GRASS. The trees are a glory and joy to the sod, With their rustle of leaves and their boughs, As they rise in glad clusters from out of the vale, In their glorious midsummer pride; But the trees are too proud and majestic for me, As its joys in the glad summer air; It fringes the stream, and cushions the flower, And flies that have wetted their wings in the shower, And in hedge-guarded field, or furze-covered heath, The bee who's been tuning his bugle in fun, When the grave hath received its poor dweller at last, And that perfume bequeathed to the light of the sun, What a desert-like place would this earth of ours be, What a desert-like spot would this life of ours be, DIFFERENCES. WHEN misunderstandings and constrained intercourse arise between friends and the members of a family, they seldom pass away without a crisis and an explanation; but these are dangerous periods of revolution, and for once that the thorn is extracted, it is three times driven in deeper. Why, then, is it so difficult thoroughly to forgive, thoroughly to forget? We cherish the memory of the wrong which we have suffered; we brood over it, we demand satisfaction, we desire to be revenged, and thus we warm serpents' eggs in our bosoms. "Blessed are the peaceful." Blessed the good who forget and forgive, without thinking at the same time "I forgive." DIAMOND DUST. HUMILITY is the best evidence of real religion, as arrogance, self-conceit, and pretension, are the infallible criteria of a pharisaical devotion. JUST praise is only a debt, but flattery is a present. THERE is an alchemy in a high heart, which transmutes other things to its own quality. PRAISE is seldom paid with willingness even to incontestable merit, and it can be no wonder, that he who calls for it without desert is repulsed with universal indignation. Ivy a vegetable corruptionist which, for the purpose of its own support, attaches itself, with the greatest tenacity, to that which is the most antiquated and untenable, and the fullest of holes, flaws, and imperfections. APPLAUSE is the spur of noble minds, the end and aim of weak ones. THE vain is the most humble of mortals-the victim of a pimple. CHARITY-the only thing that we can give away without losing it. EVERY desire, however innocent, grows dangerous, as, by long indulgence, it becomes ascendant in the mind. HAVE nothing to do with those good-natured friends who make a practice of letting you know all the evil which they may hear spoken about you. Those people take especial care to let you hear nothing of the good, if there is any going. WHEN the character of any one is discussed, silence in the good-natured is censure. IDOL what many worship in their own shape, who would be ashamed to do so in any other. NOTHING is more unjust than to judge of a man on too short an acquaintance, and too slight an inspection; for it often happens, that in the loose, and thoughtless, and dissipated, there is a secret radical worth, which may shoot out by proper cultivation; that the spark of heaven, though dimmed and obstructed, is yet not extinguished, but may, by the breath of counsel and exhortation, be kindled into flame. SOME men have so much of the serpent's subtlety, that they forget the dove's simplicity. HUNGER-that which gives the poor man his health and his appetite, and the want of which often afflicts the rich with satiety and disease. To scatter praise or blame without regard to justice, is to destroy the distinction of good and evil. CERTAIN faults are necessary to the existence of the individual. It would be unpleasant to us if old friends were to put off certain peculiarities. QUIETNESS and peace flourish where reason and justice govern; and true joy reigneth where modesty directeth. CIRCUMSTANCES may assist or retard parts, but cannot make them; they are the winds that now blow out a light, how animate a spark to conflagration. INTOLERANCE being irreligious for the sake of religion, and hating our fellow-creatures, out of a pretended love of their Creator. He keeps the greatest table who has the most valuable company at it. THE lessons of blunder, disappointment, and humiliation impress more than those of a thousand masters. PROPRIETY, modesty, and delicacy guard men from the conceits of the weak, the intemperance of the extravagant, and the brutality of the vulgar. Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by Joux OWEN CLARKE, (of No-B Canonbury Villas, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the Count of Middlesex) at bis Printing Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London, Saturday, October 5, 1860. THOMAS CARLYLE. No one will deny the mighty influence which Carlyle has exercised upon all the thoughtful men of England during the last fifteen years. The young and rising minds, in all prófessions, but especially in that of literature, have caught from him a contagious influence, which has coursed through their veins like fire. He has uttered, with the voice of an old Hebrew prophet, the feeling of disquiet and unrest which pervades society; and his "Woe! Woe!" and "Mene, Tekel, Upharsin!" have startled many in the midst of their pleasant dreams of peace and progress. He is the Jeremiah of modern days, full of wailing at the backslidings of our race. He recognises no soundness in us, from the crown of the head to the sole of the feet. All is foul and unclean. We are but the creatures of shams, creeds, and formulas, without any real or God-like life in us, worshippers of Clothes, Steam Machinery, Sordid Materialism, and Hudson Statues! But there is more than this in Carlyle's utterances, and we should be doing him a deep injustice were we to say that this is all that he means. He devoutly reverences the great mysteries of the universe, Being, and the source of Being, the spirit and essence of Religion (for of creed, we believe he has none), and the Divine in man's soul; he preaches, though oft-times in mystic and unintelligible forms, the nobility of work, and the duties of being and doing, even though we pursue them with bleeding feet, through midst of grief, evil, errors, and scrrows of all kinds. This gospel he proclaims in a wild, poetic, and oft-times almost fanatic manner, with violent indignation; alternated with moanings and sobbings up-welling from the depths of a sorrowful heart. We must admit, however, that the revolutionary and destructive genius is stronger in Carlyle than the conservative and constructive. He is emphatically a puller-down, not a builder-up. He never wields his giant's club with greater delight than when he is assailing some cherished idol of society; his humour is then almost savage, and his sneers sarcastic, bitter, and full of gall! In him, we are reminded of the fury of the Iconoclasts of the Low Countries, and the Anabaptists of Munster, and of the blind rage of the followers of John Knox, at the " dingin' down o' the cathedrals." There is a puritanic fervour in his indignation, as he "hews the sons of Agag in pieces." He does not seem to love the good so much as he hates the evil. He tramples on over his foe as one possest, breathing fierce disdain and defiance. Kings and priests, self-chosen, he calls on to get out of the way; all professors of cant, of shams, of trickeries, quackeries, frauds of all kinds, no matter how high and snug they are seated, or whether robed in lawn, purple, or ermine, he will have none of; nay, he would even do [PRICE 13d battle against humane and true workers, because they do Inot, like him, wield the club of steel and whip of fire. We have seen how he could fall foul of extension of suffrage, and the milder treatment of prisoners, in one of his fits of indiscriminate anger at the popular movements of the age. He has no sympathy for such notions of elevating men: he would urge-force-revenge: none but emphatic methods of dealing with the inferior mass will do; and, because milder methods of convincing, attracting, and sympathizing are advocated, he is down upon the "Humanity-mongers" with all his might. We think, therefore, that Carlyle must be regarded mainly in the light of a great Revolutionist. True, there is need of such as he. We have too many idols which need to be tumbled into the dust; and Carlyle is doing a great work if he succeeds in accomplishing this. We must wait for the Builder-up to make his appearance, when the idols have been prostrated and the ground cleared of ruins. Luther and Knox levelled the religious idols of Germany and Scotland; Voltaire and Rousseau levelled alike the political and religious idols of France; and Carlyle is now only completing what our Puritans of the seventeenth century began in England. We have had no sweeping reformation yet; and Carlyle works as if he thought we stood in need of it. He battles not with sword or gun, but with a more powerful weapon,-his pen. Thus does he move the minds which move others. Through them he flings down idols, and breaks in pieces the colossal impostures which tyrannize over men. Some claim for him a higher glory,-that of teaching reverence for the Infinite, love for the spiritual life, and a way of escape from the sordid materialism of the age. But, to our mind, his great power consists in the daring bravery with which he wages war-too indiscriminatingly, many think-against what is evil in our life and institutions. Carlyle is eminently unpractical. His religion consists in longings-his socialism in phrases without any planhis politics are altogether negative. He clearly enough sees what is wrong, but he fails to point out what is right, or that we ought to substitute for it. He is baffled when he sits down to propose remedies. He has none to offer, but goes