As she crossed the saloon, a page informed her that Mrs. Dubois wished her presence in the library. She immediately obeyed the summons.

This apartment, one of the pleasantest in the chateau, was a favorite with the Count; and as age and infirmity crept upon him, he grew more and more attached to it, and was accustomed to spend there the greater part of his time, amused and soothed by the attentions of Mrs. Dubois and Adele. It was a lofty, but not very large apartment, the walls nearly covered with bookcases of oak, carved in quaint old patterns and filled with choice books in various languages. Several finely executed statues were placed in niches, and one large picture, by Rubens, gathered a stream of sunshine upon its gorgeous canvas.

The Count was sitting, buried in the purple cushions of an easy-chair, fast asleep, and as Adele entered the room, her mother held up her finger, warningly.

"Ma chere", said Mrs. Dubois, in a low tone, "here is a packet of letters for you, from Paris".

Adele took them from her mother's hand, indifferently. She read and crushed together a note bearing the impression of a coat of arms.

"Count D'Orsay and sister wish to come here next week", she said, with a half sigh.

"Eh, bien! ma chere, they are agreeable people. I shall be glad to see them".

"Yes", replied Adele, "Gabrielle is very lovely. Nevertheless, I regret they are coming".

"Do you know, Adele, how highly your father esteems the young Count?"

"Yes, mamma, and that is one reason why I do not wish him to come now to Rossillon. You know he loves me, and my father approves. I can never marry him. But I esteem and respect him so much, that it will give me infinite pain to say nay".

Mrs. Dubois looked at Adele very tenderly, yet gravely, and said, "Ma fille, do not throw away a true, devoted affection, for the sake of a phantom one. I fear that, while you are dreaming and waiting, happiness will slip out of your path".

"Dreaming and waiting", repeated Adele, a slight red color kindling on her cheek, "am I dreaming and waiting?"

"It seems to me you are, ma chere; I fear it will at last spoil your peace. I do not see how the Count D'Orsay can fail to win your heart. Do not decide hastily, Adele".

"I have considered the affair a long time already. I have looked into my heart and find nothing there, for Count D'Orsay, but simple respect, esteem, and friendship. It would be a wrong to him, should I consent to marry him, without a warmer, deeper sentiment. It is of no use thinking about it longer. The subject must be closed. I know I shall not change, and his affection is too true and pure to be tampered with. I shall tell him all frankly next week".

"Eh, bien!" said Mrs. Dubois, with a sigh, and returned to her letters.

Adele, who felt quite unhappy to disappoint her mother's hopes in the case, looked thoughtful. They were both silent for several minutes.

"Here is a letter from the good missionary", suddenly whispered Mrs. Dubois, holding up to her daughter several sheets of large paper, well covered. "See what a nice long one. Now we shall hear the news from our old home".

She began to read the missive in a low tone, looking occasionally to see if her voice disturbed the sleeper, and Adele, whose countenance had instantly brightened upon the mention of the letter, drew her seat nearer to her mother and listened intently.

MIRAMICHI RIVER, APRIL, 1828.

DEAR FRIENDS—

I am again on the memorable spot. You can scarcely imagine my interest in retracing the scene of my brief mission here, in the summer and autumn of 1825, or the deep emotion with which I revisit your former residence, the house under whose roof you so kindly sheltered and entertained one, then exiled, like yourselves, from home. I shall ever rejoice that Providence threw me into your society, and bestowed upon me the precious gift of your friendship.

Three years have passed since those eventful weeks we spent together, on the banks of this beautiful river, and you will be interested to know what changes have taken place here during that time.

Traces are still distinctly visible of the awful fire, but Time, the great healer of wounds, and Nature, who is ever striving to cover up the desolations of earth, are both at work, silently but diligently overlaying the hideous black disfigurement with greenness and beauty. The Miramichi and its picturesque precincts are now more alive than ever, with a hardy and active population. New villages are springing up on the banks of the river, and business, especially in the branches of lumbering and fishing, is greatly increasing. There is also a marvellous change in the moral aspect of the country. It is ascribed in a great degree to the deep impression made upon the minds of the people by the conflagration, and doubtless this is the fact. It must be that God had a retributory end in view in that great event. It was a judgment upon the community for its exceeding wickedness. Nothing short of a grand, widespread illumination like that, could have penetrated the gross darkness that hung over the land.

