to act as the policeman of my remove, to mark the boys in and out of chapel, to collect their maps and exercises, to ascertain who were sick and who were shamming, to warn the unfortunates who were sentenced to the block of the hour of their execution, to attend the awful ceremony and to assist at the toilette des condamnés-I could not but feel that such employment of my time was a fraud both on my parents and myself; but then the arrangement saved the wages of the servants, whose work it properly ought to have been.

Of course the ingenuity of our masters discovered plenty of excellent arguments in support of practices so convenient to themselves; our parents used to be told that carrying coals for the upper boys and toasting their muffins made us helpful and docile, and took the nonsense out of bumptious lads, and that an occasional week's idleness, as chapel and school policemen, gave us habits of order and vigilance; but such arguments would have applied just as aptly towards establishing the propriety of setting young noblemen and gentlemen to assist the scullion or to sort out the dirty linen for the wash. Tom Tulliver's occupation of blacking the family's shoes and getting up the potatoes at "the 'cademy" were probably dictated by similar motives and justified by similar arguments: they made him handy and humble, and saved "the 'cademy" the expense of a labourer, but then unreasonable Mr. Tulliver coarsely maintained that he had sent his son to "the 'cademy" to learn to read, write, and cipher, and not to discharge the duties of the odd man at a pot-house.

I have hitherto designedly abstained from making any allusion to the much vexed question of the comparative merits of public and private education, because I think it is a subject to which far too much importance has been attached. Both may be extremely good or extremely bad, according to the power and quality of the machinery by which either system is worked. A school can hardly be a very bad one, when its masters are conscientious and competent gentlemen, in sufficient numbers to do full justice to their pupils without overtasking themselves; it can hardly be a very good one, when its masters are not only insufficient in numbers, but when they have a direct pecuniary interest in teaching a maximum of boys with a minimum of educational staff.

The enormous advantages supposed to result from our public school education appear to me to be rather assumed than proved. Sidney Smith, in his famous essays on the subject, published in the Edinburgh Review, -which I entreat every one interested in this subject to study-has satisfactorily shown, that the most eminent Englishmen in every art and science-whose names have adorned the annals of this country during the last three hundred years-have not been educated at our public schools. Even that much-vaunted self-reliance and premature manliness, which we are so often assured is the exclusive attribute of public school education, is, in reality, worth little more than is the morbid precocity which the children of the poor acquire in our populous cities by being allowed to grovel uncared for in the gutter. A good many of them suffer

seriously whilst undergoing the useless ordeal, and those who pass through it uninjured are, at twenty or twenty-five years of age, no more capable or energetic than are the sons of the decent mechanic, who have been reasonably well cared for during their early youth. A perusal of the Life of George Stephenson, or of Admiral Hope's despatch, detailing our late disastrous defeat at the Peiho, will go far to show that British manhood is derived from far wider and deeper sources than the bad and expensive education which the children of our wealthier classes are just now receiving at our public schools.

I know very well that to all Sir John Coleridge has written, and to the remarks which I have myself presumed to make, there is one obvious answer: "Eton is now fuller than it ever was before; if you are dissatisfied, other people are not; send your sons elsewhere; we can do without them."

But I will not do the Eton authorities the dishonour to suppose that they will condescend to such a reply. The school over which they preside is our leading public school; it gives the tone to all the others; if it reforms, the reform will be general; if it resists and perseveres in its evil courses, other schools will do likewise. A very small proportion of parents and guardians are themselves competent to examine into and decide upon the comparative merits of schools, or to judge accurately of the progress which their children are making at them; they are most of them obliged on these points to trust to the honour of the masters and the general character of the school. The trust, therefore, which is reposed in a public servant, such as the head-master of Eton, is indeed a great one; his reward is proportionably great, and much is justly required at his hands.

It is of the deepest importance to us all-whether we have sons there or not-that such a school as Eton should be properly conducted; and if we have as I think I have shown that we have-sufficient reasons for supposing that it is not, no false delicacy, no fear of giving offence, or of incurring unpopularity, ought to prevent us from speaking out. Sir John Coleridge deserves the thanks of every Englishman for his outspoken Tiverton lecture; indeed, I am myself free to admit, that had I not been supported by his very high authority, I should scarcely have ventured again to address you on this subject; for I well know the power, the ability, and the influence of those whose time-honoured monopoly I am anxious, with your assistance, to demolish. I am, Sir,

your

obedient servant,

PATERFAMILIAS.

Framley Parsonage.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

LADY LUFTON IS TAKEN BY SURPRISE.

A

And

LORD LUFTON, as he returned to town, found some difficulty in resolving what step he would next take. Sometimes, for a minute or two, he was half inclined to think—or rather to say to himself, that Lucy was perhaps not worth the trouble which she threw in his way. He loved her very dearly, and would willingly make her his wife, he thought or said at such moments; but Such moments, however, were only moments. man in love seldom loves less because his love becomes difficult. thus, when those moments were over, he would determine to tell his mother at once, and urge her to signify her consent to Miss Robarts. That she would not be quite pleased he knew; but if he were firm enough to show that he had a will of his own in this matter, she would probably not gainsay him. He would not ask this humbly, as a favour, but request her ladyship to go through the ceremony as though it were one of those motherly duties which she as a good mother could not hesitate to perform on behalf of her son. Such was the final resolve with which he reached his chambers in the Albany.

On the next day he did not see his mother. It would be well, he thought, to have his interview with her immediately before he started for Norway, so that there might be no repetition of it; and it was on the day before he did start that he made his communication, having invited himself to breakfast in Brook Street on the occasion.

