ever, is capable of putting a stranger there in fair time when she is over full, and I think," said Madame Gournay, laughing, "you are lucky to have secured a room in the front that looks into the street."

I did not undeceive my acquaintance, nor did I say a word about the strange vision I had seen; but, on the same day, after my return from our walk, I removed to the Hotel de Bordeaux on the Quai de Paris, where my cheerful room looked on the suspension bridge, and commanded a full view of all the shipping on the Seine.

FLORENCE MAY-A LOVE STORY.

THE golden light of evening dazzled the eyes of a young girl who stood upon a style, watching for the arrival of the London coach.

It was about a hundred miles from Londonno matter in what direction-at the bottom of a green valley, down the western slope of which the road came winding here and there concealed by trees. A well-beaten path led to a village a few fields distant, embowered in orchards, and leaning, as it were, against the massive oaks and elms of a park, that shut in the view in that direction. The square steeple-tower of the old church scarcely overtopped this background of leaves.

Florence May was waiting for her mother, who had been absent some weeks in London, and who had been compelled to leave her all alone in their humble cottage-all alone, unless her rectitude and her sense of duty may be counted as companions.

They were poor, humble people, Mrs. May was the widow of a country curate, who had died, leaving, as curates sometimes do, not a slight provision for his family. It was like a Providence. Having fought the fight of life nearly out on £50 or £60 a year, some distant relation, whom they had never seen and scarcely ever heard of, put the curate in his will for £1000. This sum, invested, was sufficient to support both mother and daughter in that out of the way place.

A letter had arrived, when Mrs May had been a widow for three years, requesting her to come up to London to hear of "something to her advantage." This was vague enough; but she resolved to comply; and not being able to afford the expense of a double journey, had left her daughter, then about seventeen, under the guardianship of the neighbors, her own character, and a mother's prayer.

She had been absent more than a week.What has happened in the meantime? Why does Florence wait with more than the impa tience of filial affection-with a countenance in which smiling lips and tearful eyes tells of a struggle between joy and sadness? She is troubled with the burden of her first secret-a secret which she nurses with uneasy delight, and which she is anxious to pour into the ears of her only confidante-her mother. How many maidens of seventeen are still in this dream of inno cence!

The sun had set before the roll of wheels came sounding down the valley; and when the coach began to descend, nothing could be distinguished

but the lights that glanced occasionally behind the trees. The time seemed prodigiously Ing to Florence. She even once thought that some fantastical, ghostly coachman was driving a phantom vehicle to and fro on the hill side to mock her. Younr people in her state of mind would annihilate time and space. However here it comes, the Tally ho, sweeping round the last corner-lights glancing-horses tossing their heads and steaming-a pyramid of luggage swaying to and fro. "That's a gal's voice screamed," said a man to the Whip as they passed."Full inside and out!" was the reply, and on went the Tally-ho along the level lap of the valley.

as

"She is not come," murmured Florence, after waiting in vain some time, to see if the coach would stop lower down; but it pursued its inexorable course, and the young girl returned by the dim path to her cottage on the outskirts of the village.

That was a critical period in her life. For some days after her mother's departure, she had spent her time either at her needle, or with one or two old neighbors, who wearied her with their gossip. To escape from the sense of monotony, she had wandered one morning into the fields, as it was indeed her custom from time to time to do; and there, with the scent of wild-flowers and new-mown hay around, she allowed her mind to be ruffled by those thoughts and feelings which at that age breathe upon us from I know not what region-sparkling and innocent stirrings, that scarcely typify the billowy agitation of succeeding years.

Across the meadows that occupy the lowest portion of that valley, meanders a stream, over which the willows hung their whip-like branches and slender leaves. Near its margin, Florence used often to sit with her work; first diligently attending to, then dropping occasionally on her lap, that she might watch the little fish that fitted like shadows to and fro in the shallow current; then utterly forgotten, as she herself went watting down the stream of the future, that widened as they went, and flowed at her unconscious will, through scenes more magical than those of fairy-lard. The schoolman has sought for the place of Paradise-did they peep into a young heart that is waiting, without knowing it, to love?

