to shelter himself from the storm. His excited and extraordinary conduct to herself, his bounding over the waterfall in a state of the river which would have rendered the leap dangerous even in the eyes of her brother Allan himself, and his wandering up the houseless and dreary glen in such a dreadful snow-storm, all combined to influence her heart with the suspicion that he had gone mad, and that his dreams, omens, and pursuit by the soldiers were thus abundantly explained. Agitated by the emotions these suspicions and circumstances were so calculated to excite in a bosom so kind and sensitive, Mary had passed a day of sorrow, and the night found her almost destitute of hope, the last stay of the heart, and of which the Highland bard thus sings:

while under hiding from the bloodhounds of the feudal || in which he could find neither a shealing nor a cave system, who, with some degenerate relatives of his own, had accepted charters from a foreign usurper of the lands of his oppressed and divided clan; and he had discovered a leap over the waterfall at Achnacoue, which was frequently taken by the more bold and active youths of the glen when the river was flooded. The least mistake in measuring the distance when taking the leap, or the least slip of the foot, would leave the adventurer little chance to escape with life from the boiling cataract; but Terence, always daring, was now so excited by his interview with Mary, and the sight of the pursuers, that he would not turn on his heel to save his life. He accordingly threw one of the romantic knolls of Torrance between himself and his pursuers, turned suddenly to the cataract, and, rushing at the leap, cleared it with a bound; while the soldiers pushed on at full speed toward Achitriaden, believing that Terence was en route for Fortwilliam, after Captain Byng and Sergeant Stavely; for the thought that he had betrayed their dangerous secret never once entered their heads, notwithstanding the denunciations of their leader. Hence, the pursuers were toiling up the glen, while Terence was leisurely winding his way through the bosom of Glen-lea-na-mui, where he had resolved to hide himself during the day, and to repair to the protection of the old man and his family by midnight, being the time appointed for their massacre.

The desertion of Terence caused the Major to add two soldiers more to old Allan's guests, although, from the absence of his son and servants, his household only consisted of his daughter and two boys, with two servant-girls and his henchman, who was more aged and more frail than his master. The soldiers lived in the large kitchen along with the domestics, but they slept in the stable.

Old Allan gave a banquet to his guests, in imitation of his chieftain-for as the privates were inadmissible to the banquet, the clan did not, as was usual, on this occasion, dine at Invercoe; the feudal, unlike the clan system, being sustained by a wide and impassable difference between the barons and officers, and the vassals and serfs, so that the former could not dine with the latter; while, under the patriarchal system, the whole clan was considered equally noble in their descent, and no distinction was ever admitted or shown between them excepting when on duty, in the obedience due to the chief and chieftains whom they elected to command them in battle, and to be their jury at the Brehon mod, or Court of Justice. Nor was the celebrated mountain dew absent from the feast of old Allan; but his suspicions being excited by the message of Terence (whose pursuit by the soldiers was also made known to him), and the addition to the number of his guests, as well as by their constrained manners, and occasional bursts of unnatural mirth, he could not so successfully enter into the spirit of the jest and the song as was his wont; so that the entertainment lacked, in a great measure, its usual accompaniments in the hospitable house of Old Balbena, and the soldiers retired more early than usual, much to the relief of the old man and his daughter.

Mary had passed an anxious and a melancholy day, although she had witnessed the escape of Terence; for the snow had continued its heavy fall, and she could not comprehend his object in diving into a solitary glen,

Fair child of heaven, whose form ethereal, beams
Irradiant on the paths of human woe,

And, like the star of eve, still lovelier seems

Wading afar, as storms and darkness grow;
What were this world should'st thou resign thy breath?
A dreary waste of silence and of gloom,
Where, brooding o'er the tardy steps of death,

Each for himself would dig the ghastly tomb!
The hollow sound of the wind, as it rushed wild
through the cliffs of the mountains which towered
around their dwelling, or swept over the desolate plains,
carrying whole fields of snow in its whirling vortex,
fell like the death-warning of the Benshee on her
heart. Yet her ear and eye seemed only quickened in
their vigilance and perception by the state of nervous
excitement in which she was placed; so that neither the
least sound without, nor so much as the erection of a
greyhound's or a terrier's ear within (as they stretched
themselves at the kitchen fire), could escape her no-
tice.

