manners, his wealth, were undoubted facts; every one could see that they existed, and were consequently unassailable. Where was the weak point? There was only his position or his birth left, and the two were almost synonymous. Assume, then, that his position is questionable-never mind how.

"Now to step the second. He was utterly faithless and perfidious in character. He would prefer a lie to the truth, even when truth would have served him as well. He evidently mistrusted and misbelieved other men with whom he had to do. Why? Either from experience or from self-consciousness. But our experience, except in the case of very vigorous minds, is usually biassed by our experience of ourselves. We believe others to be

what we know we ourselves are. Suppose, then, he distrusted all the world because he knew himself to be untrustworthy. Suppose he believed all men deceivers because he himself actually was a mass of deceit, a concrete lie, one who practised habitual concealment. Let us suppose this, I say, and see what follows.

66

Step the third leads us to his cowardice. Habitually a coward— morally rather than physically,-in constant fear,-given to mean and base subterfuges to conceal what might have been told by one more brave. Put all these traits together, and what have we? An unscrupulous, cowardly, lying impostor, who endeavours to conceal some fact which he knows would not bear the light. I give you my reasoning in the rough, but put it all together and it will lead you, I think, to the same conclusion to which I was led. The Earl's secret related to his position as Earl. I then assumed for granted that he was not the true Earl. Some fraud, some crime had been committed to secure him his position, that position which was untenable. Well; then, again, that fraud or crime, though of the past, must be yet discoverable; else why this fear! There must be some accomplice yet alive who is dreaded as dangerous. Hence all this restlessless, this uneasy pride, this cowardly deception.

"Now came the question, "Who?' And here for long I had to pause and examine both facts and probabilities. I assumed that Earl Walford had wrongfully possessed himself of his title: but how, under what conditions, was this possible? A little reflection showed me that there were but two which the circumstances would admit of. First, he might be the illegitimate son of the late Earl, who must have connived at the concealment of this fact. But this conjecture was soon dismissed. The character of the late Earl was unimpeachable; the object of my scrutiny had been both born and brought up under the knowledge and care of servants who were yet alive. The books of the Oscott Church contained the register of his Baptism, with all due particulars. That would not do. But how if he had succeeded to the Earldom wrongfully in some other manner? Reference to "Burke" showed me that he had succeeded upon the death of his elder brother, Ralph, in the year 183-; and stated, moreover, that that elder brother died unmarried. Apparently I was foiled, but I did not lose courage, nor cease to hope. I had to enquire into

Where

two things: Where and how did Viscount Oscott die ? was his younger brother at the time? There was not much difficulty in getting the desired information from some of the old servants. And this was the story: For seven years previously to his death the Viscount had been resident abroad. He had never agreed well with the old Earl, his father, and had been heard to say that he would never visit Oscott again in his life-time. But at length the father relented, and showed a great desire to become reconciled to his eldest son. Lord John Brandon, the younger son, was accordingly sent abroad to try and effect a reconciliation, and succeeded in tracing his brother to where he was then residing. For some reason the Viscount had changed his name and dropped his title, so that the search was attended with great difficulty. After some weeks he discovered him lying ill at a small inn at Chaumont, in Ardennes. His malady was malignant fever, which carried him off in a few days after his brother's arrival. All he could do was to remove the corpse for burial in the family mausoleum at Oscott, where he returned immediately to convey the melancholy news to the Earl. The old man did not long survive his son, and in a few weeks followed him to the grave. Thus the younger son became Earl of Walford.

"Now the facts of all this were incontestible; the only point about which there was any mystery was the interval of seven years between the Viscount's first going abroad and his death. Here I could learn nothing but that he travelled much, and was supposed to have changed his residence often. But after a time letters ceased, and with them all means of information. Here I was left to conjecture, and my guesses led me to this result: Viscount Oscott while abroad had married-possibly beneath him; this marriage took place at the very time he had broken off communication with home, fearing his father's anger. Suppose, then, that a son was born, and lived, he would now be about two or three and twenty; that is, dating one year after the cessation of letters. Now what of the wife. The Viscount was alone at the time of his death; possibly, then, his wife had died before. I can see you smile at my series of guesses; I dare say they seem vague and absurd in the extreme; never mind, follow them to the end. I followed them up until I had settled in my mind that there was a sufficient basis of truth. You see the present Earl forms the only link between this interval of seven years and the present. He was the only person present at the death of his elder brother; whatever revelations, therefore, were made, must have been made to him. My old theory of every man having his secret at once leads me to believe that these revelations were made: my knowledge of Lord Walford's character assures me they were concealed: my suspicions that they related to his own position as Earl. Here, then, I assume, only assume, mind, that the elder brother married, had a son by that union, and on his death-bed revealed these two facts to his brother, who not only concealed his cognizance of the first, but destroyed all traces of

the second. Thus far, all is conjecture: now for the corroborating facts.

