It may seem a hardship, but not improbably it is in its way an alleviation, that we are never involved in any of the great trials in life without having to deal with certain material embarrassments, questions of vulgar interest which concern our pockets and affect our finances.

Poor Lendrick's was a case in point. He was about to leave his country,—to tear himself from a home he had embellished,—to separate from his children that he loved so dearly, to face a new life in a new land, friendless and alone; and with all these cares on his heart, he had creditors to satisfy, debts to insure payment of by security, and, not least of his troubles, his house to relet. Now, the value the world sets on that which is not for sale is very unlike its estimate for the same commodity when brought to market. The light claret your friend pronounced a very pleasant little wine at your own table, he would discover, when offered for purchase, to be poor, washy, and acrid. The horse you had left him, and whose performance he had encomiumized, if put up to auction, would be found spavined, or windgalled, or broken-down. Such a stern test is money, so fearfully does its coarse jingle jar upon all the music of flattery, and make discord of all compliment. To such a pitch is the process carried, that even pretty women, who as wives were objects of admiration to despairing and disappointed adorers, have become, by widowhood, very ordinary creatures, simply because they are once more “in the market.”

It is well for us that heaven itself was not in the “Price Current,” or we might have begun to think lightly of it. At all events we 'd have higgled about the cost, and tried to get there as cheaply as might be.

From the day that the Swan's Nest appeared in the Dublin papers “to be let furnished, for the three years of an unexpired term,” Lendrick was besieged by letters and applications. All the world apparently wanted the place, but wanted it in some way or other quite out of his power to accord. One insisted on having it unfurnished, and for a much longer period than he could give. Another desired more land, and the right of shooting over several hundred additional acres. A third would like the house and garden, but would not burden himself with the lawn, and could not see why Lendrick might not continue to hold the meadow-land, and come back from the Cape or anywhere else to mow the grass and rick it in due season.

A schoolmistress proposed he should build a dormitory for thirty young ladies, and make the flower-garden into a playground; and a miller from Limerick inquired whether he was willing to join in a suit to establish a right of water-power by diverting a stream from the Shannon through the dining-room to turn an undershot wheel.

It was marvellous with what patience and courtesy Lendrick replied to these and such-like, politely assuring the writers how he regretted his inability to meet their wishes, and modestly confessing that he had neither the money nor the time to make his house other than it was.

All these, however, were as nothing to his trials when the day arrived when the house and grounds, in the language of the advertisement, were “on view,” and the world of the curious and idle were free to invade the place, stroll at will through rooms and gardens, comment and criticise not merely the objects before them, but the taste and the fortunes, the habits and the lives of those who had made this their home, and these things part of their own natures.

In a half-jesting humor, but really to save Lendrick from a mortification which, to a nature timid and sensitive as his, would have been torture, Sir Brook and Tom agreed to divide the labors of ciceroneship between them; the former devoting his attentions to the house and furniture, while Tom assumed the charge of grounds and gardens. To complete the arrangement, Lendrick and Lucy were banished to a small summer-house, and strictly enjoined never to venture abroad so long as the stranger horde overran the territory.

“I declare, my dear, I almost think the remedy worse than the disease,” said Lendrick to his daughter, as he paced with short feverish steps the narrow limits of his prison-house. “This isolation here has something secret, something that suggests shame about it. I think I could almost rather face all the remarks our visitors might make than sit down here to fancy and brood over them.”

“I suspect not, dearest papa; I believe the plan will spare us much that might pain us.”

“After all, child, these people have a right to be critical, and they are not bound to know by what associations you and I are tied to that old garden-seat or that bookstand, and we ought to be able to avoid showing them this.”

“Perhaps we ought, papa; but could we do so? that's-the question.”

“Surely the tradesman affects no such squeamishness about what he offers for sale.”

“True, papa; because none of his wares have caught any clew to his identity. They have never been his in the sense which makes possession pleasure.”

“I wish they would not laugh without there; their coarse laughter sounds to me so like vulgar ridicule. I hardly thought all this would have made me so irritable; even the children's voices jar on my nerves.”

He turned away his head, but her eyes followed him, and two heavy tears stole slowly along her cheek, and her lip quivered as she looked.

“There, they are going away,” said he, listening; “I am better now.”

“That 's right, dearest papa; I knew it was a mere passing pang,” said she, drawing her arm within his, and walking along at his side. “How kind Sir Brook is!”