While the soldiers remained in the house, she went as seldom as possible to the door, although her anxiety and impatience to watch the corners of the outhouses (where her heart told her he might possibly be now watching over her safety), in the hope of once more catching a glimpse of his manly form, and hearing of his future intentions, were almost unbearable. When they retired, however, and she saw the stable door shut behind them, she instantly wrapped herself up in her plaid, and took her station at the end of the house, cold and terrific as was the night, watching for the return of her unfortunate lover, almost against hope.

Mary had not been long stationed at the end of the house, when she observed something moving at the corner of the barn, which her heart assured her was her snow-covered and unfortunate Terence. She sprang to the spot without a thought of alarm, although, the moment before, she felt convinced of his insanity.

"Dear Terence,' ," "Dear Mary," for the first time broke from their hearts, and told a tale of mutual love, which, in ordinary circumstances, might never have been revealed; and Mary found herself clasped to her lover's bosom with emotions which for a moment prevented her from feeling that she was half-smothered in the wreath of snow which clung around him. The moment she became sensible of his condition, alarm for his sufferings became her first thought, and she exclaimed, "Good God! you are starving. The soldiers have retired. Follow me instantly into the house. I will only precede you to prepare my father. Your sus

picions are now shared in by himself, and you will be || gladly received."

"Stop a moment," said Terence. "Fear not for me, for I have that within which defies the storm. Will the old man fly with his family to the cave, or what has he determined on doing? The hour of fate is at hand." "Follow, and you shall hear," said Mary, as she tripped into the house before him, to apprise her father.

sin ?" said the old henchman. "Seider dearg," was the ready answer. "Open the door, Ewen; one of my comrades has got very ill, and I want a light." "Be she her lane sell," asked Ewen, in his best Saxon, "or be more seider than lane sel at the yett ?" "No more. I am quite alone. Ye old foutre, what are you afraid of? Open the door instantly, or I'll drive it about your ears." "Ye be lie," said the old man, sternly. "Ye no be lane sel. Aff ta bed! She'll no open ta yett."

Some more whispering was soon heard, aud, immediately afterwards, a heavy stone was dashed against the door, which flew from its hinges; and instantly the five ruffians rushed into the kitchen. Ewen threw himself across their path, and struck at one of them with his dirk, but fell short of his aim, and, receiving a bayonet-thrust through his heart, fell to the ground a dead man. In the meantime, old Allan, who had placed a supply of lint in a corner, lifted a tuft on the point of his dirk, and flung it on the fire, which sudden

eyes of the soldiers, and in that moment two of their number were stretched in the dust by the dirks of the old man and Terence; and the light having expired as quickly as it blazed up, the survivors rushed back to the door, where they stood on the defensive, with their bayonets pointed, and their muskets levelled in the direction of the fire; but the darkness rendered it incautious in either party to fire or advance upon the other.