on assailing, scourging, and pulling down. He scorns logic, and has no sympathy with your "practical men." He lives in another sphere; he is a seer,-a prophet,-a poet. It is true, he is no rhyming poet; indeed he has a thorough contempt for this art, including it among his "shams;" and yet his keen insight into deep thought, his flashing revelations of spiritual life, his feeling, sometimes his tenderness and love, often his gloomy spectral fervour, show that he possesses the true poetic genius, without which, perhaps, he could not be the great power that he is. His style is abrupt and rugged, but serious and energetic; his sentences are confused and involved, thought tumbled upon thought, so that you can read him but slowly; but when you have waded through, and apprehended his meaning, you are conscious of an action having been exercised upon your mind and heart, such as few writers besides him are able, in like manner, to excite. His historic pictures glow with life and action; and, in a few graphic sentences, he sets you at once in the midst of the fiery actions, and the demoniac strife of the French revolution. In the same way, his "Past and Present" furnishes you with a most vivid insight into the past monastic and social life of England. able to 66 This great genius, like most others, has sprung "from the ranks." He belongs to the common people, and, like Burns, his countryman, he comes from the better class of the Scottish peasantry. His father was a small farmer in the neighbourhood of Annan, in Dumfriesshire, and was a man highly respected in his class. It is a great and an honourable ambition, among even the poorest classes of Scotland, to confer a good "schooling" on their children; and many aspire to see one or other of them some day wag their pows in the poopit." Carlyle was, we believe, destined for the " Kirk," and after the usual burgh school education, was sent to the university of Edinburgh, where he spent several years in the usual course of classical instruction there. What he thinks of the Edinburgh routine of study, may be gathered from his "Sartor Resartus," in the chapter on Pedagogy. And here, by the way, we would remark, that that extraordinary book, though any one, on first reading it, would take it for a hodge-podge translation from some German book of the Richter school,-contains a great deal of Carlyle's own life, and describes, in the most vivid manner, the history of his own mind. No one who knows Annan, and its High School, can mistake the "Hinterschlag Gymnasium," and the Edinburgh University is also quite unmistakeable. Though the scholastic education imparted at Edinburgh is very inferior to that communicated on the noble foundations of England, there are opportunities enough to learn, for those who are resolute and determined in their search for knowledge. Carlyle was free both to think and to read, and he did both. The college referred to has no tests, and no residence is required; so that, with all its slovenliness, as regards discipline, there is at least the redeeming feature of the entire mental freedom which it leaves to the student. "From the chaos of that library (writes Carlyle as Teufelsdröckh) I succeeded in fishing up more books perhaps than had been known to the very keepers thereof. The foundation a literary life was hereby laid. I learned, on my own strength, to read fluently in almost all cultivated languages, on almost all subjects and sciences; farther, as man is ever the prime object to man, already it was my favourite employment to read character in speculation, and from the Writing to construe the Writer. A certain ground-plan of Human Nature and Life began to fashion itself in me; wondrous enough, now, when I look back on it; for my whole Universe, physical and spiritual, was yet a Machine! However, such a conscious, recognised ground-plan, the truest I had, was beginning to be there, and by additional experiments might be corrected and indefinitely extended." In the pilgrim wanderings of Teufelsdröckh over the world, Carlyle only describes his own extensive survey of the realms of knowledge, as contained in books. Thus, he traversed waste howling wildernesses, crossed great mountain chains, ventured in stormy north-west passages, and journeyed among the highways of men in towns and cities. He was tempest-tossed, storm-stayed, plunged in quagmires, lost and lone in the trackless desert. His mind became plunged in agonies of Doubt on all subjects. The great mysteries of Creed perplexed him beyond measure. The orthodoxy of his early faith became rudely assailed in the course of his intercourse with books; one by one, his props fell from around him, and he was left standing alone, self-dependent, but miserable. Here however, was Carlyle's starting point as an original thinker and writer. He had to trust to