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settle steadily anywhere?

looking on, but doing nothing. He is an old friend of Mr. Young, and a man of note among the thinkers of the day. He is only five-andforty, but he looks ten years older. Can you see his face? What mingled sadness and humor in that mouth!—and in the eyes what a penetrating, intelligent light, with an occasional flash from their inmost depths, as of divine fire! Mr. Sterling is a man of mark and livelihood, and Rose prefers his talk to that of all the "clever, crude youngsters," as she calls men of George's age, and older. It is scarcely becoming in Miss Rose to speak so contemptuously of youth. It is a quality which her own round face is likely to retain very long, in spite of all her efforts to give it a mature and thoughtful look. Rose has a passion for old things; this is a subject of jest among those privileged to jest with her. An exception to her love for old people in preference to young ones, is her friendship for Carey Herbert. That very beautiful girl, with the scarlet scarf tied carelessly over her head, is the vicar's daughter. The sightless eyes are no disfigurement to the exquisitely-formed and delicately-colored face. Carey is the standard of female beauty in these parts. She sits on Rose's right hand, and feels her way among the bines, and picks as fast as if she could see them. On Carey's other side is a queer figure; a little man with blue eyes, and gray hair, and a long brown coat, the sleeves of which are carefully turned back, as well as the wristbands of the shirt; for the hops stain terribly. This little man spreads out his limbs, and uses more gesticulation than an Englishman; he laughs more frequently, too, than an Englishman of his years and sober general appearance would be apt to do. That is Fritz Steinberg, the musician. Behind him, on the bank, among the shawls, I can see a roll of music and his violin-case. He will

give himself and the company a treat by-andby. He is speaking in a strange jargon to Miss Herbert. Like Cerberus, he "talks a leash of languages at once." English, German, and French, are pretty equally used in the composition of his sentences. Miss Herbert sits properly equipped in bonnet and cloak, dreading rheumatism, and being thought out of the way in her appearance. She likes Herr Steinberg, and tries to understand what he says; but she thinks it a pity that he has not the advantage of being an Englishman. She is occasionally scandalized by his foreign ways, and violent language, and indecorous mirth. She is in the best possible humor with him now, and they are stripping the same bine, in close conversation.

Who are those two men at the other end of the bin? you ask; and who is that little girl that flits about like a pretty painted butterfly, from one to another too happy, too gay, to

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That little girl,

loveliest of her name, beating Petrarch's by many a beauty, is Laura - Laura Darlington, the vicar's niece, Miss Herbert's niece, Carey's cousin, Herr Steinberg's new pupil, about whose talent he raves in private, and whose giddiness he deplores in public. That is little Laura — Rose's pet, and Mr. Young's plaything. As to the two men, one is the vicar, as you may easily divine from his mild, clerical aspect, and his likeness to Carey; the other is Mr. Wentworth. I see you can't take your eyes off him.

"A strange-looking fellow!" you say. Well! poets are generally accounted strange fellows, and Mr. Wentworth is a poet; but not one whom the world delights to honor just yet. The world will take its time about that, and he is in no hurry, being much too indifferent about what is called the Public by professors of politeness; but which he, professing nothing of the kind, calls the Blatant Beast, and despises with undue contempt, though with no personal despite ; - because he had no thought of pleasing the public when he wrote poetry; and when he published it, it was for the "fit audience.” You can't make out his face!" you say. It looks heavy, and yet intellectual-stern, yet gentle scornful, yet full of sorrow, and a capacity for loving. He looks both young and old; both indolent and energetic. He and the vicar are deep in talk, you see. The bines hang in their hands, laden with clusters of hops, and they merely hold them. Mr. Wentworth, indeed, has now thrown aside even an appearance of work, and, folding his arms on the edge of the bin, leans his. chin on his two hands, in the awkwardest attitude imaginable, and looks down into it, while he goes on talking, in a low voice, to his old tutor.

