are thrown back over their necks-their black curls hang down on each side of the face—and a crimson, many-folded sash, girds in a waist usually extremely small. Their neck, face, and breast, from continued exposure to the sun, are a red copper colour. They are always without shoes and stockings; and even our countrywomen, who pay much attention to the costume of their drivers, have not yet ventured to encase their brawny feet in the mysteries of leather. They run by the side of their calèches, the reins in one hand-the whip in the other cheering on their animals by a constant succession of epithets, oaths, and invocations to their favourite saint.

They are rarely fatigued, and may be seen beside their vehicles, urging the horses, with the themometer at 110°, and perhaps a stout-looking Englishman inside, with white kerchief to his face, the image of languor and lassitude.

Their horses gallop down steeps, which no English Jehu dare attempt; and ascend and descend with safety and hardihood, stone steps which occur in many parts of Valletta; and which would

certainly present an insurmountable obstacle to our steeds at home.

The proper period, however, to see a calèche man in his glory, is during the carnival. Every calèche is in employ; and many a one which has reposed for the twelvemonth previous, is at that time wheeled from its accustomed shed, and put in requisition for some of pleasure's votaries. Long lines of them continue to pass and repass in the principal street. Their inmates are almost universally of the fair sex, and of the best part of it, the young and beautiful. Cavaliers, with silken bags, containing bon-bons, slung on their left arm, stand at intervals, ready to discharge the harmless missiles, at those whom their taste approves worthy of the compliment. Happy the young beauty, who, returning homewards, sees the carpet of her calèche thickly strewn with these dulcet favours! The driver is now in his element ! He ducks his head, as the misdirected sweetmeat approaches; he has an apt remark prompt for the occasion. As he nears too the favoured inamorato, for whom he well knows his mistress' sweetest smile is re

served-who already with his right hand grasping the sugared favours, is prepared to lavish his whole store on this one venture-how arch his look-how roguish his eye-as he turns towards his donna, and speaks as plainly as words could do, "See! there he is, he whom you love best!"

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Ah! well may we delight to recal once more those minute details! ah! well may we remember how-when our brow was smoothed with youth, as it is now furrowed with care-when our eye sparkled from pleasure, as it is now dimmed from time, or mayhap, tears-well may we love to remember, how our whole hearts were engrossed in that mimic warfare. How impatiently did we watch for one, amidst that crowded throng, for one-whose beauty haunted us by day, and whose smile we dreamt over by night. Well do we recal with what unexampled ingenuity, we laboured to befit the snow white egg for a rare tenant-attar-gul. Well do we remember how that face, usually so cloudless, became darkened almost to a frown, as our heart's mistress saw the

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missile approach her. What a radiant smile bewitched us, as it burst on her lap, and filled the air with its fragrance! Truly we had our reward!

Delmé and George took a quiet drive, and enjoyed that sweet interchange of ideas, that characterises the meeting of two brothers long absent from each other.

They went in the direction of St. Julian's, a drive all our Maltese friends will be familiar with. The road lay almost wholly by the sea side. A gentle breeze was crisping the waters, and served to allay the heat, which, at a more advanced period of the season, is by no means an enviable one. Sun-shine seemed to beam on George's mind, as he once more spoke of home ties, to one to whom those home ties were equally dear. And gratefully did he bask in its rays! Long used to the verdant but tame, beautiful but romantic landscapes, which the part of England he resided in presented; the scenery around him, novel and picturesque, struck Sir Henry forcibly. To one who has resided long in Malta, its scenes may wear an aspect somewhat different. The limited country-the ceaseless glare

—the dust, or rather the pulverised rock-the everpresent lizard, wary and quick, peeping out at each crevice-the buzzing mosquito, inviting the moody philosopher to smite his own cheek,—these things may come to be regarded as real grievances.

But Delmé, as a visitor, was pleased with what he saw. The promising vineyards-the orange groves, with their glowing fruit and ample foliage, "looking like golden lamps" in a dark night of leaves the thick leaves of the prickly pear-the purple sky above him, lending its rich hue to the sea beside the architectural beauties of the cottages-the wide portico of the mansions-the flat terrace with its balustrade, over which might be seen a fair face, half concealed by the faldette, smilingly peering, and through whose pillars might be noted a pretty ancle, and siesta-looking slipper these were novelties, and pleasing ones! Their drive over, Delmé felt more tranquil as to George's state of mind, and more inclined to look on the bright side, as to his future fortunes.

Acmé was waiting to receive them, and as she scanned George's features, Delmé could not but