"You won't allow these mishaps to drive you away immediately?" he continued, with much earnest

ness.

"Ah! I don't know; papa must be comfortable, and

"And will be so, my dear," interposed her father; "and is certainly not going to be hunted out of the place by a pack of innkeepers. No, no.'

"Bravo!" murmured Tom.

"I'm situated in this way," continued Lord Germistoune-" Gull has ordered me to the Engadine. Why Gull has ordered me to the Engadine, I daresay Gull doesn't know himself - I don't; but doctors are tyrants, and these are my tyrant's orders. Now, it seems one can't go up there for a month to come, on account of the hard weather in the mountains, and I had decided to spend that month here and here I will spend it; and I'll tell you what it is, since there is no hotel fit for a gentleman to live in, I'll take a villa. That will be a lesson for them. Yes, I'll take a nice little villa to-morrow morning, eh? hum? what?"

"I fear," said Tom, "it may be rather difficult to find one for so short a time, and at such short notice."

"Excuse me, I think not. There may, perhaps, be difficulties; but they shall be overcome. I'll take a nice little villa to-morrow morning. What?"

Papa is a most determined character, you must know; he would rather buy a villa or build one than be beaten."

"I generally contrive to have my own way, Esmè, as you know."

"Oh yes, dear papa, I do know; only too well sometimes," she added, with a laugh. "You are a most formidable person when

VOL. CXXII.-NO. DCCXLI.

thwarted; but on this occasion I applaud your firmness- a little selfishly, perhaps for I am so glad we are to stay on in this lovely place."

"It will be an example to them," chuckled Lord Germistoune; "I'll take a nice little villa in the morning." He gloated over the idea which had only occurred to him in the course of the conversation, and which seemed to offer a pleasant salve of vengeance for his outraged dignity.

"You must immortalise the lake with your pencil," said Tom to the lady. "Oh no; but papa may. Indeed he has a large portfolio of sketches done here years ago. They first made me wish to come here."

Then Tom fell to cunning questioning as to the views selected, expressing a burning curiosity to know how this and that subject had been treated, the conditions of light at the time, and so forth, invariably pronouncing the old gentleman's artistic selection to have been precisely what it ought to have been, and generally surrounding him with such a comfortable atmosphere of appreciation and applause, that, when the boat reached the shore, he was in high good - humour. "Most agreeable, gentlemanlike fellow," he mured to his daughter; "must make his acquaintance formally." Then turning to the two friends, he thanked them very courteously for the service they had rendered, and even went so far as to hint at a vague regret for having been betrayed into impatient language at the moment of rescue. "Let me offer you my card," he said, in conclusion; "I am Lord Germistoune." The friends having duly handed over theirs in return, were presented, with considerable pomp and ceremony, to "My daughter,

B

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Miss Douglas. It then occurred. to Lord Germistoune that Mr Wyedale's name was familiar to him. "It reminds me," he said, "of one of my oldest and dearest friends. We sat in the House of Commons together for years, when he was member for -shire. Was he a relation of yours?"

"He was my uncle," said Tom. "Indeed! Then I am doubly pleased to make your acquaintance. Poor Tom Wyedale! what a witty dog he was, to be sure! Quite one of the best of us. And ah! what a Tory! He would have had Peel hanged for his Corn-law treachery, if he could. Ah! a fine fellow, Tom. He left no children, I think?"

"No, his only son died."
"And Lady Mary?"

"She is very well, thank you." "And the Abbey ?-Wyedale Abbey-that went to-to-not to you?"

"Ha, ha! Well, we can't all hope to be eldest sons. What?" "No; my aspirations would have been much more easily satisfied."

"That reminds me of poor Tom. Well, shall we say 'Good-night,' or will you come up to our quarters and have a cup of tea, and take a look at these sketches we've been talking about?"

Tom gladly assented, and the old lord led the way to his apartment, explaining that the rooms (which were really the best in the house and entirely charming) were detestable; but that, after to-morrow, he hoped to receive his friends more becomingly. "For"-and here he repeated the formula about the nice little villa, which seemed to have captivated him like the refrain of a pleasant song.

Tom's conduct in the boat was, of course, merely meant to amuse his friend, as the dramatic sequel of their previous conversation, by a representation, as has been said, of the crafty approaches of a politie lover. As far as his friend was concerned, however, the humour of the caprice had missed fire.