"What you say is true enough; but how can I set about amusing myself?

Ich bin zu alt um nur zu spielen Zu jung um ohne Wunsch zu seyn." "It is a pity you were born to inherit a competence, Frederick," said the vicar.

Mr. Herbert is the only person now living who calls Wentworth by his Christian name. Can you tell how much that familiarity endears him to the world-worn man of thirtyfive?

"If you had been obliged to work for your living, your life would not be thus valueless. But, nonsense, man, it is puerile and idiotic to talk of life- any life, especially such a life as yours, being valueless. It is the gift of gifts, the blessing of blessings. I wished you to come here that you might see how we folks, who are not geniuses, enjoy our lives."

"Thank you, I appreciate your kindness; it is a pleasant thing to see so many good people, so much beauty and joyous existence.

You must not think that I do not admire your Arcadian pleasures, or that I cannot take part in them."

"But your heart is not in them." "Uncle! uncle!" exclaimed little Laura, "here's little Tommy Freeman come to fetch you to see his grandmother! Must you go?"

"Yes, my child," replied the vicar, rising; "she is very ill; I must go and see her. If I should not return, Fred," he said, kindly laying his hand on Mr. Wentworth's shoulder, with a smile, "let me hear, at dinner time, that you have taken a lesson in other things besides hop-picking, this morning. Remember you can teach as well as learn in our academy. Carey would be delighted if you will talk or read to her presently, when she is tired of merriment. I do not wish her to fatigue herself."

The last sentence was said in so low a voice that only Wentworth heard it. Mr. Wentworth said that he should be happy to take charge of Carey, while her father was away. He began to pick off the hops slowly from the bine that had fallen from his hand, and listened to the conversation of his neighbors, his large hazel eyes glancing occasionally from Carey to Rose, and from Rose to old Fritz Steinberg.

Mr. Young and Mr. Sterling were pacing to and fro in animated talk Wentworth caught the words, " duty," "import" and at first thought they were discussing some question in morality; the subject might interest, he thought, so he listened again. This sime he caught the words - -"free-trade," and" Peel." He was in no humor for politics. George Sterling was saying sharp and clever things to Rose and Carey about the English abroad, and the foreigners in England, at which Rose laughed heartily. Carey was more interested in a discussion about oratorios, which was going on between Herr Steinberg and aunt Mary. Wentworth, seeing that she was listening, listened too.

--

I like music as well as any one," said Miss Herbert (a significant grunt from the professor) but I do say that one may have too much of a good thing. Only think of practising six hours a-day!"

You call him too moche? I might well know what for a musician vous appelez too moche music?""

"Six hours, my dear sir," said the lady, deeming the assertion incontrovertible.

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we will do, dort en haut — just as we do here. The engel do not write books, nor make pictures; they are not architects - all those are good arts, sehr gut Aber, the angels of God im himmel, sie sind - musicians! Theorie and practik. Ah! they know them- ach! himmel! wenn I should cease to love music in the oder world-wenn I should cease to know music, it would be a unaussprechlich schmerz fur mich. Möchte lieber im andere," he muttered, knowing that Miss Herbert would not understand him. Before the sentence was completed, he caught Wentworth's eye, and burst out laughing.

"Vous autres!-Euch dichter. Was denken

sie?"

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Old Steinberg smiled and nodded. Miss Herbert looked a little shocked; but knowing that her brother esteemed Mr. Wentworth, she suspected he was not really so wicked as he seemed.

"I did not know that you were fond of music, Mr. Wentworth," she said.

"Nor am I, I fear, in this gentleman's acceptation of the word. I love melody; beautiful tunes please me; but for the wonders of harmony I have no taste; I am powerfully moved by grand orchestral effects."

"But I know you care nothing about how they are produced," chimed iu Mr. Young. "You like vocal music; but instrumental music bothers you?"

