Towards evening Plantagenet began to experience the reaction of his artificial spirits. The Doctor had fallen into a gentle slumber, Lady Annabel had quitted the room, Venetia sat with her hand in Plantagenet's on a stool by the fireside. Both were very sad and silent. At last Venetia said, "O, Plantagenet, I wish I were your real sister! Perhaps, when I see you again, you will forget this." And she turned the jewel that was suspended round her neck, and showed him the inscription.

I am sure when I see you again, Venetia," he replied, “the only difference shall be that I will love you more than ever."

6.66

I hope so," said Venetia.

"I am sure of it. Now remember what we are talking about. When we meet again, we shall see which of us two will love each other the most."

"O, Plantagenet, I hope they will be kind to you at Eton."

"I will make them."

us ?"

And, whenever you are the least unhappy, you will write to

"I shall never be unhappy about any thing, but being away from you. As for the rest, I will make people respect me; I know what 1

am.

"Because, if they do not behave well to you, mamma could ask Doctor Masham to come and see you, and they will attend to him; and I would ask him too."

"I wonder," she continued, after a moment's pause, "if you have every thing you want. I am quite sure, the instant you are gone we shall remember something you ought to have; and then I shall be quite broken

hearted."

"I have got every thing."

"You said you wanted a large knife."

"Yes! but I am going to buy one in London. Doctor Masham says he will take me to a place where the finest knives in the world are to be bought. It is a great thing to go to London with Doctor Masham."

"I have never written your name in your Bible and Prayer-book. I will do it this evening."

666

Lady Annabel is to write it in the Bible, and you are to write it in the Prayer-book.”

"You are to write to us from London by Doctor Masham, if only a line."

"Never mind about your handwriting; but mind you write."

At this moment Lady Annabel's step was heard, and Plantagenet said, "Give me a kiss, Venetia, for I do not mean to bid good-by tonight."

666

But you will not go to-morrow before we are up?"
'Yes, we shall.”

"Now, Plantagenet, I shall be up to bid you good-by; mind

that."

Lady Annabel entered, the Doctor woke, lights followed, the servant made up the fire, and the room looked cheerful again. After tea, the names were duly written in the Bible and Prayer-book; the last arrangements were made, all the baggage was brought down into the hall, all ransacked their memory and fancy to see if it were possible that any thing

that Plantagenet could require was either forgotten or had been omitted. The clock struck ten; Lady Annabel rose. The travellers were to part at an early hour: she shook hands with Doctor Masham, but Cadurcis was to bid her farewell in her dressing-room, and then, with heavy hearts and glistening eyes, they all separated. And thus ended the last day!

Venetia passed a restless night. She was so resolved to be awake in time for Plantagenet's departure, that she could not sleep; and at length, towards morning, fell, from exhaustion, into a light slumber, from which she sprang up convulsively, roused by the sound of the wheels of the post-chaise. She looked out of her window, and saw the servant strapping on the portmanteaus. Shortly after this she heard Plantagenet's step in the vestibule; he passed her room, and proceeded to her mother's dressing-room, at the door of which she heard him knock, and then there was silence.

"You are in good time," said Lady Annabel, who was seated in an easy-chair when Plantagenet entered her room. "Is the Doctor up?"

“He is breakfasting."

"And have you breakfasted ?"

I have no appetite."

"You should take something, my child, before you go. Now come hither, my dear Plantagenet," she said, extending her hand; "listen to me, one word. When you arrive in London, you will go to your guardian's, He is a great man, and I believe a very good one, and the law and your father's will have placed him in the position of a parent to you. You must therefore love, honour, and obey him; and I doubt not he will deserve all your affection, respect, and duty. Whatever he desires or counsels, you will perform and follow. As long as you act according to his wishes, you cannot be wrong. But, my dear Plantagenet, if by any chance it ever happens, for strange things sometimes happen in this world, that you are in trouble and require a friend, remember that Cherbury is also your home; the home of your heart, if not of the law; and that not merely from my own love for you, but, because I promised your poor mother on her deathbed, I esteem myself morally, although not legally, in the light of a parent to you. You will find Eton a great change; you will experience many trials and temptations; but you will triumph over and withstand them all, if you will attend to these few directions. Fear God; morning and night, let nothing induce you ever to omit your prayers to him; you will find that praying will make you happy. Obey your superiors, always treat your masters with respect. Ever speak the truth. As long as you adhere to this rule, you never can be involved in any serious misfortune. A deviation from truth is, in general, the foundation of all misery. Be kind to your companions, but be firm. Do not be laughed into doing that which you know to be wrong. Be modest and humble, but ever respect yourself. Remember who you are, and also that it is your duty to excel. Providence has given you a great lot. Think ever that you are born to perform great duties.

"God bless you, Plantagenet!" continued her ladyship, after a slight pause, with a faltering voice-"God bless you, my sweet child! and God will bless you, if you remember him. Try also to remember us," she added, as she embraced him, and placed in his hand Venetia's well-lined purse. "Do not forget Cherbury and all it contains; hearts that love you dearly, and will pray ever for your welfare."

·

Plantagenet leant upon her bosom. He had entered the room resolved to be composed, with an air even of cheerfulness, but his tender heart yielded to the first appeal to his affections. He could only murmur out some broken syllables of devotion, and almost unconsciously found that he had quitted the chamber.

:

With streaming eyes and hesitating steps he was proceeding along the vestibule, when he heard his name called by a low sweet voice. He looked round it was Venetia. Never had he beheld such a beautiful vision. She was muffled up in her dressing-gown, her small white feet only guarded from the cold by her slippers. Her golden hair seemed to reach her waist, her cheek was flushed, her large blue eyes glittered with tears. "Plantagenet," she said

Neither of them could speak. They embraced, they mingled their tears together, and every instant they wept more plenteously. At length a footstep was heard; Venetia murmured a blessing, and vanished.

