Miss Ethel Newcome's letter: likewise some
passions have been in play, of which a modest young English maiden could
not be aware. Do not, however, let us be too prematurely proud of our
virtue. That tariff of British virtue is wonderfully organised. Heaven
help the society which made its laws! Gnats are shut out of its ports,
or not admitted without scrutiny and repugnance, whilst herds of camels
are let in. The law professes to exclude some goods (or bads shall we
call them?)--well, some articles of baggage, which are yet smuggled
openly under the eyes of winking officers, and worn every day without
shame. Shame! What is shame? Virtue is very often shameful according to
the English social constitution, and shame honourable. Truth, if
yours happens to differ from your neighbour's, provokes your friend's
coldness, your mother's tears, the world's persecution. Love is not to
be dealt in, save under restrictions which kill its sweet, healthy, free
commerce. Sin in man is so light, that scarce the fine of a penny is
imposed; while for woman it is so heavy that no repentance can wash it
out. Ah! yes; all stories are old. You proud matrons in your Mayfair
markets, have you never seen a virgin sold, or sold one? Have you never
heard of a poor wayfarer fallen among robbers, and not a Pharisee to
help him? of a poor woman fallen more sadly yet, abject in repentance
and tears, and a crowd to stone her? I pace this broad Baden walk as
the sunset is gilding the hills round about, as the orchestra blows its
merry tunes, as the happy children laugh and sport in the alleys, as
the lamps of the gambling-palace are lighted up, as the throngs of
pleasure-hunters stroll, and smoke, and flirt, and hum: and wonder
sometimes, is it the sinners who are the most sinful? Is it poor
Prodigal yonder amongst the bad company, calling black and red
and tossing the champagne; or brother Straitlace that grudges his
repentance? Is it downcast Hagar that slinks away with poor little
Ishmael in her hand; or bitter old virtuous Sarah, who scowls at her
from my demure Lord Abraham's arm?

One day of the previous May, when of course everybody went to visit the
Water-colour Exhibitions, Ethel Newcome was taken to see the pictures by
her grandmother, that rigorous old Lady Kew, who still proposed to reign
over all her family. The girl had high spirit, and very likely hot words
had passed between the elder and the younger lady; such as I am given to
understan