66 Matthew postscript which forms one of 9th day of April, and can but return the the leading articles in the Shakspere humblest of my thanks for your Lordship's argument. It is appended to a letter to vouchsafing so to visit this poorest and unBacon which is without date, but is ad- worthiest of your servants. It doth me good dressed to the Viscount St. Alban, and at heart, that, although I be not where I was must therefore have been written subse- ship's favour if I may call that fortune, which in place, yet I am in the fortune of your Lordquent to the 27th of January, 1621, when I observe to be so unchangeable. I pray hard his Lordship was invested with that title. that it may once come into my power to serve The letter appears to be in answer to one you for it; and who can tell but that, as fortis from Lord Verulam dated the 9th of imaginatio generat casum, so strong desires April (year not given), accompanying may do as much? Sure I am that mine are some "great and noble token" of his ever waiting on your Lordship; and wishing Lordship's favour;" which, according as much happiness as is due to your incomto our author, was a newly printed book; parable virtue, I humbly do your Lordship "for Bacon, as we know from the Letters, Your Lordship's most obliged and humble was in the habit of sending to Mr. Matservant, TOBIE MATTHEW. thew a copy of his works as they were published; and much of their corre-knew of my nation and of this side of the sea, P.S. The most prodigious wit that ever I spondence had relation more or less to is of your Lordship's name, though he be the books and writings on which Bacon known by another.* was at the time engaged." The argument runs that the only work published by Bacon between 1620-23 was the History of Henry VII., and it is possible that the "great and noble token," may have referred to this publication. Nichols informs us that Tobie Matthew resided in London during the years 1621-2, and until the 18th of April, 1623, when he departed for Spain, but returned to England in the October of the same year, and was knighted by the King on the 10th of the month.* As Sir Tobie had performed in Bacon's masque at Essex's House, as he was the intimate literary companion and had been termed by Bacon his "critical inquisitor," and moreover, as the philosopher observes, in a letter to Cottington as true a friend as you or I have". we shall be prepared, as our author fancies, not to be greatly surprised at the intimation given in this Postscript that Sir Tobie knew a secret respecting which he could not forbear to compliment his Lordship on this occasion. The letter reads thus: 66 To the Lord Viscount St. Alban. Most Honored Lord, I have received your great and noble token and favour of the * Nichols Progress of James I. reverence. Had the work in question been the History of Henry VII. there had been no of "another," since all the works of need of Sir Tobie's allusion to the name Bacon as philosopher, statesman, and prose-writer were published under his Own name. "Who else," inquires our author, "but this could have been considered by Mr. Matsame Shakespeare thew to be a cover for the most prodigious wit of all England, at that day?" At this point of the work under criticism the net-work of circumstantial evidence ceases, and the author, opening upon the remaining half of his book with the skill of the scholar and the warmth of the enthusiast, devotes the remaining space to a consideration of Bacon's Great Instauration and the examples it presents of parallelisms in thought and diction with the works of Shakspere. He believes that his ample fund of illustration is sufficient to establish such a correspondence, nay, absolute identity, in the productions of these contemporaries as was never known to exist in the compositions of any two different authors that ever lived. It is safe to say no such list can be produced from the writings of any two authors of that or any other age: no similarity of life, genius, or studies ever produced an identity like this. And here the vast difference which is known to have existed between these men in respect of their education, studies, and whole personal history would seem to preclude all possibility of mistake. The coincidences are not merely such as might be attributed to the style and usage of that age: they extend to the scope of thought, the particular ideas, the modes of * Bacon's Works. Montagu. Vol. XII. p. 468. the individual writer. At a later stage of the book Bacon is - as seen thinking and feeling, the choice of metaphors, | tame her, a wild creature of the woods the illustrative imagery, and those singular had been nothing but misery to her; and peculiarities, oddities, and quaintnesses of I doubt whether she was capable of realexpression and use of words which every izing that Dick, so different from herself where, and at all times, mark and distinguish in nature, would have felt differently in had fled. Had she been able to think, respect to those trammels from which she she would have how unconfrom herssciously, with the instinct of another race the boy had been labouring all his life to manufacture for himself such a poor imitation of those trammels capable of reasoning, and she did not see as was possible to him ; but she was little it. Besides, he was hers