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The question of Free Trade was a much | qualifications. Nine-tenths of the House of clearer one. Here it was not real power so Commons were ignorant even of the alphamuch as supposed wealth that was at stake. bet of that science; its own teachers were It was not political influence which had de- not wholly agreed about its doctrines; and scended to them from their ancestors, but the country at large knew scarcely more of artificial prices which their own legislation them than its chiefs. We have no right, had secured, of which it was proposed to therefore, even in imagination, to charge the deprive the country gentlemen of England. advocates of commercial restrictions with Hence it was much more difficult to persuade any heavier accusation than that of being either themselves or others, that in strug- rather duller to learn, and rather slower to gling against the repeal of the Corn Laws admit new views than their opponents. They they were contending for any thing more were not dishonest, but arrièrés. noble than their own pecuniary interests. A gain. We have witnessed in the last It was a question, too, much more of simple five-and-twenty years changes in party comscience. Its solution lay much nearer the sur- binations scarcely equalled for magnitude and face. It required profound philosophy to strangeness by any other period-severings judge of the remote and collateral bearings of of friends and junctions of foes, such as seem Schedules A and B. It needed only sound ele at first sight utterly bewildering and unacmentary views of political economy to esti- countable. "Consistency," in its old sense mate the effects of unrestricted importation.-i. e., steady adherence to the same alliThe lessons of experience could be appealed ances and the same political connections-has to in the one case: there was no experience been set at naught by nearly every man of to guide us in the other. Moreover, it any great eminence or merit. Lord Grey, seemed difficult to believe that any thing save indeed, ended his career before the confusion obstinate and wilful blindness could resist began, and Lord John Russell and Sir Robert the lucid arguments, often amounting to ab- Peel never sat in the same Cabinet. But solute demonstration, which year after year those are nearly the only "constants" of our issued from the press, from the cross recent party history. Sir James Graham, benches, from the treasury and opposition almost a Radical, sat for some time in the benches, from Wilson, from Villiers, from same Cabinet with Sir Robert Peel, the colCobden, from Peel. Yet nothing can be league of Lord Sidmouth, Lord Liverpool, more certain than that most of the oppo- and the Duke of Wellington. Lord Derby nents of Free Trade were honest to begin was first the vigorous assailant of Peel, then with, and that many remained to the last his colleague, then again his foe. He sat sincerely convinced that Free Trade would first with Lord Grey, then with Lord Grey's be the ruin of the country, destructive to great rival. Lord Palmerston, once the collandlords, fatal to farmers, pauperizing to la league of Peel and Canning, is now the colborers. To be convinced of this, we have league of Russell and of Molesworth. only to remember how slowly conviction Foreign Secretary of Lord Grey and the Fordawned, even upon the minds of the liberals; eign Secretary of Lord Grey's antagonist sit how few years have elapsed since the idea of in the same Cabinet. Sir James Graham and the total abolition of the Corn Laws was Lord Derby were once fast friends in office, scouted as monstrous by the leading Whigs; then fast friends in opposition, then leaders how many of them dreaded it to the last; of opposing parties. They sat together under in what year it was that Lord Melbourne Lord Grey; they sat together under Peel; pronounced it," before God, the wildest and one now sits with the Coalition, while the maddest scheme he had ever heard of;" and other leads the Tories. We might go through when Lord John Russell refused the petition a long list of similar incongruities. Scarcely of its advocates to be heard at the bar of any man has not changed sides, changed the House of Commons; how in 1841 he opinions, changed party associates. Yet wished for an import duty of eight shillings; scarcely any man has lost character by so and how he and Sir Robert Peel were only doing, because scarcely any one can be sefinally and completely converted in the same riously suspected of having done so from coryear and by the same fearful visitation. The rupt or indefensible considerations. The only truth is, that the principles of political eco- desertion of party that is regarded as an nomy have made their way into parliament-" apostasy," was that of Mr. Scarlett, Canary life only at a very recent date. Till ten years ago, an acquaintance with them was considered no necessary part of a statesman's

