There were very difficult steps after this, but they were of another shape; and undoubtedly the marriage ceremony at the altar marked a certain space of ground indisputably and irrecoverably gained. Before this, the awful word probation never ceased to temper with wisdom the boldness of the aspirant. It was a kind of tattoo mark, but not so indelible. Indeed, bold and clever as her suitor was, he would have failed in his enterprize if there had not been an ally to help him. He was subject, as might be expected, from the first, to a very powerful magnifying glass. His objectionable points were seen to their farthest limit, and exhibited before Miss Timepiece's eyes in as many different colours as the chameleon shows itself in. One by one they were reviewed, crossed and recrossed: it was like a game at draughts or chess. Mrs. Timepiece took him at one time with a pawn, at another with a knight, at another with a bishop, and so on. Now, if her daughter had at all resisted these proceedings, it would have been checkmate at once; but the principle of obedience was at work in her breast, and she simply and quietly, without even so much as a rebellious smile on her face, let her mother thus take her king; and, in the end, that lady either got tired of taking him, or became secretly persuaded that he was, after all, a bit of a king. Miss Timepiece never doubted that he was more than a little bit of a king. She soon began to think him a king of men every inch, but she had the obedience not to say so. She never calculated in the least on the good effect of this upon her mother. It was not wisdom that made her silent whilst these comments tore her heart-strings so harshly-it was obedience. on replanting their vineyards and tilling their crops, as if the latest eruption were to be--as theatrical managers say-"positively the last." BUT WHILE LENDING all true commiseration for the unfortunate victims of the capricious Vesuvius, it is unpleasant to be ourselves awakened from a dream of satisfaction in which we of this happy island have long indulged. We knew from geologists that our mountain ranges were but the evidences of volcanic action in the ages gone by; but we flattered ourselves that live volcanoes were, at least, now extinct in Great Britain. The "knowing ones," however, of science are just now making us uncomfortable by the information that we are liable at any moment to as fearful an eruption of the earth beneath our feet as ever overwhelmed Herculaneum or Pompeii, or to as terrible an earthquake as ever destroyed Lisbon. FROM EARTHQUAKES to comets is an easy transition. According to the Astronomical Register, Professor Donati writes in the Nazione, of March 4, in reference to many inquiries made of him respecting the announced collision of a comet with the earth in August next. He remarks that at present there are no comets visible, and that the appearance of large comets would be welcome, since there are recently discovered means of making new researches on them. He goes on to speak of the comet of Biela, due in August next, and inquires whether it may at some future time encounter the earth; and states, as the result of calculation, that this comet will be in 1872 always at a great distance from the earth. It will cross the earth's orbit on August 26, at which time it will be about a hundred and ten millions of geographical miles from the earth. This will be its nearest approach. On November 28, the earth will be situated where the comet was on August 26. There is, therefore, no danger of a collision with the earth. The professor then points out the extreme improbability of the earth colliding with any comet; or, if such a thing were to happen, the comet, he remarks, might probably become a satellite of the earth. He observes that in 1832 there was a similar report of a coming collision with Biela's comet; and that, in spite of the assurances of astronomers, the general panic did not cease till dispelled by the actual falsification of the prophecy. Donati proceeds to comment on the very great probability that the comet of Biela, which has not been seen since 1852, no longer exists (the figures given above are, on the contrary, hypothesis). In 1846-as is well known-it appeared double, its two parts being 134,000 of geographical miles from each other; and in the apparition of 1852, they were 200,000 geographical miles apart. The comet not being seen in 1858 was attributed to its nearness to the sun, as in 1839; but, in 1866, when it should have been visible in dark nights, the most powerful telescopes failed to discover it. THIS QUESTION as to where all the comets go to is as interesting as it is-at present, at least-insoluble. That comets might be dissipated was long ago supposed by Kepler, who said that, as the silkworm wastes itself by spinning its cocoon, so comets may waste themselves and die whilst they generate or spin their immeasurably long tails. THE PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN has set in in America. Horace Greeley, leaving for the nonce the helm of the New York Tribune, has entered the field against Ulysses Grant. But Ulysses has a more dangerous opponent than even