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not

then, most remarkable that it had ever made on the subject was that not already existed. It surely she “would never have one in the must be

very

much wanted.” house, for they would think of Indeed, we have seen how nothing but what your pillow-case great the want has been, Lady was made of, and whether your Hayland,” said Mr. Redburn, linen was trimmed with real lace." warming into life as he spoke; It is little wonder that some “our wards are full."

women care only for the society “I wish you would let me have of the other sex, when their opinion some prospectuses,' said Lady

-or, possibly, experience of their Hayland. “ I have often wanted own is so low. to tell people about it, and have So the conversation was without not known where it is, or quite interest to Laura, and she comhow to explain its purposes." muned with her own by no means

“I have a few," said Mr. Red- too delightful thoughts for the burn (a little shamefacedly, for he greater part of the drive home. had a particular horror of the It was not until the second prospectus-filled black bag of his morning after his arrival that Mr. co-director, the philanthropist), Redburn remembered to bring out *with me and shall be very glad to his prospectuses for Lady Hayland. give you some.”

He came in to breakfast with them “ Have you some lady in his hand, and began to talk to doctors there?” asked Lady Hay- Lady Hayland about them. Laura land. “I don't approve

of these was looking at her letters, sitting modern innovations at all, but at on the other side of the table. One the same time I am curious to was directed in Yriarte's handknow how my sex really bears writing It made her feel faint itself in such a career.

only to look at it. She put the Oh, women are certain to suc- letters unread in her pocket, and ceed in it up to a certain point,” tried to fortify herself with coffee. said Sir Charles, flicking at his “ Take some of these, Laura," horses. “Their abilities are es- said Lady Hayland, handing her sentially practical.”

some of Mr. Redburn's papers; They have shewn themselves "you will often meet with people so at the work of our hospital, to whom this place might be of at all events," said Mr. Redburn. the greatest use." “We have two eminent lady

- Thank you,"

said Laura, physicians, and, I think, some taking them absently and putting younger ones as well.”

them in with her letters. At Laura leaned back with eyes another time she would probably fixed dreamily and without sight have refused them with upon the landscape. She had no frivolous, half-witty deprecation of philanthropy in her composition; the idea ; but now she was altoher idea of the world was that gether absorbed in the thought of if everybody looked after them- this letter which remained unselves it would be a much less opened, and which, with its protroublesome place to live in. And bability of insult, seemed to burn as to the “lady doctor,” she did its way through her dress and not expect that modern product to already make her feel. Her one man-woman,”

aim was to finish her breakfast people do; she had too instinctively quietly and unnoticed, and then low an opinion of her sex even for escape. that. The only remark she had

She was

soon able to do so.

some

be a

as

some

The morning-room was empty ;

empty; thinking, was himself just issuing and she hid herself in a big arm

from the door of his house in chair in a corner of it, and then Kensington, scented, dressed to took out the letters from her the height of such perfection as he pocket.

was master of, cigar in hand. Yriarte's she read first ; quite On the steps he was met by the quietly she read it through, but fair haired model of the Akropolis then immediately started up, and Art School. ran to her own room. Once there, “Why, Anton, is it you at last ? with the door locked safely behind What do you want ? her, she gave way to a storm of That soft-tinted face, which was passion under which her whole womanly in its unconscious beauty, form appeared to dilate. She took was lifted to his with a sullen look Yriarte's letter, and tearing it in upon it that made it as really unhalf threw it upon the floor; and lovely as his own. then, with a vehement stamp of “I want something to do," said her pretty little foot, she turned he. away from it and opened the other "I thought you were living letters. She read them absently, like a lord -receiving pay for without really taking in the mean- merely displaying that charming ing of the words she read. Then form of yours?" she took up Mr. Redburn's pro- “I was," answered Anton, “but spectus, and, in the same absent I caught cold. How would you way read that through. As she like to sit for five hours at a stretch neared the end something seemed

with a rag
round you

?" to rouse her interest; she re-read “I shouldn't do it, you see, my it quickly, and then stood a good friend. Happily I possess moment, buried in thought. brains. You don't. What can I

“It may be useful to me," she do for you ?” said, aloud; and gathering to

Give me

some breakfast,” gether the two or three papers suggested Anton. Lady Hayland had given her, she "Oh, indeed !-well, come in ; put them in her desk, and locked but why did you not come the

other day when I told you to ?And then turning, with a look “Because I was doing pretty on her face that for the time well then: and I would never come made it hard and haggard, she

you if I could help it." set herself to pick up the torn Yriarte laughed heartily; this pieces of Yriarte's letter and put candid confession seemed to call them also out of sight.

out all his amiability. Then she sat down-her head on “Come in," he said, and turning her hand to think.

back he re-entered his house with Yriarte, whose missive, filled to Anton. the brim with the inversion of love,

(To be continued.) had thus driven her again to hard

them up:

near

CONTEMPORARY PORTRAITS.

NEW SERIES.-No. 4.

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY.

LORD ROSEBERY is a young nobleman who has made himself conspicuous by his abilities, his radical politics, and his attention to social topics. In writing upon a life well begun with a large promise, but one that in reasonable expectation is much further from its close than from its beginning, there is a peculiar pleasure that is not afforded to the biographer even of the most illustrious man whose work is well-nigh done. In the one case there have to be chronicled with monotonous impartiality still remembered deeds upon which is falling the grey shadow that is so gentle and so grim; events that however conspicuous in their moment, have lost their original charm through the mere moving on of what is subsequent to them, and are becoming submerged beneath the ever flowing stream of the present that bathes in a sorrowful Lethe the emblems of the past. In a younger life, on the other hand, the writer finds himself in the buoyant atmosphere that attends vigorous prime, he is in a world wherein imagination may dwell, and that contains avenues into romance. Truly it is a more delightful office to weave bright facts and bright horoscope into one than to be the antiquarian recorder of powers that are vanishing, and achievements that are being forgotten or superseded.

In the present instance, while our subject is only just beginning to be about thirty years of age, we have two sides of his life to touch upon. One is that for which he is not responsible, the other that for which he is. It cannot be called Lord Rosebery's fault that he is born to the inheritance of a peerage and estates—to that wealth and power that are as much a gift as genius or authority, and have to be used in the same way. As to this we cannot criticise him, unless, indeed, we agree with the Pythagoreans and Platonists that our previous conduct regulates to

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