"During an illness of the Earl I had on one occasion to go through his accounts with his bankers, Messrs. Edwards and Jackson. Among other items of disbursement was an annuity of £300 payable through a Bordeaux banking house to a Mr. Charles Trepherson. Now, observe, this had commenced in the year 183—, that very year in which Lord Ralph died at Chaumont, and is continued to the present day. Now men do not give annuities for nothing. What was this for? Who was Trepherson, and what had he done? Although I could not answer these questions, at least they served to confirm my suspicions. This discovery was made about a year ago. I now come to the events of the last few months. You know of the Earl's accident? We went out riding together one afternoon beyond the Chase. I was the only person present at the time that the accident happened. The horse did not throw him, as is generally believed; of this I am positive; but he fell, startled at the sudden appearance of a young sailor in the road, sitting on a heap of stones. As we turned a corner we came upon him, and he looked up. That moment the Earl turned lividly pale. I heard him mutter" My God! How like!" but did not catch the last word, as he fell off in a fit. The sailor rose up, half ran up towards us, staggering strangely as if intoxicated, and then decamped in the opposite direction. I called to him, but he did not answer, and made off hastily. I scarcely saw his face, but even that one hasty glance was sufficient to assure me that the missing link in my chainof mystery was found. The idea was increased by all the circumstances of the Earl's illness, until conjecture became almost certainty, and I was enabled to see my way clearer and clearer. For, think how my suspicions were confirmed when I found that the Earl mixed up the names of Chaumont and Travers, not Trepherson, which possibly is an assumed name, in his ravings. The fact that his mind went back three-andtwenty years proved where the cause of uneasiness lay, while the young sailor being the unconscious instrument of exciting his terror, showed how near his connexion was with it.

"And now at length came the time at which active measures were necessary, measures which could be taken by myself alone. Hitherto I had advanced by a series of fortunate guesses and shrewd reasonings; now was the golden opportunity for examining the solid basis of fact. But I must pause for a few minutes, both to rest myself and arrange my ideas before I proceed further, for I feel I have already overtaxed my strength."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

ABOUT THE LABOURER'S INCOME.

In the category of labourers in the rural districts of the provinces, it will not be sufficient to place those alone who are engaged in agricultural or any farm occupation, we must include artizans as well. I mean that large body who rejoice in the name of masons, carpenters, drainers, and such like, earning wages, certainly more than the ploughman, but nothing superior to him in intellect or education; men who would be quite at sea if put to any work more difficult than building a cow-shed, roofing-in an outhouse, or draining a damp piece of pasture; yet of these, especially in a village where there is one 66 great" man, a third of the population will be

composed.

Placing all these, then, under the same head, I shall speak of their incomes as being sufficient to provide for their own and the wants of their families, and as leaving a surplus which may be laid by to provide against a rainy day. I have before said that it is in the labourer's power to save, and I have mentioned several instances in past papers of the power duly exercised; now I intend to show, by the sum of the incomes, that such is really the case, and that the English poor are not so badly paid or so ill off as many would make out. And I have always found that these good people who try to earn the title of "philanthropist" for themselves, often have had no experience in the matter they are moving about; and I know this, that if they really do believe what they preach, they cannot be very consistent, for they are generally the last to help substantially, or to remedy what they have been complaining of, and urging others to put their hand to. It is thus that societies are formed to aid this, and to destroy that, which end in total failure, and disgust all that have had anything to do with them.

The matter is this, they that say the labourer is used ill, that he cannot make provision for his old age, &c., do not weigh the matter, have not the opportunity to look into things, from living among them; they perhaps do not know how or what their protegès receive; I am sure they do not know the obstacles thrown in the way of their saving; the pit-falls put in their path, the stumblingblocks heaped one on the other for them to stumble over. then, again, I know people are liable to judge of the working-man's income by their own, and not for one moment to consider how differently they are situated. A. has, perhaps, ten pounds a week amongst his family, and he cannot understand how B. gets on with two, nor will he allow that two is sufficient pay for B. Now he who

And

argues thus, forgets that two pounds is as much to the one as ten is to the other; that where he who earns ten has to wear a black coat on Sunday, he that only has two cares but for a clean smock frock, or at most a fustian jacket. A.'s family, too, must have dress for their position, and the wife a black silk dress for Sunday; whereas B.'s family are as much rejoiced with a clean cotton in summer, and a somewhat warmer though as cheap fabric in winter.

It is the difference in position, the different appearance which has to be kept up, that makes the lesser wages of the one equal, often greater, than the wages of the other; for I am not at all prepared to grant that it is the lower order of people who are badly paid; on the contrary, I mean to say, they are well paid in comparison to the middle classes, especially the professions (except here and there one); have more little comforts according to their bringing up, and are better able at the end of the year to put something by.

A. B. has been sent to a public school,-take the cheapest, the cost will be at least four hundred pounds for seven years; he then goes to Oxford, to live as he has been bred up,- -one hundred and fifty at least will be required for three years; dues &c., for some other terms-say in all, five hundred; and he must be economical to do it for this. He then determines to enter the Church. Expenses of one sort and another will certainly run up a hundred pounds more; at the end of another year he finds himself a Priest. He has spent, or had spent for him on his education no less than one thousand pounds, and in addition, not the least of it either, some of the best years of his life are gone before he can earn anything for himself; and how, when he is in Priest's Orders, is he situated? At the most he is receiving one hundred a year; and on this he is expected to keep up an appearance becoming his situation. He has to pay income tax; his hand has to be continually in his pocket; and reasonable lodgings-there is no house of his own for him—will be at least eight or ten times the rent of the labourer's cottage, of whom he has the spiritual care; and yet he is never thought of as badly paid. He can live well, he can put by against the time he is out of a Curacy, he is in want of nothing. All commiseration is forthe labouring man; he cannot save, his rent is high, he has no comforts; and yet the wages of the two are not in proportion to their position-the labourer's twenty-six or thirty pounds is at least as much as the Curate's hundred pounds. The thing is argued, not from the relative stations of those concerned, but from the hard cash paid down. The want and distress, as they are pleased to call it, is judged of by the money earned, irrespective of appearance or of requirement.

It is far from my intention to wish to close the pockets of the benevolent towards our poorer classes, but I can assure them that by their indiscriminate judgment of poverty and distress, they make many idle, and mislead many who would otherwise do good in their generation.

The poor man, they should remember, too, is paid his wages regularly on some certain night; the professional man--the Parson