Cosmo was anything but pleased with it. Punetiliously polite to strangers himself, his temper had been somewhat ruffled by the brusqueness of Lord Germistoune's first greeting; it had been progressively disturbed by Tom's persistent method of dragging him forward in a false light, and by the distinct manner in which Lord Germistoune seemed to ignore his existence. Moreover, this poking of fun at total strangers (one of whom was a lady), all un

witting though they were, appeared to him improper and impertinent; and the poking of fun at himself, except in private, was by no means to his taste. From all this it resulted that Cosmo had fallen into a very considerable state of dignity, and would have excused himself stiffly from accepting the invitation to the Germistoune apartment. Miss Douglas, however, divining, with feminine tact, that something was amiss, and attributing it to its true cause, or partly so, seconded the invitation with a simple heartiness that made refusal impossible, and Cosmo followed her.

And now came Tom's retribution. The portfolio of sketches was his Nemesis-a huge portfolio filled to overflowing with indifferent performances, through which he

had to wade at solemn pace and slow. For the artist stood by him, and saw that there was no evasion -haranguing upon each "bit," bewildering his victim with strange art-jargon, and keeping him alert by sudden appeals and subtle pauses for notes of admiration. There was no escape for poor Tom, who knew as much about watercolours as a Choctaw Indian, and was wont to confess that he liked to take the beauties of nature "with an object," and with special reference to Epsom, Ascot, and Goodwood. But, with a desperate resignation, he went manfully through to the end of a long hour and a half. Anathemas rose in his heart, mingled with poignant yearnings for tobacco and cool tankards: but he suppressed them all, and sat yawnless and smiling, and the winner of golden opinions from his host-richly deserved, indeed; for he who can drink to the dregs that "drowsiest syrup of the world"— the prosings of an egotistical dilettante-and, drinking, seem to like it, has fortitude enough to win a martyr's crown. Meantime, and thus, it so fell out that Cosmo was exemplifying the vanity of human wishes. Scarcely two hours before, he had expressed a resolution to avoid contact with Miss Douglas, and now he was involuntarily engaged with her in a tête-à-tête of formidable length. The situation might have been decidedly romantic -ought, indeed, so to have been. The coincidence of the picture's resemblance-there was a romantic element; and, coupled with it, the virtual saving of the young lady's life-there was another. Then, her extreme beauty would have shed a halo over circumstances infinitely more prosaic; and what stage, what mise-en-scène, could surpass the Lake of Como, with all its accessories of night, summer, and the

moon? But, alas! "the romantic" visits us only as the angels of the proverb do. Too seldom does it drop on our daily lives; and though, like some gossamery woof of magic tints, it then draws over every rugged angle the "softening folds of a gracious drapery," it remains but for an instant, and vanishes so abruptly that we scarcely wot of the beauty that has been on us and about us, till the glory has departed. It is dissipated by a breath, and by none more surely than the whisper of an incongruous association; and, by some psychological law, those who are most susceptible of a romantic impression have also usually the keenest perceptions of the incongruous. Thus, Tom Wyedale's rollicking conversation in the boat, and his Philistine tone about the young lady herself, had brushed away, for his friend, all romance from the events of the evening. To Cosmo the little drama presented itself in no ethereal aspect. The whole thing had simply irritated him. Sensitive by nature, and somewhat shy, his manner to strangers was marked at best by a certain reserve and stateliness that were scarcely prepossessing; and at present he was angry with Tom, offended with Lord Germistoune, vexed with himself, and almost displeased with Miss Douglas herself

though why, it would have been difficult to say, except, indeed, for bringing him, against his will, into that contact with herself which, perhaps in scant earnest, he had announced his intention of avoiding. This complication was certainly not likely to subdue his natural characteristics; so that Miss Douglas might have been pardoned if, at first, she had rather repented the warmth of her invitation, and felt that the task of entertaining the guest who fell to her charge was more formidable than pleasant. At first it cer

this! What possibilities of earnest. question and response! Were you there? Were you? Had you the entrée to the privileged places? Did you see him? Is it true that he was sulky and rude? Can it be conceivable that his teeth chattered? Then the Duchess of in giving a fancy ball, supplies another fertile theme. It was beautiful, but she gave it too late or too early. It clashed with the festa of some other potentate. Such a pity! And was royalty really offended or not? If so, why?-if not, why not? Then the Prince's garden-party,-if you were at it, it is well; if not, still it is well, for much time can be consumed in giving every reason but the true one for your absence. The Academy has a sensation picture, painted by a girl blind from her birth. Here art-talk à discretion. She is equal to Salvator Rosa, or Horace Vernet, or Paul Potter, or any other painter-no matter whom-to whom the vox populi has taught you to liken her. There is a new reading of Hamlet by a Hindoo, which (in Hindustani) edifies society. Such a mellifluous language Hindustani! So perfect a vehicle for Shakespearian thought! Some curled darling of society cheats at cards or helps himself to his neighbour's wife. Here is breathless interest! Why did he

