stitutional question now. My business is with Lord Althorpe. He acted very characteristically, — he said that a retirement from office was to him the "cessation of acute pain," and never afterwards would touch it again, though he lived for many years. Nor was this an idle affectation, far less indolence. "You must be aware," he said once before, in a letter to Lord Brougham, "that my being in office is nothing less than a source of misery to me. I am perfectly certain that no man ever disliked it to such a degree as I do; and, indeed, the first thing that usually comes into my head when I wake is how to get rid of it." He retired into the country and occupied himself with the rural pursuits which he loved best, attended at quarter sessions, and was active as a farmer. "Few persons," said an old shepherd, "could compete with my lord in a knowledge of sheep." He delighted to watch a whole flock pass, and seemed to know them as if he had lived with them. "Of all my former pursuits," he wrote, just after Lady Althorpe's death, and in the midst of his grief, "the only one in which I now take any interest is breeding stock; it is the only one in which I can build castles in the air." And as soon as he could, among such castles in the air he lived and died. No doubt, too, much better for himself than many of his friends, who long wanted to lure him back to politics. He was wise with the solid wisdom of agricultural England; popular and useful; sagacious in usual things; a model in common duties; well able to advise men in the daily difficulties which are the staple of human life. But beyond this he could not go. Having no call to decide on more intellectual questions, he was distressed and pained when he had to do so. He was a man so picturesquely out of place in a great scene that if a great describer gets hold of him he may be long remembered; and it was the misfortune of his life that the simplicity of his purposes and the reliability of his character raised him at a great conjuncture to a high place for which nature had not meant him, and for which he felt that she had not. Walter Bagehot.
THE MARQUIS OF LOSSIE.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD, AUTHOR OF "MALCOLM," ETC.
CHAPTER XVII.
A DIFFERENCE.
Notwithstanding his keenness of judgment and sobriety in action, Malcolm had yet a certain love for effect — a delight, that is, in the show of concentrated results — which, as I believe I have elsewhere remarked, belongs especially to the Celtic nature, and is one form in which the poetic element vaguely embodies itself. Hence arose the temptation to try on Blue Peter the effect of a literally theatrical surprise. He knew well the prejudices of the greater portion of the Scots people against every possible form of artistic, most of all dramatic, representation. He knew, therefore, also, that Peter would never be persuaded to go with him to the theatre: to invite him would be like asking him to call upon Beelzebub; but as this feeling was cherished in utter ignorance of its object, he judged he would be doing him no wrong if he made experiment how the thing itself would affect the heart and judgment of the unsophisticated fisherman.
Finding that "The Tempest" was still the play represented, he contrived, as they walked together, so to direct their course that they should be near Drury Lane toward the hour of commencement. He did not want to take him in much before the time: he would not give him scope for thought, doubt, suspicion, discovery.
When they came in front of the theatre, people were crowding in and carriages setting down their occupants. Blue Peter gave a glance at the building. "This'll be ane o' the Lon'on kirks, I'm thinkin'?" he said. "It's a muckle place; an' there maun be a heap o' guid fowk in Lon'on, for as ill's it's ca'd, to see sae mony, an' i' their cairritches, comin' to the kirk — on a Setterday nicht tu! It maun be some kin' o' a prayer-meetin', I'm thinkin'."
Malcolm said nothing, but led the way to the pit-entrance.
"That's no an ill w'y o' getherin' the baubees," said Peter, seeing how the incomers paid their money. "I hae h'ard o' the plate bein' robbit in a muckle toon afore noo."
When at length they were seated, and he had time to glance reverently around him, he was a little staggered at sight of the decorations, and the thought crossed