The

ning's Whig Attorney General, who could not make up his mind to leave office when the Tories came in. The reason of the general

estly or conscientiously maintained: but the country has given him plenary absolution. even for this unparalleled tergiversation. The nation reveres him as its greatest statesman, and reveres him in spite of, or rather in consequence of, his apostasies,-acknowledging them to have been the apostasies, not of the renegade, but of the convert.

amnesty that has been passed for all acts of party inconstancy, is, that all, or nearly all, are believed to have been honest-or rather, perhaps, that we have ceased to consider "consistency" as primâ facie a merit. So many new, important, and difficult subjects have in these years come under discussion on which it is felt to be impossible that all colleagues should agree or all antagonists differ that unchanging adherence to one set of men would have been suspicious rather than creditable. It is felt that men who agree about retrenchment may naturally differ about religion; that men who agree about Parliamentary Reform may differ about foreign policy; that men who agree about the corn-laws may differ about the Church ;-and that, in such cases, it is quite right and honest that they should coalesce when one set of questions are under discussion, and separate when another set come upon the tapis. Further, during the last quarter of a century the national mind has been in a state of progress; questions are better understood; sound principles are more diffused; we have been educating in political science; truths which formerly were perceived only by the few are now reached by the many; opinions which formerly were scouted are now almost universally adopted. It was impossible that statesmen should not participate in this advance; it was impossible that they should all participate in it in equal degrees; it was impossible, therefore, that they should always adhere either to their old opinions or to their old colleagues. Those who think what they always thought are become laughing stocks; those who stand where they always stood are self-condemned: they convict themselves of having stood still. No, men in our time have been so steady and consistent as Lord Eldon and Col. Sibthorp; and the one is looked upon as the incarnation of obstinate blindness, and the other of ludicrous eccentricity. On the other hand, no man changed more completely or on more important questions than Sir Robert Peel; yet he is now reverenced, and justly, as one of our honestest and wisest statesmen, because it is felt that he never changed except reluctantly, from conviction, and to his own injury. The bigots, whose shield and glory he was so long, were furious with him for finally conceding emancipation to the Catholics: we know now how ample, cogent, and disinterested were his motives for that great apostasy. The country gentlemen, whose champion and trust he was for years, could not forgive him for surrendering however, includes many items scarcely to be cona cause which he felt could no longer be hon-sidered as pensions in our sense of the word.

From low pecuniary sins our age is, we may say, entirely free. We have spoken of the flagrant jobs which were perpetrated in former days. We have given statements of the emoluments of great men in the days of Marlborough and Walpole. The pension list, even in the year 1829, contains much to astonish weak minds. Its sum total was above £750,000:* it is now limited to one-tenth of that amount. We find in the list of "places, pensions, sinecures, and grants," published in 1830, six Bathursts, with aggregate receipts of £10,715; four Beresfords, with £6700; five Dundases. with £9700; the Duke of Grafton holding £10,280 in three sinecures or pensions; and several similar facetia. Nothing of the kind could be found now. It is, alas! scarcely possible to do a job, or to find a sinecure. The salaries of public offices have been largely and, we think, unwisely reduced. The first Lord of the Treasury has been reduced from £7430 to £5000; the Secretaries of State from £6000 to £5000; the Viceroy of Ireland from £30,000 to £20,000. No Cabinet minister receives above £5000 a year; whereas (as Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell informed the "Official Salaries Committee") it was formerly an understood and established practice for these ministers to combine some comfortable sinecure with their appointment, by which means their emoluments were often doubled. Thus the Prime Minister was generally also Warden of the Cinque Ports; and from this and other sources his official income was often very large. Lord North, Mr. Pitt, and Lord Liverpool all held this sinecure in conjunction with the Premiership. Lord North's official salary was thus £10,400; Mr. Pitt's £11,400; Mr. Addington had £7400; Lord Grenville, Lord Liverpool, and Mr. Canning each £9000; and Mr. Percival £8700. In these days no minister would dream of appointing himself to any sinecure office with a view of augmenting his salary, even were such sinecures still in existence. In former times, too, these sinecures and an unlimited pension-list afforded, as we have seen, to ministers an opportunity * Extraordinary Black Book, p. 401. This sum,