The way has been thus prepared for the reception of the truth; and whereas formerly the people, if they came at all to hear the preaching of God's word, were only drawn by motives of vain curiosity, or the desire of novelty, they now come in great numbers and with a sincere desire, as I believe, to be instructed in the way of salvation. Last year, I came to this region early in the spring and labored until late in the autumn, preaching up and down the river, from house to house and from grove to grove, and found the people, almost everywhere, ready to hear. Many were baptized in the flowing waters of the Miramichi, made a profession of their faith in Christ, and have since exhibited in their daily lives, good and in some cases shining evidence of their sincerity.

You may perhaps be interested to know that yesterday, which was the Sabbath, I discoursed, as in days gone by, in Micah's Grove. The people came in from a great distance around, and it was estimated that there were not less than eight hundred present.

My soul was completely filled with a sense of God's unbounded love to the human family, and my heart was enlarged to speak of the wonderful things belonging to His goodness and mercy towards us, as a race. I was like a bottle filled with new wine, my heart overflowing with the remembrance of God's love. Conviction was carried in a most signal manner to the souls of many present. The whole assembly seemed for a time to be overshadowed by the immediate Divine presence.

It is remarkable, that though the people do at the present time seem to be under profound religious impressions, yet there are scarcely any traces of the delusion and wildfire usually accompanying such seasons, among a somewhat uncultivated and undisciplined population. That great fire sobered them, perhaps.

But, my dear friends, I know you are impatient to hear some details respecting the state of affairs at the "Dubois Settlement", so called from the grateful attachment felt by the inhabitants for a distinguished family once residing there. The new people who have established themselves here of late, are acquainted with the family just alluded to, of course only by tradition, but so deep has been the impression made upon the minds of the new comers, by Mrs. McNab, Micah Mummychog, and others, of the worth, benevolence, power, and present grandeur of said family, that these persons are more than willing, they feel honored in retaining the name of Dubois in this parish. The above is written, to elucidate to your minds the fact, obvious enough here, that you are not forgotten.

Now, you will wish to hear what has befallen some of the queer notabilities of the Settlement. By courtesy, I begin with Mrs. McNab. You will remember her, as the general oracle and adviser of a certain portion of the female population in the neighborhood, and as greatly opposed to some of the "doctreenes", as she called my instructions to the people. Well, she remains in her entireness and individuality, her costume as grotesque and her speech as Scotch as ever.

You will be surprised, however, to learn that she has a far more favorable opinion of your humble servant than formerly. I have had some difficulty in accounting for this change in her disposition. It seems, however, that she had early taken a prejudice against Yankees, and had got an idea, in the beginning, that I had some wily and sinister intentions toward the people, connected with my labors here. No developments of that kind having been made, she began to look more complacently upon my efforts, and she thinks now that the way in which I have endeavored to lead the community, is not so bad after all.

"The warst thing I had agen ye, was this", she said to me not long since. "My meenister o' the Kirk at Dumfries used to preach that a pusson, might repent o' his sins, an' pray and pray a' his life lang, but wad nae ken, in this warld, whether or nae he was to be saved. Whereas, ye ken ye told the people that ef they repented o' their sins and believed in Christ and gave the evidence o' gude warks they might settle right doon, and ken they'd be saved, anyhow. I ca' that a peskalent doctreen, an a loose ane to promoolgate. Though I must confess, ye hae na dune the meeschief I luked for".

I did not think it best to go into a discussion of our theological differences, lest it should stir up the waters of strife, and therefore waived the subject.

Mrs. McNab occupies two comfortable rooms at Mrs. Campbell's house, from whence she issues forth, whenever occasion calls, to perform the duties of nurse, counsellor, and supervisor-general of the domestic affairs of the community. The tea-drinkings in her parlor seem to be occasions of great social enjoyment to the fortunate neighbors invited. After the regular gossip of the day has been discussed, she entertains her company with the same old stories of her former life in Scotland, among its grand families, and to these she has added, for the benefit of those who have more recently come into the Settlement, accounts of the "Doobyce" family, characterizing its members by remarking, that "Mr. Doobyce was a braw, princely mon, his wife a sweet, fair spoken leddy, an' Miss Ady was a born queen, ef there ever was ane. She had her ane way wi' everybody, an' e'en I mysel' hae gien up to her, whiles".

Micah Mummychog, alias Jones, Miss Adele's special devotee, never a bad-hearted person, has now become one of the influential men of the neighborhood, and sustains here every good word and work. About a year after the great fire, he had a long and dangerous illness, brought on by great exposure to cold while lumbering in the woods.

Mrs. McNab voluntarily went to his house and took care of him most assiduously, for many weeks, until his recovery. Micah said, that "it looked remarkable kind in the old soul to come of her own accord and take keer of him, when he'd allers plagued her so unmascifully".

