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but I should like to punch his head.' Then, again, there is the sort of smile which is often little less than insulting to those towards whom the insult is directed. That hand

some, dressy girl has no business to give that contemptuous smile towards the governess with her young charges. Mark you, I am not going to talk any nonsense about governesses. As a rule, from their circumstances, self-consciousness, and sensibility, they lack manner, knowledge of the world, grace, esprit. I don't think that, generally speaking, they are over well educated, using the word in its best sense. It is notorious that schoolmistresses are, as a class, rather uneducated. Still, that insolence of beauty- when a girl has looks, fortune, position, and knows it all so well-which shows itself in a smile of assumed superiority, must, I think, be offensive to every right-minded person. As for those over-dressed among men, their stereotyped smiles or sneers are now put down as mere vulgarity, for which they will perhaps themselves some day blush. It is, in fact, affectation, and, on my soul, I loathe all affectation, and at the present time there is so much of it. I will tell you a good saying of Lord Macaulay's about it. He and a man I know were discussing Edward Irving. Macaulay, in his brusque way, said that Irving was a hypocrite, because he wore his hair in so singular a fashion. The other man pleaded that it was only affectation..Well,' said Macaulay,' and what is affectation but hypocrisy in trifles ?' I think this is one of the best definitions of affectation I have ever heard -that it is really nothing else than a kind of hypocrisy. So the affected smiler is a hypocrite, and Shakespeare tells us that he may also be a villain.

There is a great deal to talk about, that fancy ball especially, which almost eclipsed the officers' balls, only there was a sad falling-off in costumes. It was allowable to attend in simple evening dress, and then higher prices were rightly charged for the tickets. There was a considerable preponderance of mere

evening dress, which is not desirable, and ladies seemed to hesitate about using patches, wigs, or powder. There was not much originality in the characters. There was a great run on the Louis Quinze period. Night, with her sables and her stars, the seasons, with all their floral adaptations, are now pretty well exhausted. There were beautiful little recesses where I should think that a good deal of future clerical morning work for months was cut out. A ball like this always sets an infinitude of gossip about.

Other subjects come on the tapis not so pleasant. There was rather a curious little law case tried here the other day which occasioned some. painful gossip. A Mr. Ade, a draper in the Western Road, prosecuted an old lady upwards of seventy for shoplifting. There can be no doubt but the old lady put the collar in her muff, and when she was followed and spoken to on the subject she brought it out. But there is all the doubt in the world whether she had intended to commit a felony. The poor old soul, through all those weary threescore years and ten, had preserved a blameless character; and a man from Swan and Edgar's came down to say what respect they had for her during the many years in which she had dealt at their place of business. I do not admit any exculpatory plea of kleptomania, but it is easy to suppose that an error might be made with failing faculties at so advanced an age. A little absence of mind was the most merciful, and probably the most correct view of the case. The jury -Heaven preserve me from having anything to do with juries-having a common tradesmanlike cause with the prosecutor, convicted her. verily believe that trial by jury is the most iniquitous and haphazard proceeding possible. If you happen to see Lord Kingsdown's Autobiography,' just published for private circulation, but of which a very liberal use is made in the last number of the Edinburgh,' you will see in what profound contempt this great lawyer held the institution of a British jury. I am sure I tremble in my peripatetic shoes. I

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remember being in a bookseller's shop, and, having settled in my own mind that I would purchase a book, deposited it in my pocket, and having given a great deal of attention to various objects, I unconsciously pocketed the volume, and walked off with it without going through the preliminary ceremony of paying for it. What a mercy it is that I escaped being handed over to the tender mercies of a British jury! Fortunately I rectified the mistake before it was discovered. It would be no answer to the charge that I was an absent man, and the

day before had left a quantity of change upon the counter. The poor old soul was sentenced to a month's

imprisonment. She told the judge he might as well have taken out his black cap, and ordered her to be put to death at once. I believe it was a most unrighteous conviction; and I cannot pass the shop without a thrill of horror.

As I look out from the pier on the Channel waters, a remarkable literary coincidence occurs to me. Both Wordsworth and Arthur Hugh Clough commence a sonnet with the self-same line

'Where lies the Land to which yon ship must go?'