Terence was received with great kindness by the old man, who insisted on his instantly shifting himself out of his knapsack, which fortunately hung in the kitchen. He also insisted on his both eating and drinking, greatly against his inclination; but the old man's importunity would not be gainsaid. Terence being thus refreshed, the old man and himself retired together to the former's apartment. What passed between them never transpired, but, on their return, the old man kissed and then solemnly blessed Mary and his two boys, and then, embracing them with deeply blazing up, exposed and dazzled for a moment the emotion, he said to Mary-"Child of my heart, pure and perfect image in form and nature of thy now sainted mother, remember that on your presence of mind and devoted firmness of purpose now depends the lives of my sole earthly treasures-thyself and thy brothers. I might yet lead you to the cave; but you would scorn the safety that would be secured by means which might have been taken for all, and which, if now taken for you alone, might throw a suspicion of treachery, or at least of selfishness, on the character of your father." He then desired her and the boys to enter into a place of concealment under the floor, which they had never before seen, and in which they had just room to bestow themselves, and no more. "Whatever you hear, my dear children," continued the old man, "move not, breathe not, until called from your concealment by some friendly voice; and oh, God bless and protect you, my darlings!" Here Terence whispered something, and the old man suspended the lowering of the trap-door for a moment, and said, Surely, surely! And hear me, Mary, my child; should Terence and you survive this night, you have my consent to your union. He is the son of a chief, and his conduct this day is worthy of his pedigree. And now farewell," he said in an almost sobbing voice, as Terence stepped back, after kissing the boys as well as Mary, and the artfully-contrived floor was lowered over the concealed aperture.

A pause of a few minutes ensued, when the soldiers again whispered together, and instantly thereafter three shots were fired, one of which, unhappily, took effect, when Terence staggered and almost fell. The old man instantly threw another tuft of tow on the fire, and, as it blazed up, discharged a pistol with unerring aim, which brought a third soldier to the ground. He then drew Terence quickly back behind a large dresser, which formed no insecure breastwork in the direction of the door, and anxiously inquired where he was wounded, and whether dangerously. Terence replied that the wound was by no means dangerous, but that, unfortunately, it disabled his right arm. The old man felt for the wound, and hastily wrapped a bandage round the arm, saying, "Never mind, my friend; hand me your pistol, and we shall soon be on equal terms. But, should I fall, remember that everything depends on your life. Pledge me your honour then, in Mary and the children having thus been disposed of, this solemn moment, that, as soon as the coast is the old man instantly ordered the two servant-girls, who clear of these two ruffians, you will leave the house, and were still in the kitchen, and ignorant of all that had || hide yourself until the patrol (which will soon be here passed, to retire to their closet, to barricade themselves on their rounds, to see that the tale of murder is comwithin, and keep quiet, whatever noise or tumult might plete) shall have withdrawn; when I leave it to your reach their ears. He then ordered the old henchman discretion to relieve my unhappy children from their to arm himself, and hastily handed one of his own pis- dismal confinement. And now, farewell, my friend, tols and a dirk to Terence, telling him that he would for this conflict must be terminated before the guard find it "the best of all weapons at close quarters." make their appearance." So saying, the old man cauThe door of the house was then closed and barred; and tiously advanced towards the door, in which the rethe two old warriors and the brave and powerful Terence maining soldiers were stationed, with his dirk in one seated themselves in stern silence in the darkened hand, and a loaded pistol in the other, followed by kitchen, waiting the event. Terence, who still clung to him, although now but little able to afford him support. The two soldiers, standing in the doorway, had their muskets again loaded, and levelled in the direction in which the old man and Terence were approaching. The outline of the forms of the former were thus darkly seen, while the position of the party advancing upon them could only be guessed at by the

Nor had the above precautions been taken a moment too soon. They heard the door stealthily and silently approached, and a hand moving cautiously over its surface, as if feeling for the latch, which it at length found, and tried to lift, but without success. Some whispering succeeded; and then thee firm raps were given, "Coll

slight noise of their footsteps. The old man, now || feebly, her own name and that of her brothers, and

