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"Well, I must take my leave," said he. "And I may as well tell you it is a mere mystification; I have no authority, and no wish, to disturb your stay at Malory; and we are not particularly likely ever to meet again; and you'll forgive an old fellow his joke, young ladies ?"

With these brusque and eccentric sentences, he raised his hat, and with the activity of a younger man, ran up the bank at the side of the road; and, on the summit, looked about him for a moment, as if he had forgotten us altogether; and then, at his leisure, he descended at the other side, and was quite lost to view.

Laura Grey and I were both staring in the direction in which he had just disappeared. Each, after a time, looked in her companion's face.

"I almost think he's mad!" said Miss Grey.

"What could have possessed Mr. Carmel to introduce such a person to us?" I exclaimed.

"Did you hear his name," I asked, after we had again looked in the direction in which he had gone, without discovering any sign of his return.


Droqville, I think," she answered.

“Oh! Laura, I am so frightened! Do you think papa can really intend any such thing? He's too kind. I'm sure it is a falsehood."

"It is a joke, he says himself," she answered. "I can't help thinking a very odd joke, and very pointless; and one that did not seem to amuse even himself."

"Then do you think it is true ?" I urged, my panic returning.


Well, I can't think it is true, because, if it were, why should he say it was a joke? We shall soon know. Perhaps Mr. Carmel can enlighten us."

"I thought he seemed in awe of that man," I said.

"So did I," answered Miss Grey. "Perhaps he is his superior."

"I'll write to-day to papa, and tell him all about it; you shall help me; and I'll implore of him not to think of anything so horrible and cruel."

Laura Grey stopped short, and laid her hand on my wrist for a moment, thinking. "Perhaps it would be as well if we were to turn about and walk a little further, so as to give him time to get quite away." "But if he wants to take me away in that carriage, or whatever it is, he'll wait any time for my return."


'So he would, but the more I think over

it, the more persuaded I am that there is nothing in it."

"In any case, I'll go back," I said. "Let us go into the house and lock the doors; and if that odious Mr. Droqville attempts to force his way in, Thomas Jones will knock him down, and we'll send Anne Owen to Cardyllion for Williams, the policeman. I hate suspense. If there is to be anything unpleasant, it is better to have it decided, one way or other, as soon as possible."

Laura Grey smiled, and spoke merrily of our apprehensions; but I don't think she was quite so much at ease as she assumed to be.

Thus we turned about, I, at least, with a heart thumping very fast, and we walked back towards the old house of Malory, where, as you have this moment heard, we had made up our minds to stand a siege.


I DARE say I was a great fool; but if you had seen the peculiar and unpleasant face of Monsieur Droqville, and heard his harsh nasal voice, in which there was something of habitual scorn, you would make excuses. I confess I was in a great fright by the time we had got well into the dark avenue that leads up to the house.


I hesitated a little as we reached that point in the carriage-road, not a long one, which commands a clear view of the halldoor steps. I had heard awful stories of foolish girls spirited away to convents, and never heard of more. I have doubts as to whether, had I seen Monsieur Droqville or his carriage there, I should not have turned about, and run through the trees. the court-yard, in front of the house was, as usual, empty and still; on its gravel surface reposed the sharp shadows of the pointed gables above, and the tufts of grass on its surface had not been bruised by recent carriage wheels. Instead, therefore, of taking to flight, I hurried forward, accompanied by Laura Grey, to seize the fortress before it was actually threatened.

In we ran, lightly, and locked the halldoor, and drew chain and bolt against Monsieur Droqville; and up the great stairs to our room, each infected by the other's panic. Safely in the room, we locked and bolted our door, and stood listening, until we had recovered breath. our bell furiously, and up came Anne Owen, or, as her country men pronounce it, Anne Wan. There had been, after all, no attack;

Then I rang

no human being had attempted to intrude arranged to have prayers twice a week at upon our cloistered solitude. the church, in Paris, for that one soul."

"Where is Mrs. Torkill ?" I asked, through the door.

"In the still-room, please miss." "Well, you must lock and bolt the back door, and don't let any one in, either way."

We passed an hour in this state of preparation, and, finally, ventured down-stairs, and saw Rebecca Torkill.

From her we learned that the strange gentleman who had been with Mr. Carmel had driven away more than half an hour before; and Laura Grey and I, looking in one another's faces, could pot help laughing a little.

Rebecca had overheard a portion of a conversation, which she related to me; but not for years after. At the time she had not an idea that it could refer to any one in whom she was interested, and even at this hour I am not myself absolutely certain, but only conjecture, that I was the subject of their talk.

I will tell it to you as nearly as I can recollect.

Rebecca Torkill, nearly an hour before, being in the still-room, heard voices near the window, and quietly peeped out.