the warlike Greeley, and women's rights advocates will be delighted to hear that the redoubtable Mrs. Woodhull is stumping it for the Presidential chair. We have not the pleasure of knowing whether Mrs. Woodhull is a Democrat or Republican; we only know that, on the female rights question, she is thorough. What more ardent champion could her supporters want than a lady who publicly proclaims her inalienable privilege, in common with all other slaves of men, of marrying a fresh husband every day if she should feel so disposed? In the chances for the Presidency, notwithstanding this, we would back Greeley against Woodhull, and we do not think either has much chance. THIS IS THE month of flowers, and lovers of nature may feast their eyes and senses of perfumes to their hearts' content, in the merry month of May. But, speaking of flowers, I have often been struck with the many various names given to one simple flower, according to the different localities. Take the viola tricolor, or common pansy, for instance. The old-fashioned name comes from the French pensée. Because it has three colours in the same flower, it is called "three faces under a hood," and also herb Trinity; and, from its colouring, flame flower. It is also called heart's-ease; but this name probably belongs to the wallflower, which was formerly called giroflée, or clove flower-because cloves were in former times considered good for diseases of the heart. Of amatory names, the pansy has probably more than any other plant: "Kiss me ere I rise," "Kiss me at the garden gate," "Tittle my fancy," "Pink of my John," "Love in idle" or "in vain," "Love in idleness," and many others. WE HAVE OFTEN strolled through Smithfield and Leadenhall Markets, but we fear we did not make such good use of our eyes as a gentleman writing in one of our scientific contemporaries seems to have done. He says: "On the 2nd of this month (April) I visited Smithfield and Leadenhall Markets, where I met with several good birds, which I think worth recording. At Smithfield, I got two perfect, adult, male, red-breasted mergansers, a very good spoonbill, a bittern, and an old male cormorant. In Leadenhall, I found a very good white stork, about a score of black-tailed godwits (a few of them in full summer dress, but the greater part in transition), some ruffs and reeves, some of the most splendid herons I ever saw, plenty of shovellors and garganeys, and an immense number of pintail-all of which, I believe, came from Holland. I was unsuccessful in finding either the gadwall, ferruginous duck, or smew, though I searched carefully. Í found two splendid marsh harriers, which I very reluctantly left, as they were much too far gone for stuffing. I was very sorry to see so many peewits, in some cases exposed for sale with their eggs. With the peewits on one stall I saw some rooks' eggs. I made inquiries after Manx shearwaters; but I could not get any, and was informed that none had been sent in this spring. Woodcock, snipe, curlews, oyster-catchers, redshanks, &c., could have been obtained in any numbers. In one shop I saw two Royston crows, which I suppose had been sent up from the coast. I did not see a single specimen of the knot sanderling, curlew sand-piper, gray plover, or bar-tailed godwit." Terms of Subscription for ONCE A WEEK, free by post:-Weekly Numbers for Six Months, 5s. 5d.; Monthly Parts, 5s. 8d. AFTER Mr. Eddrup's confession, Frank met him almost daily. The old man used to go to his court every morning at ten, and sit in his office-a single room-which was like the gate of an Eastern city, inasmuch as he sat there and administered justice. Haroun-al-Raschid could not have been more just, Saladin was not more merciful. Price 2d. One thing everybody knew: they might rob their landlord, refuse to pay his rent, maltreat him. All these, in the old times, they had done. He would never prosecute or use the law. He received his own by their good grace. Strange to say, he hardly ever lost by it. Old inhabitants of the courtespecially one man, who had been the worst of the flock, and was shrewdly suspected of having personally robbed Mr. Eddrup one dark night-protected his interests. Nobody was allowed to shoot the moon: public opinion was against it. Nobody told lies about back rents and the reasons for asking delay: public experience had proved it useless. Truth, when it does as much good, is much more pleasant to tell than a falsehood. At one o'clock, Mr. Eddrup left his office, and generally went away home-that is, to Skimp's-where he sometimes sat in the dingy drawing-room, but oftener sat in his own single room, reading or writing, till dinner time. After dinner, he went back regularly to the court, when he lectured in the "chapel," as they called it, on some evenings, talking freely on all kinds of subjects connected with those branches of social science most useful and interesting to his flock; sometimes taught in a night school; sometimes paid visits among the people. Thither came the women with their quarrels: "Forgive, forgive," he said. Thither the men out of work brought their tales of disappointment and privation: to these he lent money, or pointed the way