gentleman, such as I believe Mr. West to be, for employment in a foreign court; which employment may continue for two yearsscarcely less--but if performed in a satisfactory manner, it will be certain to lead to higher duties and preferment. Now, I thought you would like this to be a little offering from us both, on this joyful occasion, to your cousin what says my Lady ?"

But my Lady was rather overcome for a brief space; indeed, she wiped her eyes before she could say, "Nothing can be better-more graceful-more thoughtful; and if I might suggest the best way of opening the business, it will be through Mr. Ashley Vernon, with whom you are already acquainted."

Ah! Reginald and Helen, is Preferment coming with a thundering rap-a-tap-tap at your humble door? and have you no presentiment that the great personage is so near?

1

CHAPTER VII.

"A momentary grace of mortal men,

Which we more hunt for than the grace of God!"
Richard III.

"I AM not quite comfortable about Stacey," remarked Reginald to his friend, some time after the birth of his son; "his little wife looks anxious, and he talks of changing the atmosphere, and running away for a short time, with that good-natured but silly Lord Chalton."

"In that case, I have no doubt that the atmosphere will, indeed, be quite changedbut I do doubt whether it will be more healthy for him. However, he has really worked on so steadily for some months, that I am not surprised he desires a little respite. His mercurial nature and thoughtless habits require a holiday now and then, to make him work cheerfully when he returns to school; and I must own, the rapidity and success with

which he produced that first volume of memoirs, fairly took me by surprise."

"Well, if you are satisfied, I have no reason to croak and be dismal."

It would have been well had Mrs. Stacey been satisfied also; but such was not the case.

Since the remarkable success of part of the work, for the appearance of which public curiosity had been raised by all the machinery that publishers so well know how to put in operation, and which, from its own real merit, both as regarded manner and matter, had produced quite a sensation in the reading world, Stacey's mind and pen had flagged. Like a racer that distances all others till near the goal, and then drops dead lame, so it was with him-instead of following up this success, and securing for himself a high and permanent place in the temple of fame, he acted as if that were certain, or already attainedin truth, he seemed to have made an effort he had not strength to continue; and Ashley was partly correct when he said, Stacey wanted a holiday.

We all want a holiday now and then-a kind of change-nature herself requires it-she works hard, she lays in her stores, she prepares her vast laboratories, and silently continues her labours without giving much sign

of even the faintest exertion. Spring comes. and she then evinces her taste and skill in making evident preparations for the beautiful and gorgeous attire in which she pranks herself, and takes her holiday amid flowers and fresh perfumes, during the glorious summer.

And so, we repeat, we all want a holiday. But there is a great difference in the way of spending it. Some make it a season of overfeeding-too much plum pudding-too many mince-pies; then, after sundry natural punishments, comes the crowning penalty in the doctor, with his draughts and powders. By some it is spent in over-pleasuring — and though a different process is gone through, still there is the same result-a penalty of some kind to be paid.

A few enjoy it rationally.

But Stacey was not one of the rational animals-so he flew off with his rattle-brained friend, and soon found himself more than ever the observed of all observers the petted -the fêted. Nothing could be done without him and his direction-so that, if he had thought, he might have asked, "Have all these people been in an enchanted sleep since I last met them? and, am I the prince who alone can wake them? How have they done without me during this long interval ?"

But it was enough for him that they offered incense; he asked not, how long it was since they had burned it to the cap and bells, nor how soon they would do so again. He was once more on the pedestal-what mattered it, that some creeping thing had squatted there before him; or that some bird of prey would alight on it after.

"This is a poor substitute for the second volume, which so many are looking for," remarked Reginald to his wife and Ashley, as he opened a splendidly bound and illustrated book of poems, by Charles Stacey.

"I cannot tell you how greatly I am disappointed," replied Ashley; "not exactly in this, which is a fair average specimen of modern poetry, but I am sorry that a man who possesses the talents Stacey really has-the memoir evinces that should allow them to be wasted in the trifling, shallow society, into which he has so eagerly thrown himself."

But they are not entirely wasted," observed Helen, apologetically; "witness this gay little volume."

"Which proves nothing for your argument, Helen," answered Ashley; "the best of these poems, as you may see by the dates and allusions, were written while living here-and even without those indications I would under