_Dieu l'a jugé. Silence_, sings a true poet upon the death of the first Napoleon: _Que des faibles mortels la main n'y touche plus! Qui peut sonder, Seigneur, ta clémence infinie? Et vous, fléau de Dieu, qui sait si le GÉNIE N'EST PAS UNE DE VOS VERTUS?_ And what has thus been greatly written of genius, may also surely be said in a less sense of what we call (for lack of a better word) Manner. England has lately followed to his grave with weeping eyes, a statesman--both honest, indeed, and able--but whose chief claim to her affection rested upon this comparatively humble gift, so precious because so rare. When combined with youth and personal graces, as in Walter Lisgard's case, it is well-nigh irresistible, and has always been so from the days of Plato and Xenophon. Too often worthless in themselves, or rendered so by being “spoilt” by all who meet them; not seldom empty-headed, or with heads turned by conceit and flattery; and almost always destitute of reverence for sacred things, whether divine or human--natural or doctrinal--we yet prefer the company of those thus dowered to that of the Wise, the Witty, or the Good. Their smile is a pleasure; their very presence is a harmony; and prayerless themselves, they evoke the supplications of the pure in their behalf. Even Rose herself continues to be to some extent infatuated with Master Walter--although he is her own husband--a feat surely far more difficult of accomplishment than for the _valet de chambre_ of a hero to believe in his master's reputation. At all events, it is beyond question that she grows very jealous of the captain. Master Walter has never been jealous of _her_; not, indeed, that he has had any serious reason to be so, but because such a baleful sentiment is never allowed to enter his well-contented mind. He is thoroughly persuaded that if his wife loves anybody else in the world beside herself--that that person is her husband; and he is right. He, too, has a genuine affection for one other individual beside Captain Walter Lisgard; and this is for his mother. We all know that she returns it seventyfold.