"That is somewhat near the mark," said Wentworth. "For instance, I love to hear a sweet voice sing an Irish melody, and a skilful hand draw the same from an instrument."

"That is good, so far," said Mr. Young. "Gut! Das ist goot for the mop vid die sav age ear!" said the German, contemptuously.

"What does he mean?" whispered Laura to Mr. Wentworth, whose head she had been busily wreathing with hops — “Mop vid dre savage ear!''

"He means the mob with the uncultivated

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"Then you are one of the mob!" laughed the child; "Mr. Young said yesterday you had an uncultivated ear."

"Yes, my dear, I am one of his mob.” "And he is one of yours," murmured Mr. Sterling, who was standing behind.

"How small our knowledge is! how narrow our minds! We float about in a sea of error, and catch here and there a pearl of truth; and each knows nothing of the treasure which another finds," said Wentworth, musingly.

To his surprise the old musician turned to him and quoted in guttural tones these words

from a poem which Wentworth knew almost from them that will put our book-learning to by heart:

66

O glucklich! wer nur hoffen kann

Aus diesem Meer des Irrthums aufzutauchen.* "You can do that," said Mr. Sterling, bending down over Wentworth and the child; you are strong enough to buffet the waves and to reach the firm land; you have been floating and idling about there long enough. Come out of that sea of error. I don't say it has done you no good to have sounded its depths and tasted its waters; on the contrary, it was the necessary preparation for such as you. You must now turn your thoughts to wisdom."

"I?" asked Wentworth, "I am not one of her children."

"But her children are all adopted ones. You may become a wise man."

Fritz Steinberg, not hearing what was said by these two, was still thinking on the same subject; and, as was his wont, gave vent to his thoughts unconsciously; setting some favorite words, which happened to express them to an improvised recitative. In a tolerable bass came forth these words, exactly as if they had been intended as a reply to Mr. Sterling's observation

Zwey seelen wohnen, ach in meiner Brust,† Die eine will sich von der audern trennen.

the blush."

"I am not going into the house. I am going to learn wisdom of goodness."

So saying, Wentworth stepped to Carey's side, as Mr. Sterling walked away.

"Miss Carey, your father desired me to amuse you when you were fatigued with your present task. You have ceased picking for some time."

She turned her great blue eyes towards him, and he could look into their clear depths without fear of annoying her.

"I have been listening to your conversation.'

"You may judge by that how poor my powers of amusing are. I am not in a cue to read. Will you, who are always so obliging, and who really care for other people will you come and take me, or rather, let me lead you among the villagers? I heard you say that you meant to go and talk to them when the time for measuring the hops came; - and it has come now, I see. There is the steward with his measuring basket, and the people are leaving off picking. I think your talk with the villagers will be a better sort of relaxation than mine with you." Carey smiled.

But you

"I shall be very glad to do 80. must not leave me all the talking to do. The Greenwood folks are accustomed to converse with strangers."

"Does that answer satisfy you?" asked Wentworth, smiling, as he rose and took off "Where are you two going?" asked Rose. his chaplet of hops, much to Laura's dissatis-"This will never do. I shall never get fivefaction.

"No," replied Mr. Sterling; "I don't think you could give me a satisfactory answer from Faust. You should be beyond that now with your experience."

Mr. Wentworth, I must tell you, loved and honored Mr. Sterling, who knew him well, and hoped much better things from his maturer life than those of his brilliant youth. "If I may not take Herr Steinberg's quotation for my answer, let me offer you one from another poet your namesake

and-twenty bushels picked to-day. I am losing my very best hand through the artful enticements of the very worst. Mr. Wentworth, I am amazed at your idleness! I don't think you have picked a pint."

"His movement is merely a sort of reculer pour mieux sauter," said Carey. "I promise that Mr. Wentworth will come back a better picker at the end of half-an-hour."

"I am going to take a lesson," said Mr. Wentworth.

