of the relation in 
 which poor Maggie stood to Count Casimir. 
 She felt that he was lost to her for ever. She 
 also felt that his father's loss of fortune made it 
 imperative upon him, if he could get rid of Mag- 
 gie, to marry a woman who should bring him 
 fortune and the means of carrying out his great 
 designs. She resolved that he should marry
 
 BUTE'S RESOLVE. 149 
 
 Lady Alice. Lady Alice had a large fortune in 
 her own power ; and Euth determined that in the 
 present position of affairs, that fortune should go 
 to aid in bringing to a successful issue Count 
 Casimir^s great purposes. She had long seen 
 that Casimir was hesitating between the two 
 — between herself and Lady Alice — as to whom 
 he would love. 
 
 This was, however, a matter for further con- 
 sideration. Her present difficulty was with Lord 
 Lochawe, who was inconceivably distressed by 
 what Euth had to tell him. His first thought 
 was that his son, Lord Glenant, would be most 
 useful in this emergency. ^' Glenant," he said, 
 " will manage everything. He will get rid of 
 the girl if she ought to be got rid of. He will 
 see what is to be done about the old Count." 
 
 It may be observed that Lord Lochawe had 
 the greatest faith in his son^s knowledge of the 
 world, and in his power to get through the most 
 difficult circumstances. '*^ You, my dear," he 
 said to Euth, "must see Glenant and instruct 
 him as to what he is to do. I must go to the
 
 150 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 house. A statesman should have none of these 
 difficulties. He ought not, my dear Euth, to 
 have a wife, or to have children, to molest him. 
 He should be as a monk, with nothing to think 
 of but his Order .^' 
 
 Ruth Sumner and Lord Glenant had an inter- 
 view together. It was rather an embarrassing 
 one, for a girl is always much perplexed when 
 she has to talk with a rejected lover. Glenant 
 did not make this difficulty easier for her. He 
 could not help being a little malicious. He knew 
 that she loved Casimir, and would pretend that 
 he did not understand what she was endeavour- 
 ing to explain to him. At last, however, he 
 undertook the function which his father and 
 Ruth had resolved to impose upon him ; and, 
 from that time forward, he was a constant at- 
 .tendant at the bed-side of his rival. Count 
 Casimir. 
 
 Meanwhile Maggie had gained her point : she 
 had contrived to establish herself as the perma- 
 nent nurse of Count Casimir, or rather, as the 
 servant of Mrs. Eeddin^ton. She succeeded in
 
 RUTH'S BE SOLVE. 151 
 
 managing her master^ Mr. Thurston, completely. 
 The poor philosopher had never been so treated 
 before. She would kneel to him, kiss his hand, 
 and ask his permission to do what she had deter- 
 mined to do, namely, to wait upon Count Casimir. 
 Maggie did not behave as a servant, but rather 
 as a wilful child. In despair he would ring for Mrs. 
 Goodall, his housekeeper, and ask her whether she 
 could manage this girl. Mrs. Goodall replied that 
 she could not. Then his hopes were placed upon 
 Mrs. Reddington ; but that excellent woman had 
 come to believe in Maggie, and was almost a 
 slave to her. The truth is, that Maggie was so 
 handy, she learnt everything so quickly, that, in 
 the present emergency, she had become more 
 the mistress of the house than Mrs. Reddington 
 herself. This is no mystery. There is a reason 
 for it. The people who have not been crammed 
 with much previous knowledge, and yet have not 
 passed the time when the perceptions are very 
 vivid, acquire new knowledge very swiftly and 
 easily. And, moreover, Maggie was one of those 
 persons who are singularly deft in all work with
 
 152 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 the liands^ and who seem to possess a faculty^ in 
 that respect^ which is unknown to the great 
 majority of mankind. 
 
 Every reader must observe, that Ruth Sum- 
 ner was somewhat unlike herself, and incon- 
 sistent when she seemed to think that Casimir 
 was good enough for Lady Alice, though not for 
 Ruth herself, on account of his supposed intimacy 
 with Maggie. Yet, Ruth's regard for Alice was 
 very great, and one might have expected that she 
 would have been as delicate, and as dignified for 
 Alice, as for herself. The supposition is naturally 
 suggested that Ruth thought that a lower kind 
 of love than that which she must have, would 
 suffice for Alice. There certainly was some 
 baseness, too, in bringing in money as an element 
 in the transaction. But then it may be observed 
 that people who would not be base for them- 
 selves, will adopt very questionable motives, when 
 acting, or scheming, far others. Any way that 
 it may be taken, Ruth^s views were scarcely recon- 
 cileable with the usual high tenor of her mind. 
 It would be worth while to have long life, if
 
 BUTE'S RESOLVE. 153 
 
 only to have the time and opportunity to study, 
 and, if possible, to understand any one human 
 character. 'No man, or woman, would appear to 
 you to be absurd or inconsistent, if you knew all 
 about him, or her. There are those who fear 
 that God should know everything about them : 
 whereas it should be the chief comfort to all of 
 us to reflect that there is One Being who knows 
 everything about us, and, therefore, with a divine 
 toleration, can pardon.
 
 Chaptee XY. 
 LOED GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 
 
 ^nSISI^ ^^ days went on. Count Casimir's 
 illness was severe^ lingering*, and 
 more uncertain in its results than 
 tlie great surgeon had at first anticipated. Lord 
 Glenant was the constant attendant at the bed- 
 side of his cousin_, — a most willing attendant, not 
 merely from good-nature, though he was a most 
 good-natured man, but also from the delight he 
 took in the companionship of Maggie. Not that 
 these two were always friends — quite the contrary. 
 There was sometimes dire war between theri;!, 
 and almost hatred, for the moment, on the part 
 of Maggie. Lord Glenant would pretend to be 
 very angry with Casimir, and would talk as if he 
 believed in all that had been said against him.
 
 LOUB GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 155 
 
 Lord Grlenant's delight and amusement would be 
 in making Maggie use inappropriate language ; 
 and Maggie would use such language, when 
 rebutting the charges against her dear friend 
 Casimir, who lay in his bed_, sometimes conscious, 
 sometimes totally unconscious, of all that was 
 passing around him. 
 
 Shakespeare, no doubt, was right in making 
 his Romeo, after one failure in love, most sus- 
 ceptible of a new passion. But the other side of 
 the question is true, too. There are two species 
 of mankind — the one to whom past love opens 
 new love, and the other to whom past love shuts 
 up all the avenues of love. Lord Glenant was of 
 the former species : Lord Lochawe of the latter. 
 It is a strange thing to say, but the business-like 
 Earl was of a far more romantic nature than his 
 son. The Earl had loved but once ; and all his 
 thoughts of womankind were full of '^ her untried 
 perfections,^^ so that he could admit no other 
 woman into that sanctuary of his soul. 
 
 Lord Glenant was entirely cured of his love 
 for Ruth Sumner — cured by despair. He had
 
 156 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 thoroughly recognized the hopelessness of his 
 suit in that quarter : he saw that even if there 
 had been no such person as Casimir Maremma, 
 he (Lord Glenant) might have won the hand of 
 Ruth ; but never would have won the utmost 
 love which she was capable of feeling. His 
 heart had_, as it were^ been opened to all soft 
 afifections by this love ; but- was no longer en- 
 gaged by it^ even if it had ever been really so 
 engaged. » 
 
 He was now domiciled with a young woman 
 of a very different nature and character from any 
 that he had hitherto seen; and any bystander 
 might at once have perceived that there was 
 great danger for Glenant's peace of mind in this 
 familiar intercourse, of which danger Glenant 
 himself had at first not the faintest suspicion. 
 
 The two young people were left, for the most 
 part, quite alone together. Mr. Thurston was 
 ill ; Ruth Sumner could not, under the circum- 
 stances, come to Casimir^s lodgings ; and Lord 
 Lochawe came but rarelyo When he did come, 
 Maggie made herself scarce, for she was ter-
 
 LORD GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 157 
 
 ribly afraid of the old Lord, who, she perceived, 
 had caused Casimir so much fear and annoyance 
 in the interview she had witnessed between 
 them. 
 
 As Maggie Lauder will unavoidably play a 
 considerable part in this story, it is desirable to 
 describe her much more accurately and precisely 
 than has yet been done. We have hitherto only 
 seen the poor, neglected, ill-used girl, flying 
 from the ill-treatment of her relations to the 
 friendly protection of the only human being who 
 had ever treated her kindly, and pitied her. 
 But she was a woman of a rare character, and 
 such as is well worth describing, and even 
 studying. 
 
 It is, in general, a great difficulty, and one 
 which is rarely overcome, to describe the per- 
 sonal appearance of any human being. You 
 may see this every day. You labour at a per- 
 sonal description, and think that you must have 
 attained to some success ; but when the person 
 to whom you have made your description sees 
 the individual whom you have described, you
 
 158 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 generally find that your description is considered 
 to have been very imperfect^ and even deceptive. 
 
 Nevertheless, I shall try to give some traits 
 of personal description, in addition to those wliich 
 have been already given, of Maggie. 
 
 She was a little woman, with small feet and 
 soft, small hands, which, strange to say, had not 
 been much spoilt by work. 
 
 The smallness of her feet and hands will, 
 perhaps, be accounted for hereafter. She was 
 not what might be called, delicately framed ; and 
 you could foresee that in middle hfe, if life went 
 well with her, she would become one of those 
 dames described as, " fair, fat, and forty .^'' Not, 
 by the way, that she would ever be fair, for her 
 complexion was of the uniformly rich tint of a 
 brunette. When she blushed, which she did 
 frequently and upon very slight provocation, the 
 warm colour of the countenance merely deepened 
 into a richer hue. 
 
 When she moved about, she did so with great 
 rapidity, nearly twice as fast as other people ; 
 but yet these rapid movements were far from 
 ungraceful.
 
 LORD GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 159 
 
 I have said that her eyes were, like those 
 of the Limerick lasses, which are, perhaps, the 
 most beautiful eyes in the world ; but I have 
 hitherto said nothing about the lower part of her 
 face. The great man who has written about 
 physiognomy — the only man who has ever 
 written anything about physiognomy much 
 worth reading, as far as I know — Lavater, after 
 dwelling upon the other parts of the human 
 countenance, comes to speak of the mouth. 
 Whereupon he falls, or rather, mounts, into a 
 rhapsody upon that ^' divine feature,^^ as he calls 
 it. ^^ Who shall dare to describe its beauties 
 or its significance." He feels it to be the feature 
 of the human face. Now, Maggie had a most 
 remarkable mouth. The upper lip was all that a 
 painter or a sculptor would have wished it to 
 be, with two most exquisite curves in it, a thing 
 of perfect beauty. The lower lip was rather 
 heavy, and what might be called, speaking 
 euphemistically, sensuous. There were many 
 dimples, those pitfalls of seducing beauty, in close 
 proximity to this pretty mouth.
 
