almost unnoticed; I was entirely unheeded.

My father was in high spirits. He ushered the ladies from the dining-room. Miss Cavander stooped to kiss me as she went out. I felt that this show of affection was the merest artificiality I knew, instinctively, that she must dislike me, and I only hated her the more for, what seemed to me, her hypocrisy.

I would rather have heard her say to me, defiantly, as she went out "I hate you," that I might have returned her defiance with a will. But to be obliged to accept a caress from a person whom at that moment I absolutely loathed, of whose deadly enmity I felt assured, was revolting to a boy whose disposition was impulsive, frank, and open, who liked, and disliked, with equal warmth, and who, where "self" was involved, was inclined to speak his mind without

reserve.

Could I have prevented that marriage that night, I would have done so.

I stole towards Uncle Herbert as towards my only friend in that company. I mistrusted them all, save him.

He talked to me of boating, of Holyshade, of our fun and amusements, and used all his tact to interest me, and revive my spirits. He saw at once that I was sad and unhappy.

My father apparently was not troubling himself about me. He knew he

had procured me a holiday, and was of opinion that his marriage, somehow or other, was for my benefit. I had not entered into his calculations. I was being "made a man of," and I was provided for. So he was gay and happy, and laughed and talked; and Cavander, too, was livelier and more brilliant than I had ever seen him. The party broke up late. My father saw his affiancée to his own carriage, which he had lent the Cavanders for the night.

I noticed our coachman, an old friend of mine, on the box, and this excited in me fresh feelings of anger, for it seemed to my excited imagination that even the servants had turned traitors.

A gentleman whom I had seen in the

City at the office (and have here previously described as being remarkable for legginess and luxuriant whiskers) was staying in our house for this night, as he was to be my father's best man on the morrow. He sat up with my father to enjoy "a quiet cigar" before retiring to bed. I entered their room to say "good night."

My father was standing on the hearth-rug, knocking off the ash of his cigar as I went in.

I paused for a moment, and looked at him wistfully.

His attitude before the fire-place reminded me of our first meeting in Aunt Clym's drawing-room. Clym's drawing-room. The idea seemed to cross me that I would, as it were, give him the last chance of changing his mind, and making it up with me again, once and for all. I felt that we had quarrelled, without a word having been uttered on either side. A gulf had been opened between us, and by whom, or how, was it to be filled up? I put down my candle hesitatingly.

"I didn't know you were going to be married," I said, timidly, and with the old choking feeling coming up again in my throat.

As I spoke I did not dare look at him, but at my candlestick.

"Didn't you?" he replied, in an offhand, careless manner. "I thought I told you in my letter."

No, Papa, you didn't." "Ah! I thought I did."

Then, turning to his friend, he observed, alluding to me, "It won't make any difference to him, will it? He's provided for."

"Oh, of course," returned the gentleman with the whiskers, in an easy assenting manner, "it won't make any difference to him."

I smiled. I could master myself for no more. I felt that this off-hand answer only implied that my father's marriage would make no difference to the gentleman with the whiskers, that was all. It did not convince me.

"Good night, Mr. Telderton; goodnight, Papa."

"Good-night, Cecil."

Sadly I left them, and went to my

own room.

"It would make no difference to him," they had said. They were talking of money. I knew that, when they used the phrase "provided for."

I was not thinking of money; I was thinking of affection. Everything about me in my room that night seemed cold and cheerless. I had never before realized the loneliness of my position. Could I have had then my dear old friend, Nurse Davis, at whose knees I could have bowed my head, and poured forth all my sorrow, I should at least have felt the consolation of kindly sympathy. Not the thought of Nurse Davis of yesterday by the riverside came to me now, but the memory of the honest, kindly face, when years ago she taught me to fold my hands and " "Pray God bless papa," then far away in India; and, as this softening influence crept over me, I stole, with a quickly beating heart, from my room to my father's, where my mother's portrait hung.

Seized with an uncontrollable impulse, I once more mounted a chair, de

tached it from the wall, and, embracing it with both arms, returned with it to my own room.

Then I laid it gently on the bed, and falling down on my knees, I threw out my arms, and bowed my head over the picture till my lips touched hers. With the first kiss, the fountain was unsealed, and the passionate tears, flowing uncontrolled, relieved the parching fever of my grief.

My darling mother! my darling mother!" I cried.

Then, becoming calmer, I prayed against my wicked thoughts of hatred and anger; I prayed that I might like (I could not say love) the woman who was to be my stepmother. I could scarcely utter the hard word; and then, once again, I used the first prayer Nurse Davis had taught me, and used it with all my heart and soul.

"God bless papa this night-and always."

Then I laid the picture gently by my side, feeling as though my mother had only me to love her now, and So, kissing it once more, I fell asleep.

OF all societies founded by young men for their own intellectual improvement, none, perhaps, have so adequately accomplished this aim as the Union Societies of Oxford and Cambridge: nor is it probable that any others have exercised so considerable, though indirect, an influence upon national progress. Not only have they become each from a small beginning the general library, reading-room, and forensic training ground of a University; they have developed, or at least assisted to develope, the reasoning, debating, and administrative faculties of men to whom the government of England has been subsequently entrusted. Of the Oxford Union (which is about to celebrate the completion of its first half-century by a banquet, at which the Lord Chancellor will take the chair) this is more especially true: to the present Ministry alone it has given not fewer than seven of its Presidents-Mr. Gladstone, Lord Selborne, Mr. Lowe, Mr. Cardwell, Mr. Göschen, the Attorney General, and Mr. Knatchbull-Hugessen.