66

within three paces of the door, levelled and fired. The
soldiers, from the mere effect of impulse, also fired at
the same moment; and old Allan and one of their num-
ber fell, the latter dead, the former mortally wounded;
while the other soldier turned on his heels, and fled.
Terence knelt by the side of the old man, and
felt for his wound. He pressed his hand against
the old man's left side, and felt the blood welling
from it. He was sensible, but too faint to speak,
for he pressed the soldier's hand feebly, in token of
recognition. Encouraged to hope, from this circum-
stance, Terence instantly flew to the fire, and flung on
some dried fir roots, whereby the house was instantly
lighted. He now placed the old man in a more easy
posture, and applied himself in earnest to stanching
the wound with his only hand, in which he partially
succeeded. Though it was evident that life was ebb-
ing fast, the stopping of the blood enabled the old man
to breathe the words, Remember!" and "fly!" which
showed that he had noticed the retreat of the fifth
soldier. Terence's resolution was severely tested. To
leave Mary and her brothers in such a situation, and
to desert her old father ere he had closed his eyes in
death, appeared like cowardice and ingratitude; but
what could he do-a single individual, and with his
right arm broken and disabled--against the whole
strong patrol, now momentarily expected? And the
chances were, that, on finding the two old men dead,
and seeing no signs of Mary and the boys, they might||
suppose that they had fled, and so make their inquisi-
tion less searching than they would be apt to do if he
were found lingering on the spot-which would natu-
rally give rise to a suspicion of their being still con-
cealed about the premises. These thoughts glanced
across the mind of Terence, and determined his con-
duct. Casting a single look of sorrow at the prostrate
form of his brave and venerable host, whose breathing
was now becoming husky and interrupted with groans,
he stole cautiously out of the house, and, reconnoitring
the vicinity with keen and suspicions looks, slipped
along the side of the wall, and again placed himself in
a crouching attitude at the corner of the barn, watching
the approach to the door with the most intense anxiety.
But who can describe the alarm and agony of Mary
and the two boys, confined in a dark hole under the
ground, while the above scene was passing almost over
their heads? The report of the muskets and pistols
were deadened, but the trampling of feet was exaggerated
to their ears; and they expected every moment to hear
the trap-door lifted, and to feel themselves dragged
forth by the murderers of their father and friends.
Nor were their feelings of terror lessened when dead
silence succeeded to the struggle we have attempted
to sketch.

Mary's heart was agitated with fears, now for her father, now for her lover; but the precious lives en trusted to her care, and the preservation of which was wholly dependent on her presence of mind and firmness of purpose, nerved her resolution, and suppressed her every impulse to throw up the trap, and spring forth to ascertain the worst. The husky breathing and groans were distinctly heard in the cave; yet she adhered to her resolution, although her heart was fearfully tried. But when at length she could recognise the broken and solemn voice of her father, mingling,

buried mother, with snatches of songs, and prayers, and faint attempts at shouting the Macdonald battle-cry of "Fraoch's lamh dhearg!" (ie., the heather and red hand), in his dying delirium, she could no longer command herself; but, forgetful of every other consideration save the state of her father, threw up the trapdoor, with a violent effort, and rushed to the kitchen.

At the sight of the old man weltering in his gore, with the light of the decaying fire shining on the bare crown of his head, and on the gray locks which, long and silken as threads of gossamer, spread over his neck and shoulders, and on the decorated hilts of the pistol and dirk he still grasped in either hand, Mary stood in motionless silence-not like a statue, the perfection of the Grecian chisel, breathing apparent life; but the living representative of the most perfect model of the workmanship of the Creator, petrified with horror at the sight of the cruelty and treachery of man-with her reason struck blind for ever!

In the meantime, Terence, who still preserved his watchful and crouching attitude at the corner of the barn, saw the soldier who had fled when the last of his comrades fell, stealing back along the side of the house until he came to the door; when, stooping down, he remained for some time gazing eagerly at the scene we have attempted to place before the reader. Terence's heart leaped, with ominous alarm, when he recognised in the skulking assassin the sturdy and fierce "Roving Tomkins," an English soldier, who concentrated in his own person and character the formidable strength, reckless daring, and voluptuous ruffianism of the very worst of the class to which he belonged.

