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tween Lord John Russell and the moderate Whigs and Lord Aberdeen and the Peelites for the formation of a Coalition administration-that coalition which Disraeli prophesied England would not love-interesting letters passed between the negotiators on the subject of the name by which the new party was to be known. Lord John Russell thought the word Whig would best convey the principles of the word coalition; but the Duke of Newcastle, a supporter of Aberdeen, insisted that Whig was impossible, and must be discarded. Lord Aberdeen then wrote the following letter to Lord John Russell:

Haddo House, 16th Sept., 1852. My dear Lord John,

It was no doubt rather a strong proceeding on the part of the Duke of Newcastle to suggest to you, of all men, the propriety and expediency of sinking the title Whig. It is true that neither he nor I have the least desire or intention of assuming the appellation; but I presume that you would never think of acting with us unless you were persuaded that our views were Liberal; and assuredly in any connection with you we should not be prepared to abandon a Conservative policy. Although the term may appear a little contradictory, I believe that "Conservative progress" best describes the principles which ought practically to influence the conduct of any Government of the present day. This was Peel's policy and I think, will continue that of all his friends. For one, looking at the actual state of affairs, I have no objection that the progress should be somewhat more rapid than perhaps he ever intended.

Ever most sincerely yours,
Aberdeen.

Lord John Russell, as may be imagined, stood up for that blessed word Whig. "The term Whig," he wrote, "has the convenience of expressing in one syllable what Conservative Liberal expresses in seven, and Whiggism in two syllables means what Conservative

Progress means in another six." The Coalition Administration was formed, and was soon too engrossed in the management or mismanagement of the Crimean War to trouble itself about a suitable political designation.

There is no longer, as we know, either a Whig party or a Tory party; but undoubtedly there are still Whigs and Tories, for the political principles expressed by these terms survive in individuals who diminish in number as

time progresses. Conservative was first suggested by Croker in an article in The Quarterly Review, January, 1830, as a more appropriate party name than Tory. "Conservative," said O'Connell in the House of Commons in 1832, "that is the fashionable term, the newfangled phrase now used in polite society to designate Tory ascendancy." The term was disliked by Disraeli, who fought hard for the retention of the older name, and to the last called himself a Tory. In "Coningsby," published in 1844, occurs this sentence: "A sound Conservative Government,' said Taper, musingly. 'I understandTory men and Whig measures.'" But the designation caught the fancy of the bulk of the party, and in time Tory came to be used only in its original sense, as a contemptuous nickname by the party's opponents. Whig shared the same fate. Liberal, which like Conservative, is broad and vague, and at the same time catching, may be said to have been finally adopted by the Whigs when Mr. Gladstone became leader. "One of the most beautiful and powerful words in the English language," is Lord Rosebery's description of it. Liberal and Conservative are certainly happy and expressive terms; but, unlike Whig and Tory, they are not exclusively applicable as party denominations.

Constitutionalist was at one time suggested as an appropriate name for the Tory party; but it did not find favor.

Reformer, once a favorite term with a wing of the Whig party, has long gone out of fashion. But Radical, which was first applied about 1818 to Major Cartwright, Sir Francis Burdett, Henry Hunt and others, who advocated a radical reform of Parliament, has still a strong hold on the advanced Liberals. Tory Democrat-an invention of Lord Randolph Churchill-is heard of no more. Peelite and Gladstonian we have known; but of course personal names for parties, such as these, cannot hold Macmillan's Magazine.

a place for long. Nationalist, which under the leadership of Mr. Parnell, was substituted for Home-Ruler, seems likely to be more enduring; so also perhaps is Liberal Unionist-the designation, of course, of those Liberals who ceded from Gladstone on the question of Home-Rule-and it would now seem as if the rival party names, Imperialist and Little Englander, which have been waxing and waning in popular use for some time, will take a permanent place in political controversy. Michael MacDonagh.

A SERVIAN LULLABY.

Little golden son, the rain is coming, coming-
Little golden daughter, the sun has set;

Birds stop singing now and wheels begin their humming,
Flowers fold softly up from the dark and wet-
Strawberry flowers and blackberry and wild mignonette.

