“There is nothing new under the sun.” But there ought to be something new in a novel, nevertheless, most readers seem to think. Critical readers claim something new at the novelist’s hands, and rate him and he dare to walk in beaten tracks. Next to something new comes something true. This shall protect our neck from the sharp edge of the sword that hangs by that Damoclean thread which is so easily severed. We are telling a tale with Truth for its basis, and how can the mere historian help it if there is nothing new in one of the main incidents of his narrative? Human hopes and fears, and sorrows and troubles, and joys and pleasures, are a constant repetition of the same occurrences, and love of money forms the axis upon which this world of trouble revolves. When you tell your favourite little stories after dinner--incidents in your own life--you don’t think there is nothing new under the sun then--eh? “New or not, they are true,” you say. Very well, sir, and so is this history; and if there is one part of it more truthful than another, it is that quiet but important bit of exchange performed in those early days of those charming young women, who used to live like sisters at Barton Hall. Ask old Dibble if this is not a true story; ask Arthur Phillips and his wife; ask the Right Hon. the Countess of Verner; go down to Avonworth, and visit Barton Hall. Lionel Hammerton would not have believed it, nevertheless, and he will return from India utterly ignorant of all the changes that have taken place up to this period of our story; for those two letters written by a certain painter, and the one sealed with a coronet, are destined to pass their owner on the high seas, both travelling in different directions. If Lord Verner would have been very much surprised could he have heard that conversation between the two ladies at Barton Hall, what would he have thought of the following dialogue, which was spoken a few days afterwards. “I must confess I am a little surprised,” said Miss Tallant, “that you should not have given me notice of your visit.” “It did not occur to me that such a measure was needful from a brother to his sister,” said Mr. Richard Tallant, coolly throwing himself into an easy chair. “Brother and sister, truly,” said Miss Tallant, with dignity, “but hitherto somewhat divided in feeling and opinion, and latterly by a law-suit.” “Yes, these things will occur; but you possess rather more than your share, my sister, of our father’s goods. Would it have been otherwise than fair to have given the son and heir half the property?”