He felt very grateful to her and paid her handsomely for her services. Nevertheless, he teases her yet occasionally and says "he dont know neow, which skeered him most, the great fire, or comin' to his senses one night when he was sick, and seein' Aunt McNab with her head wropped up in its cotton night gear".

Subsequent to Micah's recovery, he went to the Kennebec River and visited his friends. After his return, he commenced trading, and is now doing quite an extensive business. He has entirely broken off from his old habits of swearing and gambling, and discountenances them among the people. He attends religious worship constantly, and sets a worthy example in keeping the Sabbath day.

He is also getting his ideas up on the subject of education. Not long since, he told me it was his opinion that "there warn't half school larnin' enuf among the people, and there'd oughter to be longer schools. There's Jinny Campbell, there, a bright leetle imp as ever was, and ef she'd had a chance would a taken to her books, like a chicken to a dough dish. And there's others, most as smart as she is, all reound, that need schoolin'. I feel the want of it myself, neow its tew late to git it".

A few days ago, Micah told me he expected to build a new house for himself soon.

"Ah! Micah", said I, "have you got tired of that comfortable old house of yours, where we have had so many nice suppers and cosey times together?"

"Well, no, Captin'; I hain't, and I'm afeerd I shall never like another place as I dew that. But ye see, ef a feller is a goin' to git merried, he's got to stir reound and dew what suits other folks as well as hisself".

"Married! Micah", I said, in complete astonishment, "are you going to be married?"

"That's jest the way I expected yeou'd look", said he, "when I told ye abeout it, because ye knew I used to talk agin it, like fury. But ye see, Captin'; I aint just as I used to be, abeout some things. I'll tell ye heow it came reound, any heow, so as to sahtisfy ye I ain't crazy. Well, when I was a beginnin' to git better o' that terable sickness, the fust and only one I ever had in my life, Miss Campbell, she used to send Jinny up, with bits o' briled chicken, nice broth and sech, to kinder tempt my appetite like. The little critter used to bring 'em in and be so pitiful to me and say, do Micah try to eat this, so that you may git well; and she seemed so pooty, sincere and nateral like in all her ways, that I took to her mightily, specially as I hadn't Miss Adele to look arter and chore reound for, any more. Once or twice, when she came to bring suthin, Ant McNab kinder advised her to do this and that, and the way the leetle critter spunked up and had her own way, made me think o' Miss Adele and pleased me some, I tell ye.

"Well, arter I got well, she seemed to be just as chipper and pleasant as ever, and was allers glad when I went to the heouse, and so it went on (I won't bother abeout the rest on't) till six months ago. As I was a walkin' hum from a meetin' at the Grove with her, she sed, 'what a pooty Grove that is, of yours, Micah;' Witheout a considerin' a half a minit, I sed, right away, 'Jinny, I'd give yeou that Grove and all I have beside, upon one condition.' I looked at her, arter I'd sed it, as skeered as I could be, fur fear she'd fly right at me, fur sayin' sech a thing. But she didn't. She only colored up awfully and sed, in a fluttered kinder way, 'what condition, Micah?' 'Pon condition that you'd merry me, Jinny.' You may believe that arter I sed that, my heart stood still, better'n a minit. She didn't say a word at fust, seemed ruther took by surprise, and then, all of a sudding, she turned her head and looked up inter my face as sarcy as ye ever see anything, and says she, 'Do yeou think I'd ever merry a man with sech a horrid name as Mummychog?' 'Is that all the objection you hev, Jinny?' ses I. Ses she, ''Tis the greatest, I know of.' Then ses I, 'There ain't no diffikilty, for my name aint Mummychog, and never was. When I came deown to this kentry, I was a wild, reckless kind of a critter, and I thought I'd take some outlandish name, jest for the joke on it. I took Mummychog, and they allers called me so. But my real name is Jones.' 'Well, Mr. Jones,' ses she, lookin' sarcier than ever, 'I shall expect yeou to hev a sign painted with your real name on it and put up on your store, and yeou must build a new heouse before I merry yeou.' That sobered me deown a leetle. I sed, 'But Jinny, I don't want ye to merry me, unless ye like me. I'll build a heouse and gin it tew ye, ef that's what ye want. But ye needn't merry me unless ye like me—neow remember.' She looked at me, jest as soon as I sed that, and caught up my big hand inter her little one, and ses she, 'O law, Micah, I'd merry ye ef yer name was Mummychog, and ye needn't build a heouse, nor nuthin'. I ken go right to the old place jest as well. I'd merry ye ef ye hadn't a cent, for I like ye better'n anybody else in the world, Micah.' And then she began to cry, and I hushed her up. And so, neow it's all settled".