“How kind every one, we might say. Poor Mills is like a brother, and Tobin too,—I scarcely expected so much heart from him. He gave me his old lancet-case as a keepsake yesterday, and I declare his voice trembled as he said good-bye.”

“As for the poor people, I hear, papa, that one would think they had lost their nearest and dearest. Molly Dew says they were crying in her house this morning over their breakfast as if it was a funeral.”

“Is it not strange, Lucy, that what touches the heart so painfully should help to heal the pang it gives? There is that in all this affection for us that gladdens while it grieves. All,—all are so kind to us! That young fellow—Trafford I think his name is—he was waiting at the post for his letters this morning when I came up, and it seems that Foss-brooke had told him of my appointment,—indiscreet of him, for I would not wish it talked of; but Trafford turned to him and said, 'Ask Dr. Lendrick, is he decided about going;' and when he heard that I was, he scarcely said goodbye, but jumped into a cab, and drove off full speed.

“'What does that mean?' asked I.

“'He was so fond of Tom,' said Fossbrooke, 'they were never separate this last month or five weeks;' so you see, darling, each of us has his sphere of love and affection.”

Lucy was crimson over face and neck, but never spoke a word. Had she spoken it would have been, perhaps, to corroborate Sir Brook, and to say how fond the young men were of each other. I do not affirm this, I only hint that it is likely. Where there are blanks in this narrative, the reader has as much right to fill them as myself.

“Sir Brook,” continued Lendrick, “thinks well of the young man; but for my own part I hardly like to see Tom in close companionship with one so much his superior in fortune. He is easily led, and has not yet learned that stern lesson in life, how to confess that there are many things he has no pretension to aspire to.”

“Tom loves you too sincerely, papa, ever to do that which would seriously grieve you.”

“He would not deliberately,—he would not in cold blood, Lucy; but young men, when together, have not many moods of deliberation or cold blood. But let us not speculate on trouble that may never come. It is enough for the present that he and Trafford are separated, if Trafford was even likely to lead him into ways of extravagance.”

“What 's that! Is n't it, Tom? He's laughing heartily at something. Yes; here he comes.”

“You may come out; the last of them has just driven off,” cried Tom, knocking at the door, while he continued to laugh on immoderately.

“What is it, Tom? What are you laughing at?”

“You should have seen it; it's nothing to tell, but it was wonderful to witness. I'll never forget it as long as I live.”

“But what was it?” asked she, impatiently.

“I thought we had fully done with all our visitors,—and a rum set they were, most of them, not thinking of taking the place, but come out of mere curiosity,—when who should drive up with two postilions and four spicy grays but Lady Drumcarran and a large party, three horsemen following? I just caught the word 'Excellency,' and found out from one of the servants that a tall old man with white hair and very heavy eyebrows was the Lord-Lieutenant. He stooped a good deal, and walked tenderly; and as the Countess was most eager about the grounds and the gardens, they parted company very soon, he going into the house to sit down, while she prosecuted her inquiries without doors.

“I took him into the library; we had a long chat about fishing, and fish-curing, and the London markets, and flax, and national education, and land-tenure, and such-like. Of course I affected not to know who he was, and I took the opportunity to say scores of impertinences about the stupidity of the Castle, and the sort of men they send over here to govern us; and he asked me if I was destined for any career or profession, and I told him frankly that whenever I took up anything I always was sure to discover it was the one very thing that didn't suit me; and as I made this unlucky discovery in law, medicine, and the Church, I had given up my college career, and was now in a sort of interregnal period, wondering what it was to be next. I did n't like to own that the res angusto had anything to say to it. It was no business of his to know about that.

“'You surely have friends able and willing to suggest something that would fit you,' said he. 'Is not the Chief Baron your grandfather?'

“'Yes, and he might make me crier of his court; but I think he has promised the reversion to his butler. The fact is, I 'd not do over well with any fixed responsibilities attached to me. I 'd rather be a guerilla than serve in the regulars, and so I 'll just wait and see if something won't turn up in that undisciplined force I 'd like to serve with.'

“'I 'll give you my name,' said he, 'before we part, and possibly I may know some one who might be of use to you.'

“I thanked him coolly, and we talked of something else, when there came a short plump little fellow, all beard and gold chains, to say that Lady Drumcarran was waiting for him. 'Tell her I'm coming,' said he; 'and, Balfour,' he cried out, 'before you go away, give this gentleman my address, and if he should call, take care that I see him.'

