sir," he said to Collings. "You have made a mistake. The boy is my nephew, sir; and such a thing was never done at this school." "Oh, indeed!” replied Collings; "I've made a mistake, 'ave I? Well, perhaps this gentleman," pointing to Harsley, "will tell you what 'e knows about it." Willie looked anxiously from one to the other; a new hope, unworthy of his recent frankness, rose on his face-perhaps it could be denied all round.

"Excuse me, sir," said Harsley. He always called his principal "sir." "William has just given me a list of what he-owes. He has taken from Mr. Collings a pipe, some tobacco, and some six boxes of wooden matches." The tobacconist looked half dissatisfied. "Well, perhaps that's all," he said. "It is all," said Mr. Harsley. The colour on the headmaster's face had vanished. "Give me the list," he said in a hardly-controlled voice. "But, sir, it was given me in confidence." "Give me the list!" Mr. Arkwright almost hissed the words. Mr. Harsley quailed-he had long learnt to quail -and gave up the list. "And now, sir, you can go." Mr. Harsley walked nervously and carefully out of the room. It had all broken down, his hope of doing something for the boy. Was he weak? Not more than any other dominated usher. He went out.

The list remained in the headmaster's hands. As he glanced at it and saw the mention of the watch, it seemed from his face that a storm of fury was about to break. But a moment later the reverend gentleman had recovered his composure. He turned to Mr. Collings with a more engaging look, and spoke in the old clear-cut voice, only slightly sharpened by his inward vexation.

"And now, Mr. Collings," he said, "I think we had better understand each other. I am most sorry that this should have occurred, and so is the boy, I am sure. You will of course have restitution of what you have lost; and you will make no mention whatsoever of this matter. If you do, sir," he proceeded, raising his voice, "you know my position in this town; and I do not think you will improve yourself. But I am certain," with a winsome smile, "that we shall have no further difficulty in the matter. I am sorry that you should have had the trouble of coming up. Good-night, Mr. Collings, goodnight." He had lowered his voice to its previous snake-like tone, and the little tobacconist, hardy and fearless as he was, had not dared to interrupt him. That weird spell which only the ultra-refined can employ was upon him. If he had been the loudest-bawling democrat he would have hesitated and been confused. Besides, Mr. Arkwright had certainly not exaggerated his influence in the town socially, municipally, and otherwise. "Best let it be," thought honest

Bob Collings. But just as he reached the door, which Mr. Arkwright had politely opened, he ventured one more remark, though only to the nephew. “And you, my young friend," he said, "be wiser another time. I saw you just as well as Mr. Harsley. You forgot the mirror at the back." Mr. Arkwright changed his polite smile to a look of shocked piety. "Don't tell him that you saw him, Mr.

Collings; tell him that God sees him."

Willie Arkwright was expelled. And where he is now I do not know. Perhaps he is lurking at home without character and so without employment. Perhaps he has gone the way of the refuse of so many of our schools, and is now endeavouring to erect a tolerable reputation in some colonial backwood, where he finds broader and more liberal opinions concerning right and wrong. However it may be, he has lost his first chance. He has an uphill task before him; and, if he ever does succeed, if he ever draws from his hard circumstances a new strength and firmness, he will yet never be deeply indebted to the English education which his uncle so generously supplied to him.

As for the Reverend John Arkwright, he found means to restore the watch and silence the tradesmen. His next Sunday's sermon was on the necessity of rising above these trammelling considerations of money, which on all sides surround us; but he never offered to pay Mr. Harsley the 4s. which had been expended in his interest.

THE MAKING OF THE

MAP OF
OF EUROPE.

HE dawn of history discloses Europe peopled by various

THE branches of the great Aryan race; and from then up to the

beginning of the Christian era the story of the map of Europe, as far as there are materials for telling any story, is little else than the story of the expansion of the dominion of one of these Aryan peoples over its neighbours to the East and West.

Of the coming of the Aryans and of their original settlements it is not for the geographer nor yet for the historian to tell; that story can, as yet, only be told in halting and uncertain accents by the philologist, the antiquarian, and the ethnologist from such hints as they may be able to pick up in their several studies. The earliest glimpse then that we have of the map shows us the Eastern and Central Peninsulas of Southern Europe peopled by the Greek-Italian branch of the Aryans; the Western Peninsula and the West generally, along with the Northern Islands, by the Celtic branch; while in Central Europe the Teutonic division of the race presses upon the Celtic to the West, and is in turn pressed by the Slavonic division on the East and North. The aboriginal non-Aryan population, where it was not exterminated, was thrust back into the extreme North, or assimilated by the conquering Aryans. Geographically, at all events, except for such remnants as the Basques and Finns, this earlier population has vanished. From this beginning the geographical interest of Europe centres in Italy. Geographically, the influence even of Greece has been slight compared with that of Rome. It is true that Greece exercised a great negative influence upon the map by barring the road into Europe against the Persian, but any actual Greek conquest of territory on a large scale was in the direction of Asia and not of Europe, and had nothing of the permanency of Roman conquest. Indeed, we may say that first and last Rome, by the growth of her Empire, and then through its disruption, has been the one great factor in the making of the map of Europe. The