"Well Micah", said I, after hearing this account of his courtship of Jenny Campbell, "I congratulate you on your choice; Jenny is a good girl and a pretty one. But isn't she rather young?"

"Well, yis. I thought yeou'd be speakin' o' that. I'm forty year old and she's abeout eighteen, or so. Consid'able difference in eour ages. I told her abeout that t'other day, and she sed, well she didn't see but I 'peared abeout as young as she did. She didn't see much difference. So ef she's sahtisfied, I'd oughter be. But Captin,' I'll tell ye, she's a curus leetle critter as ever ye see. She has spells of playin' off all kinds o' tricks on me and hectorin' me every way she ken, but the minit she sees me look sober, as ef I felt any way bad, she leaves right off, and comes up and kisses me, and ses she didn't mean anything by it, and is as good as a kitten".

Alas! poor Micah! You see, Miss Adele, he is in the meshes, and there we must leave him for the present. I have taken pains to give you the above in his own language, as it is so much more graphic than any I could employ.

My letter of Miramichi gossip has, swollen, unconsciously, to an enormous size, and I fear I am getting tedious. Be patient a few minutes longer, dear friends, while I tell you of Mr. John Lansdowne.

I happened in the city of P—— last winter, on business, and just before leaving town I went to call on Mr. Lansdowne. Aunt Esther, Mr. John's nurse, an aged negro woman who has been a member of the household many years, answered my ring at the door. Finding that none of the family were at home, I was turning to leave when Aunt Esther begged me to come in, saying she reckoned they would soon be back, as they had already been several hours absent, adding, good soul, that "they'd all be dreffully disapinted not to see me."

I knew that several months prior to this, Mr. Lansdowne had been admitted to the practice of law and had become junior partner in business, to the distinguished Mr. Eldon of P. And I now gathered from Aunt Esther, that the Supreme Court was in session, and that a great criminal case was being tried before the jury. Mr. Eldon had been taken ill, just before the trial came on, and had urged Mr. Lansdowne to take his place in Court, saying, he could argue the case as well as himself. Mr. John, as Aunt Esther informed me, did it with great reluctance, though she didn't see why. "He always does everything he sets out to do, 'markable nice. But Massa and Missus felt kind of anxious, and they v'e gone into Court, with other gemmen and ladies, to hear how't goes. I feel no concern about it. I know he'll make a splen'id talk, anyhow, cos he always does".

After waiting half an hour, I was obliged to leave messages of regret with Aunt Esther and hasten home.

I observed in "The Eastern Gazette" of the following week, a notice of Mr. Lansdowne's plea before the jury, in the great case of "The Commonwealth vs Jenkins," in which he was eulogized in the highest terms. He was said to have displayed "great acumen, extensive legal acquirements, and magnificent powers of oratory." So, Aunt Esther's confidence, about the "splen'id talk," was not without a reasonable basis.

I was highly gratified, myself, in reading the flattering paragraphs. You know we all greatly admired the young gentleman at Miramichi. He has a brilliant earthly future before him, should his life and faculties be spared.

Micah was much charmed with the intelligence I brought him of his old favorite.

"I ain't a mite surprised at what you v'e sed abeout the young man. Ever sence I took that trip inter the woods with him, I know'd he'd the genooine ring o' trew metal tew him. When he gits to be President o' the United States, I shall sell eout here and go hum to the Kennebec".

Please let me hear from you soon, my dear friends. It seems long since I have had tidings from you.

With an abiding gratitude for past kindness, shown by you to a weary wanderer from home, and with the warmest respect and friendship, I remain as ever,

Yours truly,

SAMUEL J. NORTON.

Mrs. Dubois not having but one pair of eyes, and those being fully occupied with the contents of the above letter, and the Count de Rossillon remaining asleep during the entire reading, of course it could not be expected that they observed the changes that took place on Adele's countenance. But an author, as is well known, has ways and means of observation not common to others, and here it may be remarked, that that young lady's face, had exhibited, during the last fifteen minutes, or more, quite a variety of emotions. It had at first, been thoughtful and interested, then lighted with smiles, then radiant with enjoyment of the good missionary's sketches of Mrs. McNab and Micah. But the moment her mother read the name of John Lansdowne, her face was suffused with a deep crimson, and she listened almost breathlessly, and with glistening eyes, to the close.

"Oh! the good noble man!" said Mrs. Dubois, as she folded up the sheets. "It will please your father to read this, where is he, Adele?"

"He rode away with Pierre, not long ago. Please let me take the letter. I must read it again", said Adele, having conquered her emotion, without her mother perceiving it.

She took it away to her own boudoir, and as she read the pages, the flowing tears fell fast. Why should she weep over such a cheerful letter as that? Why?