The first impulse of Terence, on recognising the ruffian, was to spring upon and crush out his life at once; but, alas! he soon felt that he was not only wounded, but also unarmed, and therefore utterly unequal to a contest with so desperate a caitiff-for the old man had taken the pistol from his hand before he shot the fourth soldier, and he had himself laid the dirk on the ground, and forgot to take it up when carrying him forward to the light of the fire. Admouished by his almost helpless position, Terence deemed it his wisest course to forbear. He accordingly stole cautiously towards the house, in the door of which Tomkins was crouching down, resolved to watch him as the lioness watches the steps of the hunter who has discovered the lair of her cubs in the desert.

When the ruffian satisfied himself that all was safe, and that the Thrush was utterly helpless, alone, and in his power, he rose to his feet, and, with a chuckle of triumph, rushed forward and clasped her in his arms.

Her little brothers--although the eldest was only thirteen, and the youngest eleven years of age-were restrained in their hiding-place less from fear than from their habitual deference to the command of their lovely and affectionate sister. Her absence, though short compared to the time we have taken to describe it, caused a degree of anxiety, on her account, in their little hearts, which had already almost overcome their patience; but the moment they heard her screams, they broke from their concealment, and flew to her assistance.

The spirited boys no sooner saw the situation of their sister than they drew the little black knives carried by all Highland boys in those days, and flew at the

ravisher, inflicting miniature gashes on his neck and face. The ruffian instantly sprang to his legs, and seizing his fallen musket, destroyed the two boys.

mach, and a powerful grasp of the clenched fist in the throat, are very delicate, maidenly means, which, having been taught by thyself, shall be duly practised on thy own person anon. Perhaps thou hast learned them from thy beloved Thrush." Here some grateful

At this moment, Terence, who had not heard the screams of Mary, but whose anxiety was intense, drew himself cautiously to the door, and got his eye on Tom-idea seemed to have crossed his mind, for a hideous kins and his victims, one of them exalted on his bayonet, smile passed over his gloomy face; but his rage inand the other two prostrate, and—as he concluded- stantly returned, and he stamped on the ground with lying dead at his feet. He had previously deliberated furious impatience, exclaiming, "Will he never recoolly on the means of recovering the dirk, with which cover from his swoon? It were poor revenge," he had unconsciously parted in his anxiety and distress; he said, hesitatingly, “to put him out of the world bebut the horrific sight which now met his eye excited fore he knows his victor. Ho!" he continued, leaning his feelings to insanity, and, totally forgetting his un- over his unconscious foe; "ho, Terence! dost thou hear armed and disabled condition, he sprang furiously at me? Thou wert not wont to be deaf to time, and to Tomkins-dashed him to the ground with his fist-lie prostrate before thine enemy. Ho!" reiterated the

ruffian, pressing his knee heavily on his chest; "my patience is out, and I will put thee out, without being half revenged, if thou continue any longer insensible.

and falling heavily upon him, planted his knee on his chest-grasped his throat with all his strength with|| his left hand-and, in the excess of his horror and his fury, struck him with the elbow of his frac- The ruffian now went coolly and deliberately to tured arm! And thus, as in most cases, the ex- work. He firmly grasped the wrist of Terence's untremity of his passion defeated his purpose; for, one broken arm, planted his knee on his breast, and comof the bones being broken below the elbow, the tor-pressed his throat with a grasp of death. His victim ture he inflicted on his arm reacted on his heart; groaned deeply, but was utterly unconscious or help. so that the proud, the brave, the strong, and true- less. hearted Irishman fainted, and sunk, helpless as a child, by the side of his intended victim. The grip on Tomkins' throat being relaxed, and his chest relieved from compression, he soon came to himself, and started to his feet. His first impulse was to fly, but on seeing the prostrate body of his opponent, the clumsy bandage, and the bleeding arm, he instantly comprehended the state of the case; and, exulting in heart over his anti-side of the exulting murderer, just as Terence was on cipated and sure vengeance, burst out into a hoarse laugh, exclaiming

