ight be
jealous of Marcus, if one of us did not teach her.' His consideration
for his dependents may be illustrated by this remark: 'I wish I had
taken the governess's room when we got into the house first; but,
anti-revolutionist as I am, I am too much of a democrat to turn her
out now in right of superior rank.'

Of his character, some faint idea may be formed from our sketch and
extracts; but of the beauty of his thoughts, his soundness, sagacity,
the perfect simplicity of his whole style of character, a large
acquaintance with his free outpourings to his friends can alone give
an adequate notion. We regard them as among the very best private
letters we know--of their kind, we mean--for they are not witty, not
playful. The reader will not find lightness and grace, but strength
and manliness, and, in a remarkable degree, affectionateness. They are
the charming utterances of a clear and honest mind, and have made us
thankful for the privilege of knowing the inner life of one whose
outward works have long had our admiration.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] By the Chevalier Bunsen and Professors Brandis and Loebell. 2
vols. 8vo. London: Chapman & Hall. 1852.

THE TATTLETON ELECTION.

There never was a contested election in the borough of Great Tattleton
that I remember but one, and it took place on what was termed the last
appeal to the country in the matter of the Reform Bill. Staid and
substantial fathers of families doubtless recollect the strife of
parties and opinions which filled those times, and in which themselves
took part, with all the bootless haste and fervour of twenty; feeling
especially indignant that they were not yet householders, as their
incorruptible votes might save the nation. England has floated safely
through many a conflict of the old and new since then, and more of the
kind are coming; but no event in our national history ever appeared to
the denizens of Tattleton of half such magnitude as that contested
election. Tattleton was an ancient and respectable borough. It has a
railway station now, but looks much as it did at the time of my
story--a small, old-fashioned country town, situated among corn and
orchard lands in one of the cider-making counties, with a newspaper, a
sheriff's court, and sundry quiet shops and alehouses. There is an old
church there, with high Gothic windows full of painted glass, quaint
carving, strange tombs, and a suit of knightly armour hanging between
two tattered ban