g,
she lighted on a psalm which was as a Te Deum after the battle--the
battle of Kehl by Rhine, where Kew's soul, as his mother thought, was
the object of contention between the enemies. I have said, this book is
all about the world and a respectable family dwelling in it. It is not a
sermon, except where it cannot help itself, and the speaker pursuing the
destiny of his narrative finds such a homily before him. O friend, in
your life and mine, don't we light upon such sermons daily?--don't we
see at home as well as amongst our neighbours that battle betwixt Evil
and Good? Here on one side is Self and Ambition and Advancement;
and Right and Love on the other. Which shall we let to triumph for
ourselves--which for our children?

The young men were sitting smoking the vesper cigar. (Frank would do
it, and his mother actually lighted his cigar for him now, enjoining
him straightway after to go to bed.) Kew smoked and looked at a
star--shining above in the heaven. "Which is that star?" he asked: and
the accomplished young diplomatist answered it was Jupiter.

"What a lot of things you know, George!" cries the senior, delighted;
"you ought to have been the elder, you ought, by Jupiter! But you have
lost your chance this time."

"Yes, thank God!" says George.

"And I am going to be all right--and to turn over a new leaf, old
boy--and paste down the old ones, eh? I wrote to Martins this morning
to have all my horses sold; and I'll never beg--so help me--so help me,
Jupiter. I made a vow--a promise to myself, you see, that I wouldn't
if I recovered. And I wrote to Cousin Ethel this morning.--As I thought
over the matter yonder, I felt quite certain I was right, and that we
could never, never pull together. Now the Countess is gone, I wonder
whether I was right--to give up sixty thousand pounds, and the prettiest
girl in London?"

"Shall I take horses and go after her? My mother's gone to bed, she
won't know," asked George. "Sixty thousand is a lot of money to lose."

Kew laughed. "If you were to go and tell our grandmother that I could
not live the night through, and that you would be Lord Kew in the
morning, and your son Viscount Walham, I think the Countess would make
up a match between you and the sixty thousand pounds, and the prettiest
girl in England: she would, by--by Jupiter. I intend only to swear by
the heathen gods now, Georgy.--No, I am not sorry I wrote to Ethel.
What a fine girl she is!--I don't mean her be