 160 CASIMIR MABEMMA. 
 
 I must tell the exact truth, and must confess 
 that, when Maggie laughed, it was a laugh that 
 was rather loud, and hearty, and over-genial. 
 It was not the laugh of a very refined person. 
 The whole look of the face, the first expression 
 that caught your attention, was one of beseech- 
 ingness. This probably arose from the sufferings 
 and ill-treatment she had undergone, so that the 
 prevailing expression in her face seemed to say, 
 ^' Do not scold me, do not beat me, for I would 
 do anything to please you, and avert your anger. '^ 
 
 I have now done my best to describe the per- 
 sonal appearance of this very winning girl. It 
 remains to endeavour to describe her character. 
 The first thing that occurs to me to say is, that 
 she was eminently receptive — perhaps the most 
 winning characteristic that can be told of man or 
 woman. Very different from Ruth Surnner, who 
 was of a much higher and much more determined 
 character, Maggie Lauder sympathized with 
 everybody. Nothing appeared frivolous to her 
 (by the way, at this time, she would not have 
 understood the meaning of the word frivolous) , 
 that others cared about. If she had been born
 
 LORD OLENANT AND MAGGIE. 161 
 
 and bred in a higher sphere of life^ she would 
 never have been fastidious. Her geniality would 
 have overcome all fastidiousness. 
 
 She was not witty, like Lady Alice, but she 
 had a great deal of drollery about her — there, 
 again, the result of her Irish ancestry — and she 
 was easily amused by a rougher kind of play and 
 fun than would ever have suited Lady Alice or 
 Ruth Sumner. 
 
 Maggie, though finding no sympathy in her 
 own family, had not been without love in that 
 wretched quarter where she had lived. The 
 loveable person is always found out. The chil- 
 dren there doated upon Maggie ; and one* of the 
 com^Dlaints that her coarse brothers and her 
 fierce sister-in-law had been wont to make of her 
 was, that there was always ^' a heap of brats after 
 Maggie," and that the place was " alive with 
 them." 
 
 Her abilities, as will be seen, were of the 
 highest order. I mean her power of acquiring 
 knowledge or of understanding anything that 
 was well put before her. 
 
 I. M
 
 162 GA8IMIB MARE MM A. 
 
 Sucli a person^ as I have above described, was 
 Maggie Lauder ; and everybody must own that 
 she was a very dangerous young person to be 
 domiciled with such a man as Lord Glenant, 
 especially in the present state of his mind, pining, 
 as he was, for affection, and mortified by a 
 refusal. 
 
 Enter any great public library — that of Eome, 
 Paris, Berlin, "Vienna, London — and contemplate 
 the wonderful, the colossal industry and ingenuity 
 of the toilful human beings who have written 
 the innumerable tomes which crowd the shelves 
 of any such library ! It seems to you as if 
 there tnust have been a vast diversity of sub- 
 jects to have occupied the laborious minds 
 of those people who have written all these 
 volumes. But it is not so. After close exami- 
 nation you will find that there are but three or 
 four subjects chiefly treated of. The three most 
 prominent are love, theology, and medicine (law 
 and language occupy a second place) . And, 
 notwithstanding all that has been written on 
 these three main subjects, they are not by any
 
 LORD GLENANT A2^B MAGGIE. 163 
 
 means exhausted. Indeed, after all these thousands 
 of years, they are only beginning to be discussed. 
 If you read what you call, " a trashy story of 
 fiction," you will probably find that the writer 
 has had some new experience in love, and will be 
 able to tell you something new about it, some- 
 thing not quite like what anybody else has ever 
 told before. And here I will venture to say my 
 little say — " A poor thing. Sir, but mine own" — 
 and that is, that people are loved for their defi- 
 ciencies, their weaknesses, their foibles, even for 
 their errors and their sins, as much as for their 
 merits. It is fortunate for such a poor, and erring 
 creature, as man or woman is, that it is so. 
 
 This remark applies closely to the present 
 case; for Maggie became attractive to Lord 
 Glenant as much on account of her ignorance as 
 on account of any of the great qualities which, as 
 I have just shown, were inherent in her. 
 
 It would be useless to attempt to disguise from 
 the reader the effect which being domiciled with 
 Maggie Lauder produced upon Lord Glenant. 
 He was, at first, attracted by her naivete, and, if
 
 164 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 we may say so, by the peculiarity of her character. 
 Afterwards, he became much interested in her; 
 and finally, he fell wildly, madly, in love with 
 her. 
 
 As to Maggie^s feelings, they were very strange 
 and perplexed. She hated Lord Glenant for speak- 
 ing against her much-honoured Casimir ; and yet 
 she liked Lord Glenant for himself. 
 
 Lord Glenant's attachment to Maggie may 
 seem a very sudden thing ; and such as argued 
 much levity on his part. But, really, it was not 
 so. The greater part, of mankind have fallen in 
 love, with much less acquaintance with the ladies 
 of their love, than Glenant had formed with Maggie 
 in Casimir^s sick room. At first he had only been 
 amused with Maggie, and had made the dull 
 hours pass more pleasantly by teasing her. But, 
 gradually, he had begun to perceive the innate 
 worth, nobleness, and originality of the girl. 
 When they talked together now, it was not 
 always upon light and trivial topics ; and Glenant 
 found, to his astonishment, that about this world 
 and the next, Maggie^ s views and his own
 
 LORD GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 165 
 
 were in wonderful accord_, only tliat she had an 
 amount of hope, belief, and enthusiasm, which 
 was unknown to him. Glenant found himself 
 in the position, very strange to him, of being a 
 tutor, and even of explaining to Maggie the doc- 
 trines of theology, which her untutored mind 
 had never heard before, though she had been a 
 vigorous believer in a natural religion which she 
 had formed for herself. 
 
 One of the things which immensely delighted 
 him in Maggie was her overflowing vitality. 
 She was never tired, either physically or intel- 
 lectually; and, when once engaged in discussion, 
 Glenant found that Maggie's interest in the 
 subjects discussed, and her passionate desire to 
 understand and master everything he talked to 
 her about, never flagged. To use a strong, but 
 not wholly inappropriate metaphor, he bathed, 
 as it werOj in the fresh flowing waters of an 
 intelligence which was ever renewed by an ex- 
 ceeding desire to know all that ever had been, or 
 could be, known. For the first time in his life, 
 Glenant perceived what a grand thing it would
 
 166 CA8IMIB MABEMMA, 
 
 be if the poor were educated^ for there might be 
 many Maggies among them — though^ of course, 
 none quite equal to his Maggie. 
 
 Maggie, on the other hand, was not so much 
 attracted by Glenant. The habit of mockery, 
 what the French call persiflage, which had become 
 almost a second nature with him, was eminently 
 distasteful to her; and he committed the great 
 error, in dealing with such a mind as that of 
 Maggie, of never talking quite seriously about 
 serious matters. 
 
 Still, their amity was such as to give Glenant 
 much hope and much encouragement that he 
 would, ultimately, win her love. 
 
 It must not be supposed that Lord Glenant 
 did not struggle against the love, which he felt 
 was overcoming him, for Maggie Lauder. No 
 one of the readers of this story, nor the relator of 
 it, could be more aware than was Lord Glenant, 
 a man of the world, of the inappropriateness — 
 of the almost absurdity — of his falling in love 
 with such a girl as Maggie. But the reality of 
 the thing was too strong for all his pre-conceived
 
 LOED GLENANT AND MAGGIE. 167 
 
 ideas of the necessity of equality in rank^ position^ 
 and education^ of people who should wisely love 
 one another. It may be thought a creditable 
 thing to Lord Glenant, that he never dreamt of 
 anything but marriage as a means of uniting 
 himself to Maggie. Say what we may about 
 that queer tyrant, Henry VIII. it is always a 
 credit to him that he wished to marry those whom 
 he loved. No man who ever loved with real, 
 profound love — with the utmost love of which his 
 nature is capable — ever wished to seduce the 
 woman whom he loved ; that is, if he had the 
 power to marry her. For love of this deep kind 
 contemplates the whole hfe ; and the idea of the 
 possibility of ever being separated from the 
 person loved is so repulsive that it cannot be 
 allowed to enter into the contemplation. 
 
 It was impossible for those who knew him 
 (and those who knew him, mostly loved him) to 
 consider Lord Glenant's position at this period 
 without great pain. It was not that they pitied 
 him because his love was unfortunate as regards 
 the inferior matters of education and position of
 
 168 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 the person he loved, but because they saw that 
 he had again fixed his heart, and this time irre- 
 vocably, upon a woman whom he might never 
 win. One longed to tell him, but one cannot 
 alter a man at once by a little bit of advice, that 
 he must make himself a different man from what 
 he was in order to win the love of this radiant 
 and beautiful girl. His rank and station would 
 have no particular influence with her, to whom 
 the humblest and poorest gentleman would have 
 been far superior in rank and station ; and, there- 
 fore, his only chance depended upon his personal 
 qualities being such as would secure the affection 
 of a girl so original in mind and nature as Maggie 
 Lauder. 
 
 Lord Glonant did not see this. He thought 
 that his difficulty would not be so great with 
 Maggie herself as with his father and his own 
 family ; and it was to that branch of the difficulty 
 that he gave his most anxious thought and 
 attention.
 
 Chaptee XVI. 
 LOKD LOCHAWE PEEPLEXED. 
 
 >ORD GLENANT resolved to have a 
 
 most serious conversation with his 
 
 -^T-TS'-Ts^^-^ father. 
 
 Accordingly he had the audacity to make his 
 way into the study ^ and to interrupt the Earl 
 in the midst of business. 
 
 ^' Well, my lord," he said, ^^ I have come to 
 talk to you this morning." 
 
 ^' Thank you, Glenant. I am always glad to 
 see you ; but I am very busy just now. The 
 Irish affairs are all-absorbing. I really do not 
 know what we shall do," 
 
 '^My dear father, these Irish affairs, as you 
 call them, will be all-absorbing for the next fifty 
 years; but your son's affairs will be finished
 
 170 CA8IMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 before tliat time. I want to have a most serious 
 talk with you/' 
 
 '^ Proceed,, Ronald ; your father is always 
 ready to listen to you." 
 
 " I want to make a bargain with you^ father.'' 
 
 Now Lord Lochawe had mostly found that 
 these bargains were about horses. Lord Lochawe 
 was a great breeder of horses at an estate which 
 he had in Yorkshire. 
 
 "Well, Ronald, you always cheat me, as a son 
 generally does his father ; but I can't let you 
 have both the horses that have come up from 
 Latimers." 
 
 " It's about a much more difficult and delicate 
 matter than horse-dealing, that I want to talk to 
 you, father. I have been a great trouble to you, 
 have I not ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear boy, not more than other sons 
 to other fathers." 
 
 "But I want to make a bargain with you 
 which will be more important to your happiness, 
 than the settlement, however prosj^erous, of Irish 
 affairs. I love a young woman."
 
 LORD LOGHAWE PERPLEXED. 171 
 
 " I belieye^ Glenant, that this is not the first 
 time (would that it had been !) that this remark- 
 able phenomenon has occurred/' 
 
 ^' But I love her very dearly, my dear father." 
 
 '^ Yes, my dear Glenant/' said the Earl drily, 
 *^ I believe this too has occurred before." 
 
 ^' As I said, I have been a great trouble to you." 
 
 '^ I would not wish to contradict you rudely, 
 my dear Ronald." 
 
 " I will now try to be everything you could 
 wish : I will do anything you desire, if only you 
 will not thwart me in this : if only, in a year's 
 time, you will consent to my marriage with her." 
 