You must know that immediately in the angle formed by the junction of the old house, known as the steward's house, which Mr. Carmel had been assigned for a residence, and the rear of the great house of Malory, stand two or three great trees, and a screen of yews, behind which, so embosomed in ivy, as to have the effect of a background of wood, stands the gable of the still-room. This strip of ground, lying immediately in the rear of the steward's house, was a flower-garden; but a part of it is now carpeted with grass, and lies under the shadow of the great trees, and walled round with the dark evergreens I have mentioned. The rear of the stable-yard of Malory, also mantled with ivy, runs parallel to the back of the steward's house, and forms the other boundary of this little enclosure, which simulates the seclusion of a cloister; and but for the one well-screened window I have mentioned, would really possess it.

Standing near this window, she saw Mr. Carmel, whom she always regarded with suspicion, and his visitor, that gentleman in black, whose looks nobody seemed to


"I told you, sir," said Mr. Carmel, 'through my friend Ambrose, I had

"Yes, yes, yes; that is all very well, very good, of course," answered the hard voice; "but there are things we must do for ourselves-the saints won't shave us, you know."

"I am afraid, sir, I did not quite understand your letter," said Mr. Carmel.

"Yes, you did, pretty well. You see she may be, one day, a very important acquisition. It is time you put your shoulder to the wheel-d'ye see? Put your shoulder to the wheel. The man who said all that is able to do it. So, mind, you put your shoulder to the wheel forthwith."

The younger man bowed.

"You have been sleeping," said the harsh, peremptory voice. "You said there was enthusiasm and imagination. I take that for granted. I find there is spirit, courage, a strong will; obstinacy-impracticability-no milksop-a bit of a virago! Why did not you make out all that for yourself? To discover character you must apply tests. You ought in a single conversation to know everything."

The young man bowed again.

"You shall write to me, weekly, but don't post your letters at Cardyllion. I'll write to you through Hickman, in the old way."

She could hear no more, for they moved away. The elder man continued talking, and looked up at the back windows of Malory, which became visible as they moved away. It was one of his fierce. rapid glances; but he was satisfied, and continued his conversation for two or three minutes more. Then, he abruptly turned, and entered the steward's house quickly; and, in two or three minutes more, was driving away from Malory at a rapid pace.

A few days after this adventure-for in our life any occurrence that could be talked over for ten minutes was an adventure-I had a letter in mamma's pretty hand, and in it occurred this passage:

"The other day I wrote to Mr. Carmel, and I asked him to do me a kindness. If he would read a little Italian with you, and Miss Grey I am sure would join, I should be so very much pleased. He has passed so much of his life in Rome, and is so ac complished an Italian simple as people think it, that language is more difficult to pronounce correctly even than French. I forget whether Miss Grey mentioned Italian among the languages she could teach. But however that may be, I think if Mr. Carmel

will take that trouble, it would be very desirable."

enthusiastic and extraordinary the oftener and the longer I beheld them. Their strange effect, instead of losing, seemed to gain by habit and observation. It seemed to me that the cold and melancholy serenity that held us aloof was artificial, and that under

Mr. Carmel, however, made no sign. If the injunction to "put his shoulder to the wheel" had been given for my behoof, the promise was but indifferently kept, for I did not see Mr. Carmel again for a fort-neath it could be detected the play and night.

During the greater part of that interval he was away from Malory, we could not learn where.

At the end of that time, one evening, just as unexpectedly as before, he presented himself at the window. Very much the same thing happened. He drank tea with us, and sat on the bench-his bench, he called it-outside the window, and remained, I am sure, two hours, chatting very agreeably. You may be sure we did not lose the opportunity of trying to learn something of the gentleman whom he had introduced to us.

Yes, his name was Droqville. "We fancied," said Laura, "that he might be an ecclesiastic."

"His being a priest, or not, I am sure think does not matter much, provided you he is a good man, and he is that; and a very clever man, also," answered Mr. Carmel: "he is a great linguist: he has been in almost every country in the world. I don't think Miss Ethel has been a traveller yet, but you have, I dare say." And in that way he led us quietly away from Monsieur Droqville to Antwerp, and I know not where else.

One result, however, did come of this visit. He actually offered his services to read Italian with us. Not, of course, without opening the way for this by directing our talk upon kindred subjects, and thus deviously up to the point. Miss Grey and I, who knew what each expected, were afraid to look at each other; we should certainly have laughed, while he was leading us up so circuitously and adroitly to his "palpable ambuscade.'

We settled Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in each week for our little evening readings.

Mr. Carmel did not always now sit outside, upon his bench, as at first. He was often at our tea-table, like one of ourselves; and sometimes stayed later than he used to do. I thought him quite delightful. He certainly was clever, and, to me, appeared a miracle of learning; he was agreeable, fluent, and very peculiar.

fire of a nature totally different.

I was always fluctuating in my judgment upon this issue; and the problem occupied me during many an hour of meditation.