It was during her first walk since her mother's absence, that a stranger came slowly down the opposite bank of the stream; and seeing this lovely young girl entranced in a reverie, paused to gaze on her. His glance at first was cold and critical, like that of a man who has trodden many lands, and has seen more such visions than one under trees in lonely places-visions that, when neared and grasped at, hardene i into reality, vulgar and bucolic. In a little time, however, the brow of this stranger unbent, and his lip uncurled; and there came a strange fear to his heart, that what he saw of grace and beauty beneath that archway of willow boughs, was a mere optical illusion-a phantasm painted on the exhalations of the meadow by the sun's beams.— There is a certain pride in disappointed natures, which makes them believe that all the loveliness of the outer world is of their own imagining, as

if we could imagine more perfect things than Gol has imagined and thrown on his canvass of the universe.

The man was of the south by travels. if not by birth, and muttered some "Santa Vergines!" more in surprise than devotion. He did not move or speak to attract the young girls attention, but waited until her eyes which he saw were restless, should chance to fall upon him. Her start of alarm, when she found herself to be not alone, was repressed by the grave politeness of his bow.

"Young lady," he said, in a low musical voice when he had leaped the stream and stood by her side, "I am on my way to Melvyn Park. Perhaps I my learn from you in what direction to turn."

"The roof of the mansion she vs above the trees," replied she, rising and stretching out her pretty hand.

“I might have guessed so," said the stranger, whose accent was but slightly foreign; and this is but a bad excuse for speaking to you. It is more frank to say, that I was surprised at seeing 30 much beauty and grace buried in this seques tered valley, and could not pass on without learn ing who you may be."

sculptor of that exquisite group in which the girl turns to bill the dove that has fluttered down on her shoulder.

Now, take it as an article of faith that Florence had "fallen in love," as the saying is, with that tail handsome stranger with the black eyes and sun-painted complexion. We would have you more careful in the construction of your credo than that. But, at any rate, an impression had been produced; this was to be expected. When a man falls into the water, he may not be, drowned, but is sure to be wet. Florence had never seen any members of that category of "lovable persons," which is of so little political and so much social importance, except two or three six-foot farmers, and the Rev. Mr. Simmer, their pale-faced, sandy whiskered young bachelor vicar of fifty. Should we be astonished, then, that after her first agitation had subsided, there remained something more than memory of the compliment which had fallen from the lips and been ratified by the eyes of that distinguished. looking stranger?

Need it be said, moreover, that whilst she remained by the margin of the stream, and during her sauntering walk home, and all the evening she thought of little else save this very simple elec-meeting. As to her dreams, we shall not inquire into them; but the moonbeams tell us that they shone all night between the ivy-leaves upon smile as sweet and self-satisfied as ever lived on the lips of a maiden on her wedding-eve.

Flattery dies to the heart as swiftly as tricity along the wire. The maiden blushed, and drew off but slightly. "Florence May," said she, "is known to the whole valley, and will not be made sport of nor molested without finding defenders."

Was this affected fear a cunning device for telling her name without seeming to answer an unauthorised question?

Child," replied the stranger, who perhaps took this view of the matter, for he smiled, though kindly, "you may count on me as one of the defenders. For the present, let me thank you, and say farewell."

With these words, and a somewhat formal bow, he turned and went across the fields, leaving Florence bewildered. almost breathless, with surprise and excitement and, to confess the truth, not a little piqued, that her ruse, if ruse it was, had brought the dialogue to so abrupt a termination. She had no wish to parley with strangers. Her mother had expressly warned her not to do so. What a famous opportunity thrown away to exhibit the rigidness of her sense of duty! Indeed, there had been so little merit on her part, that the stranger, if he had rightly rea her countenance, might pretend that the forbearance had been all on his side. Of course, she would have gained the victory in the end; but how much more dramatic if her prudence had been put to a severer test!