 ^^ Is she a respectable young woman ? Pardon 
 me for asking such a question, Glenant, but your 
 conduct has made it necessary. In a word, is 
 she virtuous ? " 
 
 '' She is." 
 
 " I suppose she is poor ? " 
 
 " She is." 
 
 '^I suppose she is of humble parentage, or 
 you would not make this mystery about her, and 
 insist upon this bargain ? "
 
 172 CASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 '' She is." 
 
 " Give me ten minutes^ Glenant. Take your- 
 self from the room ; and, when you return, I 
 will give you an answer." 
 
 Lord Glenant quitted the room. Never was 
 there a father in greater perplexity than poor 
 Lord Lochawe. Though somewhat of a pedant, 
 he was a man of the world. Hardly any man 
 becomes a minister in this country who is not 
 considerably above the average of his fellow- 
 men. He said to himself, " This is probably a 
 last chance for Glenant. The boy will be true 
 to his bargain if I once close with him ; but what 
 a fearful price it is to pay. Still there is time 
 in my favour. He does not ask for an immediate 
 consent. He must fuljfil his part of the bargain 
 before I fulfil mine. I had better not enquire too 
 much about her. It will be too dreadful : some 
 ballet-girl, perhaps. There is a terrible amount 
 of romance in all the Lochawes. If Gertrude 
 had been a ballet-girl, should I not have loved 
 her just as much ? Selden was very wise when 
 he said, that, of all things which concern a man.
 
 LORD LOCH AWE PEBPLJEXED. 173 
 
 his marriage it is whidi concerns himself most ; 
 and yet it is the thing which other people think 
 they have most right to interfere in. 
 
 " But then he was not the Earl of Selden. The 
 world would never forgive this folly of GlenanVs ; 
 still it isj perhaps^ the boy^s only chance. I almost 
 think I'll risk it. What does he want this year 
 for ? Is it that she may be educated ? " 
 
 Here Lord Glenant entered, and interrupted 
 the Earl's meditations. 
 
 '^ Though poor, and of humble parentage, she 
 is, doubtless, well educated, Glenant.^' 
 ^^ She is not." 
 
 The Earl was convinced that he was right, 
 and that time would assuredly be wanted before 
 Glenant could venture to bring the matter before 
 him formally. The old have great faith in the 
 effect of time. Give us time on our side, they 
 say to themselves, and we can do anything. 
 
 Another idea now struck the Earl. Perhaps 
 Glenant might be refused ; perhaps this impor- 
 tant preliminary of acceptance had not been 
 settled. He would find out that.
 
 174 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 " I suppose, Glenant, you are sure that the 
 young lady" (Glenant could hardly help smiling 
 at the words " the young lady") " reciprocates 
 your affection. You are sure of that ?" 
 
 ^' No, sir ; would that I were ! " 
 
 Lord Lochawe felt no further hesitation. '' I 
 will agree to the bargain," he said, " Glenant. I 
 will not interrupt your happiness in any way. 
 And to show you how thoroughly I mean that 
 we should both abide by it, I will request you 
 at once to enter into official harness, and to be an 
 assistant private secretary to your father. You 
 must, in that capacity, read and annotate these 
 pamphlets on the Irish Church Question, which 
 I foresee will soon be the great question of the 
 day. I should wish you also to read the Straf- 
 ford Correspondence. Here is the volume which 
 I should wish you first to master. You will 
 come every morning at eleven o'clock and receive 
 my orders." 
 
 Lord Glenant, who was very affectionate and 
 very childish in some of his ways, put his arms 
 round his father's neck (he was standing behind
 
 LORD LOCHAWE PERPLEXED. 175 
 
 his father's chair) and pressed the Earl affection- 
 ately. The Earl felt the tears rise to his eyes, 
 but he merely placed his hands upon his son^s, 
 " It is a bargain to be faithfully kept, my dear 
 boy, by both of us — a somewhat severe bargain 
 for me, Glenant/^ 
 
 '^ Not so, my dear father, when you shall come 
 to know her/^ Hereupon Lord Glenant left the 
 room, fearing lest, if he stayed, any further con- 
 ditions should be named. And the Earl resumed 
 his work. 
 
 Perhaps there never was a stranger interview 
 between a father and a son ; but a vein of 
 eccentricity ran through the Lochawes, and was 
 perhaps the cause of their greatness in the 
 world, at any rate, of that of their ancestors. 
 
 The founders of great families are generally 
 eccentric personages.
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 EUTH'S SELF-SACEIFICE. 
 
 ^^^^^^ HERE are two things wliich surprise 
 me/^ said Goetlie^ ^^ the immensity of 
 
 the Universe of Stars, and the sense 
 of right and wrong in Man/^ There is a thing 
 which has always surprised me much more ; and 
 that is, the power of endurance in man and 
 woman — the immense capacity for bearing con- 
 tinuously, and for a long period, the most vast and 
 complicated misery. Think, too, what a delicate 
 creature, both in body and in mind, even the 
 roughest of the species is — and then, moreover, 
 what the most refined have often had to go 
 through. Picture to yourself the martyr for reli- 
 gious opinions, lying crushed and maimed in some 
 wretched dungeon, waiting for the next inquiry
 
 BUTE'S SELF-SACRIFICE. 177 
 
 into his religious faith^ and resolving amidst all 
 his misery^ not to abandon his cherished opinion 
 about matters which he could not possibly under- 
 stand. You hear people say, in these compara- 
 tively soft and degenerate days, ^' I could not 
 have borne this : I could not have been a martyr." 
 But they are mistaken, they could and would 
 bear all that their ancestors have borne. 
 
 Then think of the man who is suffering from 
 remorse, and yet has to go through life with an 
 apparently unruffled front, and to behave himself 
 just like other men. 
 
 The sufferings that Ruth Sumner endured at 
 this time were not light ; and it was the sense 
 of those sufferings which made me think of the 
 sufferings of mankind in general. 
 
 After Euth had gone through her memorable 
 interview with Maggie at the bedside of Casimir, 
 it came upon her by reflection that there must be 
 some great mistake about the supposed relation 
 of Maggie to Casimir. Euth said to herself, the 
 girl cannot seem so innocent, and yet be so wicked. 
 Besides, Euth knew well, though Casimir had not 
 
 I. N
 
 178 CA8IMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 said a word of love to her^ that lie was disposed 
 to be enamoured of herself. 
 
 The whole affair was soon cleared up when 
 Lord Glenant came to assist,, as joint-nurse with 
 Maggie^ at the bedside of the sufferer. The true 
 state of affairs was told to Lord Lochawe, to 
 Maggie^ and to the family. Lady Alice was the 
 only person who still blamed Casimir. Ruth 
 could almost have been contented not to have 
 been undeceived. She could better have borne 
 to think of Casimir as unworthy of her love^ than 
 to have known that he was as worthy of it as 
 ever ; to have been aware, for now she fully knew 
 her own heart, that she loved him devotedly ; and 
 to be compelled by stern duty to suppress that 
 love, both in him and her, for the sake of his 
 future fortunes. Ruth said to herself, ''^AU is 
 altered now. The ruin of his father makes it 
 necessary, for his great purposes, that he should 
 attain a fortune in marriage. And he must marry 
 Alice. Her whole mind was set upon this pro- 
 ject. She must disgust him with herself (this 
 was the most cruel part of her project). She must
 
 BUTE'S SELF'SACBIFIGE, 179 
 
 make Alice attractive to him ; and must reinstate 
 him in Alice^s favour. 
 
 I suppose it has occurred to most persons,, when 
 hearing of any great action^ to think whether they 
 could do a similar thing themselves. You ask 
 yourself^ could you give up Empire^ as Constantino 
 did to Nicholas, and be the subject, where you 
 might have been the sovereign ? You think you 
 could ; and I agree with you. 
 
 You ask yourself could you give up reputa- 
 tion — that is, do a thing of much worth and 
 merit, and let any one else get the credit for it ? 
 You think you could ; and I agree with you. 
 
 You ask yourself, could you give up an 
 opinion — a cherished opinion — for the sake of con- 
 joint action with a political party, or from a re- 
 spect and belief in a greater mind than your own ? 
 You think you could ; and I agree with you. 
 
 But to give up one^s lover — we all hesitate 
 about that. There is but little compensation to 
 reward one for such an act of self-sacrifice. 
 There is no sense of grandeur to sustain one ; no 
 pity, no admiration, to be had ; and vanity, the
 
 180 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 kindest and the most surely present of all con- 
 solers^ fails to soothe one in this extremity. 
 
 And yet there are many persons who have 
 done this great thing ; and now Ruth was to do 
 it — and not only to give up passively^ but ac- 
 tively to lead herself to the altar of sacrifice, and 
 to be both priest and victim. 
 
 Depend upon it, this is the most unbounded 
 form of heroic self-denial that is ever practised 
 in the world. 
 
 Count Casimir, though he had not yet re- 
 covered his eyesight, was sufficiently cured of the 
 injuries he had received, to leave his room, and 
 to become again a welcome visitor at the house 
 of Lord Lochawe. The old Earl was more than 
 ever fond of him, and attentive to him, being 
 anxious to compensate for the unkindness which 
 he had shown him, and the injustice which he 
 had done him, when under the influence of 
 injurious suspicion. Lady Alice, on the other 
 hand, was rather cold ; and, though sometimes 
 giving way to pity, had an injured air. Ruth 
 felt that it was not sufficient for her to be cold
 
 BUTE'S 8ELF-8AGBIFICE. 181 
 
 and repulsive, but that she must contrive to 
 imbue the young Count with a mean opinion of 
 herself. She accordingly took up the line of 
 being a dependant whose sole aim it was to gain 
 something from the relatives with whom she lived. 
 She even went so far, though her soul revolted 
 at the deceit, as to intimate to him, when she 
 was alone with him, that she looked forward 
 when she should marry, to some gratification for 
 the services which she had rendered to Lord 
 Lochawe. 
 
 But one of the most remarkable things in love 
 is, that, after the love has been once well set, as 
 it were, it is very difficult, by any amount of 
 malfaisance, to uproot the love. Everything that 
 is said or done by the beloved person is seen 
 through a softening haze of affection which de- 
 stroys or veils the sharp and unpleasant outlines 
 of the object looked at. 
 
 The young Count thought that it was rather 
 base in Ruth to look for reward for her services 
 to her kinsman, the Earl, or rather that it would 
 have been base in any other person ; but was not
 
 182 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 so in her wlio had been a dependant from her 
 earliest years. Indeed it was^ perhaps, a merit, 
 showing the practical nature of her mind, and 
 convincing* him what a useful person she would 
 be as a partner in any practical enterprise. For 
 he was more bent than ever upon his great scheme 
 of emigration to South America. 
 
 This plan, therefore, of Ruth^s failed ; but she 
 had other arrows in her quiver. She began to 
 show him how set she was upon making a good 
 marriage — that is, a worldly marriage. This had 
 more effect ; but not all the effect she could have 
 wished. ,. 
 
 It has been mentioned that Ruth was a great 
 musician. Now, the only thing that ever diverted 
 Count Casimir from his laborious and anxious 
 thoughts, was music. The fond girl, though she 
 had formerly delighted in playing to him, resolved 
 to prevent herself from doing so for the future. 
 One night after she had, in vain, used her utmost 
 efforts to disgust him with her views of life, she 
 was in her bedroom meditating what could next 
 be done to diminish his affection for her, and to 
 turn his affection towards his cousin. Lady Alice.
 