CHAPTER XXV.

THE LAST SLEEP.

Adele had long since discovered that the events of greatest interest in her life had transpired before she entered the walls of Rossillon, or mingled in the festivities of the Court at Paris.

The scenes that occurred at Miramichi, during Mr. Lansdowne's accidental residence there, were fraught with a power over her heart, continually deepening with the flight of time. Those golden days, when their lives flowed side by side, had been filled with the strange, sweet agitations, the aerial dreams, the bewitching glamour, the intoxicating happiness of a first and youthful love. Those days were imprinted yet more deeply in her memory by a consciousness that there was somewhat with which to reproach herself connected with them. Just when she had reached the top of bliss, her pride had sprung up, and like a dark stormcloud, had shadowed the scene. She could not forget that cold, sad parting from her lover.

And now, though the ocean rolled between them, and the spheres in which each moved were so widely separated and the years had come and gone, she was yet calculating and balancing the probabilities, that they might meet again and the wrong of the past be cancelled.

Mr. Lansdowne had been plodding among musty law books and threading legal intricacies, with occasional interruptions, caused by fits of impatience and disgust at the detail and tedium of study, until he had at length fought his way through and placed himself in the front rank of his profession. His brilliant achievement in the famous Jenkins case, in the outset of his career, had at once won for him a position at the bar which most young men have to toil years to obtain. His family was wealthy and influential. It was not strange that with these advantages, united to the possession of remarkable personal beauty, he should be the centre of a numerous group of friends and admirers. He was the object of pride among the older barristers and gentlemen of the bench, the cynosure of the young men, and the one among a thousand whom elegant mammas and smiling maidens wooed with their selectest influences.

Yet one great element of earthly happiness was wanting to his life. He could not forget the enchantment of those days spent in the far-off wilds of Miramichi. He turned continually to those scenes, as the most prominent of his existence. There he had stepped from boyhood into manhood. There he had seen life in new and before untried forms. He had there witnessed a wonderful display of God's power through the terrible agency of the all-devouring flame, and there, for the first time, he had confronted death and sorrow. There, he had loved once and as he believed, forever. He recalled Adele, as she first appeared before him,—an unexpected vision of beauty, in all her careless grace and sweet, confiding frankness; in her moments of stately pride, when she chilled him from her side and kept him afar off; and in her moments of affectionate kindness, and generous enthusiasm. In short, in all her changeful moods she was daily flitting before him and he confessed to himself, that he had never met a being so rich in nature and varied in powers, so noble in impulse and purpose, so peerlessly beautiful in person.

Thus he lived on from day to day, remembering and yearning and dreaming,—the ocean yawning between him and his love. Concealed in the depths of his soul, there was, however, a hope fondly cherished, and a purpose half formed.

A few weeks after the reception of Mr. Norton's letter, the Count de Rossillon died. Sitting, as usual, in his great purple-cushioned arm-chair, taking his afternoon nap, he expired so gently that Mrs. Dubois, who was reading by the window, did not know, or even suspect, when the parting between spirit and body occurred. Kindly, genial, and peaceful had been his last years, and his life went out calmly as the light of day goes out amid the mellow tints of a pleasant autumn sunset.

When Mrs. Dubois went to arouse him from what seemed an unusually long slumber, she found a volume of Fenelon spread open upon his knee, and turning it, her eye ran over passages full of lofty and devout aspiration. These, probably expressed the latest thoughts and desires of the good chevalier, for as she looked from the pages to his face, turned upward toward the ceiling, a smile of assent and satisfaction was still lingering there, although his breath had departed and his pulse was still.

Mrs. Dubois stooped to kiss the forehead of her uncle, but started back with a sudden thrill of fear. She gazed searchingly at him for a moment, and then she knew that Death, the conqueror, stood there with her, looking upon his completed work.

After the first shock of surprise was over, she remained gazing upon the spectacle in perfect silence. A truly devout Catholic, in her grief she leaned with all a woman's trust and confidingness upon the love and power of Christ, and something of the divine calmness which we associate with the character of the mother of our Lord, and which has been so wonderfully depicted to the eye by some of the older painters, pervaded her spirit.

As she thus stood, spellbound, entranced, her eyes fixed upon the noble features irradiated with a smile of content and peace, the long silvery locks parted away from the forehead and flowing around the head, like a halo, she thought it the countenance of a saint, and her poetic fancy created at once a vision of the Saviour, with an aspect grand, glorious, yet gracious and benign, placing with His right hand a golden jewelled crown upon her uncle's head. A cloud swept up over the gorgeous earthliness of the great Rubens picture, and from out its folds shone sweet and smiling angel faces, looking down upon the scene.