absolutely, and she had a right to him. She had given Hereupon the work draws to a close, of natural justice on the part of the father up the other, recognizing a certain claim entirely free of bombast or even declama- of her children; but in so doing she had tion, while in conclusion the author gone as far as nature could go, giving up quotes the words of Coleridge: "Mer-half, with a rending of her heart which ciful, wonder-making Heaven! What a had never healed; but no principle of man was this Shakespeare! Myriadwhich she had ever heard called upon her minded, indeed, he was!" having made a sacrifice of one seemed to to give up the whole. The very fact of enhance and secure her possession of the other and how could she do better for We know how Bacon attained to these heights; but it is not explained how the unlearned William Shakespeare reached these same "summits" of all philosophy, otherwise than by a suggestion of the "specific gravity" of inborn genius. It is odd enough that while Judge Holmes and others are thus doubting whether such marvels of the human in tellect as these dramas could possibly be the work of the uneducated actor, William Shakspere, Herr Benedix and others have with equal assiduity been labouring to show that the dramas in question have been absurdly overrated, and abound, both as stage-plays and as literature, with almost every conceivable fault. Fortunately, "Shakespere's Works," be they whose and what they may, are likely to continue to be played and read for some time to come, and to afford occupation to many future commentators of all kinds. J. V. P. Dick than she had done for herself? But this question had not even arisen in her mind as yet. She feared that they had out, might take her remaining child from hidden emissaries, who, if they found her her; but that he was anyhow wronged by her silence, or had any personal rights in the matter, had not yet entered into her brooding, slowly working, confused, and inarticulate soul. In one other house besides, Val and his concerns were productive of some little tumult of feeling- not the least important of the many eddies with which his stream of life was involved. was almost as much excited about the Mr. Pringle approaching conflict as Lord Eskside. He saw in it opportunities for carrying out his own scheme, which he called exposure of fraud, but which to others much more resembled the vengeance of a disappointed man. He was the bosom friend of the eminent lawyer who meant to contest Eskside in the Liberal interest, to this step. His own acquaintance with and had no small share in influencing him the county, in the position of Lord Eskside's heir-presumptive in past days, had given him considerable advantages and much information which a stranger could not easily command; and with silent vehemence he prepared himself for the conflict stroke of revenge-or, as he preferred contemplating one to think, contemplating a full exposure supreme 66 to the world of the infamous conspiracy | until the moment when they are over, against his rights and those of his chil- and when full declaration and consent dren, from which the county also was make an end at once of the mystery and now about to suffer. He did not speak the misery? This training most people freely to his family of these intentions, go through, more or less; but the trial is for neither his wife nor his children were so much harder upon the little blossomin harmony with him on the subject; ing woman that the dawnings of the inbut this fact, instead of inducing him to clination, which she has never been asked reconsider a matter which appeared to for, are a shame to her, which they are other eyes in so different a light, in- not to her lover. Violet did not venture creased the violence of his feelings, just to say a word even to her mother of her in proportion to the necessity he felt for wish to be at the Hewan while Val was concealing them. It was even an addi- there of her sick disappointment when tional grievance against Valentine, and she found he had gone away without a the old people who had set Valentine up chance of saying good-bye; and though as their certain successor, that the lad she did venture to whisper her fears lest had secured the friendship of his enemy's papa might "say something to hurt poor own family. Sandy, who was by this Val's feelings," which was a very mild time a hard-working young advocate, less way of putting it—she got little comfort fanciful and more certain of success than out of this suppressed confidence. "I his father though a very good son, and am afraid he will," Mrs. Pringle said. very respectful of his parents, had a way "Indeed, the mere fact that your papa of changing the subject when the Esk- is Mr. Seisin's chief friend and rightside business was spoken of which cut hand man, will hurt Val's feelings. I am Mr. Pringle to the quick. He could see very sorry, and I think it very injudithat his son considered him a kind of cious; for why should we put ourselves monomaniac on this subject;. and indeed in opposition to the Eskside family? but there was sometimes very serious talk it cannot be helped, and your papa must between Sandy and his mother about this take his way." idée fixe which had taken hold upon the father's mind. But perhaps there was not one of them