 BUTE'S SELF-SACRIFICE. 183 
 
 She resolved to prevent herself from being able 
 to play to him for the future. She struck 
 her arm violently against a marble table^ and 
 gave herself so severe an injury that it really 
 was impossible for her to play to him for some 
 time. 
 
 The next day he happened to bring a piece of 
 music which he had composed during his weary 
 hours in bed at his lodgings^ and which_, with the 
 aid of Lord Glenant^ whose chief knowledge was 
 musical,, he had contrived to set down in writing. 
 The two girls were together in Lady Alice^s 
 boudoir when Count Casimir was led into it. 
 With all the modesty, yet with all the anxiety^ 
 of a young author, he began to tell them of the 
 "poor thing ^' which he had composed; and he 
 asked Ruth to condescend to try it. She, of 
 course, pleaded her inability, having, as she said, 
 stupidly injured her wrist the preceding evening, 
 and showing AHce the injury. He then asked 
 Lady Alice. 
 
 Lady Alice, though reluctantly, was about to 
 make the attempt when Euth darted from the 
 other end of the room, snatched the music out
 
 184 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 of her hand, and said, most emphatically, "No, 
 you shall not play it, Alice." It would be more 
 than the poor girl could bear, to hear her rival 
 play that which it would have been such a delight 
 to her to render. 
 
 For a moment she stood aghast, thinking how 
 absurd her conduct must appear, and how utterly 
 she must have betrayed her feelings; but her 
 good genius came to her aid. Women are seldom 
 so utterly lost from want of tact as men. She 
 burst into a loud laugh, of which her companions 
 did not perceive the falseness, and then said, 
 " You must not minister to his vanity, dear Alice ; 
 with your fine playing you will almost convince 
 our cousin that he is a Beethoven, or a Mozart. 
 Whereas, it is, I see, but a parody upon a well- 
 known melody." 
 
 Here, falsifying the music, she hummed some- 
 thing which much resembled a well-known air. 
 " What would Lord Lochawe say," she ex- 
 claimed, "if he knew that our serious cousin, 
 instead of studying Blue books, gave his time to 
 mere imitations of this kind. Don^t think it 
 unkind of me, Casimir, that I try to repress your
 
 BUTE'S SELF-SACBIFIOE, 185 
 
 nascent genius." Here she spoke most sneer- 
 ingly. 
 
 But the young Count did think it most un- 
 kind; and for the first time_, for some months, 
 his love for Ruth Sumner began to falter. 
 
 " If she thought it, she need not have said it," 
 he exclaimed to himself. 
 
 Lady Alice, on the contrary, feeling keenly 
 for her cousin, for she was a most kind-hearted 
 person, maintained that the melody was a most 
 original melody, and persevered in playing it, 
 notwithstanding Ruth^s disparaging comments 
 while the music was going on. 
 
 Count Casimir was led away, half-disenchanted 
 from his former love ; while Ruth, having received 
 a severe scolding from her cousin Alice, for her 
 unkindness, went to her own room to indulge in 
 an agony of grief. 
 
 And this was the first breach of love between 
 a young man and a young woman who were made 
 for one another, and whom prosperity, a far more 
 dangerous disseverer than adversity, would never 
 have dissevered.
 
 Chaptee XVIII. 
 THE OLD COUNT'S DANGEE. 
 
 HERE is no relationsliip so variable 
 in its intensity as that of father and 
 son^ especially as regards the feeling 
 of the son towards the father. Sometimes this 
 feeling is absolutely one of dislike,, sometimes of 
 indifference, sometimes of respectful affectionate- 
 nesSj and sometimes of passionate devotion. A 
 father^s position is very difficult: at the same 
 time it is one which has great advantages. It may 
 be observed that a boy, or a youth, is exceedingly 
 devoted to the first grown-up man who takes him 
 in hand, as it were, and treats him as one who is 
 about to enter into his own class — the class of 
 men. Sometimes this is done by an elder brother, 
 by an elder school-boy, or by a young uncle ;
 
 TEE OLD COUNT'S DANGER. 187 
 
 but it comes with especial graciousness and plea- 
 santness when it is done by a father. Such 
 judicious kindness is never forgotten. 
 
 Now the relation between Casimir and his father 
 had always been of the most intimate and affec- 
 tionate kind. The old Count had been playmate, 
 and friend, — part tutor, and whole confidant, — 
 of his son. The danger which now threatened 
 his father sat upon Count Casimir as a nightmare. 
 The passionate desire which the young man had 
 to be with his father at the present juncture, and 
 to aid in his escape, greatly retarded his own 
 recovery. The skilful surgeon who had attended 
 Casimir from the first, now told Lord Lochawe 
 that he could do no more for Count Casimir ; that 
 his skill was baffled; and that the state of the 
 young man's mind rendered him, the surgeon, 
 almost despondent about the young man^s ultimate 
 recovery of eyesight. 
 
 Ruth Sumner did not immediately know this ; 
 or, notwithstanding her determined purpose to 
 make herself unloved by Casimir, she could 
 hardly have had the heart to do what she did.
 
 188 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 She resolved to clench the disgust and disappro- 
 bation which she perceived were beginning to 
 come over Casimir's mind with regard to herself, 
 by speaking lightly of his father's troubles, and 
 especially by blaming, in a hard and unsympa- 
 thetic way, the error which the old Count had 
 committed in giving needless offence to his 
 government. It is probable that nothing else 
 could have succeeded in alienating her lover. 
 But, by doing this, she attained a certain success. 
 And when she saw that she was to some extent 
 successful, her anguish was very great. We 
 often do or say things, doing them with all our 
 might, or saying them with all sincerity and 
 earnestness, which, after all, we have a secret 
 hope — a hope that we hardly allow ourselves to 
 recognise — will not be successful. We take a 
 part against ourselves manfully, or as I might 
 say in this case, womanfully ; but, all the time, 
 we have a distant hope that our generosity may 
 not be taken in serious part against ourselves. 
 
 Such is the pleasure which surgeons, happily 
 for us, take in skilful operations that one can
 
 TEE OLD COUNT'S DANGER. 189 
 
 imagine (if such a thing were possible) that a 
 surgeon^ operating upon himself, might so enjoy 
 the skill as to be unperceptive of, or indijfferent 
 to, the agony. But_, in such cases as I have just 
 been describing, the generous man or woman is 
 but little consoled by the skill exhibited by him- 
 self, or herself, as the operator, for the pain endured 
 in the operation. 
 
 Moreover, Ruth^s success in this instance, was 
 only partial. She succeeded in partially aliena- 
 ting her lover from herself : she did not succeed in 
 deepening his affection for his cousin, Lady Alice. 
 And, as before intimated. Lady Alice regarded 
 Casimir less favourably than she had ever done. 
 The truth is, that, though very amiable and 
 affectionate, she was a somewhat jealous young 
 lady. She had been accustomed to undivided 
 sway. This little episode of Maggie^s flight to 
 Count Casimir^s protection, though now perfectly 
 understood by Ruth, by Lord Lochawe, by Lord 
 Glenant, and by Mr. Thurston, was not under- 
 stood by, and was not satisfactory to. Cousin 
 Alice.
 
 190 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 Then, too, Casimir was not like his former 
 self. His Sclavonian politeness and courtesy 
 had been a little rubbed off by misfortune. 
 Now he was often peevish, sometimes exacting, 
 almost always discontented. His mortification 
 was very great at finding how unsuccessful he 
 had been in his attempt to fraternize with work- 
 ing-people. Even Maggie's devotion to him was 
 not altogether pleasant, and he felt the ridicule of 
 it. Then there was ever in his mind his distress 
 about his father. He could not aid that dear 
 father in the extremity of his peril. This enforced 
 inactivity preyed upon Casimir's mind. Lastly, 
 came his disappointment about Ruth. He began 
 to be very bitter and cynical. He even put down 
 Lord Lochawe, who bore with the young man's 
 fretfulness with a degree of gentleness and pa- 
 tience that astonished all his family. As for Lord 
 Glenant, Casimir was most intolerant to him, 
 and was angry that his intolerance met with no 
 response from the young Lord. The young 
 Count even sneered at Mr. Thurston's theories : 
 and when in company with the girls, he took no
 
 TEE OLD COUNT'S DANGER. 191 
 
 pains to disguise his cynical displeasure witli all 
 earthly things and people. In short, I am sorry 
 to say, that my hero, at this time, was eminently 
 disagreeable. 
 
 Euth loved him the more for all this. It was 
 like balm in Gilead to her soul to think that 
 some part of this misery of Count Casimir, so 
 openly displayed, was owing* to her tacit rejection 
 of him. The more cross and more unreasonable 
 he was, the more she loved him. When he came 
 to see them in Lady Alice^s boudoir, it was 
 always darkened. Lady Alice looked upon these 
 visits as so much penance. She bore with him 
 most affectionately, most kindly, in a most sis- 
 terly manner : but everything like love for him 
 was vanishing from her heart. To Ruth, on 
 the contrary, these visits amidst darkness were, 
 in a certain sense, delightful. She could hover 
 about him and be near him, comparatively un- 
 perceived. She could pay him a thousand at- 
 tentions without betraying her affection. She 
 could cry in pity for him without her tears being 
 known to him or to any other person. In a word.
 
 192 GA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 she could indulge in all tlie intensity of her love ; 
 and yet_, merely by the coldness of her words, 
 and the harsh intonations of her voice (for the 
 voice is a thing which one can control) maintain 
 the deception fully. 
 
 They were sitting, one afternoon, in the 
 darkened room ; and Casimir had brought them 
 a letter to read which gave sure intelligence 
 about his father. It was with a feeling of in- 
 finite regret, and yet, with a due fulfilment of her 
 purpose, that Ruth took care that the reading of 
 this letter should be entrusted to Lady Alice. 
 Ruth herself would have given worlds to read it, 
 in order that she might have modified it in the 
 reading, and broken to some extent, the sadness 
 of the contents which she supposed it to contain. 
 But the intelligence, though of a very critical 
 kind, was not sad. It appeared that the old 
 Count and his companions had reached in safety 
 a small town near the Russian frontier. There, 
 for the present they must stay disguised, imtil 
 some means could be devised for prosecuting 
 their further journey. How they were to obtain
 
 THE OLD COUNT'S BANGEE. 193 
 
 passports^ how they were to traverse that vast 
 empire of Russia^ were questions of the utmost 
 difficulty. The greatest skill and the greatest 
 inj&uence would be required. It was mentioned 
 that the old Count was in a most desponding 
 state of mind^ and was even inclined to return 
 home and give himself up to the Authorities. 
 The letter had been written by the doctor of 
 the town, who had been called in to attend the old 
 Count, who was suffering much from the hurried 
 journey. Doctors are the confessors of modern 
 times, at least to the Protestant part of the popu- 
 lation of the world : and the good man had, as 
 was manifest from certain expressions in the 
 letter, run the greatest risk from his befriending 
 the fugitives ; and, indeed, this letter was not 
 written without great hazard of his compromising 
 himself with his Government. 
 
