headed. Now, when we know that influential, but personally ill-qualified, candidates can calculate on winning seats against well-qualified but uninfluential competitors, we know that a large number of electors must habitually allow their votes to be decided by considerations not strictly disinterested. In fact, local influence acts on the middleclass elector very much in the same way as bribery and intimidation do on the voter of the poorest class, but is, of course, far more insidious than these gross and palpable forms of corruption, since it can make its power felt without uttering a word, or committing a single overt act which could be alleged in an election petition.

In whatever way, however, the force of wealth and social station is brought to bear, it humiliates the individual voter by interfering with his free and conscientious choice, and injures the nation by forcing upon it a less efficient class of legislators than it would otherwise obtain. The tendency of a system of election in which it plays any considerable part is to weight Parliament with moneyed and landed men of mediocre ability, and no special turn for public affairs. These persons are pretty sure to regard social questions from a point of view specially favourable to those influences to which they must be perfectly conscious of owing their election. Hence follows legislation in the interests of the opulent and landed classes. Το take an instance or two. What should we think if we found in some continental capital a great pleasure-ground, all the best drives in which were exclusively reserved for the use of those persons whose incomes reached, say, a thousand or fifteen hundred a year? Yet this is exactly the effect of the London park regulations, by which none but private carriages are allowed on the principal drives. A rich man, whose income permits him to keep a carriage of his own, is to be allowed to drive about the park as he chooses. A poorer man, who could afford to hire a cab in order to enjoy the same pleasure, is not

allowed to enter, or is restricted to a single road. A system which creates a monopoly of public property for the use of the wealthy would, I venture to affirm, be no longer tolerated by a really representative House of Commons.

Again, when the tramway system was under discussion in Parliament, a very rich member opposed it on the ground of the inconvenience it would cause to "gentlemen having carriages of their own." He knew, no doubt, that this argument, which would have been worth little in a house of representatives, would be most effective in a house of opulents. As a last example, let me refer to the rejection of the Birmingham Sewage Bill last session, when the interests of a vast centre of population and manufacture were sacrificed to those of a few landowners whose property was thought likely to be deteriorated if the Bill became law.

The condition of things indicated by such occurrences is certainly very serious, but it may, I am convinced, be successfully combated if Liberal electors will only determine to prefer ability and high integrity, in their candidate, above all other real or supposed qualifications, and let it be most distinctly understood that they intend to act resolutely and systematically on this principle. Our representatives occupy posts of the most momentous importance; we are therefore bound as patriotic Englishmen so to discharge our electoral trust that, as far as in us lies, none but thoroughly competent and single-hearted men shall be allowed to sit in the great council of the nation. To do this consistently and unswervingly will require some effort, and perhaps some sacrifice, but no one who is heartily attached to the great fundamental principles on which Liberalism is built ought to count the cost, when he remembers that by acting fearlessly and staunchly, according to the unbiassed dictates of his own conscience, he can contribute towards ensuring to those principles an ultimate and complete triumph.

SEDLEY TAYLOR.

27

CHAPTER VI.

AT BARVAS BRIDGE.

VERY Soon, indeed, Ingram began to see that his friend had spoken to him quite frankly; and that he was really bent on asking Sheila to become his wife. Ingram contemplated this prospect with some dismay, and with some vague consciousness that he was himself responsible for what he could not help regarding as a disaster. He had half expected that Frank Lavender would, in his ordinary. fashion, fall in love with Sheila-for about a fortnight. He had joked him about it even before they came within sight of Sheila's home. He had listened with a grim humour to Lavender's outbursts of admiration, and only asked himself how many times he had heard the same phrases before. But now things were looking more serious; for the young man had thrown himself into the prosecution of his new project with all the generous poetic enthusiasm of a highly impulsive nature. Ingram saw that everything a young man could do to win the heart of a young girl Lavender would do; and nature had dowered him richly with various means of fascination. Most dangerous of all of these was a gift of sincerity that deceived himself. He could assume an opinion, or express an emotion, at will, with such a genuine fervour that he himself forgot how recently he had acquired it, and was able to convince his companion for the moment that it was a revelation of his inmost soul. It was this charm of impetuous sincerity which had fascinated Ingram himself years before, and made him cultivate the acquaintance of a young man whom he at first regarded as a somewhat facile, talkative, and histri

onic person. Ingram perceived, for example, that young Lavender had so little regard for public affairs that he would have been quite content to see our Indian Empire go for the sake of eliciting a sarcasm from Lord Westbury; but, at the same time, if you had appealed to his nobler instincts, and placed before him the condition of a certain populace suffering from starvation, he would have done all in his power to aid them, he would have written letters to the newspapers, would have headed subscriptions, and would have ended by believing that he had been the constant friend of the people of India throughout his life and was bound to stick to them to the end of it.

