"Has any thing happened to annoy you?" said I hurriedly. “Why are you going?"

"I can bear it no longer!" cried she, as she drew her veil down, and hastened forward, and, without speaking another word, continued her way towards the hotel. On reaching her apartments, she burst into a torrent of tears, and sobbed most violently.

"What is it ?" said I, maddened by the sight of such sorrow. "For heaven's sake tell me. Has any one dared

"No, no," replied she, wiping the tears away with her handkerchief; "nothing of the kind. It is the state of doubt-of trying, harassing uncertainty I am reduced to here, is breaking my heart. Don't you see that, whenever I appear in public, by the air of insufferable impudence of the men, and the still more insulting looks of the women, how they dare to think of me. I have borne it as well as I was able hitherto; I can do so no longer."

"What!" cried I, impetuously, "and shall one dare to

"The world will always dare what may be dared in safety," interrupted she, laying her hand on my arm. They know that you could not make a quarrel on my account, without compromising my honour; and such an occasion to trample on a poor weak woman could not be lost. Well, well; Gustav may write to-morrow or next day. A little more patience; and it's the only cure for these evils."

There was a tone of angelic sweetness in her voice as she spoke these words of resignation, and never did she seem more lovely in my eyes. "Now then, as I shall not go to the opera, what shall we do to pass the time. You are tired-I know you are-of Polish melodies and German ballads. Well, well; then I am. Do you know that we Poles are as great gamblers as yourselves? What say you to a game at picquet?"

"By all means," said I, delighted at the prospect of any thing to while away the hours of her sorrowing.

"Then you must teach me," rejoined she, laughing, "for I don't know it. I'm wretchedly stupid about all these things, and never could learn any game but ecarté.

"Then ecarté be it," said I: and in a few minutes more I had arranged the little table, and down we sat to our party.

"There," said she, laughing and throwing her purse on the table. “I can only afford to lose so much; but you may win all that, if you're fortunate." A rouleau of louis escaped at the instant, and fell about the table.

"Agreed," said I, indulging the quiz. "I am an inveterate gambler, and play always high. What shall be our stakes?"

"Fifty, I suppose," said she, still laughing: "we can increase our bets afterwards."

After some little badinage, we each placed a double louis-d'or on the board, and began. For a while the game employed our attention; but gradually we fell into conversation, the cards dropped listlessly from our hands, the tricks remained unclaimed, and we could never decide whose turn it was to deal.

"This wearies you, I see," said she: "perhaps you'd like to stop?"

"By no means," said I. "I like the game, of all things." This I said rather because I was a considerable winner at the time, than from any other motive and so we played on till eleven o'clock, at which hour I usually took my leave; and by this time my gains had increased to some seventy louis.

"Is it not fortunate," said she, laughing, "that eleven has struck? You'd certainly have won all my gold; and now you must leave off in the midst of your good fortune: and so, bon soir, et a revanche.”

Each evening now saw our little party at ecarté usurp the place of the drive and the opera; and though our successes ran occasionally high at either side, yet, on the whole, neither was a winner, and we jested about the impartiality with which fortune treated us both.

At last, one evening eleven struck when I was a greater winner than ever, and I thought I saw a little pique in her manner at the enormous run of luck I had experienced throughout.

"Come," said she, laughing, "you have really wounded a national feeling in a Polish heart-you have asserted a superiority at a game of skill. I must beat you:" and with that she placed five louis on the table. She lost. Again the same stake followed, and again the same fortune, notwithstanding that I did all in my power to avoid winning-of course without exciting her suspicions.

"And so," said she, as she dealt the cards, "Ireland is really so picturesque as you say?"

"Beautifully so,” replied I, as warmed up by a favourite topic, I launched forth into a description of the mountain scenery of the south and west; the rich emerald green of the valleys, the wild fantastic character of the mountains, the changeful skies, were all brought up to make a picture for her admiration; and she did indeed seem to enjoy it with the highest zest, only interrupting me in my harangue by the words, "Je marque le Roi," to which circumstance she directed my attention by a sweet smile, and a gesture of her taper finger. And thus hour followed hour; and already the grey dawn was breaking, while I was just beginning an eloquent description of "The Killeries," and the countess suddenly looking at her watch, cried out

"How very dreadful! only think of three o'clock!"

True enough; it was that hour: and I started up to say "Good-night," shocked at myself for so far transgressing, and yet secretly flattered that my conversational powers had made time slip by uncounted.

"And the Irish are really so clever, so gifted as you say?" said she, as she held out her hand to wish me good-night.

"The most astonishing quickness is theirs," replied I, half reluctant to depart: "nothing can equal their intelligence and shrewdness."

"How charming! Bon soir," said she, and I closed the door. What dreams were mine that night! What delightful visions of lake scenery, and Polish countesses, and mountain gorges, and blue eyes,—of deep ravines, and lovely forms! I thought we were sailing up Lough Corrib; the moon was up, spangling and flecking the rippling lake; the night was still and calm, not a sound save the cuckoo was heard breaking the silence; as I listened I started, for I thought, instead of her wonted note, her cry was ever, "Je marque le Roi !"

Morning came at last; but I could not awake, and endeavoured to sink back into the pleasant realm of dreams, from which daylight disturbed me. It was noon when at length I succeeded in awaking perfectly.

"A note for monsieur," said a waiter, as he stood beside the bed. I took it eagerly. It was from the countess: its contents were these :

“My Dear Sir-A hasty summons from Count Czaroviski has compelled me to leave Brussels without wishing you good-by, and thanking you for all your polite attentions. Pray accept these hurried acknowledgments, and my regret that circumstances do not enable me to visit

Ireland, in which, from your description, I must ever feel the deepest interest.