 One ray of hope he held out. He wished the 
 Count's son and his friends in England to be 
 assured that he would not suffer the Count to re- 
 turn to his own estate ; but would, by some 
 device, medical or otherwise, contrive to keep 
 
 I.
 
 194 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 him and the other fugitives there, until he should 
 hear from these fiiends in England. 
 
 The reading of the conclusion of the letter 
 was interrupted by the sobbing of the young 
 Count. He had always prided himself upon his 
 stoical nature, and had boasted that though only 
 half an Englishman by birth, he was more 
 English than the English, and that no emotion 
 could conquer him. But, now, he fairly broke 
 down. He rose from his chair, and walked about 
 the room, with long strides, exclaiming, " My 
 father, my dear father : good God ! that your son 
 should not be with you at such a time ! ISTot one 
 word from me to comfort you; from me, who 
 would die for you." 
 
 In his impetuous movements he had dashed 
 his head against the frame of a picture that hung 
 low down. 
 
 Whose hand was it that took hold of his ; 
 whose hand was it that led him in silence to his 
 chair ; who was it that stood behind him, gently 
 stroking his forehead, and who was it that, in the 
 darkness, leaned fondly over him, and seemed as 
 if she would kiss him ?
 
 TEE OLD COUNT'S BANGER. 195 
 
 Need we say that it was Ruth ? and need we 
 say what a pang it added to her misery, that, 
 while he pressed her hand, and afterwards raised 
 it to his lips, he should say, " Dear Alice, how 
 kind of you ! I shall never forget your kind- 
 ness : 
 
 Lord Lochawe was sent for from his study; 
 and Lord Glenant came with him, for the young 
 man was now a most dutiful and zealous private 
 secretary ; and, with great pains, accompanied by 
 the utterance of many words that would be fineable 
 if uttered in the hearing of a magistrate, had 
 mastered the contents of three Blue Books. He 
 was in the highest favour with his father, who, as 
 he told his political friends, thought now that he 
 should '' make a man of Glenant." 
 
 The letter was read again, interrupted by many 
 sighs and groans from poor Casimir. Lord Loch- 
 awe was, in his way, equal to the occasion. He 
 proposed to go instantly to his particular friend, 
 the Secretary for Foreign Affairs. He would 
 take Glenant with him. Nothing now was to be 
 done by the Earl without his son being brought
 
 196 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 into it. But the good Earl was destined to find 
 that affairs would take a very different turn from 
 that which he had at first supposed. 
 
 For a minute or two^ there was silence ; and 
 nobody ventured to reply to the Earl. At length 
 a voice, broken by emotion, was heard to say, 
 "If you would let me, I would go to Count 
 Maremma. You know. Lord Lochawe, you 
 always allowed me to manage in the journeys 
 we have taken. Besides, the Count is ill, and it 
 is a woman who should go to take care of him." 
 
 " What, you, Euth ! absurd, impossible ; I 
 wonder what the girl can be thinking of ! " 
 
 It may be imagined the astonishment with 
 which Count Casimir heard Euth — cold, hard, 
 wise Ruth — who loved him not, make this extra- 
 ordinary proposition. Still he thought it was 
 not love, but only that judicious, regulated bene- 
 volence which Ruth showed to every human 
 being, and, indeed, to every animal. Notwith- 
 standing this involuntary depreciation of her 
 motives, Casimir was infinitely touched by her 
 kindness. " Ruth," he said, " come here." He
 
 THE OLD COUNT'S BANGER. 197 
 
 seized her hand, and raised it to his lips, and the 
 strange thought came over him that this was a 
 hand which he had already kissed that day. 
 
 Lord Glenant now spoke. '' My dear father/' 
 he said, ^'^Euth is right. Euth is always right. 
 Euth must go, and I must go too ; and I will be 
 her squire. Euth knows that I will take every 
 care of her. We will both go ; and we will bring 
 back your old friend. Count Maremma.^' 
 
 Lord Glenant, as my readers must have per- 
 ceived, was a most generous man. There are 
 few rejected lovers who like to forward the love 
 of their former loves ; but Lord Glenant, under- 
 standing the whole affair better than either of the 
 lovers, appreciated the devotion of the girl, and 
 determined to do what he could, to assist Euth in 
 her generous resolve. 
 
 Casimir said nothing. He was almost bereft 
 of speech by the kindness of the young man 
 whom he had never fully appreciated, and of the 
 young woman who, he thought, did not love 
 him. 
 
 As for Lord Lochawe, he was easily per-
 
 198 CA8IMIR MAREMMA. 
 
 suaded by the entreaties of his family, and by his 
 love for Casimir_, to consent to the plan. The 
 good Earl's only comfort was that he would take 
 his son with him to the Foreign Secretary ; would 
 have an opportunity of showing what a first- 
 rate man of business the young man was ; and, 
 in consenting to this arrangement, he felt that 
 he would be employing Glenant in an enterprise 
 that would be sure to redound to his credit. 
 
 The family conclave was broken up, the neces- 
 sary determination having been taken. Lord 
 Lochawe was not a man to recede from his word, 
 when he had once given it, whatever that word 
 might cost him.
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 PEEPAEATIONS FOR THE JOUENEY. 
 
 iHAT a man he must have been who 
 invented whist ? What a knowledge 
 of life he must have had ! The man, 
 too, who invented chess must have been a great 
 man. But he knew, comparatively speaking, much 
 less of life than his brother inventor. He made 
 all his pieces range in due subordination, and 
 never varied the power which he had once given 
 to them. He was, no doubt, a first-rate man of 
 business ; but the inventor of whist was a man 
 of genius, for he invented trumps, and saw that 
 there were occasions when a small two or three in 
 one suit would be superior to a King or Queen in 
 another. That is the case in human Hfe ; and good 
 illustrations of it may be found every day.
 
 200 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 It was quite true^ for instance, as Ruth had 
 said, that during their foreign travel, not unas- 
 sisted by potent introductions, by couriers, and 
 all the aids that wealth and power can give, she 
 had always been allowed to be the guiding mind 
 of the expeditions of the Lochawe family. And 
 even now, in the new regions they were going 
 to penetrate, under circumstances of great diffi- 
 culty and danger, Ruth was felt by Lord Glenant 
 and even by Lord Lochawe to be the ruling 
 mind. So much so, indeed, that even to the 
 latter, a master of the proprieties, it never 
 occurred that there was something startling in 
 the fact of a young woman and a young man, not 
 brother and sister, undertaking this journey 
 together. Lord Lochawe, of course, knew 
 nothing about his son^s suit to Ruth, and its ill 
 success. 
 
 The family council having broken up, as nar- 
 rated in the preceding chapter, the girls were left 
 alone together. 
 
 " Be kind to Casimir, be very kind to him," 
 said Ruth, " when I am gone. I know it is not
 
 FEEPABATIONS FOR THE JOUBKEY. 201 
 
 always easy for you to bear with him : he is 
 dispirited, he is soured,, he is almost broken- 
 hearted/^ 
 
 " My dearest Euth, you know I will be kind 
 to him; I will bear everything, even when he 
 speaks of us women, as he has the habit of doing 
 now, as the lowest creatures in creation. I can^t 
 think what makes him so especially bitter against 
 women. Perhaps he is disappointed at that poor 
 creature, that Maggie, not being in love with 
 him, for Glenant tells me she is not, and that she 
 never was.^^ 
 
 " How can you talk in this way, AHce ? " 
 
 '' It is rather a shame on my part, for he was 
 wonderfully gracious to me just now, only it was 
 an entire mistake, for it was you, Ruth, who led 
 him to his chair.^' 
 
 '^ Pray, my dear Alice, as you love me, never 
 let him know that. I am sure that he has the 
 greatest admiration for you." 
 
 "Possibly admiration, but nothing more. And 
 now, Ruth, let us be sincere. I do not love 
 Casimir ; you do. It is no good blushing ; blush-
 
 202 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 ing never contradicts anything. For some pur- 
 pose of your own^ or most probably for some pur- 
 pose of liis_, you have tried to make us love one 
 another. You generally succeed in managing 
 people ; but it is beyond your power to effect 
 this very undesirable arrangement. I am not so 
 blind but that I soon discovered that this excel- 
 lent device entered into your head at the moment 
 when you found that the Maremmas were pro- 
 bably a ruined family.^' 
 
 ^' You are very clever, Alice,, and in your indo- 
 lent way you see a great deal of everything that 
 comes within your ken." 
 
 " My dear Ruth, we are sisters, and even more 
 to one another than many sisters are. My father 
 loves this young man ; I, too, like him greatly, 
 but I love you ; let us partake my mother's for- 
 tune, and do not let us have any more schemes 
 for making people love one another who have no 
 real vocation that way. What could I be to this 
 man ? only a clog and a hindrance, for I do not 
 partake his enthusiasms — you do. Now I am not 
 asking you to be honest without being honest
 
 PBEPABATIONS FOB TEE JOUBNEY. 203 
 
 myself. I like tliat not very bright, but very- 
 good, very faithful, very true Charles Ashurst, 
 better than your sublime young Count. I am 
 not sure that I am great enough to be content to 
 partake the love of a man for me, with his love 
 for a theory or an idea. I should be jealous of 
 the theory or the idea ; you never would. We 
 need say no more upon this subject, dearest Euth, 
 for we must now go to business, as you and my 
 father would say, and think of the preparations 
 for your journey. Oh, Pve a great deal of my 
 father in me, only it does not come out every 
 day." 
 
 Ruth felt that her plan, as regards Casimir and 
 AKce, was utterly disconcerted, and she did- not 
 a little rejoice that she could now indulge her 
 love for Casimir and his for her, without this 
 indulgence proving ruin to him. She rose, and, 
 putting her arm round Lady Alice^s waist, said, 
 ^^But you will not tell him, dear, that it was I who 
 led him to his chair just now. We maidens 
 should be true to one another, and not let these 
 absurd men know their power over us.''
 
 204 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 " I will do my best, Eutli_, but we Locliawes 
 have no especial gift for saying what is false ; and 
 if lie should ask me the question plainly and 
 directly, I am afraid I must tell him that Ruth 
 loves him and that Alice does not." 
 
