more I have become convinced that man is not a rational animal. He is only truly good or great when he acts from passion."

"Passion is the ship, and reason is the rudder," observed Schulembourg.

"And thus we pass the ocean of life," said Walstein. "Would that I could discover a new continent of sensation!"

"Do you mix much in society?" said the physician. "By fits and starts," said Walstein. "A great deal when I first returned: of late little."

"And your distemper has increased in proportion with your solitude?"

"It would superficially appear so," observed Walstein ; "but I consider my present distemper as not so much the result of solitude, as the reaction of much converse with society. I am gloomy at present, from a sense of disappointment of the past."

"You are disappointed," observed Schulembourg. "What then did you expect? "that is the very

"I do not know," replied Walstein; thing I wish to discover."

"How do you in general pass your time," inquired the physician.

"When I reply in doing nothing, my dear Doctor," said Walstein, "you will think that you have discovered the cause of my disorder. But perhaps you will only mistake an effect for a cause."

"Do you read?"

"I have lost the faculty of reading: early in life I was a student, but books become insipid when one is rich with the wisdom of a wandering life."

"Do you write?"

"I have tried, but mediocrity disgusts me. In literature a second-rate reputation is no recompence for the evils that authors are heirs to."

"Yet without making your compositions public, you might relieve your own feelings in expressing them. There is a charm in creation."

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My sympathies are strong," replied Walstein." "In an evil hour, I might descend from my pedestal, I should compromise my dignity with the herd, I should sink before the first shaft of ridicule."

“You did not suffer from this melancholy when travelling?

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'Occasionally but the fits were never so profound, and were very evanescent."

"Travel is action," replied Schulembourg. "Believe me, that in action you can alone find a cure."

"What is action?" inquired Walstein. "Travel I have exhausted. The world is quiet. There are no wars now, no revolutions. Where can I find a career?"

"Action," replied Schulembourg, "is the exercise of our faculties. Do not mistake restlessness for action. Murillo, who passed a long life almost within the walls of his native city, was a man of great action. Witnesss the convents and the churches that are covered with his exploits. A great student is a great actor, and as great as a marshal or a statesman. You must act, Mr. Walstein, you must act, you must have an object in life; great or slight; still you must have an object. Believe me it is better to be a mere man of pleasure, than a dreamer."

"Your advice is profound," replied Walstein," and you have struck upon a sympathetic chord. But what am I to do? I have no object."

"You are a very ambitious man," replied the physician.

"How know you that?" said Walstein, somewhat hastily and slightly blushing.

"We doctors know many strange things," replied Schulembourg with a smile. "Come now, would like to be prime minister of Saxony?"

you

"Prime minister of Oberon!" said Walstein, laughing; 'tis indeed a great destiny."

"Ah! when you have lived longer among us, your views will accommodate themselves to our limited horizon. In the mean time I will write you a prescription, provided you promise to comply with my directions." "Do not doubt me, my dear Doctor."

Walstein

Schulembourg seated himself at the table, and wrote a few lines which he handed to his patient. smiled as he read the prescription.

"Dr. de Schulembourg requests the honour of the Baron de Walstein's company at dinner, to-morrow at two o'clock."

Walstein smiled and looked a little perplexed, but he remembered his promise. "I shall with pleasure become your guest, Doctor."

CHAPTER II.

CONTAINING SOME FURTHER CONVERSATION.

WALSTEIN did not forget his engagement with his friendly physician. The house of Schulembourg was the most beautifui mansion in Dresden. It was situated in a delicious garden in the midst of the park, and had been presented to him by a grateful sovereign. It was a

Palladian villa, which recalled the Brenta to the recollection of Walstein, flights of marble steps, airy colonnades, pediments of harmonious proportion, and all painted with classic frescoes. Orange trees clustered in groups upon the terrace, perfumed the summer air, rising out of magnificent vases sculptured in high relief, and amid the trees, confined by silver chains, were rare birds of radiant plumage, rare birds with prismatic eyes and bold ebon beaks, breasts flooded with crimson, and long tails of violet and green. The declining sun shone brightly in the light blue sky, and threw its lustre upon the fanciful abode, above which, slight and serene, floated the airy crescent of the young white moon.

"My friend too, I perceive, is a votary of the Ideal,” exclaimed Walstein.

The carriage stopped, Walstein mounted the marble steps, and was ushered through a hall, wherein was the statue of a single nymph, into an octagonal apartment. Schulembourg himself had not arrived. Two men moved away as he was announced, from a lady whom they surrounded. The lady was Madame de Schulembourg, and she came forward with infinite grace to apologise for the absence of her husband and to welcome her guest.

remarkable. She was

Her appearance was very young and strangely beautiful. Walstein thought that he never beheld such lustrous locks of ebon hair shading a countenance of such dazzling purity. Her large and deep blue eyes gleamed through their long black lashes. The expression of her face was singularly joyous. Two wild dimples played like meteors on her soft round cheeks. A pink veil worn over her head was carelessly tied under her chin, and fastened with a white rose of pearls. Her vest and train of white satin did not conceal her sylph

like form and delicate feet. She held forth a little white hand to Walstein adorned only by a single enormous ruby, and welcomed him with inspiring ease.

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"I do not know whether you are acquainted with your companions, Mr. Walstein," said Madame de Schulembourg. Walstein looked around and recognised the English minister, and had the pleasure of being introduced, for the first time, to a celebrated sculptor.

"I have heard of your name, not only in Germany," said Walstein, addressing the latter gentleman, "you have left your fame behind you at Rome. If the Italians are excusably envious, their envy is at least accompanied with admiration." The gratified sculptor bowed and slightly blushed. Walstein loved art and artists. He was not one of those frigid petty souls who are ashamed of evincing feeling in society. He felt keenly and expressed himself without reserve. But nature had invested him with a true nobility of manner as well as of mind. He was ever graceful, even when enthusiastic.

"It is difficult to remember we are in the North," said Walstein to Madame de Schulembourg, "amid these colonnades and orange trees."

"It is thus that I console myself for beautiful Italy," replied the lady, "and, indeed, to-day the sun favours the design."

"You have resided long in Italy?" inquired Walstein. "I was born at Milan," replied Madame de Schulembourg, "my father commanded a Hungarian regiment in garrison."

"I thought that I did not recognise an Italian physiognomy," said Walstein, looking somewhat earnestly at the lady.