"The count sends his most affectionate grectings.

"Yours ever sincerely,

"DUISCHKA CZAROVISKI née GUTZLAFF."

"And is she gone ?" said I, starting up in a state of frenzy. "Yes, sir, she started at four o'clock."

By what road?" cried I, determined to follow her on the instant. "Louvain was the first stage."

In an instant I was up, and dressed; in ten minutes more I was rattling over the pavé to my banker's.

"I want three hundred Napoleons-at once," said I to the clerk. "Examine Mr. O'Leary's account," was the dry reply of the functionary.

"Over-drawn by fifteen hundred francs," said the other.

"Over-drawn? impossible!" cried I, thunderstruck. “I had a credit of six hundred pounds."

"Which you drew out by cheque this morning," said the clerk. "Is not that your hand-writing?"

"It is," said I, faintly, as I recognised my own scrawl, dated the evening before.

I had lost above seven hundred, and had not a sous left to pay posthorses.

I sauntered back sadly to "The France," a sadder man than ever in my life before: a thousand tormenting thoughts were in my brain; and a feeling of contempt for myself, somehow, occupied a very prominent place. Well, well; it's all past and gone now, and I must not awaken buried griefs.

I never saw the count and countess again; and though I have since that been in St. Petersburg, the grand duke seems to have forgotten my services, and a very pompous-looking porter in a bear-skin did not look exactly the kind of person to whom I should wish to communicate my impression "about Count Potoski's house being my own."

A FEW TRANSLATIONS B WILLIAM DOWE.

A DREAM.

FROM THE GREEK OF BION.

The tall and lovely Cypris as I slept

Drew near my couch; in her white hand she led
Her beauteous boy, whose bashful eyes were kept
Still on the ground, and thus the goddess said :
To thee, oh, well-beloved swain, I bring
My infant Eros; teach him how to sing!

She spoke and vanished. I, alas! began
To teach the urchin apt our rustic lays-
How Hermes gave the lute in mythic days;
Athena the soft lute, and forest Pan

The unequal reeds; and how the shepherds praise

Apollo for the harp; that done, the child

Tossed his superior head in scorn, and smiled.

And lo! the little egotist broke forth

And sang to me of love; and deftly taught Of mortal loves, and those of upper birth, And of his mother's acts in heaven and earth. In sooth, what wonder that I soon forgot All I had told him, while the strain he sung Still vibrates on my heart and on my tongue!

ODE TO BACCHUS.

HORACE.

I saw believe it all!-I saw, one day,
Bacchus repeating, among crags far distant,
Verses, and crowding nymphs that learned the lay,
While goat-footed satyrs, quick-eared, listened!

Huzza, huzza!-my mind is trembling yet

With recent dread; and all my soul, replete
With the inspiring god,

Tumultuous feels a thousand ecstacies.'
Huzza!-yet spare me-let me be at ease,
Thou, dreaded for thy ivy-wreathed rod!
'Tis given to me to sing

The wanton Bacchanalian priestesses,
And the wine-fountain spring,
And milky-flowing rills,

And evermore the honey that distils
From hollow trunks of trees.

Mine to the added blazon and the pride
Of all the heavens in her, thy starry bride;
And Pentheus' palace ruined, and the fall

Of the stern Thracian king, Lycurgus old.

'Tis thine to hold

Dominion of all rivers, and of all

The broad Barbaric Sea; thou, moist with wine,
On thy exclusive mountains, 'mid the hair
Of Thracian maidens, harmless dost entwine
The knotted vipers; thou, when through the air
The cohort of the giants rushed to scale
The kingdom of thy father, didst assail,
And drive with lion teeth and talons out
Rhocus 'thwart the sky with fearful rout.
Though deemed more suited to the dances light,
And jocund sport and play,

And insufficient for the mortal fight

Yet then thou didst display

A common soul for either game; and thus,
Wagging his gentle tail, old Cerberus
All innocently gazed on thy return,
And with his triple tongue did greet
Thy legs and feet-

Advancing glorious with thy golden horn!

THE GARDENS OF ARMIDIA.

FROM THE GERUSALEMME OF TASSO.

These passed; they see the garden beautiful,

With verdant glades and crystal ponds and founts, And silvery, sighing waterfalls that lull

The listening ear; rare trees, and flowers, and plants, And leafy branching bowers, and grottos cool,

And valleys in the shade, and sunny mounts-
All the more wonderful, that none may guess
The power which framed such passing loveliness.

So was the cultured with the savage blent,
So rare the unison of every part,
That nature seemed, in site and ornament,

To imitate her imitator, art.

The mild pure air and cloudless skies gave scent
And beauty to the flowers; no storms might hurt
The unshaken trees, which bore exhaustless there
Perennial blooms and fruits for ever fair.

When the fruit fell another quickly sprung,
Hid by the self-same leaf; beside the old
Grew the young fig; the mellow apple hung,
With its smooth rind alternate green and gold;
The teeming vine her fertile tendrils flung

Beneath the weight they scarcely might uphold;
The grapes were here unripe, and there they grew,
Swelling implete with bacchanalian dew.

The merry birds beneath the greenwood shade

Sung loving songs; the boughs and leaves were stirred By the soft wind that gently blew, and played

Upon the waters with a sweet accord;

And when the songsters paused, loud answer made,
Sinking anon when these again were heard:

Thus, were it chance or art, the very breeze

Joined in these strange and varied harmonies.