Now this is very curious if it is an exact coincidence of phraseology; but most probably it was a wandering line in Clough's memory, whose parentage he had forgotten, and which he assumed to be his own. And this reminds me. Looking up one of our best and best-known scholars once, my eye lighted on some Latin poetry he had been writing, and I caught the line

Mira manus tangit citharam neque cernitur ulli.' Meeting him in company that evening, we were talking of the effect of associations in celebrated localities, and I told him one of the Latin writers had very poetically struck it off, and I quoted the line. An hour or two afterwards my friend came to me with a very puzzled expression, asking for the authorship, and adding that it was an extraordinary fact that he really thought he had composed such a line himself. He was quite relieved when I told him the

facts. This man, who writes Latin poetry as well as Horace and better than Lucan, might as originally have produced one of their lines as Clough did this of Wordsworth's.

A large ship slowly appears upon the offing. I mentally repeat to myself that line of double authorship— 'Where lies the Land to which yon ship must go?'

'Suppose you try it,' comes a comical whisper. Get into a small boat with a lot of fivers'-the lot of fivers' is merely an artistic touch -and make arrangements that the

ship shall take you wherever it is going. Would it take you to summer belts of ocean, laving palmfringed lands, or bear you to the ice and lichen of Labrador?' And then, in this pre-eminent place of meeting and parting, I repeat to myself some lines of my own poor muse-probably an unconscious echo of some one else:

Oh friend, we meet, like ships at sea-
One moment, then most silently
The depths will sever thee and me.'

But stop. The band is just finishing off with an air from 11 Flauto Magico'-that wonderful opera where Mozart anticipated Moore, and by which Mr. Mapleson made one of the best operatic hits of late. It is God Save the Queen' now, and I must go and lunch, if I really mean a drive in this exceptional sunshine from Cliftonville to Kemptown. Sauntering thus, we move and gossip on the Brighton New Pier.

COLERIDGE AND KEBLE.*

That venerable judge, Sir J. T. Coleridge, bas just published a Memoir of his friend, John Keble, the poet, which it requires no prophet to tell will be one of the most valued works of this age. There is something very touching in the friendship between these two. The judge has kept all the letters that passed between them for upwards of forty years-letters written in the fresh morning of life, and others written

A Memoir of the Rev. John Keble, M.A., late Vicar of Hursley.' By the Right Hon. Sir J. T. Coleridge, D.C.L. Oxford and London: James Parker and Co.

when he was a very old man, counting up the friends who were vanishing one by one, and whom he must soon follow; and these letters breathe an intensity of mutual affection, reveal lives in calmness, purity, and high intellectual thoughts very far removed from ordinary lives, that our modern days may recall all that we know best of ancient worth; and we are thankful for a work so salutary and so elevated. Both the author and the subject were remarkable men. Keble had taken his double-first and a fellowship at Oriel before he was nineteen. Sir John Coleridge also, after high academical distinctions, pursued a brilliant career at the bar, became one of our most useful and honoured judges, and voluntarily retired from the bench to pass many years of a serene old age in his Devonshire home. He has a son who has inherited his abilities and his great legal fame, and we trust also the unspotted goodness of his sire.

Much in this volume is unsuited for discussion in these pages, but there is much also of great literary and social interest. There is especially a letter from Dr. Newman here giving an account of the memorable interview, which he, Dr. Pusey, and Mr. Keble had at Hursley not very long before the latter's death. They had not met for so many years that the old men could not at first recognise each other, and Keble afterwards wrote

When shall we three meet again?
When the hurly-burly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.'