"Ho, ho, Prince of Connaught! have I caught thee at last? Now, then, how am I to put him out of his hateful life? By the powers, I thank thee, Prince, for thy lesson-not the first, but surely the last I shall owe thee. A strong dig of the knee in the pit of the sto

At this moment, Mary, who had all this time been in a faint, sprung up, and, seeing the dagger, which had, in an evil hour, been flung out of the agitated and careless grasp of Terence, lying glittering on the ground, seized upon it, and, with the cunning and energy sometimes shown by maniacs-for Mary, alas! was now in that condition-she stole quietly to the

the eve of expiring under him; and, although all unconscious of the presence of Terence and the cold-blooded murder which was being perpetrated, she struck the dirk upward through the side of the ruffian, until the point was buried in his heart. Tomkins fell without uttering a groan; and Mary darted out of the house with a maniacal laugh, ending in a piercing scream.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN.

A NEW SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY,

BY JAMES AUGUSTUS ST. JOHN,

Author of the "History of the Manners and Customs of Ancient Greece," " Egypt and Mohammed Ali," Margaret Ravenscroft," &c.

CHAPTER VI.
THE JESUIT'S STORY.

rents of rain, descending as from the open windows of heaven, until every brook and streamlet swelled "As nearly as I can recollect," he said, "it was in the to a torrent, and the Rhone rushed through its bed month of May; and the spring, always beautiful in these with tremendous force and velocity. In the midst of Alpine regions, appeared to have come forth with ten- the storm, a noise was heard in the mountains, comfold splendour. The sun's warmth, in that season of pared with which the thunder shrunk into a whisper. the year, thaws the mind as well as the earth. Peo- It appeared as if the foundations of the everlasting ple put on sportive looks for the summer, and the joy- hills had been violently shaken from their place. All ousness of their feelings is represented externally by the villagers hurried to their doors, where they stood, bright-coloured clothes. Suddenly the clouds gathered, pale and trembling, not knowing what to do. Then and hung from ridge to ridge, entirely roofing over came another frightful crash. The curtain of rocks the valley. Through tunnels, as it were, in their sub- which you behold yonder, disparted from top to botstance, the thunder rolled incessantly; while the light- tom; and out rushed an irresistible flood, with a roaring ning flashed downwards, with a brightness so vivid like that of the ocean. There was no time for flight. and piercing, that it threatened to consume, utterly, Terror paralysed all limbs. Onward swept the torrent, both man and beast. Then followed indescribable tor-ploughing up the plain in various directions, flooding

the fields and the gardens, overthrowing walls and [] houses, and hurrying forward their ruins towards the Rhone. Several hundred persons were drowned in a moment. But some, who happened to be in situations favourable for flight, escaped destruction.

the soul of his beloved daughter, as well as by him who lost his life in the endeavour to save her. I tell you these facts," said the Jesuit, "without ornament or amplification. In itself it was a very touching thing to see, though it is little or nothing when related."

CHAPTER VII.

SLEEP AND JEWELS.

"There was one cottage, inhabited by an old man and his daughter, which stood near the brink of the great chasm, through which the principal arm of the waters was roaring and foaming along. The channel was In the inn at Brigg, which we reached early in widening fast by the earth crumbling into it; and it the evening, we found a number of English people, was evident the cottage must go in a few minutes. who, however, kept all together, and held me out no A young brother of our order stood on the opposite temptations to join them. It is a fact, which most bank, beholding with pity the young woman wringing persons must have observed, that the moment a man her hands, imploring pity and assistance. Her father, leaves his own fireside, he strives, by putting on grand ill and feeble, had tottered to the door, where, seeing airs, and otherwise, to pass for what he is not. He death around him on all sides, he stood transfixed like alters the tone of his voice, throws additional dignity a statue. His daughter now approached, and now re-into his aspect and gait, and, if he expects to be overtreated from him, looking wildly towards a small group on the opposite bank. What she said could not be heard, as her voice was drowned in the thunder of the torrent. But our brother formed his resolution. A pine tree, lopped and barked, lay near him on the ground; he entreated the bystanders to lend their assistance in throwing it across the chasm. When they had done so-rounded, slippery as it was-he made his way over it, while the water, rising every instant, threatened to carry it away. He approached the father and daughter. What words he used were never known; but he seemed to be persuading the young woman to allow him to save her life. She, however, pointed to her father, and shrunk from the deliverance she was not to share with him.

