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tone of your voice, made her a funereal delight.

The serlaugh.

vices of Maundy Thursday, And so the infamous nature Good Friday, and Holy Saturof the pursuit of the earl and day were religious excitements his son-in-law quite escaped on which to live for months. her, and neither the diamond I shut my eyes, even now in bracelet, nor Lord E. in his middle age, and I see again shirt at night in her room, the long grey cathedral aisles awoke the faintest throb of dim in taper-light, altars hung alarm. All this to her and us in black, and the lean aristowas part of the eternal joke cratic visage of Father More of nature. And a very, very above the surplice and violet few years afterwards, I learned, stole, and I hear him chant one who had loved her well in his thin, melodious voice, and sought her far discovered “Oremus, flectamus genua !”

, her at night in the vicinity and listen again for the reof the Haymarket, with paint sponse, “Levate!” upon her cheeks and lips, and I cannot precisely define my the fatal brightness of con- sensations in this period. Resumption looking out of her ligion with me was nothing but hollow violet eyes.

an intense emotion nourished My remembrance of the rest upon incense, music, taper-lit of my stay at Lysterby fades gloom, and a mysterious sense away upon the heavy perfume of the intangible. It was in of incense in the cold aisles of the fullest meaning of the word the cathedral, whither we were sensuous; but while its attracconducted by the nuns for the tion lasted, nothing I have breathlessly interesting offices since known could be compared of Holy Week. It is a long with it for intensity.

While dream of sombre tones and under its spell, you seem to solemn notes, which I followed float in the air, to touch the in a passionate absorption in wings of the angels, to be yourthe "Offices of Holy Week,” self part of the heavenly sphere printed in Latin and English, you aspire to attain. Rapture for which I paid the sum of itself is a mean enough word four shillings. I studied those to define your emotions. And offices so diligently, followed then you come back to earth them so accurately, that after- with a sense of unspeakable wards I could detect to a move- deception and surprise. You ment, a note, a Latin word, feel hungry, and loathe yourany error

or omission in the self for the vulgar need. Your Lenten services of the pro- ear is buffeted by loud earthly cathedral of Dublin, where I sounds instead of the roll of must


the rites struck me as the organ and the monotonous shorn of all impressiveness. solemnity of Gregorian chant.

But at Lysterby the func- To realise this is to undertions were rigidly correct. The stand how so many sentimental, evening office of Tenebræ was virtuous, and sensuous souls




seek oblivion of life in religious thank us for what they had or excitement. It is a mental and had not done. moral mixture of opium and Here, at the age of twelve, alcohol extremely soothing to my childhood ends, and youth, the bruised consciousness, a troubled youth, begins. gentle diversion in place cares that poor humanity To stand upon the hill-top must not be begrudged; though, and cast a glance of retro

, as George Eliot has finely spection down the long path said, it is proof of strength to travelled in all its excess of live and do well without this light and shadow; impenetranarcotic.

ble darkness massed against a The return to Ireland coin- luminous haze through which cides with the outbreak of the rays of blazing glory filter, each Franco-German war. A mist one striking upon memory in a hangs

those terrible shock of prismatic hues, until months, but Dublin I remember the eye reaches as far back as was French to a man. Every the start from the valley,—how morning my

eldest sister astonished we are at the unmarched us off to mass to pray evenness of the road ! So for the French, and we wept brilliant, so ineffectual for most profusely over each tragic tele- of us, is this dear thing called gram.

Our hero Edmond was Youth ! The uneasy flutter over there, fighting and lying from the nest, the wild throb with equal gallantry. Several of pulses, now for ever tamed, noble dames had tended his at each sharp encounter with wounds and offered to marry fate; the courage, the hope, the him, and he escaped from prison passion—alas ! how futile and with the assistance of the jail- how sad to eyes in middle life er's daughter, who loved him that see the inexorable word despairingly. I recall our awed “failure” written across that

“ inspection of several helmets splendid tear-blotted page of and swords brought back from strife, of yearning, of frailty the war by a quantity of heroic and endeavour. Seen from the young Irishmen who professed hill - top, how small the big to have laid the Germans low stones are that broke our path! on countless occasions. I do How easy it might have been not now know what they did to skirt the thorn-bushes and out there, for there is always a brambles, instead of tearing an great deal of Tartarin, an at- impulsive way through them, mosphere of Tarascon, about and falling so repeatedly on the Irishman returned from bleeding face and hands! abroad. But we all went down Impatience and panting courin a glorified body, dressed in age have served to carry us our very best, to assist at the through the unequal battle, arrival of Marshal M Mahon and now, resting in the equable and his wife, who came all the tones of middle life, how sweet way from far - off France to a wonder seem the blackness,


the purple, the golden lights of The night is dark, but hope youth! We sit in the unemo- dances blithely through our tional shade, and slake veins with the delicious assurthirst for the old joys and ance that to-morrow brings the sorrows by fondly recalling the sun. The world is empty, but ghosts of dead hours and dead vague dreams tell us that todreams, of forgotten faiths and morrow love will cross our path dim - remembered faces; and and fill the universe. Hope is though we may not desire to the magician that waved us relive each year with its burden forward and carried us reckof pains and pangs, surely we lessly through briar and brammay tell ourselves that it is ble, with undaunted confidence good to have lived those past in life, in ourselves, and in all years, even if tears seem the things around us. Each fall most prominent part of our ever the last, each pang inheritance.

the precursor of eternal happiThen, however sad the living ness. moment, we still had the con- And now it is over. Hope's solation of that beautiful and magic wand for us is broken, vision-bearing word “To-mor- and she has folded her wings row." In youth, sorrow fells and dropped into slumber that us to to-day, and joy awakes us wakens not again; henceforth to-morrow. It is always—Land our best friend is drab - robed may be in sight to - morrow! content.


