BARREN HONOUR:

A NOVEL.

BY GEORGE A. LAWRENCE

BY THE AUTHOR OF "GUY LIVINGSTON," "THE SWORD AND GOWN," &c., &c., &c.

NEW YORK:
DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS.
No. 18 ANN STREET.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. NEW AND OLD.
CHAPTER II. MEA CULPA.
CHAPTER III. A "MOTHER OF ENGLAND."
CHAPTER IV. A WAIF FROM A WRECK.
CHAPTER V. THE GIFTS OF A GREEK.
CHAPTER VI. GOLDEN DREAMS.
CHAPTER VII. MATED, NOT MATCHED.
CHAPTER VIII. CRŒSUS COMETH.
CHAPTER IX. THE LONG ODDS ARE LAID.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI. DIAMONDS THAT CUT DIAMONDS.
CHAPTER XII. RUMOURS OF WARS.
CHAPTER XIII. THE FIRST SHELL.
CHAPTER XIV. THE LETTERS OF BELLEROPHON.
CHAPTER XV. PAVIA.
CHAPTER XVI. MISANTHROPOS.
CHAPTER XVII. A WISE MAN IN THE EAST.
CHAPTER XVIII. A STAR IN THE WEST.
CHAPTER XIX. HOW WOLVES AND FOXES DIE.
CHAPTER XX. QUAM DEUS VULT PERDERE.
CHAPTER XXI. MAGNA EST VERITAS.
CHAPTER XXII. AN OLD SCORE PAID.
CHAPTER XXIII. DIPLOMACY AT A DISCOUNT.
CHAPTER XXIV. SEMI-AMBUSTUS EVASIT.
CHAPTER XXV. VER UBI LONGUM TEPIDASQUE PRÆBET JUPITER BRUMAS.
CHAPTER XXVI. IMPLORA PACE.
CHAPTER XXVII. MORITURI TE SALUTANT.

NEW WORKS IN PRESS.
BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED.

CHAPTER I.

NEW AND OLD.

A very central place is Newmanham, both by local and commercial position—a big, black, busy town, waxing bigger and blacker and busier day by day. For more than a century that Queen of Trade has worn her iron crown right worthily; her pulse beats, now, sonorously with the clang of a myriad of steam-hammers; her veins swell almost to bursting with the ceaseless currents of molten metals; and her breath goes up to heaven, heavy and vaporous with the blasts of many furnaces.

Whenever I pass that way, as a born Briton, an unit of a great mercantile nation, I feel or suppose myself to feel, a certain amount of pride and satisfaction in witnessing so many evidences of my country's wealth and prosperity; they are very palpable indeed, those evidences, and not one of the senses will be inclined to dispute their existence. If I chance to have an exiled Neapolitan prince, or a deposed grand-duke, or any other potentate in difficulties, staying with me (which, of course, happens constantly), I make a point of beguiling the illustrious foreigner into the dingy labyrinth of Newmanham, from which he escapes not till he has done justice to every one of its marvels. Nevertheless, as an individual whose only relations with commerce consist in always wanting to buy more things than one can possibly afford, and in never, by any chance, having anything to sell, except now and then a horse or two, more or less "screwed," or a parcel of ideas, more or less trivial—as such an one, I say, I am free to confess, that my first and abiding emotion, after being ten minutes in that great emporium, is a desolate sense of having no earthly business there, and of being very much in everybody's way—a sentiment which the natives seem perfectly to fathom and coincide with.

It is not that they make themselves in any wise disagreeable, or cast you forth with contumely from their hive. The operative element does not greet the stranger with the "'eave of a arf-brick," after the genial custom of the mining districts; neither is he put to confusion by a broad stare, breaking up into a broader grin, as sometimes occurs in our polite