himself. His thoughts and opinions were carried out by himself, and were his own. They had to pass through the furnace, and were burnt into him by suffering. Add to this, that Carlyle's life at college was a life of poverty and privation,-though this he thought little of, compared with other men more genially brought up. "In an atmosphere of poverty and manifold chagrin, the humour of that young soul, what character is in him, first decisively reveals itself, and, like a strong sunshine in weeping skies, gives out variety of colours, some of which are prismatic." His first views of a profession having now changed, he became a member of the great corps of "unattached," floating through society, without an object to cling to— without connections, and without prospects of profitable employment. The young collegian, in such case, if he has nothing better to do, and if his literary training has disabled him (which it very often does) of all practical capacity for succeeding in any ordinary branch of industry, looks out for a tutorship; and, for some time, accordingly, Carlyle officiated as tutor in a gentleman's family. He could not like this office,-in most families, one of dependance and drudgery, unbefitting a strong-hearted, self-reliant man: nor did he continue in it long. Some time he employed, as profitably as he could, in private teaching, and while in Edinburgh, he eked out his means by translating from the German. The first of his known translations was published by Oliver and Boyd, in 1824; this was Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister," in three volumes. It was given out by the publishers to be the first work of a young gentleman of Edinburgh, and it was well received by the press, though the first edition went off very slowly. The preface to the book is simple, yet forcible, but contains no traces of the distorted style of Carlyle's later writings. He invites thoughtful minds to the study of Meister in the following manner : "Across the disfigurement of a translation, they will not fail to discover indubitable traces of the greatest genius of our times. And the longer they study, they are likely to discover them the more distinctly. New charms will successively arise to view; and of the many apparent blemishes, while a few superficial ones will be confirmed, the greater and more important part will vanish, or even change from dark to bright. For, if I mistake not, it is with Meister as with every work of real and abiding excellence, the first glance is the least favourable. A picture of Raphael, a Greek statue, a play of Sophocles or Shakspere, appears insignificant to the unpractised eye; and not till after long and patient, and intense examination, do we begin to descry the earnest features of that beauty, which has its foundation in the deepest nature of man, and will continue to be pleasing through all ages." We defy any one to detect in this extract, or, indeed, in the whole preface to the Meister, any germs of the grotesque and convulsive style of the Latter-day " Carlyle. The life of the student is generally barren of incident, and Carlyle is not an exception to his order. He struggled on into notice by slow degrees, and with painful efforts. At length, certain remarkable articles appeared in the Edinburgh Review which excited extraordinary attention, and marked the advent of a new writer of great and striking powers. They were from Carlyle's pen; we allude of course to the brilliant articles on Robert Burns, the Signs of the Times, and Characteristics. In these he first uttered his loud resounding wail, and proclaimed his gospel of duty, faith, and work-all old ideas it is true, and yet so startling was the voice of the preacher, that in the ears of most men, they sounded as if new, and stirred up their souls to life and action. He struck the key-note, to which all earnest minds were ready to give an echo. The essays were reprinted in America, and evoked an Emerson and a Brownson; and rushing on his opponent with a torrent of sound. This is in England they lit up a spark of fire in thousands of not the least from unwillingness to allow freedom to young bosoms. Perhaps there is scarcely a writer of note others; on the contrary, no man would more enjoy a in England now, who has not to a greater or less extent manly resistance to his thought; but it is the impulse of a been influenced by these remarkable writings. Carlyle mind accustomed to follow out its own impulse as the also penetrated the London press. The pages of the hawk its prey, and which knows not how to stop in the Foreign Quarterly Review were enriched by essays, on chase. Carlyle, indeed, is arrogant and overhearing, but Foreign Literature, from his pen; as also Fraser's Maga- in his arrogance there is no littleness, no self-love: it is zine, in which he produced Sartor