guidly.

"Here is Machiavel's history of the Prince of Lucca," said Constance,
quickly.

"Ah, read that, and see how odious is ambition," returned Godolphin.

And Constance read, but she warmed at what Godolphin's lip curled
with disdain. The sentiments, however, drew him from his apathy; and
presently, with the eloquence he could command when once excited,
he poured forth the doctrines of his peculiar philosophy. Constance
listened, delighted and absorbed; she did not sympathise with the
thought, but she was struck with the genius which clothed it. "Ah!" said
she, with enthusiasm, "why should those brilliant words be thus spoken
and lost for ever? Why not stamp them on the living page, or why not
invest them in the oratory that would render you illustrious and them
immortal?"

"Excellent!" said Godolphin laughing; "the House of Commons would
sympathise with philosophy warmly!"

Yet Constance was right on the whole. But the curse of a life of
pleasure is its aversion to useful activity. Talk of the genius that
lies crushed and obscure in poverty! Wealth and station have also their
mute Miltons and inglorious Hampdens.

Alas! how much of deep and true wisdom do we meet among the triflers of
the world! How much that in the stern middle walks of life would have
obtained renown, in the withering and relaxed air of loftier ranks dies
away unheeded! The two extremes meet in this,--the destruction of mental
gifts.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE RETURN TO LONDON.--THE ETERNAL NATURE OF DISAPPOINTMENT.--FANNY
MILLINGER.--HER HOUSE AND SUPPER.

It was in the midst of spring, and at the approach of night, that our
travellers entered London. After an absence of some duration, there is a
singular emotion on returning to the roar and tumult of that vast
city. Its bustle, its life, its wealth--the tokens of the ambition
and commerce of the Great Island Race--have something of inconceivable
excitement and power, after the comparative desertion and majestic
stillness of Continental cities. Constance leaned restlessly forth from
the window of the carriage as it whirled on.

"Oh, that I were a man!" said she, fervently.

"And why?" asked Godolphin, smilingly.

"Why! look out on this broad theatre of universal ambition, and read
the why. What a proud and various career lies open in this free city
to every citizen! Look, look yonder--the old hereditary senate, still
eloquent with high memories."

"And close by it," said Godolph