As often as not Lavender borrowed his fancies and opinions from Edward Ingram himself, who was amused and gratified at the same time to find his humdrum notions receive a dozen new lights and colours when transferred to the warmer atmosphere of his friend's imagination. Ingram would even consent to receive from his younger companion advice, impetuously urged and richly illustrated, which he had himself offered, in simpler terms, months before. At this very

moment he could see that much of Lavender's romantic conceptions of Sheila's character was only an exaggeration of some passing hints he, Ingram, had dropped as the Clansman was steaming into Stornoway. But then they were ever so much more beautiful. Ingram held to his conviction that he himself was a distinctly commonplace person. He had grown reconciled to the ordinary grooves of life. But young

Lavender was not commonplace-he fancied he could see in him an occasional flash of something that looked like

genius; and many and many a time, in regarding the brilliant and facile powers, the generous impulses, and the occasional ambitions of his companion, he wondered whether these would ever lead to anything in the way of production, or even of consolidation of character, or whether they would merely remain the passing sensations of an indifferent idler. Sometimes, indeed, he devoutly wished that Lavender had been born a stonemason.

But all these pleasant and graceful qualities which had made the young man an agreeable companion were a serious danger now; for was it not but too probable that Sheila, accustomed to the rude and homely ways of the islanders, would be attracted, and pleased, and fascinated by one who had about him so much of a soft and southern brightness with which she was wholly unfamiliar? This open-hearted frankness of his placed all his best qualities in the sunshine, as it were; she could not fail to see the singular modesty and courtesy of his bearing towards women, his gentle manners, his light-heartedness, his passionate admiration of the selfsacrifice of others, and his sympathy with their sufferings. Ingram would not have minded much if Lavender alone had been concerned in the dilemma now growing imminent; he would have left him to flounder out of it as he had got out of previous ones. But he had been surprised, and pained, and even frightened to detect in Sheila's manner some faint indications-so faint that he was doubtful what construction to put on them-of a special interest in the young stranger whom he had brought with him to Borva.

What could he do in the matter, supposing his suspicions were correct? Caution Sheila?—it would be an insult. Warn Mackenzie ?—the King of Borva would fly into a passion with everybody concerned, and bring endless humiliation on his daughter, who had probably never dreamed of regarding Lavender except as a chance acquaintance. Insist upon Lavender going south at once?—that would merely goad the young man into

obstinacy. Ingram found himself in a grievous difficulty, afraid to say how much of it was of his own creation. He had no selfish sentiments of his own to consult; if it were to become evident that the happiness of Sheila and of his friend depended on their marrying each other, he was ready to forward such a project with all the influence at his command. But there were a hundred reasons why he should dread such a marriage. He had already mentioned several of them to Lavender, in trying to dissuade the young man from his purpose. A few days had passed since then ; and it was clear that Lavender had abandoned all notion of fulfilling those resolutions he had vaguely formed. But the more that Ingram thought over the matter, and the further he recalled all the ancient proverbs and stories about the fate of intermeddlers, the more evident it became to him that he could take no immediate action in the affair. would trust to the chapter of accidents to save Sheila from what he considered a disastrous fate. Perhaps Lavender would repent. Perhaps Mackenzie, continually on the watch for small secrets, would discover something, and bid his daughter stay in Borva while his guests proceeded on their tour through Lewis. In any case, it was not at all certain that Lavender would be successful in his suit. Was the heart of a proud-spirited, intelligent, and busilyoccupied girl to be won in a matter of three weeks or a month? Lavender would go south, and no more would be heard of it.

He

This tour round the island of Lewis, however, was not likely to favour much any such easy escape from the difficulty. On a certain morning the larger of Mr. Mackenzie's boats carried the holiday party away from Borva; and even at this early stage-as they sat in the stern of the heavy craft-Lavender had arrogated to himself the exclusive right of waiting upon Sheila. He had constituted himself her companion in all their excursions about Borva which they had undertaken; and now, on this longer journey, they were to be once more

thrown together. It did seem a little hard that Ingram should be relegated to Mackenzie and his theories of government; but did he not profess to prefer that? Like most men who have got beyond five-and-thirty, he was rather proud of considering himself an observer of life. He stood aside as a spectator, and let other people, engaged in all manner of eager pursuits, pass before him for review. Towards young folks, indeed, he assumed a goodnaturedly paternal air, as if they were but as shy-faced children to be humoured. Were not their love-affairs a pretty spectacle? As for himself, he was far beyond all that. The illusions of lovemaking, the devotion, and ambition, and dreams of courtship, were no longer possible to him; but did they not constitute on the whole a beautiful and charming study, that had about it at times some little touches of pathos? At odd moments, when he saw Sheila and Lavender walking together in the evening, he was himself half inclined to wish that something might come of the young man's determination. It would be so pleasant to play the part of a friendly counsellor, to humour the follies of the young folks, to make jokes at their expense, and then, in the midst of their embarrassment and resentment, to go forward, and pet them a little, and assure them of a real and earnest sympathy.

"Your time is to come," Lavender said to him suddenly, after he had been exhibiting some of his paternal forbearance and consideration; " you will get a dreadful twist some day, my boy. You have been doing nothing but dreaming about women; but some day or other you will wake up to find yourself captured and fascinated beyond anything you have ever seen in other people, and then you will discover what a desperately real thing it is."