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DR KNAPP has thrown away English is beyond his reach.
as good a chance as ever came Apparently he has read deeply
to ambitious biographer. of Carlyle, the worst model that
He elected to write the Life ever befogged a pedant's style,

of George Borrow, and with and believes that he can repro-
patient industry he collected a duce the humour of “Sartor
perfect mountain of material. Resartus. Yet his style is not
He not only acquired the books mere Carlylese; it is Carlylese
and papers of Lavengro, but vilely tempered by the daily
he even explored all such local paper. For him Borrow is
journals and pamphlets as might" our George” if he is not
contain a distant allusion to his “Don Jorge"; when a pack
idol. He lived where Borrow of schoolboys expect a flogging
lived; he followed Borrow's from Dr Valpy, they are in his
footsteps in England as in phrase "candidates for the Val-
Spain; that he might prove peian scourge”; worse still, he
himself as expert a “philo- says of Lockhart, “Of course
logist” as his master, he has there was one more unfortunate
studded his text with gems candidate for the pickle of our
from all the foreign tongues he peregrine hater. In these
knows, though English should terms does he announce John
have been sufficient for his pur- Borrow's birth : “This scion of
pose. No detail seems too in- an ancient house made his dé-
significant for him : with praise- but on the stage some time in
worthy energy he has tracked the year 1800. The font over
the most notable of Borrow's which he was held is unknown.
schoolfellows; he has drawn a It must be sought either at
ground - plan of “the Borrow Chelmsford or at Colchester.

at Norwich. In brief, But in the latter town the
he has told us a thousand things barracks stood in the three
which touch Lavengro more

Lavengro more parishes of St James, St Leoor less remotely; but he has nard, and St Mary Magdalen. completely failed to draw a In the present decline of Peter's recognisable portrait of his pence and rise of parochial fees, romantic subject.

experience has taught its lesson. Borrow says somewhere that Natus esthe was born. He it was from the Newgate Cal- was likewise named : first, after endar' that he learned the art his paternal grandsire, John ; of writing genuine English. then after his sire, Thomas, and Whether Dr Knapp has studied finally after the whole family, the lives of thieves we know not, Borrow.The fatigue of a but it is certain that genuine book composed after this pre

1 Life, Writings, and Correspondence of George Borrow. By William J. Knapp, Ph.D., LL.D. London: John Murray.



tentiously trite

not even Dr Knapp's loyalty easily be imagined, and there can bring back a single touch are many worse specimens to be of colour to their faded abuse. found. It is thus, for instance, But from beginning to end that he translates the simple the book is marred by a lack statement that Borrow

that Borrow was of proportion, by the author's bathing: “He was engaged in inability to distinguish between stirring the briny waters of the trifling and the essential. the German Ocean with his A new fact is not important ponderous corpus." How Bor- from mere novelty, and to prorow himself would have laughed ceed with Dr Knapp's reckless at so gross a perversion of what curiosity is to risk making not he believed to be genuine Eng- a biography but a rubble-heap. lish! “Ponderous corpus” in- However, Dr Knapp's defect is deed ! Natus est! Why not easily intelligible : he has failed nati sumus or nati sunt? But because he is an American. that's what it is to be a phil- Now, the American who proologist, and to possess the gift fesses a sympathy with Engof tongues.

land, and does not harbour an While Dr Knapp is not very ambition to twist the lion's tail, judicious in his choice of words, is apt to approach our country he displays little more wisdom with too shy a reverence. Havin the selection of his facts. ing few shrines of his own to He tells us in his preface that worship, he goes abroad to bow the cool judgment of his pub- the knee, and once beyond the lisher persuaded him to curtail reach of telephones and electric his book, yet the book as it bells, he displays a capacity stands is padded with pages for devotion which is admirable of irrelevance. He can find and touching. The American, room for such common notes in fact, is the modern pilgrim. of invitation as the following: As our remote ancestors visited “Dear Mr Borrow,—We have a Jerusalem, so our reputed defew friends coming to us next scendants seek out the tombs of Wednesday evening. Will you poets and novelists. They rebe persuaded to join us at 9 cite verses in the groves of o'clock?” Yet he withholds Kenilworth, under the the description of the battle shadow of Shakespeare's cotbetween Painter and Oliver tage. They explore the gravethat famous battle from which yards to discover where their Kean got a hint for his Richard heroes lie buried, and they com—though it should surely be a monly bring back stories of dimasterpiece of romantic re- lapidation and neglect. But porting. Then he has rescued like all neophytes they push many a review from the columns their worship too far; they of ancient journals, which long comprehend in a general adago did their work of offence, miration everything that is and have earned oblivion. To personal; they are surprised at Borrow they were red rags; what we take for granted; and they are pallid sheets to us, and they invest the most trivial


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