old, as Mr. Kingsley told me, but having withal a very habitable
look. "I hope you'll be comfortable here," said my host as he turned
to go--"as comfortable as one can be in a cottage. Have you everything
you want? There will be a tea-dinner or a dinner-tea in about half
an hour." Then, as he lingered, he asked, "When did you see Forster
last?"

"Six weeks ago," I said--"in London. He had just received news of
the vacancy at Leeds, and at once determined to offer himself as the
Liberal candidate. He went to Leeds for this purpose, but subsequently
withdrew his name. I gather from his speech at the banquet his
supporters gave him afterward that this was a mistake, and that if he
had stood he would have been elected."

"Ah," said Kingsley, "I should like to see Forster in Parliament. He
is not the man, however, to make head against the _tracasseries_ of an
election contest."

Some other talk we had, and then he left me, coming back before long
to conduct me to the drawing-room. Two gentlemen were there--one a
visitor who soon took leave; the other, the tutor to Mr. Kingsley's
son. Mrs. Kingsley came in now and shook hands with me cordially, and
I had very soon the sense of being at one with them all. Our having
mutual friends did much toward this good understanding, but it was
partly that we seemed at once to have so much to talk of on the events
of the day, and on English matters in which I took keen interest.

India was naturally our first subject, and the great and absorbing
question of the mutiny. I told what the London news was in regard to
it, and how serious was the look of things. Kingsley said there must
be great blame somewhere--that as to the British rule in India, no man
could doubt that it had been a great blessing to the country, but
the individual Englishman had come very far short of his duty in
his dealings with the subject race: a reckoning was sure to come.
_Oakfield_ was mentioned--a story by William Arnold of which the scene
was laid in India, and which contained evidence of this ill-treatment
of the Hindoos by their white masters. Kingsley spoke highly of this
book. I said I thought it had hardly been appreciated in England.
Kingsley thought the reason was it was too didactic--there was too
much moralizing. Only the few could appreciate this: the many did not
care for it in a novel.

Our tea-dinner was announced: it was served in the hall. Mrs.
Kingsley spoke laughingly of their being obliged t