Ingram had a misty impression that he had heard something like this before. Had he not given Lavender some warning of the same kind? But he was so much accustomed to hear those vague repetitions of his own remarks-and was, on the whole, so well pleased to

think that his commonplace notions should take root and flourish in this goodly soil-that he never thought of asking Lavender to quote his authority for those profound observations on men and things.

"Now, Miss Mackenzie," said the young man, as the big boat was drawing near to Callernish, "what is to be our first sketch in Lewis?"

"The Callernish stones, of course," said Mackenzie himself; "it iss more than one hass come to the Lewis to see the Callernish stones."

Lavender had promised to the King of Borva a series of water-colour drawings of Lewis, and Sheila was to choose the subjects from day to day. Mackenzie was gratified by this proposal, and accepted it with much magnanimity; but Sheila knew that, before the offer was made, Lavender had come to her and asked her if she cared about sketches, and whether he might be allowed to take a few on this journey and present them to her. She was very grateful; but suggested that it might please her papa if they were given to him. Would she superintend them, then, and choose the topics for illustration? Yes, she would do that; and so the young man was furnished with a roving commission.

He brought her a little sepia sketch of Borvabost, its huts, its bay, and its upturned boats on the beach. Sheila's expressions of praise-the admiration and pleasure that shone in her eyes-would have turned any young man's head. But her papa looked at the picture with a critical eye, and remarked

"Oh yes, it is ferry good-but it is not the colour of Loch Roag at all. It is the colour of a river when there is a flood of rain-I have neffer at all seen Loch Roag a brown colour-neffer at all."

It was clear, then, that the subsequent sketches could not be taken in sepia; and so Lavender proposed to make a series of pencil-drawings, which could be washed in with colour afterwards. There was one subject, indeed, which, since his arrival in Lewis, he had tried to fix on paper by every conceivable

means in his power-and that was Sheila herself. He had spoiled innumerable sheets of paper in trying to get some likeness of her which would satisfy himself; but all his usual skill seemed somehow to have gone from him. He could not understand it. In ordinary circumstances, he could have traced in a dozen lines a portrait that would at least have shown a superficial likeness-he could have multiplied portraits by the dozen of old Mackenzie, or Ingram, or Duncan-but here he seemed to fail utterly. He invited no criticism, certainly. These efforts were made in his own room; and he asked no one's opinion as to the likeness. He could, indeed, certify to himself that the drawing of the features was correct enough. There was the sweet and placid forehead, with its low masses of dark hair; there the short upper lip, the finely-carved mouth, the beautifully-rounded chin and throat; and there the frank, clear, proud eyes, with their long lashes and highlycurved eyebrows. Sometimes, too, a touch of colour added warmth to the complexion, put a glimmer of the blue sea beneath the long black eyelashes, and drew a thread of scarlet round the white neck. But was this Sheila? Could he take this sheet of paper to his friends in London, and say-Here is the magical princess whom I hope to bring to you from the North, with all the glamour of the sea around her? He felt instinctively that there would be an awkward pause. The people would praise the handsome, frank, courageous head, and look upon the bit of red ribbon round the neck as an effective artistic touch. They would hand him back the paper with a compliment; and he would find himself in an agony of unrest because that they had misunderstood the portrait, and seen nothing of the wonder that encompassed this Highland girl as if with a garment of mystery

and dreams.

So he tore up portrait after portraitmore than one of which would have startled Ingram by its truth; and then, to prove to himself that he was not growing mad, he resolved to try a por

trait of some other person. He drew a head of old Mackenzie in chalk; and was amazed at the rapidity and facility with which he executed the task. Then there could be no doubt as to the success of the likeness nor as to the effect of the picture. The King of Borva, with his heavy eyebrows, his aquiline nose, his keen grey eyes, and flowing beard, offered a fine subject; and there was something really royal, and massive, and noble in the head that Lavender, well satisfied with his work, took down-stairs one evening. Sheila was alone in the drawing-room, turning over some music.

"Miss Mackenzie," he said, rather kindly, "would you look at this ?"

Sheila turned round, and the sudden light of pleasure that leapt to her face was all the praise and all the assurance he wanted. But he had more than that. The girl was grateful to him beyond all the words she could utter, and when he asked her if she would accept the picture, she thanked him by taking his hand for a moment, and then she left the room to call in Ingram and her father. All the evening there was a singular look of happiness on her face. When she met Lavender's eyes with hers, there was a frank and friendly look of gratitude ready to reward him. When had he earned so much before by a simple sketch? Many and many a portrait, carefully executed and elaborately framed, had he presented to his lady-friends in London, to receive from them a pretty note and a few words of thanks when next he called. Here, with a rough chalk sketch, he had awakened an amount of gratitude that almost surprised him in the most beautiful and tender soul in the world; and had not this princess among women taken his hand for a moment, as a childlike way of expressing her thanks, while her eyes spoke more than her lips? And the more he looked at those eyes, the more he grew to despair of ever being able to put down the magic of them in lines and colours.

At length Duncan got the boat into the small creek at Callernish; and the party got out on the shore. As they were going up the steep path leading to