Resartus, and many the heroic arrogance of some old Scandinavian conqueror of his best essays. The first of the articles above referred -it is his nature and the untameable impulse that has to, were written in the country, at his little village home in given him power to crush the dragons. You do not love Dumfriesshire; where he had settled down for a time, him, perhaps, nor revere, and perhaps, also, he would having married a lady of some property. It was here that only laugh at you, if you did; but you like him heartily, Emerson saw him when he paid his first visit to England, and like to see him the powerful smith, the Seigfried, many years ago, mainly with the object of sitting at the melting all the old iron in his furnace till it glows to a feet of his Gamaliel, and seeing him face to face. But sunset red, and burns you if you senselessly go too near. Carlyle found the inconveniences of a residence so remote He seems to me quite isolated, lonely as the desert, from the great centre of books, of learning, and intellec- yet never was man more fitted to prize a man, could tual movement; and accordingly he removed to London he find one to match his mood. He finds them, about a dozen years ago, where he has since resided. but only in the past. Here he has produced some of his most famous books, He pours upon you a kind of satirical, heroical, He sings rather than talks. his Life of Schiller, one of his earliest-his French Revo- critical poem, with regular cadences, and generally lution, which greatly extended his reputation, and later catching up near the beginning some singular epistill, his Past and Present, Oliver Cromwell, Chartism, thet, which serves as and his Heroes and Hero-Worship, originally delivered full, or with which, as with a knitting-needle, he a refrain when his song is as lectures, before a select London audience. Lecturing, catches up the stitches if he has chanced now and however, he dislikes, except to his own private circle, then to let fall a row. and when recently applied to as a lecturer, he has named has no sense, and his talk on that subject is delightfully For the higher kinds of poetry he such terms, as necessarily precludes him from the order and gorgeously absurd; he sometimes stops a minute to of Circuit-Preachers. And since the publication of his laugh at himself, then begins anew with fresh vigour-"Stump-Orator," in the Latter-day Pamphlets, probably for all the spirits he is driving before him seem to him as he will be found more than ever unwilling to venture again Fata Morganas, ugly masks, in fact, if he can but make into this field. On the whole we regret, in common we them turn about, but he laughs that they seem to others believe with most of Carlyle's admirers, the publication such dainty Ariels. of these last-named pamphlets, as tending greatly to it looks like the beak of a bird, and his eyes flash bright He puts out his chin sometimes till diminish his influence, and rather to fix the impression instinctive meanings, like Jove's bird; yet he is not calm that he has been recently degenerating into that "Stump- and grand enough for the eagle; he is more like the orator," and Quack-philanthropist character, which in falcon, and yet not of gentle blood enough for that either. those very writings he so strongly condemns. He is not exactly like anything but himself, and therefore you cannot see him without the most hearty refreshment and goodwill, for he is original, rich, and strong enough to afford a thousand faults; one expects some wild land in a rich kingdom. His talk, like his books, is full of pictures, his critical strokes masterly; allow for his point of view, and his survey is admirable. He is a large subject. I cannot speak more or wiselier of him now, nor needs it; his works are true, to blame and praise him, the Seigfried of England, great and powerful, if not quite invulnerable, and of a might rather to destroy evil than legislate for good, At all events, he seems to be what Destiny intended, and represents fully 'a certain side; so we make no remonstrance as to his being and pro ceeding for himself, though we sometimes must for us." Carlyle is almost as eloquent in his viva voce speech, as he is in his books. He has the same overbearing eloquence, the same impatience of opposition, bearing down all objections to his dogmas with tyrannous gusts of ridicule. He is a Samuel Johnson, a Coleridge, and a Teufelsdröckh, all in one. It is curious to listen to the strong prejudice, mixed with the lofty and noble thoughts, clothed in that weird and grotesque phrase of his, fall from his lips in high-pitched Scotch patois full of intense energy and power. Sometimes, to a select few, he discourses in a torrent, like his favourite Teufelsdröckh, through rolling clouds of tobacco-smoke. "Wonderful it is with what cutting words, now