tainly appeared to be so, for Cosmo seemed to be bereft of all power of conversational initiative, and even in response he was sluggish and frozen. Miss Douglas, as the daughter of Lord Germistoune, a wealthy and well-known peer, was presumably of the London world; Cosmo himself was more or less of the same world, — and that two such people should be together in a tête-à-tête, and be in want of topics of conversation, even for a minute, might well seem an unaccountable phenomenon. The mere routine work of each season produces, for a certain class of society, topics enough to supply with the materials of many hours' dialogue, the most brainless he or she who drifts through the regulation amount of duty or pleasure prescribed by the rubric of fashion. The veriest parrot, from the blessed iteration of the same phrases (if not ideas), heard hourly for three or four solid months, can scarcely fail to have glibly on the tip of his tongue sufficient smallchange of talk to pay his way without difficulty among the initiated. And then there are always one or two great salient events in the history of each season, which, independent of the smaller gossip, fend off from the talker the necessity of plunging, without a cork-jacket, into the hopeless waters of originality. Let us cast back an eye over the last few seasons; at once it is struck by a dozen things of the sort. For instance, a royal savage-the blacker the better-visits the country, and reduces the nation to a state of infantile imbecility. his honour there are court entertainments, where he is puzzled; and municipal banquets, where his inner man is compromised; a review at Windsor, where he is again puzzled; an exhibition of ironclads, where he is frightened and again sick. What a fund of topics in all

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do it? When? How? Where? What does Sir John say to it? Will the countess ever get over the shock? Moral-how can people do such things? Some one else who ought to have known better commits some other faux pas, scarcely discussible, but which can be sniffed round with titillating innuendoes and low confidential murmurings. Burnand has a new farce, the scream of which has been loud enough to cross the Channel and be echoed in Paris. Doubtless you have heard it in both

languages? Offenbach outdoes himself in a new opera-bouffe-'Suzanne et les Vieillards.' A little shocking, is it not? but then so bright and clever! That atones for most things. And then comes the "music of the future," and sets the whole queer jumble to appropriate strains. You heard 'Lohengrin'? You did? It was a perfect enigma to you or entirely comprehensible. You sat through the whole of that first suffocating night? to the end? and wished for more? No wonder! Or wished yourself dead? How natural!

People who have these and a hundred kindred and equally welcome topics freely at command, ought not to be in much danger of having to hazard an original thought, or of having to pause in an unbroken stream of well-worn but still serviceable platitudes. And then there is in reserve the gossip of "Prince's," "Hurlingham," and Cowes; the ordinary on dits about ordinary marriages, scandals, scrapes, flirtations, and what not. So that, altogether, there is surely more than enough, when the season is over, to carry one on from August till April-provided, of course, there is an occasional change in the scene of one's platitudinising. Cosmo, however, availed himself of none of these resources. He had entered the room, as we have seen, with ruffled plumage; but surely his good-breeding could not possibly permit him to sulk in a tête-à-tête with a lady who was doing her best to entertain him? No. Well, he was not sulky, but he was sombre; and that, with his natural shyness, had dammed up his ideas. Then, every moment he was with Miss Douglas deepened his impression of her wonderful resemblance to the Sasso-Ferrato Madonna, preoccupying him at first, and then making him feel-fancifully enough, to be

sure-that ordinary topics of conversation were unsuitable in the

presence of one about whom clung so many suggestions far removed from the banalité of common life. Miss Douglas, on her side, bravely struggled with difficulties; but neither did she avail herself of the dreary reserve of London small-talk. She had in truth been but one season -that of her début-two years before, in town; so that her resources in that respect could neither have been many nor recent. Had it been otherwise, perhaps Cosmo's tongue would have been earlier untied, because Sasso Ferrato's Madonna would have ceased to embarrass him.

She and her father had been great travellers; for the old lord-being half invalid, half valetudinarian— required perpetual change of scene, and frequent visits to those numerous health-resorts, scattered all over that large portion of Europe which is now included in the map of the invalid. In this way, there were few places in Europe of great interest which she had not visited; and a splendid collection of photographs which lay on the table, contained souvenirs of everything beautiful and noteworthy which she had herself seen. Upon this book, as an aid in her difficulty, she fell back; and, since Cosmo had also travelled much, she was able for a time, without seeming to lecture, to carry on a tolerably one-sided conversation.

Her manner was singularly unaffected and simple; and a certain freshness of appreciation made her remarks, on what she had really liked and admired, original and striking. By degrees Cosmo was thoroughly thawed; and catching the infection of an enthusiasm which was by no means foreign to his own nature, he began to exchange experiences and sentiments with her, with an earn