ting the character and
temperament of the statesman-philanthropist: his self-sacrifice, his
devotion to an ideal, his curious exclusiveness, his refinement, his
faith in an aristocracy never diminished by the indefatigable zeal
wherein he laboured to better the condition of the poor. "If every
rich man were animated by Shaftesbury's spirit," said Mr. Desmond, in
conclusion, "extreme poverty would be wiped out of England, and yet we
should retain all that makes life charming and profitable. He was no
leveller, save of foul rookeries. First and last he believed in order,
particularly his own--a true nobleman. And the inspiration of his
great career came to him on the Hill."

"Indeed?" said the Critic.

"John Verney will tell you all about it," said Mr. Desmond, glancing
cheerily at our hero. His was ever the habit to draw out the humblest
of his guests.

So John recited how young Anthony Ashley, standing on the Hill, just
below the churchyard, chanced to see a pauper's coffin fall to the
ground and burst open, revealing the pitiful corpse within, and how he
had exclaimed in horror, "Good heavens! Can this be permitted simply
because the man was poor and friendless?" And how, then and there, the
boy had sworn to devote his powers to the amelioration of
poverty-stricken lives.

"Yes," said Mr. Desmond. "He told me that the next fifteen minutes
decided his career. Ah, he succeeded greatly. Why, when I was at
Harrow we used to cross from Waterloo to Euston through some of the
worst slums in the world. You boys can't realize what they looked
like. And Shaftesbury's work and example wiped them out of our
civilization." [1]

When John returned to his uncle's house of Verney Boscobel (his home
since his father's death), Caesar Desmond accompanied him. Then it
seemed to John that his cup brimmed, that everything he desired had
been granted unto him. Verney Boscobel stood in the heart of the great
forest, one of the few large manors within that splendid demesne. The
boys arrived at Lyndhurst Road Station late in the evening, long after
dusk, and were driven in darkness through Bartley and Minstead up to
the high-lying moors of Stoneycross. Next morning, early, John woke
his friend, and opened the shutters.

"Jolly morning," he said. "Have a look at the Forest, old chap."

Caesar jumped out of bed, and drew a long breath.

"Ah!" he exclaimed; "it's fairyland."

Frost had silvered all things below. Above