The existence of the Oxford Union dates from the spring of 1823, when the "United Debating Society" sprang from a coalition of small circles: the chief impetus to its foundation is said to have proceeded from a little knot of Balliol men, the most prominent of whom, the late Mr. Maclean, M.P. for Oxford, was the first President. Balliol, however, contributed but a trifling quota to the United Debating Society, the list of whose members (limited to 160) shows a majority of three-fifths from Christ Church and Oriel: indeed, from the fact that one in every five or six members was either a nobleman nobleman's son, it may be inferred that

or

the character of the Society was somewhat aristocratic and exclusive.

The roll of its Presidents exhibits the names of many men who afterwards attained distinction; several are yet alive-Colonel Wilson Patten, the Bishop of Chichester, Earl Stanhope, the Right Hon. J. Stuart Wortley, and Bishop Trower. Colonel Patten never spoke on public business; Lord Stanhope seems to have been what we should now term should now term a Liberal-Conservative; Bishop Trower was apparently a Liberal; while Bishop Durnford and Mr. Stuart Wortley were decided Tories. The late Bishop of Winchester, one of the most eloquent and constant speakers, was equally pronounced in his Liberalism it is curious, indeed, to remark how most of his views have since received the practically unanimous approval of society. His first speech was delivered on May 22nd, 1824, when he proposed an amendment to a motion of his brother's, the late Archdeacon Wilberforce he was at once elected a member of Committee, and became President, as his brother had done before him. A debating talent seems to have been innate in the Wilberforces; the late Bishop's younger brother and one of his nephews both obtained Presidential honours at the Union.

:

Samuel Wilberforce's second speech acquired a public notoriety. The late Serjeant Wrangham had moved "That the dethronement of Charles I. was fully justifiable." He was opposed by Lord Stanhope, Bishop Durnford, and three other members, and his motion was defeated by a two-to-one majority. But it received the support of the two Wilberforces, and a week later the John Bull, then edited by Theodore Hook,

endeavoured to make political capital out of this circumstance by a notice of the debate containing the following paragraph:-" But the most active and virulent of the disputants in favour of the deposition of Charles I. were the two sons of Mr. Wilberforce !!! And one of them-more indiscreet, perhaps, than the other, or untutored in a higher quarter-let out the secrets of the prison-house at Clapham and Kensington, by making a direct attack upon the Established Church." The John Bull invited contradiction, and received it in an unexpected form. Next day the President, Mr. Wortley, convened an extraordinary meeting, at which the present Duke of Cleveland moved, and the House passed without one dissentient voice, a resolution expressing "regret and indignation" at the paragraph, and affirming that "the Society are most unequivocally of opinion that sentiments are attributed to two honourable members of the Society which they did not utter, and which are of such a nature as to prejudice the Society in the opinion of the authorities of this University." The John Bull appears to have swallowed this rejoinder in silence; its informant was understood to have been the editor's nephew, the present Dean of Chichester, who, although not a member, may have listened to the debate as a visitor, or have received from some one else a distorted account of the proceedings.

The minutes of the United Debating Society are of considerable interest as a record of the opinions entertained by young University men half a century ago.

Thus, it was decided, by large or fair majorities, that the principle of the Game Laws was not just or politic; that corporal punishment ought not to be applied to soldiers, sailors, or slaves; and that the character of Hampden did not deserve the gratitude of his country -a view which Bishop Durnford took, but the late Bishop of Winchester did not take. A narrow majority also determined that the system of borough patronage was perfectly consistent with the spirit of the constitution-another

notion which possessed no charm for "Mr. S. Wilberforce, Oriel.”

But in the latter part of 1825 one or two members persisted in interrupting the debates by childish disturbances; to public opinion they were insensible, and the rules gave no power of expelling or, apparently, of fining them. After an animated debate a motion for dissolution was carried, and the members immediately re-organized themselves, leaving out their black sheep, as the Oxford Union Society-thus copying the style of the Cambridge Union Society, which had been formed as early as 1815.

The meetings of the United Debating Society had been held in the rooms of various of its members; the Freemasons' Hall was at one time engaged, but a blundering Proctor announced his intention of disturbing the assemblies, and the agreement was cancelled. A fresh attempt was now made to secure rooms out of college, but the ViceChancellor fulminated a fresh veto. The progress of the Union does not, however, appear to have been greatly retarded by this second exhibition of the perverseness of University authorities. A reading-room had already been established by the United Debating Society: the foundations of a library were now laid by the purchase of the Parlia mentary Debates from 1800, and an invitation to members to present books met with a liberal response. In 1830

it became necessary to create a new office, that of Librarian; for a long time, however, all lighter literature was excluded from the shelves, and as late as 1836 proposals to buy the Waverley Novels and Pickwick Papers were thrown out.

But the very existence of the Union was menaced in 1828 from the quarter whence such an attack could least have been anticipated. The attendance at debates had somewhat diminished, and the terminal accounts showed a trifling deficiency. deficiency. The out-going Committee accordingly proposed that the Society should dissolve, that all presents should be returned, and that the remaining