These were not exactly her thoughts, but the translation of them. She followed the retiring figure of the stranger, as he kept by the path along the willows; and slightly bit her lip Then suddenly, as if remembering that the singleness of mind which her attitude expressed was more beautiful than becoming-what an odious enphonism is that word for heartless acting-she turned with something like a flout, and sat down again, with her face averted from the now distant stranger-averted only a moment for woon her attitude would have reminded a

Next day, it was rumoured in the village that a foreign painter had come to occupy one of the wings of Melvyn House, by permission of the family, which had remained many years abroad. His name was simple Angelo; and a mighty fine gentleman he was. One could not guess, to look at him, that he had ever lived on frogs; or was "obligated to hexpress hisself in a barbarous lingo," as the landlady of the Jolly Boys' Inn phrased it.

Florence was proud to say casrally, to some old spectacled la iy-who observed "indeed she never," and told her neighbor that "Miss May seemed very forward"-that she had held a minute's conversation with this said painter.We take this as a proof that she was only dazzled by him; and that she has not really experienced one pang of love. So much the better. We must not bestow the only treasures of our hearts on the first interesting person we may happen to meet under a willow hedge.

And yet there she is at her place again, think. ing of yesterday's meeting; aid-by the bow of Eros!-there is lie, too, wandering accidentally in the same direction with his sketch-book under his arm. We had no business to be eaves-dropping; but" concealed fault is half pardone 1.”— We were invisible, and heard every word they said. It should all be set down here, but it was dreadful nonsense, at least what he said; for she partly in coquetry perhaps, and partly in pride and prudence, intrenched herself behind the ramparts of her maiden modesty, and answered only—by listening.

The young man was in a state of temporary insanity; at least, if one might believe his words. Lke all love. 8, he professed to have skill in physiognomy. He asked no information about

Florence, did not care who she was or where she important than even she imagined; for we will came from; all he wanted to know was, whether not undertake to say, despite Mr. Angelo's lofty she was free. He spoke eloquently and with sentiments, that his faith was as strong as he prosufficient respect. The young girl more than fessed. Might he not have wished to test the once felt her heart melt; and it was a great virtue of this beautiful girl, whom he had found, exertion for her at length to reply, that her as it were, by the wayside? Men of the world mother was away, and that she could not listen are not averse to these trials; and if their unforto another word without her knowledge and sanc- tunate victim fall, they go away on the voyage of tion. life, leaving her to repent in tears, and hugging themselves with the idea that they have not been "taken in." They forget that the most fervent Christian does not venture to ask for strength to resist temptation, but only to keep from it; and that every one of us perhaps would be caught, if the Evil Angler knew what bait to put on his hook.

She did listen, however, for he went on talking interminably. According to his account, he was an artist who had studied many years at Rome; but he did not say whether he was of English origin or not, and, of course, Florence could not ask the question. This would have been to avow a stronger interest in him than consisted with her views. We should have liked her better, perhaps, had she been more frank and artless. Yet, after all, her conduct was not at this time an image of her character, but arose from a struggle between her own simplicity and her recollection of her mother's warnings.

It is needless to say that, after many hesitations she now invariably went every day to her accustomed seat. This might be interpreted into giving a rendezvous; but she had a prescriptive right to the place, and why should she be driven from it by an intrusive, impertinent stranger?— Impertinent! Nay, not so; nothing could be more reserved and respectful then his demeanor; and if he was really in earnest, and if he turned out to be a respectable man, why-perhaps it would be a matter of duty in her not to repulse his advances. Matrimony was indeed, they had told her, an awful responsibility; but if, by undergoing it, she could raise her mother to a more comfortable position, would it not be her duty to make the sacrifice?

Florence had just placed her hand on the latch of the door, when she saw a figure come out from a deep mass of shadow close by, and softly approach her. It was Angelo. She screamed but so slightly that even he scarcely heard. "Do not be alarmed, Miss May," he said; "I came here to meet you as you entered. I could not have slept to-night without asking your forgiveness for the rude manner in which I left you, and for my unauthorised accusations. Do say that you are no longer angry."