Mrs. Dubois never knew how long she remained thus absorbed. She was first aroused by hearing a voice saying, in tones of fervor, "How blessed it is to die!" And Adele, who had entered the room a little time before, and had uttered these words, stepped forward and imprinted a kiss upon the pale uplifted brow of the sleeper.



CHAPTER XXVI.

POMPEII.

About this period, Mrs. Lansdowne, whose health had been declining for nearly a year, was urgently advised by her physician to seek a milder climate. John immediately offered himself as her compagnon de voyage, and manifested great alacrity in the preparations for their departure for Italy.

After a favorable sea passage, they landed at Civita Vecchia, and, with brief delays at Rome and Naples, went to Sorrento, intending to remain there several months.

This place combines the most striking peculiarities of Italian scenery. It stands on a wide and beautiful plain, shut in by the mountains and the sea. The fertile soil produces oranges, lemons, grapes, and figs of the richest quality and in great abundance. The coast line, a wall of volcanic rock, is broken into varied forms, by the constant action of the waters. Here, they spent day after day, rambling about the old town, making excursions into the neighboring mountains, or crossing the bay to different points of interest. They delighted particularly in sailing under the shadow of the cliffs, watching the varying colors, blue, purple, and green, presented by the glassy surface, peering into the arched caverns, worn into the rock by the waves, and looking upward at the gay profusion of wild flowers, which, growing in every crevice, adorned its face with beauty. From the balcony of the house they occupied, they looked upon gardens, invisible from the street, so closely were they walled in from the view of the passer by, and beheld orange and lemon trees, with rounded tops of dark green foliage, golden fruit, and snowy blossoms. The soft air permitted them to sit during the evenings and listen to the whisper of the sea on the beach, to watch the sails of the fishing vessels gleaming in the moonlight, and gaze at the dark form of Vesuvius, with his lighted torch, brooding at a distance, over the scene.

A month had thus passed away. A marked improvement had taken place in Mrs. Lansdowne's health, and John proposed that they should go to Naples and make an excursion thence to Pompeii.

One morning, they drove out from the swarming city toward those famous ruins, revealing to the curious so much of the old Roman civilization. After a drive of twelve miles past fields of lava and ashes, the accumulations from recent irruptions of Vesuvius, they arrived at the street of tombs, a fitting entrance to the desolated city. Here, the beautifully sculptured monuments, memorials of a departed generation, awoke in their hearts a peculiar interest. Through these they entered at once into the inner life of joys and sorrows of an extinct race.

"How terrible death must have been to these people, whose ideas of the future world were so vague and unsatisfying, and who had really no knowledge of immortality!" said Mrs. Lansdowne.

"Yes", replied John. "And with nothing brighter or more glorious to look forward to in the beyond, how reluctant they must have felt to leave these glowing skies, this delicious air, these scenes of beauty and art, for the darkness of the grave. I fancy it must have been harder for them than if they had been surrounded with the sombre tints, the chilling atmosphere, and the more subdued forms of life in our own clime".

Leaving the cemetery, they passed on through the narrow streets, paved with blocks of lava, on which were the traces of carriage wheels worn into the material more than eighteen hundred years ago. They went into the Pompeian houses, walked over the marble mosaic floors, looked at the paintings on the walls, examined the bronzes, the statues, the domestic utensils, the shop of the oil merchant, with his name on it still legible, until, in imagination, they began to people the solitude,—bringing back the gay, luxurious, beauty-loving Pompeians again to live and revel in their former haunts.

At length, quite exhausted, Mrs. Lansdowne sank down on a seat in one of the porticoes, and John, placing himself by her side, tempted her to partake of a lunch he had provided for the occasion.

Soon, the pensive influences of the scene stole over them, and they sat for some time in perfect silence.

Mrs. Lansdowne first interrupted it, by exclaiming, "John, what are you thinking of?"

"Thinking of! why I was thinking just then how those Pompeians used to sit in these porticoes and talk of the deeds of Caesar and of the eloquence of Cicero, while those renowned men were yet living, and how they discussed the great combats in the amphitheatres of Rome. And what were you cogitating, my dear mother?" said he, smiling.

"Oh! I was thinking woman's thoughts. How slowly they excavate here! I have an extreme curiosity to know what there is, yet uncovered to the light of day, beyond that dead wall of ashes".

"If I were a magician, I would apply to your eyes some unguent, which should unveil what is there concealed", said John, smiling. "Will you go now to the theatre?"

He drew his mother's arm within his, and they moved on. That portion of the city appeared as if it had been partially destroyed by a conflagration.