J

simplicity of the map at the beginning of the Christian era was effected by the expansion of the Roman dominion, and the complexity of the map in medieval and modern times is the result of the break up of the Roman Empire. That simplicity was such that there was then really only one dividing line on the map-that which separated the countries under the rule of Rome from all the lands which lay beyond her boundary. Beginning from the north-west-this dividing line followed the course of the Rhine as far up as Coblenz or Mainz, then crossed to the Danube, striking it somewhere near Ratisbon, and then ran along the valley of the Danube to the Euxine. South of this dividing line lay the dominions of Romenorth of it lay the European lands outside her sway. Over these lands wandered innumerable semi-civilised tribes of Teutons and Slavs, and behind them again countless savage hordes of the Turanian race-Huns, Avars, and Magyars, Finns, and Laps; remnants, some of them, of the aboriginal population; others of them, fresh immigrants from Asia. Of course, it is in a great measure due to our ignorance that we lump all these peoples, nations, and languages together without attempting to define their boundaries, but these boundaries were so utterly vague and so constantly changing as to defy description. All your map can do is to mark the position of those nations whose confines from time to time marched with those of Rome, and with whom she came into intercourse or conflict. When we turn our attention south of the dividing line of our map we find that we must not only think of the European mainland, but also of the great Mediterranean Sea which bounds the Continent on the south and all the islands lying in it; and not only so, but our thought must take in, too, all the northern fringe of Africa, the whole of Egypt and Syria, and the great promontory of Asia Minor-all this territory fell within the limits of the Roman Empire, and must be included in the map of Europe in these early times. In the course of the first century the dividing line of the map must be extended in the north-westerly direction beyond the mouth of the Rhine, so as to include England and Wales-leaving out Scotland and Ireland, which never fell under the dominion of Rome-and in the easterly direction it would have to be carried through the Euxine, and sometimes during the second century as far east as the Caspian. Speaking broadly, the map of Europe remained unchanged during the first four centuries of our era. Of course, I do not mean that there was never any alteration in the boundary line-sometimes it would be pushed forward so as to include a whole province, such as Dacia, beyond the Danube-corresponding more or less with modern

Roumania, which still preserves in its name the memory of this old Roman conquest, and then would be thrust back again by the pressure of the barbarians. And in the far East the boundary line was never unalterably fixed-it varied with the varying fortunes of the Roman and Persian or Parthian arms.

But, roughly, the confines of the Empire, and consequently the divisions of the map, remained such as we have seen them. Throughout the whole of this vast region of the Roman world ran splendid roads, along which were established a most elaborate system of post-houses; and connecting which, where they might be sundered by seas or straits, was a very complete service of ferryboats. So that I very much doubt whether, in spite of all our vaunted improvements in the art of travel, a tour through Europe is so easy a matter now as it was then-Europe, that is to say, south of our dividing line. Imagine a journey undertaken from the northwest to the south-east extremity of the Empire in those days of its greatness—say, from the Wall of Antonine, in the north of Britain, to Jerusalem. We should, of course, do the journey more quickly now; but in the course of it we should have to pass the frontiers of many different nations undergoing all the inconveniences of customhouse inspection, and of changes of language and coin; moreover, the difficulties of land travel in Asiatic Turkey would certainly impel us to make the latter part at least of such a journey by sea. Whereas in the second century it could have been done in its entire length without ever stepping off a Roman high-road, except for a few hours into a government ferry-boat, and done, I believe, with greater safety than a journey from York to London two centuries ago. These would have been the principal stages of such a journey, and their distances, as given by Gibbon-to York 200 miles, York to London 210, London to Sandwich 62, Sandwich to Boulogne 42, Boulogne to Rheims 160, Rheims to Lyons 310, Lyons to Milan 305, Milan to Rome 390, Rome to Brindisi 330, Brindisi to Durazzo (Dyrrachium) 36, Durazzo to Constantinople (Byzantium) 650, Constantinople to Ancyra 260, Ancyra to Tarsus 275, Tarsus to Antioch 130, Antioch to Tyre 230, Tyre to Jerusalem 154-3,744 miles in all. Along the whole of this route services of posts were established; post-houses were erected every six miles, and every posthouse was provided with forty horses. The posts were instituted indeed only for government service; but they were occasionally used in cases of urgency by private individuals, and when the government postal service was used very rapid progress might be made. Thus, in the reign of Theodosius, Cæsarius, a magistrate of