that had the least idea it would lead to anything painful except poor little Violet, who was very fond of her father, and in whose childish heart Val had established himself so long ago. She alone was certain that her father meant mischief- mischief of a deeper kind than mere opposition to his election, such as Mr. Pringle, as tenant of the Hewan and the land belonging to it, had a right to make if he pleased. Violet watched him with a painful mixture of dread lest her father should take some unworthy step, and dread lest Valentine should be injured, contending in her mind. She could scarcely tell which would have been the most bitter to her; and that these two great and appalling dangers should be combined in one was misery enough to fill her young soul with the heaviest shadows. This she had to keep to herself, which was still harder to bear, though very usual in the troubles of youth. Everything which concerns an unrevealed and nascent love, its terrors, which turn the very soul pale; its partings, which press the life out of the heart; its sickness of suspense and waiting, - must not the maiden keep all these anguishes locked up in her heart, Perhaps if you were to speak to him," said Vi, with youthful confidence in a process, than which she herself knew nothing more impressive, and even terrible on occasion." "Speak to him!" said Mrs. Pringle; "if you had been married to him as long as I have, my dear, you would know how much good speaking to him does. Not that your papa is a bit worse than any other man." With this very unsatisfactory conclusion poor Violet had to be satisfied. But she watched her father as no one else did, fearing more than any one else. Her gentle little artifices, in which the child at first trusted much, of saying something pleasant of Val when she had an opportunity-vaunting his fondness for the boys, his care of herself (in any other case the strongest of recommendations to her father's friendship), his respect for Mr. Pringle's opinions, his admiration of the Hewan - - had, she soon perceived, to her sore disappointment, rather an aggravating than a soothing effect. "For heaven's sake, let me hear no more of that lad! I am getting to hate the very sound of his name," her father said; and poor Violet would stop short, with tears springing to her eyes. kind CHAPTER XXIV. even when they reached the great gloomy house, he was received by servants only rather a dismal welcome to the English lad. They led him through an endless suite of rooms, half lighted, softly carpeted, full of beautiful things which he remarked vaguely in passing, to an inner sanctuary, where his father lay upon a sofa with a luxurious writing-table by his heard his son announced, and came forward holding out his hand. He even touched Valentine's face with his own, first one cheek, then the other, a salutation which embarrassed Val beyond measure; and then he bade him welcome gan to ask him about his journey, and how he had left "everybody at home." VALENTINE went off gaily upon his journey, without any thought of the tragic elements he had left behind him. I think, had Dick been still at the rafts at Eton, his young patron would have proposed to him to accompany him to Italy in that curious relationship which exists in the novel and drama, and could per-side. Richard Ross sprang up when he haps exist in former generations, but not now, among men as romantic humble servant and companion. But Dick was grown too important a man to make any such proposal possible. Valentine dallied a little in Paris, which he saw for the first time, and made his way in leisurely man-in set but not unkindly terms, and bener across France, and along the beauti ful Corniche road, as people used to do in the days before railways were at all This was only the third time that Val general, or the Mont Cenis tunnel had had seen his father, and Richard was now been thought of. He met, I need not a man approaching fifty, and consideraadd, friends at every corner - old "Eton bly changed from the elegant, still young fellows," comrades from Oxford, crowds diplomatist, who had surveyed with so of acquaintances of his own class and little favour fourteen years ago the boy a peculiarity of the present age brought back to him out of the unknown. which is often very pleasant for the trav- Richard's first sensation now on seeing eller, but altogether destroys the strange- his son was one of quick repugnance. ness, the novelty, the characteristic He was so like-the vagrant woman charm, of a journey through a foreign against whom Mr. Ross was bitter as havcountry. A solid piece of England mov-ing destroyed his life. But he was too ing about over the Southern landscape could not be more alien to the soil on which it found itself than were those English caravans in which the young men travelled; talking of cricket if they were given that way - of hits to leg, and so many runs off one bat; or, if they were boating men, of the last race, or what happened at Putney or at Henley while the loveliest scenes in the world flew past their carriage-windows like a panorama. I think Mr. Evelyn saw a great deal more of foreign countries when he made the grand tour; and even Val, though he was not very learned in the jargon of the picturesque, got tired of those endless réchauffés of stale