Looking towards Vesuvius, he said, "I can easily imagine the sensations of those who gazed at the volcano on that terrible day and saw for the first time its flames bursting out, and throwing their horrid glare on the snow-capped mountains around. Fire is a tremendous element".

As he uttered the words, the scene of the great conflagration at Miramichi rose to his view.

"Salve! Salve!" exclaimed a rich, musical voice near him, just at that moment.

The word and the tone in which it was uttered, thrilled him, like an electric shock. He looked, with a bewildered air, in the direction from whence the voice proceeded, and saw, standing before the threshold of one of the Pompeian houses, a tall, elegant female figure, habited in mourning.

Her eyes were fixed upon the word of salutation, written on the threshold, at the entrance. After contemplating it a moment, she turned her head involuntarily towards Mr. Lansdowne, who stood transfixed to the spot. Their eyes met in instant recognition. Neither moved—they were both paralyzed with sudden emotion.

Mrs. Lansdowne looked up in surprise.

"What is it, John?"

"It is", said he, recovering himself, "it is, that I am astonished to meet here, so unexpectedly, a friend whom I supposed to be in France—certainly not here".

He led his mother forward a few steps and presented her to Mademoiselle Dubois.

M. and Mdme. Dubois, who were standing a little apart, examining some objects of interest, while this scene of recognition transpired, now joined the group and were presented to Mrs. Lansdowne. During the remainder of the day, the two families formed one party.

They visited the ruined theatre, the Forum, the temples of Isis and Hercules, but the spell of Pompeii no longer bound the souls of John and Adele. It is true, they walked on, sometimes side by side, sometimes with other forms between, absorbed, entranced; but a spirit more potent than any inhabiting the walls of the old Roman city had touched the powers of their being and woven its sorceries around them. The living present had suddenly shut out the past.

So, after three years, they had met. Such meetings are critical. In the lapse of time, what changes may occur! There is so much in life to mar the loveliest and noblest! In regard to character, of course no one can stand still. There is either a process of deterioration going on, or a work of intellectual and spiritual advancement. Memory and imagination glorify the absent and the dead. The lovers had been constantly exercising, respecting each other, their faculty of idealization. When they parted, they were young, with limited experiences of life, with slight knowledge of their own hearts. It was a dangerous moment when they thus met.

But there was no disappointment. Mr. Lansdowne gazed upon Adele, with emotions of surprise and astonishment at the change a few years had wrought in her and marvelled at the perfection of her beauty and manner.

Adele, albeit she was not used to the reverential mood, experienced an emotion almost verging into awe, mingled with her admiration of the noble form, the dignity and stately grace of him who had so charmed her girlish days.

Thus the acquaintance, broken off, in that cold, restrained morning adieu, on the banks of the Miramichi, was renewed under the sunny, joyous sky of Italy. Their communion with one another was now no longer marred by youthful waywardness and caprice. During those long years of separation, they had learned so thoroughly the miseries attending the alienation of truly loving hearts, that there was no inclination on the part of either, to trifle now. Day by day, the hours they spent together became sweeter, dearer, more full of love's enchantment.

"Mademoiselle Dubois", said Mr. Lansdowne, a few weeks after their recognition at Pompeii, "I think I did not quite do justice to that famous excavated city, when I visited it. I was so occupied with the pleasure of meeting old friends that I really did not examine objects with the attention they deserve. To-morrow I intend to revisit the spot and make amends for my neglect. Will you give me the pleasure of your company?"

"Thank you, Mr. Lansdowne, I shall be happy to go with you. A week spent there, could not exhaust the interest of the place".

The two families were still at Naples and from that city Mr. Lansdowne and Adele started again to visit Pompeii.

No evidence, as to the amount of antiquarian lore acquired on that day by our two lovers has yet transpired, but it is certain that, while wandering among the ruins, they came before the threshold of the door, where Adele was standing, when first recognized, by Mr. Lansdowne. There, he gently detained her, and explained, how that ancient salute of welcome to the guest and the stranger, when uttered by her lips, had thrilled his heart; how it had been treasured there as an omen of good for the future, and how the memory of it now emboldened him to speak the words he was about to utter. There, within sight of Vesuvius and with the fiery memories of Miramichi hanging upon the hour, he renewed the avowal of his love, first made in the haste and effervescence of youthful passion.

And now, Adele did not, as then, fly from his presence. She simply put her hand in his, and pronounced in sweet and almost solemn accents, the irrevocable promise.

