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DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. meant to weave in his childish fancies abont the defense of the bridge in the Civil Wars,. S [ can’t do that,” he said; “you see T'wm here. No, I most send him off by rail, and let him take his chances.” “Nosuch thing 1” I cried. “If you can’t leave Bath I will take him round for you.” k&.nd Derrick, who with the oddest inconsis tency would let his MS. lie about anyhow at home, but hated the thought of sending it out alone on its travels, gladly accepted my offer. So next week I set off with the huge brown- paper parcel; few, however, will appreciate my good nature, for no one hut an author or a pub lisher knows the fearful weight of a three-vol ume novel m MS. I. To my intense satisfaction I soon got rid of it, for the first good firm to which I took it received it with great politeness, to be handed over to their “ reader ” for an opinion; and apparently the ‘1 reader’s ” opinion coincided with mine, for a month later Derrick received an offer for it with which he at once closed—not because it was a good one, but because the firm was well thought of, and because he wished to lose no time, but to have the book published at once. I happened to be there when his first “ proofs ” arrivod. The major had had an at tack of jaundice, and was in a fiendish humor, ad had not read much of the hook; but over this review in “ The Hour ” he was genuinely angry —it hurt him personally, and as it afterward turned out, played no small part in the story of odjejjews however, were many and their recom •vnim- 1 they all prophesied that it would be a great sue- '^u^pS4ft , e;- r «»,oept tb. 'theort tii:» .... Vrtf ,,, .nil. r,f fv>ia ** t .-oTmrood’s Herit- training of a novelist required a coukg.ij We had a miserably time of it at dinner, for he badgered Derrick almost past bearing, and I think the poor old fellow minded it more when i poor there was a third person present. Somehow, through all, he managed to keep his extraordi nary capacity for roveroncing mere age—even this degraded and detestable old age of thi I 01 _ tie ma jor’s. I only thought that in this he was like my own ancestor, Hugo Whamcliffe, whose def erence and respectfulness and patience had not descended to me, while unfortunately the effects of his physical infirmities had. 1 sometimes -used to reflect bitterly enough on the truth of Herbert Spencer’s teaching as to heredity, so clearly shown in my own case. In the year 1683, through the abominable cruelty and harshness of his brother Randolph, this Hugo Wharncliffe, my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, was immured in Newgate, and his constitution was thereby so much impaired and enfeebled that two hundred years alter, my constitution is paying the penalty, and my whole life is thereby changed and thwarted. Hence this childless Randolph is affecting the course of several lives in the nineteenth ous hurt. , But revenom a no* moutons—that is to say, to our lion and lamb—the old brute of a major and his long suffering son. While the table was being cleared, the major took forty winks on the sofa, and wo two beat a retreat, lighted up our pipes in the passage, and were just turning out when the postman’s double knock came, but no shower of letters in the box. Dorriek threw open the door, and the man handed him a fat stumpy-looking roll in a pink wrapper. “Isay 1” ho exclaimed, “proofs And, in hot haste, he began toariug away the pink paper, till out came the folded bits of print ing and the dirty and disheveled blue foolcap, the look ot which I knew so well. It is an odd feeling, that first seeing one’s self in print, and I could guess, even ' ifie cess. Yet, in spite of thi age ” didn’t sell. Was it, as I had feared, that Derrick was too devoid of the pushing faculty ever to make a successful writer ? Or was it that he was handicapped by being down in -the provinces playing keeper to that abominable old bear? Anyhow, the book was well received, read with enthusiasm by an extremely small circle, and then it dropped down to the bottom among the mass of overlooked literature, and its career seemed to be over. I can recall the look in Derrrick’s face when one day he glanced through the new Mudie & Smith’s lists and found “ Lynwood’s Heritage ” no longer down. * had been trying to cheer him up about the book and quoting all the favorable remarks I had heard about it. But unluckily this was damning evidence against my optimist views. He sighed heavily and put down the lists. “It’s no use to deceive one’s self,” he said, drearily. “ ‘ Lynwood ’ has failed.” Something in the deep depression of look and tone gave me a momentary insight into the au thor’s heart. He thought, I know, of the agony of mind this hook had cost him, of those long months of waiting and their deadly struggle, of the hopes which made all he had passed through seem so well worth while; and the bitterness of the disappointment was no doubt intensified by the knowledge that the major would rejoice over it. We walked that afternoon along the Bradford Valley, a road which Derrick was specially fond of. He loved the thickly wooded hills, and the ises of the Avon which, flanked by the canal and the railway, runs parallel with the high-road; he always admired, too, a certain little village with gray stone cottages which lay in this direction, and liked to look at the side of the old hall near the road; nothing remained of it but .the tall gate-posts, and rusty iron gates looking strangely dreary and deserted, and with in one could see, between some dark yew-trees, an old terrace walk with stone steps aud balus trades—the most ghostlv-looking place you can conceive. I know you’ll put this into a book some day,” I said. Yes,” he said, “ it is already beginning to simmer in my brain.” Apparently his deep dis appointment as to his first venture had m no way affected his perfectly clear consciousness that, come what would, he had UTwrito. As we walked back to Bath he told mo his “ Ruined Hall ” story