Here Herr Steinberg ran round the bin to Carey, begging her not to forget that they were to sing over some music; and that he And would my thoughts to some perfection raise, was going to play an air with variations on A wisdom-lover, willing to be wise."

I am but one who do the world despise,

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the violin.

"Be sure I will not lose that!" said Carey, who loved the violin almost as much as she loved its owner; and that is saying a great deal.

There go Wentworth and Carey, accompanied by the ubiquitous Laura, skipping and jumping around them. Carey talks freely to Wentworth about himself and his art-his duty, and his neglect of duty. She alludes to his deepest sorrow. She is well acquainted with his life, and knows that he has loved-loved as such. men only can love-and has been deceived.. She speaks with her father's piety, with Mr..

Sterling's philosophy, and with a woman's gentleness. In very few words she says what is in her mind; and then recommends that for the present he will forget himself and his own thoughts and the inmost folds of his heart.

"What we should learn here," she said, with a touching smile, "is a philosophy different from that taught in the old Athenian garden - Know thyself. Know not thyself!' my father says. Think not of thyself, but come and enter freely into the thoughts and interests of these thy fellowcreatures.' We are near them now, I can near by their voices," she continued. "O! believe me, Mr. Wentworth, you may learn something of philosophy in a hop-garden. Come, now, to one of the unconscious adepts. Good morning, Mrs. Green! I am glad to see you out again."

Carey always said see, like other people. Thank you, miss. I'm nicely again; and the hops and the fresh air smell sweeter to me, I do believe, for having been shut up in the house so long; so, you see, there's good in everything!"

When Carey and Mr. Wentworth returned, she was laughing at an amusing story he had been relating to Laua; and he was thinking what a beautiful face she had; and that her voice was sweeter than any musical instrument. He thought also of another woman's face and another voice that had once been the epitome of beauty, and joy, and hope for him-Gone! gone!

He took his seat beside Carey, and being challenged by her to pick a peck of hops in three minutes, he applied himself to the task. But, alas! the inveterate habit of the poet was too strong. He forgot in less than one minute what his hands were doing, and was repeating to himself these verses of George

Wither:

The voice which I did more esteem
Than music in her sweetest key;
Those eyes which unto me did seem
More comfortable than the day;
Those now, by me, as they have been,
Shall never more be heard or seen ;
But what I once enjoyed in them
Shall seem hereafter as a dream.
All earthly comforts vanish thus ;
So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,

May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither wise nor just

If present mercies we despise ; Or mind not how there may be made A thankful use of what we had. "Mr. Wentworth! Mr. Wentworth! what are you thinking of?" said Rose. Carey has done long ago, and you have not picked twenty hops.

"I have been thinking over part of the lesson I learnt out yonder. Pray, can you tell me, when the hop has been cut down ruthlessly in the perfection of its beauty, as this has been" and he held up a whole bino "does the same root ever produce another?"

Every one laughed at this piece of ignorance; and Rose explained to him that the root of the hop, like that of the vine, lasts many years a hundred sometimes.

"It is cut down every year, and the next spring it grows again stronger and better than before," said Carey.

"It is the same with human hopes and happiness," said Mr. Sterling. "There is no vegetable that has a stronger capacity for renewing its flowers than the human heart. Let us not frostnip the new shoots by useless regret, or a cynical philosophy."

"Amen," said Mr. Herbert, who returned at that moment.

And let me take my place again among the party. I dare say you have had enough of my friend's hop-garden, good reader; so farewell! I must join them now and pick my share.

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From the Spectator, 30th July.

TURKISH AND EUROPEAN CRISIS.