"Of course-of course; I have no right to be angry. But, for Heaven's sake, sir, retire; I must not be seen by the neighbors talking to a stranger at this hour."

"There is no one in the street, and I will not detain you but a minute. Cannot you find in your heart to give me one word of hope, one look of encouragement? I am bewildered, maddened by your cold indifference."

"This gives me hope," cried he; "I ask no more. Florence-dear Florence!"

"You have no right, Mr. Angelo, to call me cold or indifferent; I have blamed myself for my Matters went on in this way for several days, too great simplicity. My mother will be back to and Florence began to wait impatiently for the morrow; I will tell her what has happened; and arrival of her mother, to whom she might relate-and- But I must go in." all that had passed. Angelo accustomed, perhaps, to more easy conquests, was irritated by her cold caution, not knowing that her's was the hypocrisy of duty. He once even went so far as to say, that he blamed himself for wasting time with a calculating village coquette, and, rising, departed with a formal salute. Florence's bosom heaved with emotion, tears started to her eye her lips trembled, and she was on the point of perilling all her prospects by calling him back. But by a prodigious effort of will, she restrained herself, and kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground until the sound of his steps had died away.

won.

"No," said she rising, "I am not to be so lightly These days have given me experience. He is certainly captivating in manners, but sometimes I think that one moment of weakness on my part"- And she thought of the fate of Lucy Lightfoot, who had been left to wear the willow, after saying "Yes" too soon.

In the afternoon, a letter came announcing her mother's arrival for that very day; and it was in the excitement that followed this little misunder standing that she waited for the arrival of the coach. She wanted an adviser sadly. Should she, after what had passed, return next day to the meadow, or should she remain at home in melancholy loneliness? The question was more

He took her hand, and kissed it over and over again, although she almost struggled to get it away. The strong passion of that man seemed to pass through her like an electric shock; and wonderful emotions came trooping to her heart. Suddenly, however, she broke away, and, as if fearing her own weakness, glided into the house without a word, and locked, and bolted, and barred the door in a manner so desperately ener getic, that even Angelo, who stood foolishly on the outside, could not help smiling.

"She will come to the meadow to-morrow," said he, rather contemptuously, as if surprised and annoyed at his own success that evening.

But Florence did not come. With the intuitive perception with which modesty supplies woman, she felt that the stranger had pushed his experi ments on her character too far. The following day was spent at home in indignant self-examina tion. What had she done to provoke that freedom, and authorise what seemed something like insult? Concious of innocence, she proudly answered: "Nothing." But, ah! Florence, were not those tacit rendezvous a fault?

Mrs. May arrived in the evening with a whole budget of news and complaints. Small was the mercy by her vouchsafed to the modern Babylon :

a den of thieves was nothing to it. The "some- I am now the owner of Melvyn Park. Sorrowtul thing to her advantage" was a proposal to invest circumstances, you will perhaps have heard by her money in a concern that would return fifty tradition, induced my father to go abroad many per cent. She had expressed herself "much years ago. When I becaine the head of the obliged" to her correspondent; adding, however, family, I naturally felt a desire to behold the that "some people would consider him a swindler, mansion of my ancestors, which was not invested indeed she supposed he was. Perhaps he would to me personally without melancholy associations. object to pay the expense he had put her to. Of It was my fancy to explore the neighborhood course. Dishonest persons were never inclined without making myself known. I met your to pay. She wished him good-morning, and daughter; and-may I hope that she has related hoped he would repent before he arrived at to you all I have ventured to say of my feelings Botany Bay." Having detailed these and many towards her?" other brave things which she recollected to have said, good Mrs. May began to pay attention to her tea, and allowed Florence to relate all that she had said, done, thought, and felt during the time of her mother's absence.

"Bless me!" exclaimed Mrs. May at length, setting down her tea-cup, "I do not wonder the house looks rather untidy. You have been doing nothing else but making love ever since my back was turned. There's proper conduct for a clergyman's daughter!"