 Before the day of departure Casimir and Ruth 
 had much talk together; not, however, of a 
 loving, but of a business-like character. Casimir 
 still thought that what she was about to do for 
 him was to be attributed chiefly to motives of 
 pity. Strange to say, however, he did not feel 
 any painful sense of obligation to Ruth. It was 
 pity, he said to himself; it was love of adven- 
 ture; it was love of management that induced 
 her to undertake this arduous enterprise. It 
 could not have been Ruth who led him to his 
 chair and bent so fondly over him. AHce, in her 
 indolent way, was always kind, always gracious. 
 Casimir had many warnings, many instructions 
 to give to Ruth respecting her enterprise. He 
 had implored to be allowed to accompany Glenant 
 and herself, but had ceded the point when they 
 told him, as they were obliged to tell him, that
 
 PBEPABATIONS FOB THE JOURNEY. 205 
 
 it would only be an additional embarrassment^ an 
 additional difficulty, to carry an almost sightless 
 man with tbem. He therefore bent bis mind to 
 the consideration of the difficulties that would 
 beset them in their enterprise. ^^ Have you ever/' 
 he once said to Euth, " watched an insect at a 
 closed window endeavouring to escape into the 
 open air ? The poor thing sees nothing between 
 it and that open air, and must be greatly asto- 
 nished at finding hindrance everywhere. I feel 
 so much even for wasps in this position, that I 
 always come to their aid. That is what will 
 happen to you, I fear, in the countries you will 
 have to traverse. Your movement onwards will 
 appear so easy, and yet will actually prove to be 
 so difficult — that is, if there should be in the minds 
 of the authorities the slightest suspicion of any 
 purpose on your part unknown to them." Here 
 he went into all manner of details, making nu- 
 merous suggestions with which we need not 
 trouble the reader. Meanwhile, however, even 
 during the short interval which elapsed while their 
 preparations for the journey were being made,
 
 206 CASIMIB MABEMMA 
 
 Casimir's health began to improve, for he felt 
 that he was doing something to aid in his father^s 
 rescue. So closely is the mind connected with 
 the body that, as a humourist of the present day 
 is wont to observe, if physicians were men of great 
 power and wealth, and could afford to confer ma- 
 terial benefits upon their patients — to fee them, 
 for instance, instead of receiving fees from them 
 — they would effect a great many more cures 
 even than they do now. And this humourist, 
 with a delicate perception of human frailties, is 
 wont to add that it would be the diseases of the 
 rich which would be chiefly cured if the physician 
 were to pay the fee instead of the patient. 
 
 Lord Glenant was, perhaps, more to be pitied 
 than anybody else, as regards the arrangement 
 that was made for the journey. For he had to 
 leave Maggie. It had been agreed between 
 Mr. Thurston and Glenant, even before Glenant^s 
 remarkable conversation with his father, that 
 Maggie should be educated, and that Mr. Thurs- 
 ton should undertake the task of her education. 
 Never was anybody more happy than Mr. Thurs-
 
 PBEPABATIOJSrS FOB THE JOTJBNEY. 207 
 
 ton at such a task being assigned to him. It 
 would give ample scope for bringing into action 
 some of his many theories about education. 
 Besides, he perceived more clearly than any of 
 them that Maggie^s was a remarkable character. 
 Amongst other things she was very devout ; and 
 Thurston, a man of many religions, spent much 
 time in considering how she should be instructed 
 in all knowledge, and live with comparative 
 heathens Hke himself, without being disturbed in 
 her rehgion. 
 
 A person who has not made much fiugre in 
 this tale, and who, indeed, was not calculated to 
 make much figure anywhere, was the one who 
 at first profited most by these new arrangements. 
 This was Charles Ashurst. A better fellow never 
 lived, a better specimen of a downright, honest, 
 faithful Englishman. He was at once made cog- 
 nizant of all their plans ; and there was a smile 
 upon all their faces, even upon Lord Lochawe^s, 
 when Ashurst proposed to go with Lord Glenant 
 and Euth to Eussia. They all felt that this 
 simple-minded man would be much out of place
 
 208 CASIMin M ABE MM A. 
 
 in such an expedition. His next overture,, of 
 wliicli he naturally pressed the acceptance with 
 much more earnestness, and which also brought 
 smiles upon some of their faces, and especially 
 upon Lady Alice^s, was that, during Lord 
 Glenant and Ruth's absence, he should take their 
 places with Lord Lochawe. 
 
 The Earl, with his usual good nature, assented 
 to this arrangement, though he was quite alive to 
 the full absurdity of this somewhat common- 
 place young man endeavouring to be a substitute 
 for two such clever people as Glenant and Ruth 
 Sumner. They all, however, underrated Ashurst. 
 
 The witty Lady Alice said afterwards to Ruth, 
 " Jacob, my dear, served many years for Rachel ; 
 but then you see he understood kine, and poor 
 Charles would be better suited for Jacob's place 
 than for that of private secretary, both mas- 
 culine and feminine, to our good father. I see 
 that I shall have to become a woman of business 
 in your absence, for I shall have a great deal 
 of Charles Ashurst's work to do. Indeed, dear 
 Ruth, I am not sure that I am not a greater
 
 PBEPABATIONS FOB THE JOURNEY. 209 
 
 heroine than you are. The stay-at-home heroines 
 have often harder work upon their* hands than 
 the gad-about ones. I shall have to keep 
 Casimir in good humour (no easy task just now) , 
 and my father in good humour ; and I shall have 
 Charles Ashurst's stupidity to turn into clever- 
 ness; and, in fact_, there will not be a busier 
 mortal than I shall be during your absence : and 
 I don^t like work, as you know, dear. Think 
 of me sometimes, and don^t expect many letters 
 from me. Don^tlook so unhappy. Yes, yes, I will 
 write and tell you all about your dear Casimir.''^
 
 Chapter XX. 
 RUTH m A NEW CHARACTEE. 
 
 EFORE, however,, Lord Glenant and 
 Rutli Sumner could commence their 
 journey they had much to think of 
 and much to prepare. The chief part of the 
 thinking was done by Euth Sumner^ while Lord 
 Glenant busied himself in the material prepara- 
 tions for the journey. Ruth^ quite unconscious 
 that she was doing what Julius Caesar would 
 have recommended her to do^ was imagining all 
 the adverse circumstances through which she 
 might have to pass, and thereby deserving some 
 of the praise which Caesar, in his " Commentaries/' 
 bestows upon one of his officers for having exer- 
 cised his imagination in a similar manner. 
 
 Ruth was well aware that any plan for the
 
 nUTB IN A NEW GEABAGTEE. 211 
 
 escape of the old Count and his companions 
 must be devised by her. She knew that the 
 Lochawes, though endowed with many gifts, 
 were somewhat deficient in imagination. Her 
 own imaginative power had come, strange to 
 say, from her father, the dissenting minister. 
 The old Earl had none of that useful commodity. 
 Had he possessed any of it, he would not have 
 been merely a second-rate politician ; but, with 
 his knowledge, industry, devotedness to the pub- 
 lic service, and power of speaking, would have 
 been one of the leading statesmen of the day. 
 Ruth Sumner had not been Lord Glenant^s 
 " little mother,^^ when they were boy and girl to- 
 gether, without having thoroughly mastered his 
 character. She knew that he was capable of 
 executing anything ; that he had great readiness, 
 great self-reliance, and much versatility, but that 
 he was as incapable as his father of foreseeing 
 difficulties, and devising the means of over- 
 coming them. The planning must rest with her. 
 When the time for action should come, Lord 
 Glenant must take the lead, for he was one of
 
 212 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 those persons who know not what it is to be 
 timid when they have a clear course of action 
 laid down for them. When that time should 
 come^ she would surrender the reins to him, and 
 would be perfectly dutiful and obedient to his 
 guidance. 
 
 To the astonishment of the whole household, 
 and to the bewilderment of Lord Lochawe, 
 Ruth Sumner employed most of the time which in- 
 tervened between the day when, in family con- 
 clave, it was resolved that she and Lord Glenant 
 should undertake this enterprise, and the day of 
 their departure, in devoting herself to singing. 
 The great Signer Ferrari was with her for several 
 hours every day; and her companion in these 
 musical exercises was Miss Danvers, a young 
 lady who had, almost suddenly, risen into great 
 reputation in the musical world, and for whose 
 services the managers of the principal theatres in 
 Europe were then contending. Between these 
 two girls, who had been fellow pupils in the 
 same singing class, there had long been a warm 
 and firm friendship, notwithstanding that they
 
 BUTE IN A NEW CBARAGTEB. 213 
 
 had been rivals in the class-room, having some- 
 what of the same quality of voice. 
 
 It did not, however, surprise the family that, 
 at this juncture, Ruth should attach herself so 
 closely to Miss Danvers, because there was a 
 strong ramour at this time, that the manager of 
 the Imperial Theatre at St. Petersburg had dis- 
 tanced his competitors, and had succeeded in 
 securing the services of Miss Danvers for his 
 theatre. It was natural, therefore, that Ruth 
 Sumner should be much with her friend, as they 
 were probably going to the same country, and 
 might be of mutual aid and comfort to one an- 
 other. But why should Ruth devote herself in 
 this way to taking lessons from Signor Ferrari ? 
 Everybody knew that she was a very fine singer, 
 for an amateur : and what did she want more ? 
 After she had done her best for the old Count and 
 his companions, was she going, ungrateful girl, to 
 remain in Russia, and make her reputation there 
 as a singer by playing in some opera with Miss 
 Danvers ? " Good heavens," said Lord Lochawe to 
 his son, when they talked over the matter, " Ruth
 
 214 CA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 is not going to play tlie fool in this way^ Glenant. 
 I have never ginidged her anything^ as you know, 
 I have ever looked upon her as a daughter : and 
 you have always treated her as an elder sister/^ 
 Here Lord Glenant winced a little,, recollecting 
 the love passages — one-sided love passages — 
 which had occurred between them. The Earl con- 
 tinued, " I have made no diflPerence in my will 
 between her and Alice : and should make none, 
 if either of them were to marry. Do you under- 
 stand it all, Glenant ? You young people under- 
 stand one another, I suppose." 
 
 Lord Glenant said that he did not understand 
 it, but that Ruth had always been a queer girl, 
 (< Very deep, you know, governor ; and never im- 
 parting her secrets to anybody. Perhaps she 
 thinks we shall all be sent to Siberia, and she in- 
 tends to comfort us by her singing on the 
 journey when we all are chained together. There 
 is no accounting for women, my dear father ; and, 
 if we were to try and understand all their vaga- 
 ries, we men should have nothing else to do, and 
 the earth would remain untiUed."
 
 nUTH IN A NEW CEABACTER. 215 
 
 " Ah, Glenant," said tlie old Earl^ sigliing, " I 
 wish you knew as little about them as I do. You 
 would be a much wiser and a much better man." 
 Lord Glenant hastened to get out of the room ; 
 for he did not like the turn which the conversa- 
 tion was taking. A man, who is really and 
 devotedly in love with one woman, is not fond, 
 at that time, of being talked of as a man of what 
 is called " gallantry." It shocks him to be talked 
 of in this way ; and, moreover, he has a fearful 
 feeling of what his true and only love might say, 
 if she were to overhear this light conversation. 
 And so the interview between the father and the 
 son ended. 
 
 Not one of the family, not even Lady Ahce, 
 ventured to make more than a passing remark to 
 Ruth about her present and, apparently, most in- 
 opportune mania for singing. Count Casimir 
 alone — for love is sometimes very farsighted, as 
 well as very bhnd — conjectured that there was a 
 deep meaning in Euth^s musical mania, and that 
 it closely concerned the principal object in view — 
 the rescue of his father. One day, when he had
 
 216 CASIMIB MAEEMMA. 
 
 been present at a lesson,, and after the Signor 
 and Miss Danvers had left, Ruth and Casimir 
 were alone. Casimir groped his way towards 
 her, and she seeing this, rose from the piano and 
 went to meet him, fearing lest he should hurt 
 himself. He took hold of her, unintentionally, by 
 the hand ; at which the poor loving girl shivered 
 and trembled, and manifested, as he thought, the 
 feeling of aversion which his unintentional famih- 
 arity had occasioned. But still he contrived to 
 keep hold of her hand, and he said, " Dear Huth, 
 I know this is all for my father. I do not under- 
 stand your plans, but I am sure that you have 
 plans. I am so much obliged to you. I know, 
 of course, that it is not for me — for my sake — but 
 from pity, and for the sake of the family, that you 
 do all you are now doing. But I shall ever be 
 most grateful to you." 
 
