contending difficulties, now brought forward a mezzo termino.

"Come," said Lord Oldcastle, " though it is clear that I cannot serve under Mr. Wentworth, nor he under me, why should we not both serve under a third person?"

To find him!" said Beaufort, much surprised, and rather thrown off his guard.

"Yourself!" cried Lord Oldcastle. "Impossible!"

"And why so? You have great family connexions; great abilities; great command in debate; much popularity. There can be no objection, therefore, in those who might reject one another, to own you as chief."

Beaufort felt astounded; he drew his breath quick; he thought of Wentworth; thought of the country; and, as a momentary flush crimsoned his cheek, Lord Oldcastle believed he saw hesitation on his brow.

"Mr. Wentworth may have his choice of offices," said Lord Oldcastle, " provided only that he is not first. And to give more strength and dignity still to your own part of the arrangements, an elevation in the peerage to your "father might perhaps, by giving you title, though not intrinsically necessary, add an ornament at least to the real strength of the union."

It would be wronging the truth to say that the ambition of Beaufort was not flattered by all this; though he never departed one instant from his prevailing wish to see Wentworth in power, not only influencing, but directing the destinies of his country. Of this he felt there was not a chance, while Lord Oldcastle continued where he was; and as little, should the latter be removed, without coalescing with the Wentworth party. He could have wished some other third person had been named as chief, and actually did name more than one, but they were all objected to by Lord Oldcastle, either as deficient in court interest, in abilities, or in extensive connexions. "In short," said my lord, "aut Cæsar, aut nullus. It is for you to say whether you will refuse to save the country, where you can do it so easily."

The excitement of Beaufort's mind was not allayed by these topics. He was sincerely patriotic; sincerely loyal to Wentworth; and sincerely ready to spurn all personal advantages at the expense of honour. But he was ambitious; and he saw no sacrifice of honour in consenting to be at least the bearer of these proposals to his friend and

to his party, with a view to consult them.-This was all he promised, and this he performed.

The astonishment of Wentworth when he heard the result of the conference is not to be painted. We have described him as subject to momentary starts of suspicion and anger, during which his invectives were terrible; upon the present occasion they were uncontrollable, when he found that his friend had even listened to a plan which he called insidious, and, to a most offensive degree, degrading to himself; and though he was too just to Beaufort to accuse him of any treachery in hearing it, yet the very thought that he had not rejected with scorn and contempt what he called an evident design (so evident that a baby might see through it) to lower him (Wentworth), surprised Beaufort into a vehemence that carried torture and death to his sensibility, which we have described as so irritable.

"I will not," said Wentworth, "glance at the palpable snares laid for your own ambition, at the small price of my degradation; I will not inquire into the reasons which prevented you from seeing through such treachery."

"Stop!" interrupted Beaufort, with emotions which were unbearable; "nor glance on your part at what it tears my soul to pieces to think you could imagine."

"I imagine nothing against your honour," cried Wentworth. But it was too late for explanation: horror had seized upon the soul of Beaufort; the too sensate jealousy in regard to his character, which has been mentioned, had now got complete hold of him; and, in a tremor which seemed to proceed from a breaking heart, he burst from the house to seek his own home. There, after ordering the doors to be closed against all visiters, he buried himself in his chamber.

The whole passed so quickly that this sudden movement could not be prevented; and Wentworth was content to remain a full hour by himself, ruminating over the new aspect of things; during which he repented him of his vehemence towards his friend, for whose return, or at least for some tidings from him, he began anxiously to wish. But his friend came not, and the amiable, though warm-tempered Wentworth, with an appeased spirit, and a desire to atone for his offensive and uninten tional expressions, sallied forth to seek the friend he feared he had injured.

What was his surprise, and we may add, his alarmi, when he was not only refused admittance, but fairly told by the porter that it was his master's last order that he should be refused particularly to him.

"I would not be so bold as to tell you, sir," said the porter, "but for fear there be something wrong between two such good gentlemen; for indeed, sir, my master seems quite desperate."

Wentworth, in alarm, repeated the attempt that night, and again the next day, but in vain; nor did they see each other till they met in the House; when the high-wrought resentment of Beaufort was so great, that the advances of his friend (who still continued to make them) were proudly and moodily rejected.