to work. Here he received his rents, which amounted to a goodly sum, and devised means for the improvement of his dwellings. The court was a model. All the houses but two beA scholar, a gentleman, wrecked in early longed to him. Gradually, by slow degrees, life, he had the courage to make of his they had been pulled down and rebuilt in miserable fate a reason for a life of philanflats, with whatever improvements Mr. Edd- thropy and self-denial. What he might have and his builder could devise. The been, had his power of resisting temptation property paid him about two and a half per always been as great, who can tell? cent. Side by side with his stood the other two houses-squalid, mean, and decayed. They paid a good fifteen per cent. to the man-he was a leader at Exeter Hall, and knew nothing about his property except that it paid-to whom they belonged. Mr. Eddrup did what he could even here-persuaded the people to be clean, and made no difference between them and his own tenants. rup VOL. IX. He talked at this time freely to Frank; told him of his hopes: they were all centred in that small row of houses where he spent most of his day-and of his fears; they were all for the future of his people when he should be gone. "I might leave the property in trust; but in a few years the letter of the will would be executed, and the spirit neglected. A man NO. 231. can do no good after his death. Better let the money go, and trust that the work may go on. I have seen so much of charitable trusts, that I know the evil they produce: how they pauperize the people, and take away their self-respect. I will have none of them. If only, Mr. Melliship, some men like you would take up the work." "I cannot," said Frank. "I am one of those who only approve of good things, and stand idly by." "There is Silver, the acrobat. He speaks well. But he would make the place a hotbed of religious enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he has a burning spirit, and will some time or other become a preacher. I will speak to him about leaving his profession." "Make him take his daughter away too, then. Patty has no business with that kind of work at all." "Poor girl!" said Mr. Eddrup. "When her father asked my advice, I had none to give him. Then she came herself. Said she knew nothing which she could do. The family kettle is very small, but it was hard to keep it going. I let her have her own way. But she is good and modest. Don't tell me she is not, Mr. Melliship, because I love the child. I have seen her grow up." "I think you love all the people about you." "I do," he said, simply. "God knows I do. I have been drawn to them by the thousand ties that struggle and endeavour engender. They were ignorant: I had knowledge. They are poor: I have money-enough, at least, to help them. They desired good things: I could show them the way to some good things. Never think that the poor are ungrateful; never think that they are forgetful; never believe that they are in any respect, whether of good feeling, of delicacy, of forbearance, inferior to yourself. Manners are but conventionalisms. In my court there are men and women with as good manners, so far as consideration for others and unselfish labour go, as you will see in the highest cultured women and men of England. They are not better than the rich, I suppose; but they are as good. And remember they are tempted tenfold as much. Tempted! Good God! when I think of myself, my miserable fall—when I see these people resist, I am fain to go away and weep by myself for shame, and cry for deliverance from the body of this death." He was silent for awhile. They were walking in the garden of Granville-square, which they had all to themselves. "Love them? Of course I love them. I know all their secrets. They bring me all their troubles. They tell me all their sins. They confess to me. St. Paul says it is good for men to confess to one another. He means not that priests have anything to do with it-the great-hearted preacher was too wise for that; but he knew that when the soul is burdened with sin and misgiving, the mere telling is a relief and a safeguard. We sin; we fall into temptation; we fall into evil; our minds are clouded. As prayer is a purification, so confession is an unburdening. In the darkness, evil visions rise and horrible forms dance before our eyes. We let in the light by confession: they vanish and die away. St. Paul knew what he was talking about. Mr. Melliship, my heart is full to-day. Come and hear me next Sunday evening. I have a thing to say to the people which must not longer be delayed." Frank knew very well what the thing would be. He went, with Patty and her father, prudently silent as to what was to happen. It was a crowded night. Every bench was full-the women and the men hushed with an expectancy of something about to happen. Patty and Frank, with the boy, took their seats, as usual, on the last bench. They were used to Frank by this time, and only supposed that he "kept company with Patty, who was known to be a good girl, of eccentric habits of dress, which she gratified, with her father's sanction, at the music hall. In other words, her profession was