as far as it had yet evolved itsolfin his brain, and wo were still discussing it when in Milsom Street we met a hoy crying evening papers, and details of the last great battle at Saspataras HOI. Derrick broke off hastily, everything but anx iety for Lawrence driven from his mind. ng one s self in print, .. - £ wen, what a thrill shot through Derrick as he turned over the pages. But he would not take them into the sitting- xoora, no doubt dreading another diatribe against his profession; and we solemnly played euchre, and patiently endured the major’s with- sarcasms till ten o’clock sounded our crrng happj i ,5°' v ?u 0 !:’- to a lon S story short, a month b*ter—-that is, at the end of November “ Lyn- woods Hentago” was published in three vol rimes with maroon cloth and gilt lettering. Der- distributed among his friends tne pub lishers announcement of the day of publication oat I besieged the iibraries for in ^ I did not find it T ^ 6 ? ‘be time of reviews. A?,„ 1 expected, they wero extremely favor- StroihS*™!! of “ TUe Herald, “ The otroiior, and ‘ The Hoar.” which marl a if m thor hot for him, the latter in particular Ditching into his views and assuring its readme fha f book was “ dangerous,”£&£ a^tborlteiete? ricCasit a ha^efed 3P6CiaUyrepn?a4nt to Dor - though the lLgh was araln^t h!m,«if* ear f* syparont to love of tormenting, valuing I^rnc-is i:’*| as conducive to his own comfort, lea ?-*![ that hard words would not drive him iroasj he deemed his duty. 1 rather incline W»*| ter view, but the old major was always n p 1 nor can I to this day make trainmg of a novelist required a conns « w torture, and that the old man was sent i»ti world to be a sort of thorn in the flesh a a] What with the disappointment of his as!4 and the difficulty of writing his BCcoEa.ffijBj craving for Freda’s presence, the straw* to allow his admiration for Lawrence itfl to become poisoned by envy under the ipo* of the major’s incessant attacks, Demei* just then a hard time of it. He never coap* ed, hut I noticed a great change m to:J melancholy increased, his flashes of aw*" merriment became fewer and fewer-I he afraid that he would break down. “For God’s sake!” I exclaimed,one when left alone with the doctor, after iv-T-i ing of whist, “do order the major to ^ Derriek has been mewed up with nta nearjy two years, and I don’t think Is* 1 it much longer.” . ...^4) So the doctor kindly contrived to w™*, major to consult a well-known Lonao . ciau and to spend a fortnight in tom, suggesting that a month at Ben be enjoyable before settling down for the winter. Luckily the major idea, and just as Lawrence retaiwni; war, Derrick and his father return* • ,j The change seemed likely to work was able now and then to release nty m j play cribbag9 with the old man for ‘ two while 1)errick tore about ^J? , viewed his publisher, made reseawn u j enteenth-century documents at the m seum, and somehow managed in 0“"/% I to acquire those glimpses of life * which he aftorward turned to 8U r?.b* count. All was grist that came oh* at first the mero sight ot ha old seemed to revive him. Of first opportunity he called at the ft - we both of us received an mmta.i on the following Wednesday to se •t> I past of the troops and to p M nearly beside himself at the frei*! know that he should certain'? 0 | tag] last, and the mingled pam :?u :,er vel« Jt *j actually in tho samo place with ii ’ f plotely separated as if seas rollodw 1 " improved in every way by “’..vVilio*^ through, but rather too ready tj. father’s tone toward Derncs- ^ tween the two brothers—al'W.s * 1 * dtt< j —became more aud more jor seemed to enjoy pitting them 0 At length tho day of ‘j} 0 ^*?™***#* 'ft rick was not looking well, hw . with sleeplessness, and the , hJ . t p «TB.anerat ng at break asm a CHAPTER VI. Say not, O Sonl, thou art defeated, Because thou art dlstrest; If thou of better tilings are cheated. Thou canst not be ot best.—T. T. Lynch. ‘ Good heavens, Sidney 1” he exclaimed, in ith‘‘ great excitement, and with his whole face aglow with pleasure, “ look here 1” He pointed to a few lines in the paper which mentioned the heroic conduct of Lieutenant L. Vaughan, who at the risk of his life had rescued a brother officer when surrounded by the enemy and completely disabled. Lieutenant Vaughan had man ,ged to mount the wounded man on his own horse and had miraculously escaped him self with nothing worse than a sword-thrust in the left arm. We went home in triumph to the major, ana Derrick read the whole account aloud. With all Vila detestation of war, he was nevertheless greatly stirred by the discriptyjp of the gallant defense of the attacked position—and for a time we were all at one, and could talk of nothing hut Lawrence’s heroism, and Victoria crosses, and the prospects of peace. However, all too soon, the major’s fiendish tamper returned, and he began to use the event of the day as a weapon against Derrick, continually taunting him with the contrast between his stay-at-home life of scribbling and Lawrence’s life of heroic adven ture. I could never mike out whether he \yant- ed to goad his son into leaving him, in order that he might drink himself to death in peace, or whether he merely indulged in hia natural excitement of this long-expoct<r ^ g* Freda. When ho lioase.Js drawing-room at Lord lrob tran ge{#*/ buzz o? talk, aud a was seized with one ot tlu s' shyness to waich ho was. ab a -s * he had boen-so longaloae mth nS »i*E that this plungo in sojaoty wi action, and the very thing ho ha became a torture to him. - ju ^ Freda was at the other end of ing to Keith Collins, tho ^,,^5 for Codringtou, whose “ 3 r i,j thr^a face was known to all tho , kaJ ^ caricature of it in ^ saw Derrick, and, that he t " f gepttwj her, and that a miserabte sense' yh eI»^J5 of distance, of hopelessnc. f 1 * urs l eu as he looked. After all.it was jjc* » For two years he bad tbou nt 1* and day; in his unutterably bn memory Uad_beeu hjs moiuorv — suoat’u.; his companion. Now he a ^ face to face, not with the - 1 * "ttfflly but with a fasaiouable, u ;i,at 4 »...