Little golden son, your bed is spread and ready
All with snowy blankets soft as silk may be;
"Tis a fairy boat that shall sail you straight and steady
To the shores of Dreamtown, o'er a shining sea,

To the shores of Dreamtown, little golden daughter,
Sail away and sail away till the dawn is red;
Pleasant be your voyage over golden water,

Till you wake by Marko in your own white bed.

Sail away to Dreamtown where dream-folk are keeping Crowns set thick with rubies for gold heads of you; Would that I might also once again while sleeping Leave the weary spinning as your father left his reaping, And sail away to Dreamtown where the skies are blue. The Leisure Hour. Nora Hopper.

MISPRISION OF FELONY.

This happened years ago, when West Australia was still a penal colony. And in those days-as in other penal colonies grim things happened there sometimes.

Lethbridge-Lieutenant Lethbridge he was then-was stationed at Fremantle, a man under authority, having soldiers, that is to say, a detachment of the mounted police, under him. He hated the place, and no wonder, if you knew all about it; but since he was there, and couldn't help himself, he did his duty as well as he knew how, and generally made the best of things. He was not a genius, nor in any way remarkable, only an honest, kindly Englishman, who hated with his whole soul whatever was base, or cruel, or unclean, and had learnt from Arnoldhe was an old Rugby boy-to believe in God, and not be ashamed to say so. Now it happened that a man escaped from the chain-gang at Rockingham, and had to be tracked down and caught. They had nearly captured him once already in the bush on the Upper Avon River; but he fought like a madman, killed two men outright, wounded the sergeant in command of the party, and got away at last. And Lethbridge found himself detailed to take command of a fresh party-a sergeant, six troopers and a native tracker -and follow up the poor, desperate wretch till they found him.

They did not succeed. They marched many a weary mile through bush and swamp, and at last into the open scrub which is the thirst country. The tracker ran away, tired of a prolonged and apparently unprofitable job, and not one of the party had the slightest idea where they were. The ground was loose sand, the weird, gray, shadeless

clumps of thorns and cactus-like growths that dotted it here and there were one exactly like the other. A man might wander there till Doomsday, if his strength lasted. Lethbridge gave up, for the moment, all hope of the game they were stalking, and only tried to find water. None of them knew in what direction to look; there might be none for miles and miles, their only chance was to go back the way they had come, or, failing that, to keep to the westward, which must, in the end, bring them back to the forest-country. They camped at night in the scrub. The supply in their water skins had been exhausted long before. Their horses were suffering cruelly, and three could be got no farther. Lethbridge saw there was nothing for it but to shoot the poor brutes. And then they went on-struggling along as well as they could, between an iron earth and a brazen sky. About the middle of the afternoon the sergeant, Waite, dropped in his tracks; he had grumbled continuously from the time that the tracker's desertion had been discovered; and, in spite of all warnings, recklessly drunk up his water while it lasted. He was a coarse, brutal man, whom Lethbridge had never liked, but one could not have been human and not pity him now. But it was not all pity that sent a chill to Lethbridge's heart, as he knelt beside him and found that he could not rise; it was the feeling that this was the beginning of the end. But it would not do to give in; and, at any rate, he would not be the man to do it. "Two of you try to carry him," he said.

But the sergeant was a heavy man, and already it was as much as they could do to keep on their feet. They

relieved each other every few minutes; but even so it was desperately slow work.

"I'll tell you what, men, this won't do. Two of us had better stay with him, and the rest must push on and get help. We can't leave him alone, and you see there's no chance for us if we all keep together."

He did not say, "I will go on," and they noticed it. He was the sort of a captain who always said, "Come;" never "Go."

They looked at each other in silence. "Shall we draw lots?"

One of the men stepped forward. "I'll stay with the sergeant, please, sir."

Lethbridge nodded. There was а pause, and another man took his place beside the first.

"Very good-it's a risk, you know; but then, so it is for the rest of us. We'll blaze trees as we go along, and then, if it should be all over before we come back to you, you fellows can follow." But it was little hope either side had of ever meeting again.

None of them quite knew how the rest of that day passed. It was near sunset when Lethbridge, staggering, rather than walking, at the head of the little column, with his horse's bridle over his arm, began to think that his brain was wandering, for he seemed to see, moving among the lengthening shadows of the bushes far ahead, the shadowy figure of a man.