of providing for many members of their fam- | charges of sinister behavior are felt to be not ily; and so universally was it understood unnatural, nor, when directed against Engthat the opportunity would be so employed, lishmen, of much importance. When Irish that it was reckoned as part of the ordinary members assail their own countrymen, pelt emoluments of office. In 1810, the number them with native mud, and trot each other of sinecures was 242, and their emoluments out for the diverson of the public, the House reached to £279,486 a year; by 1834 they listens sometimes with amusement, sometimes were reduced to £97,800;-they do not now with weariness, sometimes with belief;-when exceed £17,000, and are in yearly process of they accuse English statesmen of conduct extinction. In the reign of George III., the which in Ireland might be possible, we listen pension-list of the three kingdoms exceeded with incredulity and disgust. The prevailing £200,000 a year; even at a later period than feeling on such occasions is, however, one of 1810 it was £145,000: it is now limited to pain and indignation at exhibitions which tend £75,000; and no more than £1200 can be to assimilate the tone of an assembly of gengranted in any one year." tlemen to that of a rotunda of unbridled Celts. With the exception of these extra-national

more and more introduced into public discussions. Men accustomed to meet in society, and cognizant of each other's estimable qualities in private life, cannot well treat each other in public as infamous delinquents; and as each man's standard of political morality and range of political vision is amended, he is less likely to deem his antagonist either rogue or fool.*

The vice of virulence and acrimony is far from being as completely weeded out of pub-proceedings, the amenities of social life are lic life as that of corruption. Party warfare is still disfigured by occasional displays of bitter feeling and reckless accusation, belong. ing more fitly to a ruder age. Noble lords and honorable gentlemen still indulge in taunts and invectives alike indecorous and unjust. Men who live in houses of glass still sometimes throw stones, and get their own windows broken in return. But, on the whole, the chief sins in this line are confined to those whose birth and education exempt them from the expectation of good breeding; or to the immigrants from the sister island, whose indecent language and wholesale

*The above facts are gleaned from the Report and Evidence of the Official Salaries Committee which sat in 1849-50.

*When savage things are said now, they are commonly in the form of a bon mot. It is now many years since this story was told in the House of Lords:-A nobleman holding a high judicial situation, for some reason or other, at a Lord Mayor's dinner, returned thanks for "The Navy," when that toast was given. "C!" (called out a brother judge to him)-"what business have you to return thanks for the Navy Navy is not spelt with a K!"

From Dickens's Household Words.

FAITHFUL MARGARET.

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hearts were worshipping with them before the holy shrine of nature.

They had been on the balcony for a long time, looking out on the scene before them; Horace resting against the pillar, and Margaret standing near him. A curtain of creep

THE moonlight was lying broad and calm on the mountains and the lake, silvering the fir trees massed against the sky, and quivering through the leaves of the birch and the ash, as they trembled in the light air which could not move the heavy horse chestnut growing by them. The call of the corneraiking plants hung far down, and their leaves from the meadow, and the far-off barking of threw Horace into deep shadow; but the a sheep-dog on the fells, were the only sounds moonlight fell full and bright over the wothat broke through the evening stillness; man by his side; yet not to show any thing except whenever now and then the plash of that art or fancy could call lovely. oars in the lake, and the subdued voices of and care worn face, with nothing but a pair men and women gliding by, recalled to the of dark eyes lying beneath the shadow of a listeners standing on the balcony, that other broad brow, and a mass of raven hair resting

A grave

heavy on her cheek to redeem it from absolute ugliness; a tall lean figure, not even graceful in its movements, nor fine in its proportions; and hands with fingers so long and thin, they were almost transparent-ill formed, and ungainly too; a mode of dress that was not picturesque, and most certainly was not fashionable, scanty, black, and untrimmed;—all this made up an exterior which the most facile admiration could not admire. And few in the passing world care to discover the spiritual beauty which an outward form of unloveliness may hide.