"A young man, emboldened by the example of the Jesuit, now passed over the pine, for the purpose of aiding in the pious work of preserving the father and his loving child. All saw there was no time to be lost. The rain descended in floods, the furious stream increased momentarily, the pine began to be touched and shaken by the waves; and the villagers, who looked on in comparative safety, soon felt how little hope there was of deliverance for their neighbours. They lifted up their hands to heaven-they prayed for them; out the storm seemed to beat down their words, while their hopes were swallowed up in the dark wrath of the elements. The little group now approached the pinethe father and his supporter advancing first, and our brother and his beautiful companion following. Most true it is that the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' The man of years and feebleness, against all hope and expectation, reached the shore in safety. But at the very moment his foot touched the land, a stream of whirling eddies struck the pine, swept it forward, and plunged the Jesuit and the girl into the boiling flood. Danger produces, sometimes, a strange effect upon the mind. Instead of quitting his hold, and striving to make for the bank, our brother clasped his companion in his arms; and they sunk together. Some days afterwards, their bodies were found far down in the channel of the Rhone, fast locked together in the embrace of death. We buried them in the same grave; and the good old man, her father, still lives to visit the spot where the once warm heart of his child lies cold. It will not be long before he joins her in the grave, because he is old and feeble, and has nothing in this world to support him. But he is a pious Christian, and hopes to be greeted in heaven by

heard, discourses on topics calculated to display his consequence. Most travellers do this, rendering themselves thereby extremely disagreeable. For myself, at least, I hate people of consequence, and prefer conversing with the ragtag-and-bobtail of society; persons altogether without pretensions, without titles, and, often, also, it is to be presumed, without cash-these are your truly merry companions on a journey. The Roman poet says, "The poor man sings in the midst of thieves, because he has nothing to lose ;" and travellers who are very nearly in that predicament, usually take things easily, and rely confidently on Providence to provide them with breakfast, dinner, and a diligence. As I have said, I did not make up towards my countrymen, because they appeared to be of far too much consequence for me. It was years since I had been in England; and I, therefore, was not at all familiar with the current topics of the day. Our countrymen, of course, are all politicians. Not that, as a rule, they understand politics, but that it is the most exciting topic with which they are acquainted. They now talked of the principal notabilities of the day, whose names, though sufficiently respectable, need not be repeated here. Political reputations are easily built up, espe cially in England; where any man of family or fortune, with a slight dash of industry, and a very moderate amount of perseverance, may get credit for all manner of public virtues. He has but to select a hobby-horse for himself, and to ride it with moderate steadiness, to be set down for a great patriot, and be looked upon as an adorable creature among the ladies of his party, Time, of course, squares his account with fame—that is, dissipates his pretensions into thin air, and leaves him overwhelmed amid the formless ruins of oblivion. But he is not the less a notability while he lives, and vanity always whispers in his ear that he will form an exception to the general rule, and be remembered for ever.

I found myself at supper, purely by accident, beside Madame Carli, whom I had treated during the day with something like neglect; my attention having been absorbed almost entirely by the disciple of Ignatius Loyola. She was now resolved that I should do penance for my sins, and for some time would only converse with me in the most distant and formal manner. I am not the least in the world a materialist; but have still found by experience, that a good supper and sparkling wines produce a wonderful harmony in our microcosm, and incline us to gossip and philanthropy. What the dishes