and then, he severs asunder the confusion; sheers down, were it furlongs deep, unto the true centre of the matter; and there not only hits the nail on the head, but, with crushing force, smites it home, and buries it." His power of irony and sarcasm is quite tremendous, and few care to come within its reach. But the late Margaret Fuller so well described him in one of her recent letters, that we shall here close our article by transferring her "speaking likeness" to our columns: "Accustomed to the infinite wit and exuberant richness of his writings, his talk is still an amazement and a splendour scarcely to be faced with steady eyes. He does not converse-only harangues. It is the usual misfortune of such marked men (happily not one invariable or inevitable) that they cannot allow other minds room to breathe, and show themselves in their atmosphere, and thus miss the refreshment and instruction which the greatest never cease to need from the experience of the humblest. Carlyle allows no one a chance, but bears down all opposition, not only by his wit and onset of words, resistless in their sharpness as so many bayonets, but by actual physical superiority, raising his voice and ANECDOTE OF A DOG. THE Lyons diligence was just going to start from Geneva. I climbed on the roof, and chose my place next the postilion: there was still a vacant seat, and the porter, after closing the door of the coupé, called Monsieur Dermann!" A tall young man, with a German style of countenance, advanced, holding in his arms a large black greyhound, which he vainly tried to place on the roof. Monsieur," said he, addressing me, "will you have the kindness to take my dog?" Bending over, I took hold of the animal, and placed him on the straw at my feet. I observed that he wore a handsome silver collar, on which the following words were tastefully engraved : Bevis-I belong to Sir Arthur Burnley, given him by Miss Clary." 66 His owner was, therefore, an Englishman; yet my follow-traveller, who had now taken his place by my side, was evidently either a Swiss or a German, and his name was Dermann. Trifling as was the mystery, it excited my curiosity, and, after two or three hours' pleasant conversation had established a sort of intimacy between us, I ventured to ask my companion for an explanation. "It does not surprise me," he answered, "that this collar should puzzle you; and I shall have great pleasure in telling you the story of its wearer. Bevis belongs to but it is not many years since he owned another master, whose name is on his collar. You will see why he still wears it. Here, Bevis ! speak to this gentleman." The dog raised his head, opened his bright eyes, and laying back his long ears, uttered a sound which might well pass for a salutation. me, M. Dermann placed the animal's head on his knees, and began to unfasten the collar. Instantly Bevis drew back his head with a violent jerk, and darted towards the luggage on the hinder part of the roof. There, growling fiercely, he lay down, while his muscles were stiffened, and his eyes glowing with fury. "You see, Monsieur, how determined he is to guard his collar; I should not like to be the man who would try to rob him of it. Here, Bevis!" said he, in a soft, caressing tone, "I wont touch it again, poor fellow! Come and make friends!" The greyhound hesitated, still growling. At length he returned slowly towards his master, and began to lick his hands; his muscles gradually relaxed, and he trembled like a leaf. "There, boy, there,” said M. Dermann, caressing him. "We won't do it again, Lie down now, and be quiet." The dog nestled between his master's feet, and went to sleep. My fellow-traveller then turning towards me, began :- "I am a native of Suabia, but I live in a little village of the Sherland, at the foot of the Grimsel. My father keeps an inn for the reception of travellers going to St. Gothard. "About two years since, there arrived at our house one evening a young Englishman, with a pale, sad countenance; he travelled on foot, and was followed by a large greyhound, this Bevis, whom you see. He declined taking any refreshment, and asked to be shown to his sleeping-room. We gave him one over the common hall, where we were all seated round the fire. Presently we heard him pacing rapidly up and down; from time to time uttering broken words, addressed no doubt to his dog, for the animal moaned occasionally, as if replying to, and sympathizing with his master. At length we heard the Englishman stop, and apparently strike the dog a violent blow, for the poor beast gave a loud howl of agony, and seemed as if he ran to take refuge under the bed. Then his master groaned aloud. Soon afterwards he lay down, and all was quiet for the night. Early next morning he came down, looking still more pale than on the previous evening, and having paid