This did not escape observation among those who were most interested to observe; for it had already been whispered that Lord Oldcastle had made overtures to Mr. Beaufort, which had been accepted, and that a quarrel had been the consequence between him and his former friend. The rumour seemed thus too fully confirmed, and both sides were fixed in most exciting attention towards the behaviour of the two leaders. Agreeably to all practice, particularly in party, every thing was at once taken for granted on either side. The ministerialists openly boasted that Beaufort had agreed to their terms. They named his very office and title, and assumed an air and tone of confidence upon it which made universal impression. On the other hand, Mr. Wentworth's party, discomfited and imposed upon by what they felt would be a severe blow to their reputation, as well as interest, and confirmed in their suspicions by the cold and resentful conduct of Beaufort, could no longer restrain their indignation. They showed it by shunning him, and forming themselves into groups to hold conversations, of which it was evident to himself that he was the subject. This maddened him still more; and though he would not retire from the House, fearing that it might confirm the suspicions which could not now be concealed from him, he was evidently ripe for any catastrophe, and ready to lay down his life rather than suffer the supposition that his honour had been sullied.

Wentworth saw all this, and implored him, through a friend, to retire with him, thinking that by soothing and explanation, he might restore him to himself. But po! the unfortunate Beaufort only became the more

infuriated. "It is to you," said he, "that I owe the destruction which has overtaken me: it is you, my friend, in whose cause I was employed, who have ruined my fame; and on you be my blood, if it is necessary to shed it."

What this particularly meant did not appear; but Wentworth, knowing his friend's sensibility, shuddered with fear; and as Beaufort would not suffer him to approach him, he fondly hoped, that could the night pass over in peace, the next morning might see all things restored.

It unfortunately happened that there was at that instant before the House one of those propositions upon the general state of affairs which peculiarly admitted of an inquiry into this too interesting case; and the question was flatly, and with no delicacy, put by a pragmatical, smattering sort of man, who sought to give himself consequence by it, " Whether the rumours they had heard in the morning were true?" Those to whom it was addressed asked what rumours? "Whether an honourable gentleman,” he replied (designating Beaufort), “ had agreed to accept a great office and a title." "I rise to anticipate the answer," cried Beaufort, in an agony amounting almost to phrensy. "I declare the report to be false, foully and slanderously false; and those who have promulgated such scandal are the assassins of a character which they cannot openly assail. I have agreed to no terms whatever."

"Then he at least listened to proposals," observed the member who asked the question.

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"No man," replied Beaufort, with indignation, can prevent even the most insidious proposals. from being made to him: and I desire distinctly and explicitly to declare, that although attempts were made to detach me from my politics, I repressed them all with the scorn they deserved."

This called up a gentleman high in office, and known to be in the confidence of Lord Oldcastle. He was a man bold, rough, and determined, yet cool and wily in conduct, and both from temper and a most aspiring ambition, he desired nothing better for his own purposes than to signalize himself against the hottest leaders of the opposition. "We do not sit here, sir," said he to the speaker, "to be scorned; and since the gentleman professes so much contempt for us, it is fit I should declaro

I have reason to believe that within these four-and-twenty hours his conduct has by no means tallied with his present professions."

Great cries of "order, order," but accompanied with greater cheering from the ministerial benches, followed this denunciation. It was answered from the other side with equal determination, and the speaker in vain for two minutes endeavoured to restore tranquillity, during which two minutes both Beaufort and Mr. Brudenel, the ministerial member, left the house.

Wentworth in an agony followed his friend: but found to his dismay that he had for the moment lost all influence with him. Beaufort rejected all offers of assistance or comfort, insisted upon his leaving him, and demanded, as the price of his ever holding communication with him again, that he would not interfere. The discomfited and unhappy Wentworth immediately returned to the House; and claimed the authority of the speaker to attach the parties; but it was too late. On arriving at White's, to which he thought one or other might have repaired, he found both there, but unhappily both had been in such a state of irritation that they had already fought. They had in fact retired to a private room, where the perturbation of Beaufort had laid him too open, he had received his ad versary's sword in his heart, and when Wentworth arrived his gallant spirit had fled. Wentworth hung over him in dismay for many minutes, when, smiting his breast, "Alas!" cried he, "I am his murderer!" and he rushed from the house.

His night was misery itself, although he had the consolation of Herbert and De Vere, who had heard of the catastrophe, and immediately sought him. A veil must be drawn over his wretchedness, for it cannot be described; but the wretchedness itself, and the horror which caused it, added one crime more to those of party ambition.

The feelings of Wentworth continued to be harrowed up under this heavy blow, which not only fell sorely upon him at the time, but continued to wound him for years. For he in vain endeavoured to lay this death upon the too sensitive and jealous character of his friend,jealous even to weakness, in all that touched his honour.

But whatever share this weakness really had in the almost self-immolation of Beaufort, Wentworth could