amused; "if she has no fortune, it might be wise to settle it on her; if she has, you might wish to lay it out in more land, or to invest it here; you and Giles must consider this. I mean to give you two thousand pounds." Then, when he saw that Valentine was silent from astonishment, he went on, "And if your dear father had been here he would not have been at all surprised. Many circumstances, with which you are not acquainted, assure me of this, and I consider that I owe everything to him." There was a certain sternness about these words; he would have, it was evident, no discussion.
John Mortimer heard his father say this with surprise. "He must mean that he owes his religious views to my uncle," was his thought; but to Brandon, who did not trouble himself about those last words, the others were full of meaning; the amount of the gift, together with the hint at circumstances with which Valentine was not acquainted, made him feel almost certain that the strange words, "I forbade my mother to leave her property to me," alluded to something which was known to the next brother.
Valentine, at first, was too much surprised to be joyous, but he thanked his uncle with something of the cordial ingenuousness and grace which had distinguished his father.
"I can have a tour now, can't I, old fellow," he said after a time to his brother; "take my wife" — here a joyous laugh — "my wife on the Continent; we shall go dashing about from place to place, you know, staying at hotels, and all that!"
"To be sure," said Brandon, "staying at hotels, of course, and ordering wonderful things for breakfast. I think I see you now —
Happy married lovers,
"That's the way this fellow is always making game of me," exclaimed Valentine; "why I'm older than you were, John, when you married."
"And wild horses shall never drag the words out of me that I was too young," said John Mortimer, "whatever I may think," he continued.
"John was a great deal graver than you are," said Brandon; "besides, he knew the multiplication table."
"So do I, of course," exclaimed Valentine.
"Well," answered Brandon," I never said you did not."
From Macmillan's Magazine.
THE TERCENTENARY FESTIVAL AT LEYDEN.
It seems well worth while for an eyewitness to give some account of this memorable feast, as most of the "special correspondents" who wrote in the daily papers concerning it had evidently either not gone to Leyden at all or had not been admitted to any of the ceremonies. They enumerated people as present who were not present. They did not know in what language some of the addresses were delivered. And one of them at least endeavoured to conceal his ignorance by such flippant impertinence, that he has since been personally exposed in the indignant Dutch papers. We are accustomed to letters from Khiva being written in London offices, but it seems hard that the excellent Hollanders should have their contemporary history disposed of in such summary fashion. They had spared no pains to make the Tercentenary of their great academy famous all over Europe. Months ago a formal bilingual invitation in Dutch and in Latin had been sent to all the academies in Europe asking them to send representatives to Leyden. Thirty-eight responded to the call affirmatively. Many more sent polite and respectful apologies. From the extremities of Europe — from Hungary and from Ireland, from Finland and from Portugal — men came and brought with them their state robes to do honour to the great mother of Scaligers, Boerhaaves, and Salmasii. The Swedes telegraphed that six feet of snow had suddenly blocked up their railwavs, and that travelling was impossible. The Romans could not send an embassy from Italy, but chose an eminent Hollander (Professor Boot) to represent them. There was but one strange exception to the eagerness and respect shown by all Europe — Oxford was unrepresented. Nay, more, Oxford had not answered the invitation. The Hollanders have a great respect for Oxford. The late king was educated at Christchurch. The present master of Balliol was among the half-dozen Englishmen who were selected for honorary degrees. Yet, as Oxford men