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How dull the alternate days had become; and how pleasant even the look-forward to our little meetings! Thus, very agreeably, for about a fortnight our readings proceeded, and, one evening, on our return, expecting the immediate arrival of our master,' as I called Mr. Carmel, we found, instead, a note addressed to Miss Grey. It began: "Dear Miss Eth," and across these three letters a line was drawn, and "Grey" was supplied. I liked even that evidence that his first thought had been of me. It went on:


"Duty, I regret, calls me for a time ings. I have but a minute to write to tell from Malory, and our Italian readyou not to expect me this evening, and to say I regret that I am unable, at this my return. moment, to name the day of "In great haste, and with many regrets, "Yours very truly,

"E. CARMEL." "So he's gone again!" I said, very much vexed. "What shall we do to-night?" "Whatever you like best; I don't care -I'm sorry he's gone."

"How restless he is! I wonder why he could not stay quietly here; he can't have any real business away. It may be duty; but it looks very like idleness. I dare say he began to think it a bore coming to us so often to read Tasso, and listen to my nonsense; and I think it a very cool note, don't you ?"

"Not cool; a little cold; but not colder than he is," said Laura Grey. "He'll come back, when he has done his business; I'm sure he has business; why should he tell an untruth about the matter ?"

I was huffed at his going, and more at his note. That pale face, and those large eyes, I thought the handsomest in the world.

I took up one of Laura's manuals of The Controversy, which had fallen rather I could not tell whether he was the into disuse, after the first panic had subcoldest man on earth, or the most im-sided, and Mr. Carmel had failed to make passioned. His eyes seemed to me more any, even the slightest attack upon our

faith. I was fiddling with its leaves, and I said:

"If I were an inexperienced young priest, Laura, I should be horribly afraid of those little tea-parties. I dare say he is afraid -afraid of your eyes, and of falling in love with you."



Certainly not with me," she answered. "Perhaps you mean he is afraid of people talking? I think and I should be the persons to object to that, if there were a possibility of any such thing. But, we are talking folly. These men meet us, and talk to us, and we see them; but there is a medium between, that is simply impassable. Suppose a sheet of plate glass, through which you see as clearly as through air, but as thick as the floor of ice on which a Dutch fair is held. That is what their vow is." "I wonder whether a girl ever fell in love with a priest. That would be a tragedy!" I said.

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"A ridiculous one, answered Laura; you remember the old spinster, who fell in love with the Apollo Belvedere? It could happen only to a mad woman.'

I think this was a dull evening to Laura Grey; I know it was for me.



They consider it a mark of his genius, a sign of his disinterestedness of self, which they like. The Republican canvass, if we are to believe the Democrats, consists of derision of Mr. Greeley's clothes; but say they jocularly, "a white hat and the White House go very well together." Per contra, the Republicans retort, that the editor of the Tribune is opposed as a candidate, not because of his hat and his boots, but because he is peculiarly unfit for the office. Even in this matter of costume, however, he is not, we are told, the "simple child of nature" his friends would have us believe. There is a method in his negligence; and his careful carelessness in dress, like his arrival at public meetings in the middle of the proceedings, when his appearance will be most remarked and cheered, is set down as merely a sign of a harmless vanity and restless desire for notoriety. Indeed, one candid friend boldly asserts that he saw Greeley, "in 1860, in Chicago, while in company with two other gentlemen, who also laughed at him, go behind the door of the barber's shop in the hotel, and carefully adjust his trousers in the inside of his boots." Whatever may be the motive power which prompts him to adopt this singular pantaloonic arrangement-and we do not profess to know it certain it is, that Horace Greeley's old chapeau blanc and boots bid fair to become as historically celebrated, on the other side of the Atlantic, as Lord Brougham's plaid trousers or Beau Brummell's white cravats are on this.

SYDNEY SMITH, in a letter to Francis Horner, tells him of the arrival of Jeffrey in London, and adds, that the editor of the Edinburgh Review "has brought his adjectives with him.' Jeffrey's predilection No less amusing is it to read the political for that particular part of speech, whether estimates of the man as drawn by rival in writing or in conversation, was the sub-politicians. Among his admirers Greeley ject of amiable joke among his friends. is familiarly and affectionately known as Similarly, Mr. Horace Greeley's white hat Old Horace, Old Honesty, Old Honest has become a sort of proverb among Ameri- Horace, the Honest Old Farmer, the Old His individuality appears almost to Man, Old White Hat, Old Tree Chopper, have merged into this article of attire. We Our Honest Old Uncle, the Sage of Chapread in the New York papers that "The paqua, the Doctor, Our Later Franklin, and white hat and its owner (Mr. Greeley) Our Modern Cincinnatus. His enemies have arrived" at such and such a place. And added any number of less endearing episecond only in importance, in the eyes of thets to the list; as for example, Old Bailhis countrymen, to the Sage of Chappaqua's bonds, and Old Four Hundred Millions, hat, are his boots and his trousers. At the suggestive of the offer to Mr. Lincoln to present moment all three are playing a buy peace; Old Let 'em Go; Old Away prominent part in the politics of the United with Lincoln, playfully significant of the States, and it is both curious and amusing Greeley proposition to set that president to note how these personal belongings and aside in 1864; Old Villain-you-lie, epipeculiarities of the Democratic candidate tomising the journalist's direct and sinewy for the presidency are regarded and dis- Saxon familiarly addressed to those with cussed by his friends on the one hand, and whom he differs. The wit here is not of a his foes on the other. It would seem as very brilliant order, it must be confessed, if Mr. Greeley's eccentricity in dress were but it serves to show the manner in which held by his enthusiastic supporters to be electioneering contests and journalistic warone of the many merits of their candidate. | fare are conducted in the United States,