--

So, Margaret stood in the moonlight by the side of an artist of high poetic temperament—a man who lived in the sunniest places of human happiness a woman shut out from all the beauty of life; a woman who had never been fair, and who was now no longer young, to whom hope and love are impossible; the handmaid only to another's happiness, mistress of none herself. - Was she thinking of the difference between her self and the stars as she looked at them shedding light on the black rocks and the barren fells? Was she measuring the distance between her and her fate, her desires and her possessions, as she watched the waves striving to reach the soft cool moss upon the bank, to be thrust back by shingles and the stones? Or was she dreaming of a possible future, when the rocks should be beautiful with flowers, and the fells golden with furze, and when the waves would have passed that rough bar, and have crept peacefully to the foot of the mossy bank? Was she dreaming of happiness, or was she learning to suffer? Narrowing her heaven to within the compass of the earth, or losing earth in the heaven of nobleness and sacrifice? Who could tell? Thoughts are but poorly interpreted by eyes, and a sigh gives no more than the indication of a feeling.

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Let us go on the lake, Margaret, and take Ada with us," said Horace, suddenly rousing himself from his reverie, and leaving the shadow in which he had been standing.

"Yes," said Margaret, in a low voice, and with the start of one awakened out of a sleep in which she had been dreaming pleasantly, "Ada will enjoy that!"

She turned her face to the window where Ada sat, poring over a book of pictures by the lamplight, her little head hidden under its weight of ringlets, like an apple-blossom spray bent down with flowers.

"Child, will you come to Lily Island with Horace and me?" she said, caressingly. Your vase is empty, and the old enchanters VOL. XXXIII.-NO. II.

used to say that flowers should be gathered when the moonlight is upon them, if they were to have any spell. And you know you said you wished to enchaut Horace. Will you come ?"

She smiled and held out her hand caress

ingly.

The girl flung her book on the floor with little cry of pleasure. "Oh, that will be delightful!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "It was so stupid, Margaret, in here all alone, with nothing but those wearisome old pictures that I have seen hundreds of times before. I was wondering when you and Horace would be tired of talking philosophy together, for you are always wandering away among minds and stars-far out of my depth. Which, perhaps, would not have been difficult to any one who could wade deeper than the hornbook."

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All the time Ada was chattering thus, she was gathering up from the sofa her gloves, shawl, and bonnet; losing vast quantities of time in searching behind the pillars for her shawl-pin, which she did not find after all. For the sofa was Ada's toilette-table and unfathomable well generally, serving various kinds of duties. "We will go, Margaret,' she continued, running through the room on to the balcony, her shawl thrown on to her shoulders awry, and holding her straw bonnet by its long blue strings. Remember, I am to crown you like a naiad, and Horace is to be your triton. Are those words pronounced properly, Horry?" And she put her arms round the artist as a child might have done, and looked into his face prettily.

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"You are to do just as you like, fairy Ada," said Horace, fondly patting her round cheek. "You are too childish to contradict, and not wise enough to convince; so you must even be indulged for weakness' sake, if not for love." This was to correct his flattery.

But it was not flattery after all; for she was like a fairy, hanging round him and caressing him so childishly; her little feet falling without echo as they glanced restlessly from beneath her wide flounces, and her yellow hair hanging down like golden strands. She was like one of those flowers in fairy books from whose heart flows out an elfin queen; like a poet's vision of a laughing nymph: a wandering peri masked for awhile in human features; like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun; a being made up of light, and love, and laughter; so beautiful and innocent that the coldest cynic must have praised, the sternest stoic must have loved.

