gold! Would it not be a sin to remain in-doors on such an evening? and besides," added she, in a whisper" is it not a pleasure to leave behind us these sickly faces, to muse on an Italian landscape, and admire an Italian sky? Driver! will you order supper? We will take a stroll while it is preparing.

Come! Henry! come away! do not look so grave, or you will make me think of your amusing friend-Dr. Pormont."

"Thompson!" said George, as the smiling bride bore off the brothers in triumph, "do not forget your mistress' guitar case!”

The travellers passed a paved court, in rear o. the building; whence a wicket gate admitted them to a kitchen garden, well stocked with the requisites for an Italian salad.

Behind this, enclosed with embankments, was a small vineyard. The vines twined round long poles, these again being connected with thin cords, which the tendrils were already clasping.

Thus far, there was nothing that seemed indicative of an unwholesome situation. As they

extended their walk, however, pursuing the continuation of the path, that had led them through the vineyard, they arrived at the edge of a dark sluggish stream, whose surface was nearly on a level with them; and which, gradually becoming broader, at length emptied itself into what might be styled a wide and luxuriant marsh, which abounded with water-fowl. This was studded with small round lakes, and with islets of an emerald verdure.

From the bosom of the marsh itself, rose bulrushes and pollard willows, towered over by gigantic noisy reeds.

The stream was thickly strewn with the pure honours of the water lily.

If-as Eastern poets tell us-these snowy flowers bathe their charms, when the sun is absent, but lift up their virgin heads, when he looks down approvingly-but that, sometimes deceived, on some peerless damsel's approaching, they mistake her eye for their loved luminary, and pay to her beauty an abrupt and involuntary homage :-now might they indeed gaze upward, to greet as fair a face as ever looked down on the water they bedecked.

They approached the edge of the marsh, and discovered a rural arbour of faded boughs-the work of children-placed around a couple of willow trees.

Within it, was a rude seat; and some parasitical plant with a deep red flower, had twined round the withered boughs, and mingled fantastically with the dead leaves.

Below the arbour, was a small stone embankment, which prevented the waters from encroaching, and made the immediate site comparatively free from dampness.

Acmé arranged her cloak-took one hand of each of the brothers in hers—and in the exuberance of health and youth-commenced prattling in that charming domestic strain, which only household intimacy can beget or justify. George leant back in silence, but could have clasped her to his heart.

Memory! memory! who that hath a soul, cannot conjure up one such gentle being,—while the blood for one moment responds to thy call, and rolls through the veins with the tide of earlier and of happier days?

At the extremity of the horizon, was a more extensive lake, than any near them. Over this, the sun was setting; tinting its waters with a clear rich amber, save in its centre, where, the lake serving as a halo to its glory, a blood-red sun was vividly reflected.

As the sun descended, one slender ray of light, came quivering and trembling through the leaves of the arbour.

This little incident gave rise to a thousand fanciful illustrations on the part of Acmé. Her spirits were as buoyant as a child's; and her playful mood soon communicated itself to her travelling companions.

They compared the solitary ray to virtue in loneliness-to the flickering of a lamp in a tomb—to a star reflected on quicksilver-to the flash of a sword cutting through a host of foes-and to the light of genius illuming scenes of poverty and distress.

Thompson made his appearance, and announced the supper as being ready.

"This," said George, good-naturedly, "is an

odd place, is it not, Thompson? Is it anything like the Lincolnshire Fens?"

"Not exactly, your honour!" replied the domestic, with perfect gravity, "but there ought to be capital snipe shooting here."

"Ah! che vero Inglese!" said the laughing Acmé. They retraced their steps to the inn, and were ushered into the supper room, which was neither more nor less than the kitchen, although formerly, perhaps, the show room of the mansion. Around the deep-set fireplace, watching the simmering of the cauldron, were grouped some peasants.

The supper table was laid in one corner of the room; and although neither the accommodation nor the viands were very tempting, there was such a disposition to be happy, that the meal was as much enjoyed as if served up in a palace.

The repast concluded, Acmé rose; and observing a countryman with his arm bound up, enquired if he had met with an accident; and patiently listened to the prosy narrative of age.