He said to his confidents, that Mr. Wentworth was a warm-headed visionary, with no more knowledge than a child in the art of governing, and totally ignorant of the character of his countrymen, who had too little virtue themselves to be so elevated in the scale of political existence; that public opinion was a good thing could you come at it; but that private views, passion, and faction, for ever prevented it from being really known, and he therefore knew no where else to look for it except in the majorities of the two Houses of Parliament.

The

It was clear that statesmen who so widely differed, could never come together. treaty ended, and meanwhile the administration had been so constantly changing, and in a crisis which required the utmost wisdom there had been so little stability, that the sovereign himself, who had the most truly British heart in all his dominions, felt and deferred to the more liberal policy of Wentworth.

In truth, England itself was changed, though so insensibly, that hackneyed politicians had not discovered it. The amazing spread of improvement of all kinds, in knowledge, in wealth, in real independence, (different from the turbulence of earlier times, but in so far, only more

to be respected) had made its inhabitants a new people, while the ministers of those days still governed that people as they would have governed the old. The long reach of mind, the genius, and the daring of Wentworth, had discovered this; it was seconded by his heart, and in that heart he had fondly conceived the character of a patriot minister. It must be owned, that in this he went before the age; but we owe it to him, that with all the usual cries of faction which have been raised against succeeding ministers, the characters of public men have been wholly changed; and that for many years we have been governed with a purity, a disregard to self, and a sincere attention to the public weal, which, while they make high-minded ambition still more honourable, would, half a century ago, have been thought Utopian.

The principles and objects of Wentworth were the delight of Herbert, and he had been perpetually exciting De Vere with their development, and their praises. "I have long known and admired them," said De Vere, "but I have been spoiled of my arms, and can give him little support till I recover my rights, if ever I can fairly recover them at Wellsbury."

In his zeal, Herbert proposed to Wentworth

that room should be made for him among the seats of some of his great friends. "He will never accept it," said Wentworth, and related the denial which he had himself experienced.

The death of Lord Mowbray had altered many things; and as he had possessed parliamentary influence to which his heiress would succeed, the President not unnaturally looked to that quarter as the obvious means of placing De Vere, where he longed to see him, by the side of Wentworth. "The battle, and the hoped-for victory are impending," said he; "it will be too late, or at least not so creditable, only to join the standard when it is won." In order, therefore, to further these views in regard to De Vere, Herbert determined to betake himself to the Lady Constance, and avail himself of the respect which she felt for him, and the intimacy which she so evidently desired to see him cultivate with her.

Of the parliamentary friends of Lord Mowbray, one who had long been in a bad state of health was expected to die. It was in order that De Vere might succeed to him, that the active Herbert determined to lay his case before his cousin; and to obtain his sanction for this proceeding was now the object of his visit to Talbois.

To Herbert's astonishment, when he opened the matter to De Vere, in their walk by the canal, he met with a determined refusal. "It is not," said De Vere, "that I am not alive to its advantages, or that I do not agree with you in thinking, that, where the obligation springs out of an interest so purely of a family nature, there can be little onerous or embarrassing. But there are reasons, there are personal feelings in this matter, of which I alone can be the judge, and which impel me, even imperiously, to avoid this kind interference."

Herbert deplored this inflexibility. "If it arise from independence of spirit,” said he, "you are too rigid. Lady Constance is now. the head of your mother's family; and heads of families only consult their own consequence, in surrounding themselves by relations as their. political supporters.'

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Lady Constance," said De Vere, "is no politician; and if I know her, will not become.

"The greater the necessity," replied the President, "for putting herself in the hands of a man of honour. And who so fit an adviser as her nearest male relation?"

"A husband," said De Vere, firmly enough;

"and in that case, who is to foresee the changes, the interference, perhaps the overthrow, of all we might have counted upon? No; if my cousin ask my advice, however little qualified, I will give it; but never will I profit by it to benefit myself."

Herbert called this romantically unbending, and complained that De Vere had abandoned him for the school of Harclai. He even attempted to banter; but it was a subject, as connected with his cousin, too delicate for the doubting heart of De Vere, not to put down. the attempt at once. He indeed could not help saying, with some seriousness, if not stiffness, that there were things of which one's own feelings could alone be the judge, and on which the best friends might make unfortunate mistakes.

Herbert eyed him with surprise, but seeing that he was assuming that air of lofty determination, which every year became more and more prominent in his character, he feared that there was some deeper principle of action concerned in it than he would be able to shake; and with his usual tact he desisted from the attempt.

Returned to the house, however, he betook himself to Lady Eleanor, and set before her,