She had thrown off her hat a little while before, and now she took it up, and straightened the loops of ribbon with a nervous touch here and there, and then put the hat on again,[Pg 265] and arranged the gossamer veil, which she hoped might hide her swollen eyelids and tear-stained cheeks. 如何玩福彩快3 Christina said nothing about Ernest, and I believe was more than half angry when the blame was laid upon other shoulders. She was easily consoled, however, and fell back on the double reflection, firstly, that her son was pure, and secondly, that she was quite sure he would not have been so had it not been for his religious convictions which had held him back 鈥?as, of course, it was only to be expected they would. This he read through before posting it. It was a sound business letter, saying just what it set out to say. But he wondered why it lacked that certain aroma of courtesy which distinguished the letter which it answered. He perceived that it was so, but no more knew how to remedy it than he knew how to fly. But he could walk pretty sturdily along the ground, and it required a stalwart push to upset him. And if the undesirable happened, and Lord Inverbroom鈥檚 fears proved to be well founded, he knew he had a sound knock ready for the whole assembly of those who collectively thought he was not good enough for them. 鈥淭here isn鈥檛,鈥?said John, 鈥渁 sweeter-tempered, handier, prettier girl than she was in all England, nor one as knows better what a man likes, and how to make him happy, if you can keep her from drink; but you can鈥檛 keep her; she鈥檚 that artful she鈥檒l get it under your very eyes, without you knowing it. If she can鈥檛 get any more of your things to pawn or sell, she鈥檒l steal her neighbours鈥? That鈥檚 how she got into trouble first when I was with her. During the six months she was in prison I should have felt happy if I had not known she would come out again. And then she did come out, and before she had been free a fortnight, she began shop-lifting and going on the loose again 鈥?and all to get money to drink with. So seeing I could do nothing with her and that she was just a-killing of me, I left her, and came up to London, and went into service again, and I did not know what had become of her till you and Mr. Ernest here told me. I hope you鈥檒l neither of you say you鈥檝e seen me.鈥? 鈥淚 see it all now. The people like Towneley are the only ones who know anything that is worth knowing, and like that of course I can never be. But to make Towneleys possible there must be hewers of wood and drawers of water 鈥?men in fact through whom conscious knowledge must pass before it can reach those who can apply it gracefully and instinctively as the Towneleys can. I am a hewer of wood, but if I accept the position frankly and do not set up to be a Towneley, it does not matter.鈥? 鈥極h, you were, were you?鈥?he said. 鈥榃ell, what were you going to say when I did turn the door-handle?鈥? 鈥極h, I would rather not do that,鈥?said Norah. 鈥業 have got great big overshoes: there they are filling up the corner of the room; I shan鈥檛 mind the snow. And, Mr Keeling, go back to the drawing-room, and say I鈥檝e gone.鈥? On Christmas day, 1863, we were startled by the news of Thackeray鈥檚 death. He had then for many months given up the editorship of the Cornhill Magazine 鈥?a position for which he was hardly fitted either by his habits or temperament 鈥?but was still employed in writing for its pages. I had known him only for four years, but had grown into much intimacy with him and his family. I regard him as one of the most tender-hearted human beings I ever knew, who, with an exaggerated contempt for the foibles of the world at large, would entertain an almost equally exaggerated sympathy with the joys and troubles of individuals around him. He had been unfortunate in early life 鈥?unfortunate in regard to money 鈥?unfortunate with an afflicted wife 鈥?unfortunate in having his home broken up before his children were fit to be his companions. This threw him too much upon clubs, and taught him to dislike general society. But it never affected his heart, or clouded his imagination. He could still revel in the pangs and joys of fictitious life, and could still feel 鈥?as he did to the very last 鈥?the duty of showing to his readers the evil consequences of evil conduct. It was perhaps his chief fault as a writer that he could never abstain from that dash of satire which he felt to be demanded by the weaknesses which he saw around him. The satirist who writes nothing but satire should write but little 鈥?or it will seem that his satire springs rather from his own caustic nature than from the sins of the world in which he lives. I myself regard Esmond as the greatest novel in the English language, basing that judgment upon the excellence of its language, on the clear individuality of the characters, on the truth of its delineations in regard to the tine selected, and on its great pathos. There are also in it a few scenes so told that even Scott has never equalled the telling. Let any one who doubts this read the passage in which Lady Castlewood induces the Duke of Hamilton to think that his nuptials with Beatrice will be honoured if Colonel Esmond will give away the bride. When he went from us he left behind living novelists with great names; but I think that they who best understood the matter felt that the greatest master of fiction of this age had gone. 鈥淕ive me your arm,鈥?said Ernest, 鈥渁nd take me into Piccadilly, and put me into a cab, and come with me at once, if you can spare time, to Mr. Overton鈥檚 at the Temple.鈥?