no secret; and she was looked upon with considerable respect as a public character of unblemished reputation. They had the usual hymn-one of those quiet old Wesleyan psalms, different from the jubilant strains of modern Anglican hymns with which we nowadays proclaim a confidence and exultation we are very far from feeling;-not a triumphal song, not a meaningless rapture set to pretty music; not a vain and false celebration of an unreal New City; not a lying wish to behold beauties which would pall upon us in a week, just as much as the Crystal Palace; but a hymn in a minor key, attuned to the sadness that always fills the poor man's heart— one that they could sing with fervour, because it belonged so fully to themselves. Then Mr. Eddrup rose, and, contrary to his usual practice, began to speak himself without asking if any had aught to say. He commenced by reminding them that he had been among them for forty years. He told how his desire had been to communicate what little knowledge he had, and to do good, as best he might, with what little means he had: He reminded them of the duties of self-reliance and self-respect. He showed, for the thousandth time, how ignorance and sin are interwoven with all human suffering-how the former can be slowly removed, and the latter is generally a departure from the laws of nature. And then, with a great effort, he raised himself erect, threw back the long white hair off his face, and told them all his story. Not with apologies: not with excuses: with no embellishments. The plain, black, ugly story: the story of violated trust and ruined honour, of disgrace, of prison. He hid nothing. "Such I was," he said. "This is my history. I have always meant to tell it. I put it off, half in cowardice, half because I thought I would wait until you learned to love me till your hearts yearned towards me, even as mine does now to you. I think I have never till now won your perfect confidence. Only of late has it been impressed upon me that some of you look up to me with reverence and affection. To me-to a convicted thief! Therefore, I could wait no longer. My children-I have seen most of you grow up: you have been in our schools: I have taught you. You are, in very truth, my children. You must respect me no longer. I am not worthy. I am meaner than the meanest lower than the lowest. I am a convicted thief. "Years ago I dreamed of this night. I pictured to myself how I should feel, standing before you all, with shamed face, telling you all that I am nothing better than a convicted thief. "Respect me no longer. I have never been able to respect myself. Tell your little ones that the old man with white hair was not fit to sit among them. Point your fingers out at him as he goes down the street, call after him, hoot him. He has been an impostor, a hypocrite, a deceiver. He pretended to be "No, my children, no-I am no hypocrite. I am a coward: because I should have told you all this long years ago. No hypocrite. Believe me, in this my solemn confession, that I repent and have repented. I have set myself to hide from the world, and work in this little corner, the servant of you all. To repent. Before you all, and in the face of GOD, in whose presence I stand, I say that I repent, and am heartily sorry. Shall I say more? Nay, for I would not that you think I should excuse myself. Let me have your pity-your pity, since I can no longer have your love. And pray for me-pray for me!" He sank upon his knees, his head in his hands, resting against the handrail; and, as he ceased, the women began to lament, and to cry aloud for sympathy and pity. Down the rugged cheeks of the men the great tears fell unchecked. Some of them sobbed and choked. All looked bewildered at the spectacle of the poor old man, their benefactor, their patron, their saint-more to them than even Wesley was to his people-kneeling before them all, silent, bowed, abased. Frank wept unrestrainedly. Here was no acting. It was the truth, sublime and graced. It was the final self-sacrifice of a man whose whole days had been a long sacrifice. He had LIVED THE LIFE. Truest Christian, noblest warrior in the army of God-he had won the last battle he would have to fight on earth before he was called away—— Not in entire forgetfulness, But trailing clouds of glory shall he come to alter the words of the poet. It was Mr. Silver who broke the silence. "We have one thing to do," he said. "We are here, a little congregation, the people of the Lord, met to pray and praise. One of us has told the story of his life, and of a great sin. Let us then pray that we be not led into temptation. Who shall cast a stone? Will you?-will you?-shall I? God forbid! Our respect for him remains-our love remains. Friends all, I adjure you, lock up this thing in your hearts. Women, don't speak of it to each other: men, hide it away. Put the recollection of it out of your minds. Friend and father of us all. God has forgiven. We have forgotten." From the voices of all there went up a mighty cry. "We have forgotten-we have forgotten!" Silver tried to raise the old man. He had fainted. They brought water and sprinkled over him, as he revived. He sat, feeble and |