where party feeling runs much higher than with us, and where personalities are heaped upon opponents with a liberality altogether foreign to English notions. Here, for instance, is a pen and ink portrait of the man whom his friends delight in designating as Old Honesty and Our Later Franklin. The sketch is by the present Mayor of New York.

"He (Greeley) is feeble of purpose, tremulous in judgment, unstable and inconsistent in thought and deed, doing motiveless things, telling motiveless falsehoods, friendly with a man one moment and unfriendly the next, eccentric in dress, eccentric in eating and drinking, devoured by the worm of self-consciousness, full of unaccountable idiosyncrasies and prejudices and awkward affectations; uncertain of religions opinions, he is one day prayerful, and the next day wildly blasphemous; one moment he is calm, the next furious. His craving for notoriety is a symptom of a madman. . . . He must periodically run for some office every autumn, and it don't much matter what it is. The last time he ran for Congress it was in a lower district. He once had some idea of going to Virginia to run for United States senator. All these erratic movements show insanity."

Verily there is license as well as liberty of speech among our American cousins. The great indictment against Greeley is that of being a turncoat politician; that, having nearly all his life written bitterly and uncompromisingly against the Democratic party, which he has compendiously described as "lovers of rum and haters of niggers, "shoulder-hitters," "cockfighters,' dog fanciers," rowdies," "burglars,' thieves," and so forth, he is now the chosen candidate of that very party whose motto is "Anything to beat Grant." With the truth or untruth of this charge we are not concerned.


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To quote the memorable saying of Mr. Jefferson Brick, Mr. Greeley is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable men in the country," as he certainly is just now the best abused and caricatured man in it. He is, in every sense of the word, self-made. Born at Amherst, New Hampshire, on the 3rd of February, 1811, his father, a poor farmer, was only able to give him the advantages of a common education, and very little of that. But his energy, ambition, and capacity supplied all deficiencies, and enabled him to push his way from obscurity to the prominent position he now occupies. He lived with his parents until he was fifteen years of age, "going to school a

little, and working on the farm a great deal," when, in consequence of his father's failure, and the enforced sale of the farm, young Greeley became an apprentice in a newspaper office, the Northern Spectator, at East Poultney, Vermont, whither the family had migrated. After remaining here for four years, he went to New York, and obtained employment with a printer in Chatham-street. This was in 1831. Two years subsequently Greeley made his first business venture as a partner in a daily paper, the Morning Post, which, however, only lived for about a month. He next started the New Yorker, a weekly, and in a short time became widely known as a newspaper writer. But neither was this paper a success financially, and we find that on the 10th of April, 1841, Mr. Greeley, almost moneyless and unaided, issued the first number of the journal with which his name is so intimately associated. It is noteworthy that six years previously the New York Herald had been established by the late Mr. James Gordon Bennett, under even less encouraging circumstances.

In 1848 Greeley was elected to Congress, and served from December of that year till March, 1849. His congressional career was not a brilliant one. In 1857 he made a voyage to Europe, and during his visit to England acted as a juryman at the Great Exhibition. On his return to America he published a not very remarkable volume, giving his impressions of the Old World. During the political excitement which immediately preceded the outbreak of the Southern rebellion, Mr. Greeley, in common with many prominent members of the Democratic party, says one of his critics, "took the ground that the disaffected states should be permitted to depart in peace, if a majority of their inhabitants desired separation, and form a new government for themselves. On the actual occurrence of hostilities, however, he gave the national administration a warm support; though several times during the progress of the war, when disasters had overtaken the national forces in the field, and the issue of the campaign was wavering in the balance, he appeared to lose heart and to be ready to give up the contest on almost any terms that could be obtained. It is fortunate for the nation," adds this Republican journalist, "that his views were not shared by the dominant party at the North; and doubtless Mr. Greeley himself is now well satisfied that his counsels were disregarded." His History of the Struggle for Slavery Extension and Restriction

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