his memories of myself may be, they are
memories still; and he well knows what cause he has
to dread me. I must put another in possession
of his secret. Another, and at once! For all his
arts will be brought to bear against me, and I
cannot foretel their issue. Go, then; enter that
giddy crowd—select that seeming young man—
bring him hither. Take care only not to mention
my name; and when here, turn the key in the
door, so as to prevent interruption—five minutes
will suffice.”

“Am I sure that I guess whom you mean?
The young light-hearted man; known, in this
place, under the name of Margrave? The young
man with the radiant eyes, and the curls of a
Grecian statue?”

“The same; him whom I pointed out; quick,
bring him hither.”

My curiosity was too much roused to disobey.
Had I conceived that Margrave, in the heat of
youth, had committed some offence which placed
him in danger of the law and in the power of Sir
Philip Derval, I possessed enough of the old
borderers’ black mail loyalty to have given to the man
whose hand I had familiarly clasped a hint and
a help to escape. But all Sir Philip’s talk had
been so out of the reach of common sense,
that I rather expected to see him confounded
by some egregious illusion than Margrave
exposed to any well-grounded accusation. All,
then, that I felt as I walked into the ball-room
and approached Margrave, was that curiosity
which, I think, any one of my readers will
acknowledge that, in my position, he himself would
have felt.

Margrave was standing near the dancers, not
joining them, but talking with a young couple in
the ring. I drew him aside.

“Come with me for a few minutes into the
museum; I wish to talk to you.”

“What about?—an experiment?”

“Yes, an experiment.”

“Then I am at your service.”

In a minute more, he had followed me into the
desolate dead museum. I looked round, but did
not see Sir Philip.

           THE HERBERT MEMORIAL.

A FEW weeks ago there was a meeting held in
the Salisbury council-chamber, at which bishop
and mayor, county and borough members, clergy
and laity, rich and poor, joined in the desire to
raise some memorial of a Wiltshire man lately
deceased: the man who, of all men in Wiltshire,
was most widely and deeply honoured and
beloved. Lord Herbert of Lea, long and familiarly
known as the Right Honourable Sidney Herbert,
possessor of a rich inheritance and heir to an
earldom, with a refinement of taste and breadth
of knowledge that made him keenly alive to the
best enjoyments of society, with a personal
character that, joined to his position, ensured him
the incessant social flatteries of life, accepted
all these gifts as talents that his Master had put
in his hand, and with a rare simplicity of manner,
—without harsh withdrawal from his natural
associates, without ostentation of good motives
or self-glorifying complaint of overwork,—was
one of the very few men who have killed
themselves by an insatiable zeal for the good, not of
themselves but of their fellows. Life was to
Lord Herbert a round of sacred duty. Nine
years ago he was seen by the readers of Household
Words in the midst of one of his pleasures,
in a Gravesend boat, on a wet winter day,
conveying many poor girls whom he had saved from
the dangers and miseries of London poverty,
to the ship that was to carry them to better
fortune in a land where they would be guarded
and cherished till the better fortune came. Then
we said, “You will find Mr. Sidney Herbert at
a table in the cabin, busily engaged with fellow-
labourers in folding copies of a letter that is to
be given to each girl on her departure. Perhaps
it will occur to you, that English gentlemen,
who leave the luxuries of home to travel down
the cheerless river on this miserable day, who
work so eagerly and steadily, with mind and
body, are almost as well employed as they
might be if they behaved like proper squires,
and bent their energies on the provision of a
hare for dinner. Perhaps you think there are
more manly sports than one, or half a dozen,
and that it is not the least manly occupation in
which an English gentleman can be engaged, to
be the helper of weak girls, who are battling, in
an overcrowded city, against the temptations
brought by helpless poverty; to be their helper,
not with a purse only, but in person; and,
while removing them from danger, to speak
human words into their ears.” We then came
upon Sidney Herbert in his pleasures, as
a man might come upon a drunkard in his
cups. His pleasure was his work; and his
work was the best and highest on which as
a man and as a Christian he could lay his
grasp.

He was Secretary to the Admiralty and
Secretary at War under Sir Robert Peel, again
Secretary at War under Lord Aberdeen, and
Secretary of State for War in the year
preceding his death. He saw and was partly
blamed for the breakdown of systems that had
been commended to him by the Tapers and the
Tadpoles; but he saw no wrong without working,
in the teeth, if need were, of the Tapers and
the Tadpoles, to secure its remedy. After the
miseries of the Crimean war it was a blessing
for all future soldiers that Lord Herbert
presided over the commission to inquire into the
health of the army. Of the two thousand one
hundred and sixty-two men, of whom it is said
on the Guards’ monument raised to their memory
in Waterloo-place that they “fell during the war
with Russia,” all but four hundred and fifty
died of fever, dysentery and cholera, frostbite,
and scurvy. Fifty-seven died of frostbite,
chiefly caused by want of boots. A cargo of
boys’ boots was sent from home for men to
wear, and “I have seen men,” said one of the
witnesses, “during the coldest part of winter,