dinner. That he would rather exchange nods
in the Park with a semi-idiotic Dowager, than
fraternise with another Shakespeare. That
he would rather have his sister, Miss Pobbs
(he is greatly attached to her, and is a most
excellent brother), received on sufferance by
the swells, than hold her far happier place in
the outer darkness of the untitled, and be
loved and married by some good fellow, who
could daff the world of swells aside, and
bid it pass. Yet, O, Pobbs, Pobbs! if for
once—only for once—you could hear the
magnificent patronage of some of those
Duchesses of yours, casually making
mention of Miss Pobbs, as "a rather pretty
person!"

I say nothing of Robbs, Sobbs, Tobbs, and
so on to Zobbs, whose servility has no thin
coating of disguise or shame upon it, who
grovel on their waistcoats with a sacred joy,
and who turn and roll titles in their mouths
as if they were exquisite sweetmeats. I say
nothing of Mayors and such like;—to lay on
adulation with a whitewashing brush and have
it laid on in return, is the function of such
people, and verily they have their reward.
I say nothing of County families, and
provincial neighbourhoods, and lists of Stewards
and Lady Patronesses, and electioneering,
and racing, and flower-showing, and demarcations
and counter-demarcations in visiting,
and all the forms in which the Toady
Tree is cultivated in and about cathedral
towns and rural districts. What I wish
to remark in conclusion is not that, but
this:

If, at a momentous crisis in the
history and progress of the country we all love,
we, the bulk of the people, fairly embodying
the general moderation and sense, are so
mistaken by a class, undoubtedly of great
intelligence and public and private worth, as
that, either they cannot by any means
comprehend our resolution to live henceforth
under a Government, instead of a Hustlement
and Shufflement; or, comprehending it,
can think to put it away by cocking their
hats in our faces (which is the official exposition
of policy conceded to us on all occasions
by our chief minister of State); the fault is
our own. As the fault is our own, so is the
remedy. We do not present ourselves to
these personages as we really are, and we
have no reason for surprise or complaint, if
they take us for what we are at so much
pains to appear. Let every man, therefore,
apply his own axe to his own branch of
the Toady Tree. Let him begin the essential
Reform with himself, and he need have no
fear of its ending there. We require no
ghost to tell us that many inequalities of
condition and distinction there must
always be. Every step at present to be
counted in the great social staircase would be
still there, though the shadow of the Toady
Tree were cleared away. More than this, the
whole of the steps would be safer and stronger;
for, the Toady Tree is a tree infected with
rottenness, and its droppings wear away what
they fall upon.

MOTHER AND STEP-MOTHER.

IN FOURTEEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER IX.

SIR EDWARD, observing that his son's habits
had become unsettled, and that his old
pursuits now seemed to have lost their interest
for him, became anxious that he should
employ the time which was to intervene before
his marriage in acquiring a more extensive
acquaintance with foreign countries, and thus
complete his education before sinking down
into the even tenor of a country gentleman's
life. Lady Irwin eagerly caught at and
seconded the proposal; she was weary of the
mute appeals of Frank's anxious looks, and
of the importunity of her own son. Frank
would be employed, interested, and amused,
his passion, the fruit of effervescent youth,
might cool down, he would see other women
of a very different stamp from the modest
country girl to whom he was betrothed,
women with glorious eyes, every glance of
which must make a man's blood leap in his
veins, and who would not disdain to flatter
and court the handsome and accomplished
heir to an English baronetcy, women skilled
with specious talk to sap the groundwork of
principle, and to beguile their victim into a
slough of treacherous delight, after which the
simple Kitty would have entirely lost her
power to charm him. Failing this, there
was ambition, there were a thousand allurements
to bring out the evil of his nature and
render him unfit or unwilling to fulfil his
engagement. At all events, it was delay—at
all events, it was separation; it would be
strange, she thought, if in a year or eighteen
months some occasion of mistrust did not
arise, which she could foster into lasting
estrangement.

The idea of travel was not without attractions
to Frank. The irritation excited by his
passion, and by the obstacles thrown in his
way had given him a distaste for his old
studies, the vapid life of the fashionable world
in London was wearisome to him, bodily
activity would, he thought, counteract his
nervous restlessness of mind and allay the
feverish excitement under which he laboured.
True, he must part from Kitty, but he hoped
that his mother might soften to her when he was
away, and that when he returned she would
be his own for ever. Now, the dark shadow
of his stepmother seemed to come between
them, even when they were alone, so powerfully
was each impressed by the consciousness
of her unavowed purpose, though even
to each other they hardly ventured to breathe
the fear, lest, by uttering it, they should give
it substance.

For one long happy week before he went
abroad, Frank stayed alone at Swallowfield—
for one week of glorious sunshine his feet