"Mother," he said, quite abruptly, throwing himself into one of the dining-room arm-chairs, “I have a thing to tell you."

His mother at once knew that the thing was important, and with her own peculiar motherly instinct imagined that the question to be discussed had reference to matrimony. Had her son desired to speak to her about money, his tone and look would have been different; as would also have been the case,—in a different way—had he entertained any thought of a pilgrimage to Pekin, or a prolonged fishing excursion to the Hudson Bay territories.

"A thing, Ludovic! well; I am quite at liberty."

"I want to know what you think of Lucy Robarts?"

Lady Lufton became pale and frightened, and the blood ran cold to her heart. She had feared more than rejoiced in conceiving that her son was about to talk of love, but she had feared nothing so bad as this. "What do I think of Lucy Robarts?" she said, repeating her son's words in a tone of evident dismay.

"Yes, mother; you have said once or twice lately that you thought I ought to marry, and I am beginning to think so too. You selected one clergyman's daughter for me, but that lady is going to do much better with herself"

"Indeed she is not," said Lady Lufton sharply.

"And therefore I rather think I shall select for myself another clergyman's sister. You don't dislike Miss Robarts, I hope?"

"Oh, Ludovic!"

It was all that Lady Lufton could say at the spur of the moment. "Is there any harm in her? Have you any objection to her? Is there anything about her that makes her unfit to be my wife?"

For a moment or two Lady Lufton sat silent, collecting her thoughts. She thought that there was very great objection to Lucy Robarts, regarding her as the possible future Lady Lufton. She could hardly have stated all her reasons, but they were very cogent. Lucy Robarts had, in her eyes, neither beauty, nor style, nor manner, nor even the education which was desirable. Lady Lufton was not herself a worldly woman. She was almost as far removed from being so as a woman could be in her position. But, nevertheless, there were certain worldly attributes which she regarded as essential to the character of any young lady who might be considered fit to take the place which she herself had so long filled. It was her desire in looking for a wife for her son to combine these with certain moral excellences which she regarded as equally essential. Lucy Robarts might have the moral excellences, or she might not; but as to the other attributes Lady Lufton regarded her as altogether deficient. She could never look like a Lady Lufton, or carry herself in the county as a Lady Lufton should do. She had not that quiet personal demeanour-that dignity of repose which Lady Lufton loved to look upon in a young married woman of rank. Lucy, she would have said, could be nobody in a room except by dint of her tongue, whereas Griselda Grantly would have held her peace for a whole evening, and yet would have impressed everybody by the majesty of her presence. Then again Lucy had no money-and, again, Lucy was only the sister of her own parish clergyman. People are rarely prophets in their own country, and Lucy was no prophet at Framley; she was none, at least, in the eyes of Lady Lufton. Once before, as may be remembered, she had had fears on this subject-fears, not so much for her son, whom she could hardly bring herself to suspect of such a folly, but for Lucy, who might be foolish enough to fancy that the lord was in love with her. Alas! alas! her

son's question fell upon the poor woman at the present moment with the weight of a terrible blow.

"Is there anything about her which makes her unfit to be my wife?" Those were her son's last words.

"Dearest Ludovic, dearest Ludovic!" and she got up and came over to him, "I do think so; I do, indeed."

"Think what?" said he, in a tone that was almost angry.

"I do think that she is unfit to be your wife. She is not of that class from which I would wish to see you choose."

"She is of the same class as Griselda Grantly."

"No, dearest. I think you are in error there. The Grantlys have moved in a different sphere of life. I think you must feel that they

are

"Upon my word, mother, I don't. and the other is Vicar of Framley. want you to take to Lucy Robarts. ask it of you as a favour."

One man is Rector of Plumstead, But it is no good arguing that. I I have come to you on purpose to

"Do you mean as your wife, Ludovic?"

"Yes; as my wife."

"Am I to understand that you are-are engaged to her?"

"Well, I cannot say that I am-not actually engaged to her. But you may take this for granted, that, as far as it lies in my power, I intend to become so. My mind is made up, and I certainly shall not alter it." "And the young lady knows all this?"

"Certainly."

"Horrid, sly, detestable, underhand girl," Lady Lufton said to herself, not being by any means brave enough to speak out such language before her son. What hope could there be if Lord Lufton had already committed himself by a positive offer? "And her brother, and Mrs. Robarts; are they aware of it?"

"Yes; both of them."

"And both approve of it?"

"Well, I cannot say that. I have not seen Mrs. Robarts, and do not know what may be her opinion. To speak my mind honestly about Mark, I do not think he does cordially approve. He is afraid of you, and would be desirous of knowing what you think."

"I am glad, at any rate, to hear that," said Lady Lufton, gravely. "Had he done anything to encourage this, it would have been very base." And then there was another short period of silence.

Lord Lufton had determined not to explain to his mother the whole state of the case. He would not tell her that everything depended on her word that Lucy was ready to marry him only on condition that she, Lady Lufton, would desire her to do so. He would not let her know that everything depended on her-according to Lucy's present verdict. He had a strong disinclination to ask his mother's permission to get married; and he would have to ask it were he to tell her the whole truth. His object was to make her think well of Lucy, and to induce her to be kind, and generous, and affectionate down at Framley. Then things would all turn out comfortably when he again visited that place, as he intended to do on his return from Norway. So much he thought it possible he might effect, relying on his mother's probable calculation that it would be useless for her to oppose a measure which she had no power of stopping by authority. But were he to tell her that she was to be the final judge,