18

"What a child! What a lovely child!" said Horace, half to himself, turning from her and yet still holding her hand against his shoulder. "You are repaid now, Margaret," he added, tenderly, " for your long years of thought and care. Your life is blessed indeed; far more so than many which have more the appearance of fulfilment.' "Yes," said Margaret, raising her dark eyes full into his. "My life is very, very happy now, Horace. Nothing is wanting to Nothing is wanting to it, nothing. A home, a child, a friend; what could I ask of fate that I have not got?"

He looked at her affectionately. "Good, unselfish Margaret!" he said. "Boon and blessing to your whole world! Without you, at least two lives would be incomplete-your sister's and mine. We should be desolate wayfarers, without a guide and without a light, if you were not here. I cannot say that you are needful to us, Margaret: you are much more than needful."

A smile of infinite happiness wandered over Margaret's face as she repeated softly, "Am I then needful to you, Horace ?" and her eyes lighted up with such love and fervor, that for a moment she was as absolute in youth and beauty as little Ada herself. Even Horace looked at her again, as at a face he did not know; but the smile and the glance faded away as they had come, and the gloom of physical unloveliness clouded over her face thick and dark as ever.

"Margaret is very good; she is true and noble; but she is fearfully plain," Horace thought to himself. "My father, who was so fond of beauty, would have said she was sinfully ugly. What a pity, with such a fine. nature!" And he looked from her to Ada.

Ada was all impatience to set off; and Margaret must go in for her shawl and her bonnet without a moment's delay. Smiling at her little sister's impetuous sovereignty, Margaret went into the house like a patient mother with a favorite child; shaking her head, though, as she passed the little one, standing there in her woman's beauty and her child's artlessness; and saying, "You are spoilt, my darling," conveyed by look and accent, "I love you better than my own life," instead.

"Come to me, Ada," said Horace, as Margaret went into the house. "Your hair is all in disorder. Careless child! at seventeen you ought still to have a nurse.'

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"Now leave me alone, Horace, and never mind my hair," said Ada, escaping from him to the other end of the balcony. "You never see me without finding fault with my hair;

and I am sure it is not so bad. What is the matter with it?" She shook it all over her face, and took up the ringlets one by one, to examine them; pouting a little, but very lovely still.

Horace was not to be coaxed nor frightened. He caught her in her retreat, and drew her to him, giving her a lecture on neatness that was rather against his instincts. But no matter; it served its purpose. Part of those yellow ringlets had been caught among the blue cornflowers under the bonnet she had perched on the top of her head, and part had been folded in with her awkward shawl. They were all in a terrible condition of ruffle; and Horace made her stand there before him like a child, while he smoothed them back deftly enough, scolding her all the time; but very tenderly. Then, impelled by a sudden impulse, that seemed to overmaster him, he bent down close to her, and whispered something in her ear, so low that the very swallows sleeping under the eaves could not have dreamed they heard its echo; and when he ended, he said, "Do you, Ada ?” as if his very soul and all his hopes had been centred in her answer.

"Yes-no-ask Margaret," cried Ada, struggling herself free; and then she added, with a ringing laugh, “Oh, it is only a jest. You are not serious, Horace ?" rushing almost into Margaret's arms as she stepped through the open window.

"What is it all about?" asked Margaret, looking from Ada, with her burning cheeks, to Horace, pale and agitated. "Have you been quarrelling ever since I left you?"

Neither spoke for a moment; and at last, Horace said with a visible effort: "I will speak to you alone of this, Margaret. You alone can decide it;" grasping her hand warmly.

They went down the balcony steps, through the garden, and then through the shrubbery of rhododendrons and azalias, and then through the little wicket gate that opened upon the shingly bay, where the May Fly lay moored in Ada's harbor-just under the shadow of the purple beech. Ada sprang

into the little skiff first, as usual, insisting on steering; an art about which she knew as much and attended to as carefully as if a problem of Euclid had been before her. But she was generally allowed to have her own way; and they pushed out of the harbor, Ada at the helm, murmuring a love-song about a Highland Jeanie tried and true"chanting to the nixies," Horace said-as she bent over the gunwale and looked into

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