 Ruth disengaged herself from him. It was not 
 his gratitude that she wanted ; and she said, some- 
 what coldly, '^ When I undertake anything, Casi- 
 mir, I always try to go through with it as well as 
 I can. But Alice will be expecting you. I can^t
 
 BUTR IN A NEW CEABACTEB. 217 
 
 think wliy you stayed so long with us to-day, ex- 
 cept to mortify me by hstening to my blunders 
 and the Signor^s scoldings." Here Euth_, not 
 much given in general to mimicry, imitated the 
 severe Signor : '' It is all very well, Mees, but it 
 is not so very well as you do think : you do so 
 horry over that G, which should be sung sostenuto, 
 and zen you do make up for it by being so heavy 
 and so long over ze B in alto, wiz your mouse 
 open, juss so. She shall do it ; for, 'per Bacco, she 
 shall do it much better as you : but you are both 
 good little signoras and very much a credit to me." 
 
 Casimir could not but laugh; and was espe- 
 cially amused at seeing that the grave Ruth had 
 some of her cousin Glenant^s power of mimicry. 
 She then said, ^*^You must condescend to take 
 my arm, Casimir, and we will go to Alice's bou- 
 doir. I must leave you in her keeping ; for the 
 cares of packing sit heavily upon me, and still 
 more heavily upon Caroline, my maid." 
 
 Thus did these two, Ruth and Casimir, con- 
 trive, as many lovers have done before, most 
 dexterously to conceal each from the other the
 
 218 CA8IMIB MAREMMA. 
 
 love which consumed the hearts of both of them ; 
 and this concealment was not broken through 
 even when the time for parting came. 
 
 The parting also of Lord Glenant from Maggie 
 was not more felicitous than that of Casimir 
 from Ruth. It was very warm, and kind, and 
 affectionate, perhaps too affectionate to be loving ; 
 but Lord Glenant, with all his knowledge of the 
 world, did not perceive this. The truth is, that 
 Lord Glenant was the first man who had ever said 
 a word bordering upon love to poor Maggie. 
 She was much astonished at it, much troubled by 
 it, and, at the same time, very grateful for it ; 
 but there are huge gulfs and mighty barrancas, 
 as the Spaniards were wont to call the chasms 
 which they found in the New World, between 
 the feelings of gratitude^ always under due con- 
 trol, and the feehngs of uncontrollable love. 
 
 All was now ready ; and Ruth and Lord Glenant 
 — a strange pair of fellow-travellers — com- 
 menced their journey. 
 
 Of course Ruth had a female companion. This 
 was a middle-aged woman who had been Ruth^s
 
 RUTH IN A NEW GHABACTEB. 219 
 
 nurse, and nurseiy-governess, having originally 
 come from tlie Dissenting Minister's house to 
 Lord Lochawe's. The irreverent Lord Glenant 
 used to call her Muggletoniana, declaring that she 
 belonged to that sect which takes its name from 
 Muggleton_, its founder. She now did little 
 more than sometimes help her former pupil to 
 dress, or nurse her when she was unwell, for 
 Euth was a person who took but little care of 
 herself.
 
 Chaptee XXI. 
 THE NEW PEIVATE SEOEETAEY. 
 
 N order to maintain clearness in this 
 narrative it will be well to relate 
 wliat happened to some of tlie prin- 
 cipal personages wlio were left at liome while the 
 travellers^ Lord Glenant and Ruth^ pursued their 
 journey through Russia to the frontier town 
 where the old Count and his companions were 
 being detained by the friendly doctor. 
 
 It is a curious fact^ but it is^ I think, an un- 
 doubted fact_, that young women spell better 
 than young men^ and they also write better. 
 Certainly they write better letters. The femi- 
 nine mind does not require much material to go 
 upon ; whereas poor stupid man^ if he has nothing 
 to say^ can say nothing. It was_, doubtless, a
 
 TEE NEW PRIVATE SECBETABY. 221 
 
 woman who first invented tlie liorrible practice 
 of crossing letters ; and in the dread times of 
 old, before the days of Rowland Hill, there were 
 women who conld re-cross their letters, having, 
 moreover, nothing special to say. 
 
 Charles Ashurst entered upon his duties as 
 assistant private secretary. Of course Lord 
 Lochawe had an ofiicial secretary to whom he 
 entrusted his official business ; but the busy Earl, 
 or rather the business-making Earl, had more 
 work to do than could be entrusted to any one 
 private secretary. Charles Ashurst worked most 
 sedulously; but at first committed fearful blun- 
 ders, especially in the way of spelling. He 
 would write, when writing from dictation, the 
 word committee with one m. Worse still, he 
 would make the same error, when writing the 
 word communicate, a word so dear to official 
 personages, a word used many times in the day 
 by Lord Lochawe. It was in vain that Lord 
 Lochawe poohed, and pshawed, and pursed up 
 his mouth, and even went so far as to sigh, and 
 to say, '' Oh, dear !" Poor Charles Ashurst con-
 
 222 CA8IMIE MABEMMA. 
 
 tinned to make sad blunders. In the heavier 
 work, such as making a precis, he was much 
 better. The truth is, that Ashurst was not 
 at all a stupid man. He had gone through 
 Eton and Oxford creditably enough. These 
 errors in spelling were only made when he was 
 writing from dictation, and when he was in 
 terror of the Earl, who, though a most good- 
 natured man, was very rapid, and somewhat 
 irritable in business. Ashurst at college had 
 been a great boating man, a captain of one of 
 the boats, and it was the belief of the whole 
 crew, including the clever little coxswain, that 
 if Charlie Ashurst were to condescend to take 
 to reading he would cut out most of the reading 
 men of his college. 
 
 Most men are very like dogs — at least, the 
 best kind of men are ; and Ashurst certainly was 
 like a large, good-natured, faithful dog. Not a 
 Newfoundland, for that breed, though a very 
 loveable one, is yet, from some incompatibility 
 of our climate with their nature, sometimes un- 
 certain and capricious. Not a bull dog; for.
 
 TEE NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY. 223 
 
 witli all our esteem for him^ we cannot say that 
 Charles Ashurst had the depth of mind and soul 
 of a bulldog. He was more like a big^ fond, 
 faithful, mastiff. 
 
 Every day, his good qualities — his patience, 
 his endurance of correction, his devotion to her 
 father — endeared him more and more to Lady 
 Alice. In fact she became very much in love 
 with him. Then, again, his kindness and atten- 
 tion to Casimir, whom he supposed to be his 
 rival, his favoured rival, with whom it would be 
 presumptuous for him to compete, was very 
 pleasing to Lady Alice, who, with a woman^s 
 insight, knew all that Ashurst felt about the 
 matter. Casimir was still very feeble ; and 
 Ashurst would lift him up, and carry him about, 
 and, indeed, devote himself to him in every way. 
 Casimir, who, at this bitter period of his life, was 
 not inclined to speak too well of anybody, was 
 always praising Charlie Ashurst to Lady Alice. 
 
 Moreover, Ashurst was a great favourite with 
 Mr. Thurston. As this is a chapter devoted to 
 Charles Ashurst, the cause of Thurston^s regard
 
 224 CASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 for him may be told. While Casimir was very 
 ill in his lodgings, there had one day been a 
 party of his friends who sat in the room adjoin- 
 ing to his bedroom, and conversed in low tones. 
 The door was ajar ; and Casimir, whose hearing 
 was singularly acute, heard all that was said. 
 The conversation moved thereto by Lord Glenant, 
 turned upon this point — the weariness of life ; and 
 each one present stated the reasons why he would 
 not have his life over again. 
 
 Lord Glenant said that life was not so bad a 
 thing, if it were not for having to go to bed and 
 get up once in every twenty-four hours. 
 
 Then, Casimir's voice was heard to say that 
 he wouldn^t have life over again to be mixed up 
 with such fools as it had mostly been his fate to 
 meet with. They all smiled at the crossness of 
 the invalid. 
 
 Then Mr. Thurston said, that the question 
 was rather an irreverent one , that here we were 
 on this earth, sent by God; and it was hardly 
 right to talk of whether we would have hfe or 
 not, and what were the terms upon which we
 
 TEE NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY. 225 
 
 would have it. But, looking upon tlie whole 
 conversation as a mere mode of enabling each 
 man to express what he had suffered most from 
 in life, he must say, as regards himself, it was 
 this, — he had suffered most from reading of the 
 miseries and sufferings of men in past times. If 
 he could, for a moment, have the presumption to 
 lay down the terms upon which he would have 
 life over again, he would say, "let me know 
 nothing of the dreadful past. My heart sinks 
 within me when I read of what living creatures 
 have gone through in former times, — the tor- 
 tures of martyrs, the knoutings of delicate women, 
 the roastings by fire, the buryings alive, the agonies 
 of the rack and the wheel, the exposure of slaves 
 in cages, the ineffable brutalities of the arena, 
 and all the forms of mad fury which Roman 
 emperors, and kings, and kaisers, and banditti, 
 and pirates, and wizard-hunters, and conquerors 
 (Assyrian, Roman, Persian, Macedonian, Swed- 
 ish, French, Mahommedan) and Christian clergy- 
 men of every denomination, have wreaked upon 
 their victims who happened to differ from them 
 I. Q
 
 226 GASIMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 in race^ politics^ or religion. You must not look 
 upon this as a mere effeminate horror of physical 
 suffering, though I confess to having a great 
 horror of that when it is needless ; but consider 
 what mental agonies, these poor wretches must 
 have gone through. Many a man has been led 
 back to his prison- cell with more agony of mind 
 than even of body, because his foolish tongue, 
 which he curses, has, in the extremity of torture, 
 been surprised into betrayal of his friends, or of 
 his fellows, or of his followers, or of his God. It 
 may be morbid ; but these things haunt me : 
 and even when, upon some glad holiday, I see, 
 amidst some free people, thousands of happy and 
 fearless faces, I think upon what mounds of for- 
 gotten mental misery and bodily suffering the 
 platform has been raised whereon these good 
 people sport so merrily and so fearlessly." 
 
 There was a witty lawyer there, of some 
 note, and he said that the main troubles in 
 life, which he had experienced, and which made 
 him unwilling to have life over again, were 
 noise and interruption. He said he should like
 
 TEE NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY. 227 
 
 to live at a place where the front opened 
 into a village, so that he might have some 
 society, and where the back looked out into 
 a great sandy desert. In the desert, instead 
 of oases there would be little heaps of white 
 bones — the bones of the people who had come 
 to annoy him. He would put up crosses with 
 inscriptions, such as the following : — " These are 
 the bones of nine telegraph boys f' or " these 
 are the bones of seven twopenny postmen ;^^ or 
 ^^ these are the bones of the man who came to 
 collect subscriptions for the conversion of the 
 Jews." 
 