He was straining his eyesight to see whether it were indeed an illusion, when the man behind him saw it too, and uttered a cry. Then they sent up a feeble shout all together. There was no mistake, the man was coming towards them. He was bareheaded and bare-footed, dressed partly in rags and partly in a nondescript garment of skins. His face was burnt to a ruddy copper color, and his hair bleached to a whitey-brown by sun and wind; but he

looked at them out of gray, kindly Irish eyes, and smiled, with the strange calm of those who are much alone in the wilderness.

A ragged white man-alone in the bush-was, as a rule, a suspicious character in those parts. But Lethbridge was in no mood for asking questions. He had even an uncanny feeling about this man-a reluctance to address him. There seemed a sort of incongruity in speaking to him in English, or indeed any known human language.

But presently the man opened his lips, and there issued from them in unmistakable brogue:

"Is it lost yez are?"

"We are," said Lethbridge, "and if you know where there's within reach of this place-"

any water

"It's over there. I'll take ye there before the sun goes down. "Tis not a great deal, but maybe 'twill do yez." His eye ran rather doubtfully over the five men and three horses.

"There are three men behind-we had to leave them this morning. I said we'd go back for them if we found water."

Hope seemed to put fresh life into the aching limbs and leaden feet. Even the horses seemed to understand, and pricked up their languid ears as they eagerly sniffed the air. The sunburnt man walked silently by Lethbridge's side.

"Do you know the way to "

"I could put yez into the track by to morrow evening, if ye camped to-night and started in the morning."

"But we must go back for those men, and take them water. Will it last, do you think?"

"I couldn't say." And he relapsed into silence.

The sun had just dipped when they stood beside the muddy pool that was just then the most precious thing in the world to them. Three of the men flung themselves down and drank recklessly;

the other two waited to fill their pannikins, and one-the youngest of the troop, who had borne up bravely all day, and followed at Lethbridge's heels like a dog-came up and offered his to his leader before touching a drop himself.

"Thank you, lad." Lethbridge drained it at a draught. "Make haste and get some for yourself. But don't drink too fast, whatever you do. And I sayyou-Davies-Miller-stop the horses a bit, the poor beasts will kill themselves."

Soon the camp fire was blazing, and preparations for the night were being I made. The stranger stepped aside into the bush, and soon returned with an opossum-which he had killed and hidden not long before, and handed it to the men. Lethbridge stood apart, 'looking uneasily at the climbing moon and jaded horses, and thinking of the men left behind. Suddenly a voice at his elbow seemed to echo his thoughts. "Where was it you'd be after leaving those three?"

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"Nonsense!" said Lethbridge, sharply. But he looked into the man's face, and saw that he meant it. And then they argued it out. He knew the bush, he (said, and could get on best alone, unencumbered by any wearied men, who I would need to be shown the way. Somehow it never entered Lethbridge's head to mistrust him. I suppose it would have made little difference. He was their only chance. Lethbridge decided to let him go, and the lad Mason volunteered, and even entreated to go, too. He was fresher than the rest, perhaps

because, being a trained athlete, he had been better able to resist the temptations of thirst; he had had less walking, too, as his horse had held out longer, and he declared that he felt quite equal to the effort. So the two took up the two freshly-filled waterskins, and started.

Lethbridge and the rest slept dreamily till dawn. Then they rekindled the fire and hung the billy on it, and waited -but there was no sign of the absent. The sun climbed higher, and still they waited. Already the despondency of inaction was beginning to show itself, when a faint shout was heard, and presently there appeared Mason and the two troopers, dragging, rather than leading, a worn-out horse between them.

They told their story incoherently, bit by bit. Waite had strayed away from them-had begun to go off his head, they thought-and they had utterly failed to find him. The stranger had come to them with the water before moonset, had put them on the right track by means of the blazed trees, and other marks which he had himself made while coming along, and he had remained behind to look for Waite. The hours wore on, and they did not come. It seemed only too likely that both had perished, and Lethbridge found his thoughts dwelling with a great fascination on that calm face with the kindly gray eyes. Miller's voice awoke him from a reverie.

"He's murdered Waite, that's what it is. That fellow's an old lag, take my word for it. What else does he go wandering about the bush for in that way?"

"It would have given him less trouble if he hadn't shown us the water," said Lethbridge, with some contempt.

"I reckon it's Waite he wants," said Miller. "Waite used to be a warder at the convict depot before he joined the

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