WHILE the protest of Redschid Pasha on behalf of the Turkish government, against the Russian occupation of the Principalities, shows that Turkey maintains her position with unflinching firmness, though with all moderation, Russia pursues her aggression. Redschid declares that Turkey has satisfied the original claims of Russia, has secured the privileges of her Christian subjects, and is still prepared to make all due concessions in courtesy to the self-love of the emperor, but it is not in her power to make any further

concession of a substantial kind; and the Emperor is reminded how little his acts are in accord with his professions of friendliness and peace. If report may be trusted, the practical reply of Russia, in anticipation of the protest, is to assemble a great additional army in Bessarabia; while the Servian government, called to furnish its contingent to the Turkish army, proclaims "neutrality." Meanwhile, the proceedings of the Allied Courts are veiled in dubious obscurity.

Great would have been the responsibility of any English minister who should have hurried his country into war; but not less the responsibility of the minister who, after Russia has levied war, should weakly leave that power to reap the advantages of aggression without its pains and penalties. He would owe a deep responsibility to Turkey, who has been restrained by England and her allies from repelling war in the legitimate way; the restraint helping the designs of Russia by exposing the Porte to the misconstructions and the indignation of its fanatical Mussulman subjects. The minister of an English policy of subserviency would also incur a grave responsibility towards Europe, in neglecting the duty of defending the outposts of the continent against that power which is now making its unceasing advances, by intrigue in Denmark, by open war in Turkey, and by the force of procrastination all round. The difficulties of war may be staved off for the hour; but the consequences are already upon It is this which must be brought to a stop; for it is not Turkey alone which loses by the dilatory policy which Russia is suffered to pursue, and every week of which is to her the gain of a campaign without waste of men

us.

or money. The more obvious difficulties of war might be staved off for Western Europe, but every year would render our position worse; and we should practically be allowing the arch-enemy to choose his own position and time-proverbially the very worst mistake of generalship.

In an article on the Danubian Provinces, the Spectator of the 30th of July says:—

Ir is obvious what advantages such a

country as this offers to an active, irregular army, opposed to a force encumbered with the enormous machinery of modern war. Even in wet weather, or any weather, must be unopposed, the occupation of such territories troublesome; but with an active foe, it could only have been accomplished after many This advantage an over-anxious diplomacy struggles, much loss, and considerable time. has thrown away; and as the state of the Danubian Provinces could have been no secret to any of the parties, the timidity which the permission to occupy implied probably encouraged the occupation. It is possible that the saine aversion to commit itself to a serious lation to withdraw, and then wink at the enterprise will be satisfied with a paper stipucost than the payment for supplies (if they possession; so that Russia, without any other be really paid for), will extend her frontier to the Danube, and have reached another and a very important stage in her progress to Constantinople.

duced to take her present course by the alleged It is possible that Russia may have been inand of the assurance that England and France reports of the pacific disposition of England, would not unite for any common purpose. It is quite as likely that the real motive was of a more home kind. Barbarous as the semiMoldavia, have been for ages, the germ of a Turkish provinces, Servia, Wallachia, and them. In Servia actually, and in Wallachia rough kind of freedom has existed amongst under the fostering care of Russia), governand Moldavia (according to M. Demidoff ments with some resemblance to a constitution are established. There are elective assemblies, education, books, journals, and a of a very coarse and backward kind; private These may be partial freedom of the press. morals may be low, public spirit corrupt, opinion even among such classes as can form an opinion narrow and wrong. It may be a question, however, whether the Boyards are so very much lower than our Squire Westerns or the Irish squireens of the last century. It seems difficult to imagine a legislature more corrupt than that of Great Britain, when Fox, first Lord Holland, opened an office to buy single votes to confirm Bute's peace, or of Ireland when Castlereagh carried the Union. tional privileges might not have proceeded to It is possible that these Danubian constitua full growth, surrounded as these provinces are by despotic states ever anxious to crush freedom. On the other hand, it is possible far to enable the people to form a part of that that they might have advanced sufficiently new state, whether federative or imperial, which Mr. Bayle St. John and many others are speculating about. At all events, it is very natural that Russia should fear their freedom, semi-barbarous as it may be, and be

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