We see how strenuously he supported Mr. Gladstone and how hopefully he thought of him. Here is a brief extract from a letter:

'H. is just returned from spending two very pleasant days with Lord Derby at Highclerc. Lord D. was full of fun, but H. is regretting that he omitted to ask him why he renders Bowπis "stag-eyed." However, you see we have two strings to our bow. Homer and good wit are in fashion, whether we are Whigs or Tories.' He was naïvely astonished at the amount of money which came in for his poems, but he wished that people would con

sider his prose as well as read his poetry.' But this considering Keble's prose is very hard work; the style is so exceedingly repellent and unpopular. He did not much approve of what the younger Coleridge was doing with his Abolition of Tests Bill. But I cannot say how much I am obliged to the said John for what he has done for us in the matter of confession.' This refers, Sir J. T. Coleridge tells us, 'to a legal opinion given in a matter which arose out of the extraordinary case of Constance Kent and to services in it as her legal adviser,' meaning, we suppose, the confession made to Mr. Wagner of Brighton.

Both the legal knights Coleridge have parts, though unequal, in the volume. The Solicitor - General writes a long letter which is reprinted by his father as a postscript to the work. Both father and son, when they went the western circuit and came to Winchester, used to slip away for the quiet refreshment of a day at Hursley. Sir John Duke Coleridge does not appear to have got on quite well with the aged saint and poet. The two got into conversation on the subject of Charles the First. The lawyer took a view adverse to the king, on the strength of the Naseby letters. On this, he said, I remember, with a tenderness and humility, not only most touching but to me most embarrassing, that "it might be so; what was he to judge of other men? he was old, and things were now looked at very differently; that he knew he had many things to unlearn and learn afresh; and that I must not mind what he had said, for that, in truth, belief in the heroes of his youth had become part of him." I am afraid these are my words and not his, and I cannot give his way of speaking, which to any one with a heart I think would have been as overcoming as it was to me.' On one occasion when they were walking together in London, and the barrister was talking on a sacred subject-that of the inspiration of the Scriptureswhich he thought would be the great religious question of the time, 'He showed great dislike to the

discussion, and put it aside several times, and on my pressing it upon him, he answered shortly, that most of the men who had difficulties on this subject were too wicked to be reasoned with. Most likely he thought a young man's forwardness and conceit needed rebuke, and he administered it accordingly; but, besides this, it was an instance of that in him which would be called severity or intolerance.' We may, however, suggest to the SolicitorGeneral that severity is not necessarily intolerance.'

The present writer was often, so to speak, on the track of Keble, nor was he ever moved so much by any criticism as when he heard that Mr. Keble's approbation had not altogether gone with some papers which he had written. He knew something of those last winters on the coast, where Mr. Keble's words and ways will always be treasured with affectionate recollection. He had also the pleasure of hearing almost the only speech which Mr. Keble ever addressed to a large mixed assembly; and albeit it was spoken somewhat in stammering and broken words, yet the intense feeling, always so peculiarly manifested in Keble's mode of speech, and the intense reverence with which his hearers listened to him, made this one of the most successful speeches that was ever heard. The process of years brought a considerable gap between Keble the high-and-dry country divine and Keble the imaginative poet with a divine sadness on his soul. We believe that he himself used to say that his days of poetry were all gone. But his was the same ever affectionate and courteous nature, carrying with it its own atmosphere of gentleness and devoutness. Hursley is already for his countrymen and countrywomen as hallowed a locality as Bemerton or Olney. The quiet, pastoral landscape, the woodlands and park, the beautifullyadorned church with its heavenpointing spire, the parsonage and hall where squire and parson were linked in most loving amity, the shadowed fountain over which the poet had written the beautiful verse

of inscription-all make up a picture of the purest English landscape, unspeakably grateful and soothing in these days of controversy and unrest. The poet and saint has received a glorious commemoration in the college which is about to rise in his honour at Oxford, and there is another stately commemoration in his friend's biography, perchance ære perennius.

LORD CAMPBELL'S LIVES OF LYNDHURST AND BROUGHAM.