'Cadurcis lingered on the stairs a moment to compose himself. He wiped his eyes; he tried to look undisturbed. All the servants were in the hall; from Mistress Pauncefort to the scullion there was not a dry eye. All loved the little lord, he was so gracious and so gentle. Every one asked leave to touch his hand before he went. He tried to smile and say something kind to all. He recognised the gamekeeper, and told him to do what he liked at Cadurcis ; said something to the coachman about his pony; and begged Mrs Pauncefort, quite aloud, to take great care of her young Mistress. As he was speaking, he felt something rubbing against his hand it was Marmion, the old blood-hound. He also came to bid his adieus. Cadurcis patted him with great affection, and said, "Ah! my old fellow, we shall yet meet again."

"The Doctor appeared, smiling as usual, made his enquiries whether all were right, nodded to the weeping household, called Plantagenet his brave boy, and patted him on the back, and bade him jump into the chaise. Another moment, and Doctor Masham had also entered; the door was closed, the fatal "All right" sung out, and Lord Cadurcis was whirled away from that Cherbury where he was so loved!"

ART. IV.-1. An Outline of the Science of Political Economy. By NASSAU W. SENIOR, Esq. 8vo. London: 1836. (Reprinted for private circulation from the Encyclopedia Metropolitana.)

2. Principes Fondamentaux de l'Economie Politique, tirés de leçons, édites et inédites, de M. N. W. Senior. Par le Comte JEAN ARRIVABENE. 8vo. Paris: 1836.

B

EFORE proceeding to notice the valuable work of Mr Senior, we propose to offer a few remarks on the views adopted by some recent writers, especially in foreign countries, on the nature and method of the science of political economy. It will be seen how widely these views are at variance with those entertained by the school of which Dr Adam Smith was the founder.

M. Sismondi, in his lately published Etudes sur l'Economie Politique, which forms a kind of résumé ofthe scattered opinions thrown out by him on the subject during his long literary life, makes the following observations:

'Society owes its first attention to the protection of its own material interests, of its own subsistence; and it is our object to examine what is the line which society ought to adopt in order that those material goods (biens matériels) which labour creates for her, may procure or maintain the greatest amount of good for all (le plus grand bien de tous) ;—this is what, according to the etymology of the word, we term Political Economy, for it is the law or rule of a family and of a state. . . . .

The products of human labour, which represent, together with man's subsistence, all the materials goods which he desires to enjoy, and all the intellectual goods which he cannot reach except by the assistance of the former, have been called wealth. Wealth, or the theory of the augmentation of wealth, has been regarded as the especial object of political economy; an object much better designated, since the times of Aristotle, by the world chrematistics. We do not render our notions clearer by disputing about words, and we should not reproduce this one if it did not seem at the same time to mark with accuracy the cause of that false direction which a branch of social science has followed in our time. This science always has, and always ought to have for its subject, men united in society. Economy, according to the proper sense of the word, is the regulation of a family or house: political economy, the regulation of a family applied to a state. These two great human associations, the primitive associations, form the proper object of the science. But wealth is an attribute either of men or of things; it is a comparative term, which has no sense, unless at the same time the object in relation to which it is considered be clearly defined. Wealth, although an attribute of things wholly material, is nevertheless an abstraction : and chrematistic science, or the science of the increase of wealth, considering it abstractedly, and without reference to man and society, has

raised its edifice on a base wholly unsubstantial. Wealth is the product of human labour, which promises to man all the material goods which he desires to enjoy it is the representative of all physical enjoyments, and moreover, of all the moral enjoyments which depend upon them. Very well, but for whom? This question ought never to be lost sight of; while, on the contrary, it scarcely ever presents itself to the contemplation of theorists. For whom? According to the answer which we make to this question, man himself belongs to wealth, or wealth belongs to man. In our eyes-we do not hesitate to aver it— national wealth is the participation of all in the advantages of life. Members of society are no doubt destined to divide among themselves the product of social labour in different proportions; but we can never call by the name of wealth that part which one of its members takes from another.'

Professor Cherbuliez of Geneva, who endeavours to establish a sort of eclecticism compounded of the notions of Sismondi and those of the English economists, expresses himself as follows:

'Every question belonging to this science presents two faces, or rather divides itself into two distinct questions. A certain economical fact being given, we may ask what is the cause of it, and then study that cause in its different relations to the increase or diminution of national wealth. For example, the price of certain commodities has risen or fallen; is the cause to be found in the increase or diminution of the cost of production, or in a change of proportion between demand and supply? Will there result from this cause a diminution or an increase of the general mass of wealth, or of the revenue of society, or of any division of society? In following these researches, we consider riches and revenues objectively; we make them the true and only substratum of science.

But these riches are produced and consumed by men, that is, by intelligent and sentient beings, on whose happiness and moraband physical development they act in a thousand ways. Every economical fact may then affect in various manners the happiness of those producers and consumers, whose condition, in respect of wealth, is modified directly or indirectly by it. Hence a second series of questions, in which wealth is considered subjectively, and men themselves are taken as the sub

stratum.

'There is between these two points of view the same difference which exists between the chrematistics and economics of Aristotle; that is, between the art of acquiring riches, and the art of managing a household. In the first, wealth is an end; in the latter, only a means."

We should be glad to be informed where this use of the word chrematistics, so frequently employed in this controversy, and always attributed to Aristotle, is to be found in that author? We can only recollect a passage in his remarks on Ethics, in which the xpnuatiσTixos fios or life of one devoted to the acquisition of wealth, is contrasted with the contemplative life; but in that instance the word has obviously nothing to do with the sense now under consideration.