games and pleasures. He got to Florence about a fortnight after he left England, and made his way at once to the steep old Tuscan palace, with deeply corniced roof and monotonous gloom of aspect, which stood in one of the smaller streets opening into the Via Maggio on the wrong side of the river. The wrong side - but yet the Pitti palace is there, and certain diplomatists preferred that regal neighbourhood. Val found a servant, a bland and splendid Italian majordomo, waiting for him when he arrived, but not his father, as he had half hoped; and "It was wise to allow any such feeling to show, One of the rare evenings which they spent together, Val informed his father of Lord Eskside's eager preparations for the ensuing election, and of the place he was himself destined to take in the eyes of his county and country. Richard Ross did not receive this information as his son expected. His face grew immediately overcast. he said, "but two or three of the people | versation; if not (which was still more speak French. I hope you know enough dreary) the ladies' eager comparing of of that language at least to get on easily. notes over Lady Southsea's garden party, Your own servant, of course, will be totally or that charming Lady Mary Northwood's helpless, but I will speak to Domenico afternoon teas. On the whole, Val felt to look after him. If you know anything that his father's banquets were best at all of Italian, you should speak it," he adapted to the locality; and when a added, suavely; "you will find it the great- lovely princess, with jewels as old as her est help to you in your reading hereafter.name and as bright as her eyes, condeNow I will leave you to rest after your scended to put up with his indifferent long journey, and we shall meet at French, the young man was consideradinner," said the politest of fathers. Val bly elated, and proud of his father and sat staring before him half stupefied his father's society as, when the same when he found himself left alone in the fair lady congratulated Richard upon the beautiful room. This was not the kind beaux yeux of Monsieur son fils, his of way in which a son just arrived would father was of him. be treated at Eskside. How much he always had to explain to his grandmother, to tell her of, to hear about! What a breathless happy day the first day at home always was, so full of talk, news, consultations, interchange of the family nothings that are nothing, yet so sweet! Val's journey had only been from Leghorn, no farther, so he was not in the least fatigued; and why he should be shut up here in his room to rest he had not a notion, any desire to rest being far from his thoughts. After a while he got up and examined the room, which was full of handsome old furniture. How he wished Dick had been with him, who would have enjoyed all those cabinets, and followed every line of the carvings with interest! Valentine himself cared little for such splendours. And finally he went out, and found as usual a schoolfellow round the first corner, and marched about the strange beautiful place till it was time for dinner, and felt himself again. It was very strange, however, to English or rather Scotch-Valentine, to find himself in this Italian house, with a man so polished, so cultivated, so exotic as his father for his sole companion. Not that they saw very much of each other. They met at the twelve o'clock breakfast, where every dish was new to Val, for the ménage was thoroughly Italian; and at dinner on the days when Richard dined at home. Sometimes he took his handsome boy with him to great Italian houses, where, in the flutter of rapid conversation which he could not follow, poor Val found himself hopelessly left out, and looked as gauche and unhappy as any traditionary lout of his age; and sometimes Val himself would join an English party, at a hotel, where the hits to leg and the Ladies' Challenge Cup would again be the chief subjects of conVOL. VIII. 374 LIVING AGE. "I wonder my father is so obstinate about this," he said. "He knows my feeling on the subject. It is the most terrible ordeal a man can be subjected to.. I wish you had let me know, all of you, before making up your minds to this very foolish proceeding. Parliament!what should you want with Parliament at your age?" "Not much," said Val, somewhat uneasy to hear his grandfather attacked by his father, and a little dubious whether it became him to take the old man's side so warmly as he wished; "but I hope I shall do my duty as well as another," he said, with a little modest pride, "though I have still everything to learn." "Do your duty! stuff and nonsense," said Richard; "what does a lad of your age know about duty? Please your grandfather, you mean." Val felt the warm blood mounting to his face, and bit his lip to keep himself down. "And if it was so, sir," he said, his eyes blazing in spite of himself, "there might be worse things to do." Richard stopped short suddenly and looked at him- not at his face, but into his eyes, which is of all things in the world the most trying to a person of hot temper. "Ha!" he said, with a soft smile, raising his eyebrows a little in gentle surprise, "you have a temper, I see! how is it I never found that out before?" Val dug his heels into the rich old Turkey carpet; he pressed his nails into |