“Balfour eyed me, and I eyed him, with, I take it, pretty much the same result, which said plainly enough, 'You 're not the man for me.'

“'What in heaven's name is this?' cried the Viceroy, as he got outside and saw Lady Drumcarran at the head of a procession carrying plants, slips, and flower-pots down to the carriage.

“'Her Ladyship has made a raid amongst the greeneries,' said Balfour, 'and tipped the head-gardener, that tall fellow there with the yellow rose-tree; as the place is going to be sold, she thought she might well do a little genteel pillage.' Curious to see who our gardener could be, all the more that he was said to be 'tall,' I went forward, and what do you think I saw? Sir Brook, with a flower-pot under one arm, and a quantity of cuttings under the other, walking a little after the Countess, who was evidently giving him ample directions as to her intentions. I could scarcely refrain from an outburst of laughing, but I got away into the shrubbery and watched the whole proceedings. I was too far off to hear, but this much I saw. Sir Brook had deposited his rose-tree and his slips on the rumble, and stood beside the carriage with his hat off. When his Excellency came up, a sudden movement took place in the group, and the Viceroy, seeming to push his way through the others, cried out something I could not catch, and then grasped Sir Brook's hand with both his own. All was tumult in a moment. My Lady, in evident confusion and shame,—that much I could see,—was courtesying deeply to Sir Brook, who seemed not to understand her apologies—, at least, he appeared stately and courteous, as usual, and not in the slightest degree put out or chagrined by the incident. Though Lady Drumcarran was profuse of her excuses, and most eager to make amends for her mistake, the Viceroy took Sir Brook's arm and led him off to a little distance, where they talked together for a few moments.

“'It's a promise, then, Fossbrooke,—you promise me!' cried he aloud, as he approached the carriage.

“'Rely upon me,—and within a week, or ten days at farthest,' said Sir Brook, as they drove away.

“I have not seen him since, and I scarcely know if I shall be able to meet him without laughing.”

“Here he comes,” cried Lucy; “and take care, Tom, that you do nothing that might offend him.”

The caution was so far unnecessary that Sir Brook's manner, as he drew near, had a certain stately dignity that invited no raillery.

“You have been detained a long time a prisoner, Dr. Len-drick,” said Fossbrooke, calmly; “but your visitors were so charmed with all they saw that they lingered on, unwilling to take their leave.”

“Tom tells me we had some of our county notabilities,—Lord and Lady Drumcarran, the Lacys, and others,” said Lendrick.

“Yes; and the Lord-Lieutenant, too, whom I used to know at Christ Church. He would have been well pleased to have met you. He told me your father was the ablest and most brilliant talker he ever knew.”

“Ah! we are very unlike,” said Lendrick, blushing modestly. “Did he give any hint as to whether his party are pleased or the reverse with my father's late conduct?”

“He only said, 'I wish you knew him, Fossbrooke; I sincerely wish you knew him, if only to assure him that he will meet far more generous treatment from us than from the Opposition.' He added that we were men to suit each other; and this, of course, was a flattery for which I am very grateful.”

“And the tall man with the stoop was the Lord-Lieutenant?” asked Tom. “I passed half an hour or more with him in the library, and he invited me to call upon him, and told a young fellow, named Balfour, to give me his address, which he forgot to do.”

“We can go together, if you have no objection; for I, too, have promised to pay my respects,” said Sir Brook.

Tom was delighted at the suggestion, but whispered in his sister's ear, as they passed out into the garden, “I thought I 'd have burst my sides laughing when I met him; but it's the very last thing in my thoughts now. I declare I 'd as soon pull a tiger's whiskers as venture on the smallest liberty with him.”

“I think you are right, Tom,” said she, squeezing his arm affectionately, to show that she not alone agreed with him, but was pleased that he had given her the opportunity of doing so.

“I wonder is he telling the governor what happened this morning? It can scarcely be that, though, they look so grave.”

“Papa seems agitated too,” said Lucy.

“I just caught Trafford's name as they passed. I hope he 's not saying anything against him. It is not only that Lionel Trafford is as good a fellow as ever lived, but that he fully believes Fossbrooke likes him. I don't think he could be so false; do you, Lucy?”

“I 'm certain he is not. There, papa is beckoning to you; he wants you;” and Lucy turned hurriedly away, anxious to conceal her emotion, for her cheeks were burning, and her lips trembled with agitation.