ing. Like Hales, too, Falkland could say: "The pursuit of truth hath been my only care ever since I fully understood the meaning of the word. For this I have forsaken, all hopes, all friends, all desires which might bias me, and hinder me from driving right at what I aimed." Like Hales, and unlike our nation in general, Falkland concerned himself with the why of things as well as the what. "I comprise it all in two words: what and wherefore. That part of your burden which contains what, you willingly take up. But that other, which comprehends why, that is either too hot or too heavy; you dare not meddle with it. But I must add that also to your burden, or else I must leave you for idle persons; for without the knowledge of why, of the grounds or reasons of things, there is no possibility of not being deceived." How countless are the deceived and deceiving from this cause! Nay, and the fanatics of the what, the neglecters of the why, are not unfrequently men of genius; they have the temperament which influences, which prevails, which acts magnetically upon men. So we have the Philistine of genius in religion—Luther; the Philistine of genius in politics—Cromwell; the Philistine of genius in literature—Bunyan. All three of them, let us remark, are Germanic, and two of them are English. Mr. Freeman must be enchanted.
Let us return to Falkland—to our martyr of sweetness and light, of lucidity of mind and largeness of temper. Let us bid him farewell, not with compassion for him and not with excuses, but in confidence and pride. Slowly, very slowly, his ideal of lucidity of mind and largeness of temper conquers; but it conquers. In the end it will prevail, only we must have patience. The day will come when this nation shall be renewed by it. But O lime-trees of Tew, and quiet Oxfordshire field-banks where the first violets are even now raising their heads—how often, ere that day arrive for Englishmen, shall your renewal be seen!
GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY.
BY WILLIAM BLACK.
AUTHOR OF "THE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON," "THE PRINCESS OF THULE," ETC.
CHAPTER X.
REPENTANCE.
Balfour was astounded when he learned that Lord Willowby and his daughter had left without bidding him good-by; and he was more astounded still when he found, on calling at their hotel next morning, that Lady Sylvia had gone home.
"What is the meaning of it?" said he, in amazement.
"You ought to know," said Lord Willowby. "I cannot tell you. I supposed she and you had had some quarrel."
"A quarrel!" he cried, beginning to wonder whether his reason had not altogether forsaken him.
"Well," said his lordship, with a shrug, "I don't know. She would come home last night, though I knew she had been looking forward to going to Lady ———'s. And this morning, nothing would do but that she must get home at once. She and Anne started an hour ago."
"Oh, this is monstrous—this is unendurable," said Balfour. "There is some mistake, and it must be cleared up at once. Come, Lord Willowby, shall we take a run down into Surrey? You will be back by four or five."
Lord Willowby did not like the notion of being dragged down into Surrey and back by an impatient lover; but he was very anxious at this time to ingratiate himself with Balfour. And when they did set out, he thought he might as well improve the occasion. Balfour was disturbed and anxious by this strange conduct on the part of his sweetheart; and he was grateful to Lord Willowby for so promptly giving him his aid to have the mystery cleared up. He was talking more than usual. What wonder, then, that in the course of conversation Lord Willowby should incidentally allude to the opportunities which a man of means had of multiplying his wealth? If he had a few thousands, for example, how could he better dispose of them than in this project for the buying of land in the suburbs of New York? It was not a speculation; it was a certainty. In 1880 the population of New York would be two millions. The value of this land for the building of handsome boule-