for his lodging, he took his knapsack and resumed his journey, followed by the greyhound, who had eaten nothing since their arrival, and whose master seemed to take no further notice of him, than to frown when the creature ventured to caress him. where his master had slept, moaning at the same time so piteously, that I could scarce help weeping myself. I opened the door, and with a great effort he got into the room, looked about, and not finding whom he sought, he fell down motionless. "I called my father, and, perceiving that the dog was not dead, we gave him all possible assistance, taking indeed as much care of him as though he had been a child, so much did we feel for him. In two months he was cured, and showed us much affection; we found it, however, impossible to take off his collar, even for the purpose of binding up his wounds. As soon as he was able to walk, he would often go towards the mountain, and be absent for hours. The second time this occurred we followed him. He proceeded as far as a part of the road where a narrow defile borders a precipice; there he continued for a long time, smelling and scratching about. We conjectured that the Englishman might have been attacked by robbers on this spot, and his dog wounded in defending him. However, no event of the kind had occurred in the country, and, after the strictest search, no corpse was discovered. Recollecting, therefore, the manner in which the traveller had treated his dog, I came to the conclusion that he had tried to kill the faithful creature. But wherefore? This was a mystery which I could not solve. "Bevis remained with us, testifying the utmost gratitude for our kindness. His intelligence and good-humour attracted the strangers who frequented our inn, while the inscription on his collar, and the tale we had to tell of him, failed not to excite their curiosity. "One morning in autumn, I had been out to take a walk, accompanied by Bevis. When I returned, I found seated by the fire, in the common-hall, a newly-arrived traveller, who looked round as I entered. As soon as he perceived Bevis, he started and called him. The dog immediately darted towards him with frantic demonstrations of joy. He ran round him, smelling his clothes and uttering the sort of salutation with which he honoured you just now, and finally placing his fore-paws on the traveller's knees began to lick his face. "Where is your master, Bevis? Where is Sir Arthur?' said the stranger, in English. "The noble dog howled piteously, and lay down at the traveller's feet. Then the latter begged us to explain his presence. I did so; and as he listened, I saw a tear fall on the beautiful head of the greyhound, whom he bent over to caress. "Monsieur,' said he, addressing me, 'From what you tell me, I venture to hope that Sir Arthur still lives. We have been friends from childhood. About three years since, he married a rich heiress, and this dog was presented to him by her. Bevis was highly cherished for his fidelity, a quality which unhappily was not possessed by his mistress. She left her fond and loving husband, and eloped with another man. Sir Arthur sued for a divorce and obtained it; then, having arranged his affairs in England, he set out for the continent, followed only by his dog. His friends knew not whither he went; but it now appears that he was here last spring. Doubtless, the presence of Bevis, evermore recalling the memory of her who had so cruelly wronged him, must have torn his heart, and at length impelled him to destroy the faithful creature. But the shot not having been mortal, the dog, I imagine, when he recovered consciousness, was led by instinct to seek the house where his master had last slept. Now, Monsieur, he is yours, and I heartily thank you for the kindness you have shown him.' "About noon, I happened to be standing at the door, looking towards the direction which the Englishman had taken, when I perceived a dark object moving slowly along. Presently I heard howls of distress, proceeding from a wounded dog that was dragging himself towards me. I ran to him, and recognised the Englishman's greyhound. His head was torn, evidently by a bullet, and one of his paws broken. I raised him in my arms, and carried him "About ten o'clock the stranger retired to his room, into the house. When I crossed the threshold he made after having caressed Bevis, who escorted him to his door, evident efforts to escape; so I placed him on the ground. and then returned to his accustomed place before the fire. Then, in spite of the torture he was suffering, which My parents and the servants had retired to rest, and I caused him to stagger every moment, he dragged himself prepared to follow their example, my bed being placed at up-stairs, and began to scratch at the door of the room one end of the common-hall. While I was undressing, |