Florence expressed her regret as well as she could, and in trying to excuse herself, was compelled to dilate considerably on the fine qualities of Mr. Angelo. Let it be admitted that she suppressed all allusion to the last interview.

"Well, child," quoth Mrs. May, after listening to what by degrees warmed into a glowing panegyric-"I think this is all nonsense; but you know I have always promised never to interfere with any sincere attachment you may form. Are you quite sure this gentleman is not merely making a pastime of you?"

Flerence turned away her head, and her mother went on. "I shall make some inquiries into his position and prospects, and character of course. If all turn out to be satisfactory-we shall see; but I confess to having a prejudice against foreigners."

It was no easy matter for Mrs. May to gain the information she required. The whole village, it is true, was up in arms about the young stranger who had arrived at Melvyn Park, and who, as every one knew, had long ago been betrothed to Miss Florence; but nobody could say one word on the subject that was not surmise. Poor Mrs. May was highly indignant when she learned that all those visit to the meadows had been watched and commented on by every gossip, that is to say, every woman in the place, and returned home to scold her daughter, and pronounce the mystery unfathomable.

"You must," said she, "forget this person, who evidently has no serious intentions."

"I will try,” replied her daughter with an arch look; "but there he is coming down the street towards our house."

The stranger had heard of Mrs. May's return, and was hastening to beg permission to renew the interviews, the interruption of which had taught him how deeply he was moved. The elder lady received him with formal politeness, as a distinguished foreigner, while Florence endeavored to keep her eyes to the ground. Mr. Angelo found it necessary to break the ice by declaring, that he was no Italian, but an Englishman by origin though not by birth.

“ My name,” he said, “is Angelo Melvyn, and

This explanation "made all things straight," as Mrs. May afterwards said. Angelo might have told a good deal more; for example, that his heart was only just recovering from the pain of a bitter disappointment, when the lovely form of Florence appeared to console and indemnify him. But few words in these matters are wisdom; and there is always time to be confidential. Within a month from that period, every one had heard that Mr. Angelo Melvyn was about to be married to Miss Florence May, with whom those who had learned their geography, and were not conversant with the facts, insisted he had fallen in love in Tuscany. "In those southern climes," said Miss Wiggins to Misa Higgins, "it is the custom for cities to stand godfathers to children." The wedding took place in due season; and it is to be supposed that it turned out a happy one, for the last news we have heard of Mr. and Mrs. Melvyn was, that they have been seen walking along the meadows near the willow-stream, whilst two bright-eyed children-one named Angelo, and the other Florence-were running to and fro, gathering daisies and butter-cups, to make wreaths and nosegays withal.

OUTSIDE PHILOSOPHY.-A good name for a brilliant superficial Philosopher-one who merely touches on the surface of things-would be "Electro-Plato."

DELICACY AND REFINEMENT.-At the Misses Sobbyn's Select Establishment for young ladies, tuition is provided in arithmetic in all its branches -except vulgar fractions.

A BOOTLESS JOKE.-The ready-made shoeshops only keep one size, for each shoe is a foot long.

found more economical to keep than any other, HINTS ON YACHTING.-A steam yacht will be as it admits of the screw principle.

Advice to farmers. Feed your poultry well, and you will insure full crops.

Earthenware at sea. In the stormy ocean every vessel is a pitcher.

theI HAVE no doubt that people very often are exactly the reverse of what nature meant them for, and that inany a Chancellor of the Exchequer would have juggled with knives, and collected a mild, but hard-earned competence by the balancing of donkeys, boys, and pewter plates, while many an itinerant acrobat would have shone with grace as "the first dancer of his time." only circumstances willed it otherwise. I am no less certain that certain of our youth prepare themselves for the profession which is to give the stamp and character to their whole future lives, by doing everything that is out of character therewith, and by, in short, labouring to prove that nature never intended them to do anything serious or useful to themselves or other people.

They pass through Death, yet never reach theay, very gradually,-acquiring the rudi

Like Egypt's kings embalmed, they're resting they sober into the steady practitioners, with