From that moment, I understand his habits changed. From being a tolerably cheerful companion, he became a wretched hypochondriac; all his energies being directed to the avoiding a contact with any of the feline race.

Featherstone, two or three years ago, embarked in one of the mining speculations-lost great part of his fortune-and found it necessary to try and retrieve his affairs, by a second voyage to India.

I heard nothing more of him, till just before leaving England, when my old school-fellow, Lock hart, who went as a cadet to the East, called on me-reminded me of our old whimsical friendand related his tragic death.

Lockhart says that one day he and some mutual friends, persuaded Featherstone to accompany them into the interior of the country, to enjoy the diversion of a boar hunt.

They had had good sport, and were returning homewards, when they suddenly came on a party of natives, headed by the Rajah.

They were mounted on elephants, and sur

rounding a jungle, in which, as some sepoys had reported, lay a tiger.

You know Lockhart's manner-animated and enthusiastic-making one see the scene he is de

scribing.

I will try and clothe the rest of the story in his own words, although I can hardly hope it will make the same impression on you, that its recital did on me.

66

Well, Sir! we all said we would see the sport -all but Featherstone-who said something about coming on.

We were engaged to dine with Sir John Mwho was in that part of the world, on some sixand-eightpenny mission about indigo.

The beaters went in, firing and shouting—intending to make him break towards the hunting party.

We all drew up on one side, to be in view, but out of the way; Featherstone was next me, He suddenly grasped my arm, and pointed to the jungle, his teeth chattering-his face ashy pale. I turned and saw the tiger!-a splendid beastcertainly!

He seemed not to notice us, and stalked on with an innocent yep! yep! like a sick hound's, more than anything else.

Suddenly his eye caught us, and flashed fire. At the first view, he crouched to the earth, then came on us, bounding like a tost foot-ball. More magnificent leaps I never beheld! We were struck dumb-but fired-and turned our horses' heads! -all but Featherstone.

I shall remember the tones of his voice to my dying hour.

"The cat! Lockhart! the cat!"

I don't know whether his horse refused the spur or whether the rider's nerve was gone: but neither appeared to make an effort, till the animal was close on them.

The horse gave one plunge-and had hardly recovered his feet, when down went horse and rider.

Featherstone gave a piercing scream! Some of the sepoys were by this time up-and fired.

The tiger trailed off-the blood spouting down his striped side.

We came up-it was all over!

The first stroke of that terrific paw had laid the unfortunate man's scull bare. On his shoulder, were the marks of the animal's teeth,

The horse was still writhing in agony. One of my pistols relieved him.

We bore Featherstone to the nearest cantonment, and buried him there."

"How terrible!" said Acmé, as she gave a slight shudder. "Englishmen are generally more sceptical on these points than we are; and disbelieve supernatural appearances, which we are accustomed to think are not unfrequent. I could tell you many stories, which, in my native island, were believed by our enemies the Turks, as well as by ourselves: but if you would like it, I will tell you a circumstance that occurred to myself, the reality of which I dare not doubt.

You have often, Giorgio! heard me revert with pain, to the horrible scene which took place, on the recapture of our little isle by the infidel Turks; when my family were massacred, and only poor Acmé left to tell their tale."

Here the young bride put her handkerchief to

her face, and wept bitterly. George put his arm round her and soothed her. She continued her narrative.

"You know my escape, and how I was sent to a kinsman, who had promised to have me sent to my kind friends in Malta. He was a Corfuote, and it was in Corfu I remained for a long-a very long time and there first met my dear friend, Zöe Scalvo-Forressi. I was then very young. We lived in the Campagna-about four miles from each other.

We had both our Greek ponies, and used often to pass the evenings together; and at length knew our road so well, that often it was night before we parted.

One night, we had been singing together at her house, and it was later than usual when I cantered home.

About four months had elapsed previous to my landing in Corfu, and I had been eight months there; although at the time, I paid little attention to these circumstances.

My road lay through an olive grove. I had