 It was put to him that entrance might be made 
 at the front door. " No," he said, " I should 
 have a little avenue of sinister-looking trees, the 
 leaves all pointing downwards, which should drop 
 poverty upon the incomers. Then I should have 
 malign plants, which should grow up about their 
 feet and attach calumny to them. Then I should 
 have horrible fungi, which should scatter about 
 the spores of general malignity to the whole 
 human race. You would find that people would
 
 228 GA8IMIB M ABE MM A. 
 
 not be fond of coming in tlie front way. Besides, 
 I should have two serpents kept in cages, witli 
 the wires rather far apart, at the front door ; and 
 if all else failed, I should keep two bores in the 
 ante-chamber — one, the most eminent bore in the 
 House of Commons, the other, the most eminent 
 bore in the House of Lords ; and if they did not 
 keep people away, I do not know what would." 
 
 But the villagers, what would become of them, 
 was asked of him. You would wish to see them 
 sometimes, for you do not intend to become 
 quite isolated. 
 
 'No ; but they would come with umbrellas, 
 so as to keep off the dreadful drip of poverty. 
 And, besides, one gets accustomed to anything — 
 even to the shrill tongue of a scolding woman. 
 Moreover, the villagers, not having seen much 
 of life, would be rather pleased, than otherwise, 
 with the bores, and would easily endure what 
 to us is intolerable. I should thus have some 
 society and some human company without any 
 intruders. 
 
 Then it came to Charles Ashurst's turn to say
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE SEGBETABY. 229 
 
 sometliing ; and he said tliat lie had nothing 
 to complain of in life^ as regards himself; but 
 that he did not know that he would have life 
 over again_, to suffer what he had suffered in 
 seeing animals maltreated. The present com- 
 pany, had been very good to him, and very deli- 
 cate, in not asking him how his face had got 
 cut open the other day. He knew that they 
 thought it had been in some disgraceful row ; 
 but the truth was, he got it in a fight with a 
 brute of a waggoner, who had been maltreating 
 an over-driven horse. These things made him 
 perfectly miserable ; he hated to walk the streets 
 of London and to see so much cruelty, with 
 which he knew he could not wisely interfere. 
 He believed he had done wrong in thrashing that 
 waggoner, for it would all be revenged upon the 
 poor animal ; but he could not help it, it was 
 more than flesh and blood could bear. 
 
 This endeared him to Mr. Thurston, who went 
 further than that good saint of saints, St. Francis 
 of Assisi, and was wont to call the cab-horses of 
 London ^^ his dear brothers." He took care to
 
 230 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 recount this conversation to Lady Alice^ for lie 
 saw how things were goings and he entirely 
 favoured the suit of Charlie Ashurst,, having 
 quite made up his discreet mind that a match 
 between Lady Alice and Casimir would be most 
 unsuitable. 
 
 It is needless to say that Alice did all in her 
 power to aid the new private secretary, and to 
 make his work more acceptable to her father. 
 As he improved, much harder work was in store 
 for him. The Fates, in their mischievous way, had 
 decreed that Lord Lochawe should at this time 
 turn his attention to that fearful subject, the 
 currency. Knowledge on that subject was not 
 wanted by him immediately ; but he foresaw 
 that it would be wanted in the course of next 
 session. And he began to prepare to acquire it. 
 Of course a part of this work fell upon the extra 
 private secretary. 
 
 The last thing I suppose that Leonard Homer 
 would ever have conjectured would have been 
 that his Bullion Eeport should have a place in a 
 love-story. But so it happened.
 
 TEE NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY. 231 
 
 Charles Ashurst was ordered to furnisli a precis 
 of Lord Ashburton's evidence before Horner^s 
 committee. He had grown pale over it ; but had 
 really done his work very tolerably; and Lady 
 Alice and he were looking over it together — she 
 finding every fault she could with it^ and he duti- 
 fully making alterations accordingly. 
 
 Now it is a most dangerous thing to be in 
 statu piipillari to a woman whom one loves. Alice 
 stood over Charles Ashurst^ and sometimes pushed 
 his hand aside to refer to some passage in the 
 Blue Book, which she maintained had not been 
 fully represented in his precis. At last they came 
 to something like a dispute, she maintaining that 
 the witness had said one thing, and he maintain- 
 ing that the witness had meant another. Women 
 are always more literal than men in their render- 
 ing of anything that is before them, and they 
 would make the most accurate translators in the 
 world. She became vehement and emphatic ; and 
 their hands and faces were very close together, in 
 canvassing the disputed passage. She had the 
 best of the argument ; for more than half his
 
 •232 GASIMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 mind was given to thinking about her^ and not 
 about Lord Ashburton^ whereas she was wholly 
 intent upon her work. 
 
 ^' What a dear^ kind^ good girl you are/^ he 
 said ; and at this moment he put his hand upon 
 hers which was upon the blue book. She said, 
 " nonsense/^ but she did not remove her hand. 
 
 '^'^Ah, Ahce/^ he exclaimed_, as he rose from 
 his chair and held her hand in his, " if you would 
 but consent to be my tutor for hfe, you would see 
 what a dutiful, what an affectionate, pupil I would 
 be to you.^^ 
 
 Women are incomprehensible beings — at least 
 to us men they are. I should have prophesied, 
 and I knew her well, that she would have made 
 some droll witty reply, and would have withdrawn 
 her little hand from his. It was not the first time 
 that she had had things of this kind said to her, 
 and she was what is called a girl of the world ; 
 but upon this occasion she behaved worse than 
 any loving milk-maid. 
 
 " Oh, not my pupil, dear, my master,'^ and she 
 leant on liis breast, and cried and sobbed as if she
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE SECRETARY. 233 
 
 had been one of the most excitable and least 
 dignified of maidens. Charles Ashm'st^s astonish- 
 ment was almost equal to his joy. He whispered 
 many endearing words to her ; said how unworthy 
 he was of her_, and how he thought there was one 
 (meaning Casimir) not far from them^, one who 
 was far more worthy of her. But she said^ " ISo, 
 no, only you.^^ 
 
 Her return to calmness was shown by an utter- 
 ance which was more like her usual self. " See/' 
 she said, " how you have spoilt my gown with 
 your inky pen." He had kept his pen in his 
 hand all the time. 
 
 I have before refeiTed to the fact that in 
 Dante's well-known story the lovers did not 
 read any more that day ; but in this story of real 
 life the principal actors concerned were obliged 
 to go on with their work, and did not desist from 
 it, though it was often interrupted in the way 
 that lovers will interrupt each other's work, until 
 the stern paternal voice was heard calling for his 
 private secretary. 
 
 " May I tell him, dearest ?" he said, " we ought 
 to tell him ;" and she whispered — " You may."
 
 234 CASIMIR MAREMMA. 
 
 It was a piece of good fortune that Charlie 
 Ashurst's work for that day was well done, and 
 that Lord Lochawe praised him for it, and even 
 said, '^ I should like you, Ashurst, to come into 
 Parliament at the same time that Glenant comes/^ 
 
 Then Charles Ashm-st began to tell his story, 
 with much stuttering and stammering, and with 
 many half-finished sentences. A man, perhaps, 
 never cuts a poorer figure than when he is having 
 his first serious interview with a middle-aged, ' or 
 elderly gentleman, whom he hopes to have as his 
 father-in-law, and whom he fears and respects 
 and wishes to love, for ought he not to love every 
 body who belongs to her ? 
 
 ^' I know, my Lord," he said, " that I am 
 most unworthy to be her husband and your son- 
 in-law ; but I can't help it." 
 
 Lord Lochawe, who, though keen - sighted 
 enough in questions of currency, was not equally 
 keen -sighted in matters of love, had never 
 dreamed of this catastrophe; and, accustomed 
 to govern, had, in fact, made up his mind that 
 the son of her whom he had loved so much
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE SEGBETABY. 235 
 
 should be his son-in-law. He was^ nevertheless, 
 most kind and good-natured to the young man. 
 He even said it was an honour, but that was only 
 an official saying, that Mr. Ashurst should wish 
 to marry his daughter. Secretly he believed 
 that Lady Alice would not listen for a moment 
 to Charles Ashurst^s suit, and he said, as it were, 
 casually, " I suppose Alice knows nothing. Ash-' 
 urst, of your kind intentions." 
 , "Yes, my Lord, I believe she does." 
 
 " And what does she say ? " 
 
 " She did not say ' no,' my Lord," said Ash- 
 urst, modestly. 
 
 " Good God, sir," said the Earl, '^ you don't 
 mean it." 
 
 " Yes, my Lord, I do." 
 
 Now, as I believe I have said before, it is 
 a remarkable fact that men of business are gene- 
 rally very unworldly men. Why, otherwise, 
 should they be men of business, taking so much 
 pains for other people, especially when they are 
 men in Lord Lochawe^s position. 
 
 The Earl saw at once how matters were. He
 
 236 CASIMIB .MABEMMA. 
 
 tlien recollected^ as fathers in such cases do^ 
 many things which he had. left unnoticed before. 
 He knew that his daughter Alice was not a person 
 likely to change her mind. He went over, in his 
 own mind^ the good qualities of the young man 
 before him^ and saw why he had submitted to 
 this unwelcome slavery of the private secretary- 
 ship. The Earl made up his mind to give his 
 consent ; but thought, official man as he was, he 
 would do a bit of business at the same time. 
 " You will not desert me/^ he said ; '^ and you 
 
 will stand, on the government interest, for 
 
 shire. ''^ 
 
 Poor Charles Ashurst would have stood for a 
 department in the lower regions if he had 
 been asked to do so, as the means of gaining 
 Lady Alice. And he replied, ^^ Certainly, Lord 
 Lochawe ; whatever you wish I will do. 
 
 And then the Earl said, " I consent with all 
 my heart, my dear boy; God bless you. Don't 
 forget to be punctual to-morrow morning. There 
 is a great deal to be done before we shall have 
 mastered this splendid report. How I wish that
 
 THE NEW PRIVATE 8E0BETABY. 237 
 
 Leonard Horner were alive again^ and diaries 
 Buller and George Le^^is. All of them died so 
 young ; and here am I living on^ an old fellow 
 not worth a tithe part of any one of them." 
 
 It was impossible not to love Lord Lochawe 
 when you came to knowhim^ for he was so modest 
 and so good a man^ and had been so little spoilt 
 by power. 
 
 The future father-in-law and the accepted son- 
 in-law shook hands warmly ; and Charles Ashurst 
 left the room. It may be a silly thing to tell of 
 liim^ and a wasteful thing too^ but he kissed " the 
 dear ^ Blue-book/ '' as he called it_, after he had 
 shut the door of Lord Lochawe's study. 
 
 Lady Alice was not far off^ and received the 
 welcome intelligence of her father^s consent, not, 
 however, a surprise to her, for she knew her father 
 well, with a proper gladness. 
 
 " I must go now, dear Alice," said Charles 
 Ashurst, " for your excellent father, who has 
 been so good to me, must not find his goodness 
 makes me idle ; and there is a dreadful lot to be 
 done, my love, before to-morrow morning."
 
 238 GA8IMIB MABEMMA. 
 
 " Come to me first," she whispered, " that we 
 may look over it together." 
 
 And thus began for Lady Alice and Charles 
 Ashurst that sweet time of permitted and recog- 
 nised courtship — the sweetest time, indeed, that 
 is ever allowed to man or woman in this trou- 
 blesome and troubled world of ours. 
 
 1/ 
 
 END OF VOLUME I. 
 
 CHISWICK press: — PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND VVILKINS, 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
 
 
 
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