It was well known among the group of law lords that Lord Campbell was engaged in writing the lives of some of them. His presence was therefore a memento mori to them, and, as Lord Brougham said, armed death with a new terror. Nevertheless, Brougham called him 'dearest Jack,' and when he was made Lord Chief Justice of England drank his health in a bumper of still champagne. And all the while his noble and biographical friend,' as he called him, was putting down in his note book every little incident that could make his friend ridiculous or despicable. Lord Campbell evidently intended to give him an acquittance in full, and contemplated with unscrupulous malice the future explosion of the magazine which he had heaped up with so much care. We do not wonder that all London, especially legal and political London, is getting a great deal of wicked enjoyment out of this mischievous work, which must breed much contempt towards the law lords commemorated, their biographer in particular, and high personages in general. If the treatment of Lord Brougham in this volume is highly ungenerous, the continuous envenomed attack upon Lord Lyndhurst abounds with rancorous malignity. We would only advise every reader, while perusing this volume, to consult the opening article of the last Quarterly Review.' They will there find an authoritative answer to that which never rises to the dignity of autho* Lives of Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Brougham.' By the late John Lord Campbell, LL.D., F.R.S.E.: Murray.

ritative accusation. Nothing is more amusing or irritable than the air of assumed superiority over men infinitely greater and better than himself, and whose memory will live when his own is gradually forgotten or execrated for this nefarious attempt to blast their fair fame. With all his defects Brougham belonged to the very first order of great men in his wonderful oratory, his wonderful intellectual versatility, and the prodigality of his mental gifts. Lord Lyndhurst was not only a great orator, a great magistrate, but a statesman of the very highest order. It may be altogether doubted whether Campbell was capable of doing justice to the scientific side of Brougham's character or the high intellectual side of Lyndhurst's. If ever Lord Campbell's own life is written it will be seen how essentially ignoble, selfish, and vulgar that life was. This last dastardly work was alone needed to show how real paltriness of nature may be found in union with massive abilities and the attainment of the highest earthly distinctions. He

has forgotten the proverb that those who live in crystal palaces must not fling stones. The scandal will not be forgotten how the Liberal Attorney-General, John Campbell, perpetrated his iniquitous job in making himself Lord Chancellor of Ireland to sit on the judicial bench for a single day; how he intrigued with base arts again and again to oust better men from their places that he might worm himself into them; how, when first law officer to the crown, he betrayed his government and encouraged rebellion by declaring that chartism was at an end when chartism was most rampant. As a literary man impudent plagiarisms and wilful malversations of truth have been discovered against him. His was a coarse, vulgar mind, that seemed to have no higher aim in life than the attainment of substantial worldly success. Soon after he had declared that he did not mind sudden death -sudden death came to him. might have been respected for his industry, earnestness, and cheerfulness, and have been admired for

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the perpetual luckiness of his stars, had not this pitiable revelation of a mean, envious, untruthful nature been made. There were a Zoilus to Homer, a Lauder to Milton, and there is a Campbell to Lyndhurst.

It will not be necessary to go into a full exposure of Lord Campbell's biography. In the very first page he asserts that Lyndhurst was ashamed of his origin, although he lived in his father's house, and to the last proudly contemplated his father's pictures on the wall. Ab uno disce omnes, and the Quarterly Reviewers will give efficient help. Much as we disapprove of the work, we are as bad as our neighbours, and go to it for what gossip we can find. And there is abundance of it, with much shrewd wisdom and many capital stories, and the abundant alloy of which we have spoken. He finds fault with Lyndhurst in the Exchequer, but most reluctantly admits how great a magistrate he was, and recals that wonderful extemporary judgment, a day long, in the Attwood case, by all accounts the most wonderful judgment ever heard in Westminster Hall. Lord Campbell contemptuously speaks of the intolerable nuisance of judges on circuit having to entertain country gentlemen to dinner, but Lyndhurst liked it, and with a true bonhomie that Campbell hardly comprehended, averred that he not only could make himself entertaining to them, but that he could make them entertaining to himself in return. Lord Campbell has a theory of his own respecting the friendship of Brougham and Lyndhurst. When Brougham was omitted in Lord Melbourne's ministry, but the Great Seal was put into commission and still dangled before Brougham's eyes, Lyndhurst took a malicious pleasure in tormenting him. Sir John Campbell, then Mr. Attorney, after arguing a case at the bar of the House of Lords, proceeded to the foot of the throne to say a word to the Premier. 'I then heard Lord Lyndhurst halloa out to Lord Brougham, so as almost to be heard distinctly in the gallery, "Brougham, here is

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