In the meantime, Mrs. Lansdowne had been cultivating the friendship of M. and Mdme. Dubois. She was gratified to have an opportunity of thanking them in person, for their hospitality and kindness to her son and brother in Miramichi. Her profound gratitude for attentions to those so dear to her, would have proved a bond of sufficient strength to unite her to these new acquaintances. But she was attracted to them also by traits of mind and character unfolded in their daily intercourse.

The discovery of John's attachment to Adele explained many things in his conduct, during the last few years, that had appeared enigmatical. With this fact made clear to her mind, it may well be supposed that she observed the young lady with keen scrutiny. At the end of a week, John confessed his intention to win Adele if possible for his wife. His mother had no objection to such an alliance, and only wished him success in his efforts.

Having spent six weeks together at Naples and Sorrento, the party pursued their travels leisurely, for several months, through Italy and Germany, until at length they reached France. After a visit at Paris, they located themselves quietly at the chateau de Rossillon, where preparations were soon commenced for the marriage.

It was observed, that the lovers, supposed to be the parties most particularly interested, were remarkably indifferent in regard to these affairs. When needed for consultation on important arrangements, they were reported to be off, riding or driving or wandering in some remote part of the park, and when at last, an opportunity occurred to present some point for their consideration, they seemed to have no particular opinions on the subject.

With a very decided taste of her own, in matters of dress, not less than in other things, Adele could not be made to attend to the details of the trousseau, and at last the two older ladies took it into their own hands.

In the mean time, the lovers were leading a rapturous life in the past, the present, the future. In the past they remembered the morning glories of Miramichi; in the present they saw, daily, in each other's eyes, unfathomed depths of love; as to the future it shone out before them, resplendent with the light of an earthly Paradise.

At last, the wedding day came, and the parting between Adele and her parents. It was a great sacrifice on the part of M. and Mdme. Dubois. But, remembering their own early trials, they made no opposition to Adele's choice. They sought only her happiness.



CHAPTER XXVII.

CONCLUSION.

On a dark, stormy day, in the winter of 1845, at ten o'clock, afternoon, a tall, stout, elderly man, muffled in fur, rang at the door of Mr. Lansdowne.

The house was large, of brown stone, and situated on H—— Street, in the city of P——.

As the servant opened the door, the hall light fell upon a face of strongly marked features, irradiated by an expression of almost youthful cheerfulness. To the inquiry, if Mr. and Mrs. Lansdowne were at home, the servant replied, that they were absent, but would return shortly.

"Miss Adele is in the drawing-room sir", he added, immediately throwing open the door of that apartment, to its widest extent, as if to insure the entrance of Mr. Norton, for it was no other than the good missionary of Miramichi. He was still the warmly cherished and highly revered friend of the entire family.

Adele, a young lady of sixteen, was sitting on a low seat in the drawing-room, beneath a blaze of waxen candles, intently occupied with a new book. She gave a start, on being recalled so suddenly from the fancy land in which she was roaming, but after a moment of bewilderment, flung aside her book, came quickly forward, put her arms around the neck of Mr. Norton, who bent down to receive them, and welcomed him with a cordial kiss.

"Every day more and more like your mother, Miss Adele", said he, as, after returning her salutation, he held her at arm's length and surveyed her from head to foot.

"Papa and mamma will be home soon", said Adele. "They went to dine at Mr. Holbrook's. It is time for their return".

"All right, my dear. And how are you all?"

The young lady led him to a large, cushioned arm-chair.

"How did you leave mamma Norton, Jenny, and Fanny?"

"All quite well. And they sent love;" replied the missionary.

"How is Gray Eagle?"

"Ah! Gray Eagle is good for many a trot round the parish yet".

"I have not forgotten how he shot over the hills with me, last summer. He began his scamper, the moment I was fairly seated on his back. I hope he has sobered down a little since then", said Adele.

"Yes, I remember. Gray Eagle knew well enough that the little sprite he carried, liked a scamper as well as himself. The animal is quite well, I thank you, and is on good behavior. So are your other acquaintances, Cherry, the cow, and Hodge, the cat".

"I am glad to hear it. I had a charming visit at Rockdale last summer. Johnny and Gabrielle are wild to go there. But mamma and I, and all of us, were so disappointed because you would not consent to Fanny and Jenny coming to spend the winter with us. Mamma says she does not quite understand yet why you objected".

"Ah! well, my dear, I'll make it all right with your mamma. The fact is, I wish to get a few rational ideas into the heads of those precious little ladies before they are launched out into city life. Just a little ballast to keep them from capsizing in a gale".

"Mamma says they are both very much like you", said Adele, archly.

"True, my dear. That makes it all the more necessary to look after them carefully".

After a few moments of chat, Adele left the room to give orders for hastening supper.

During her absence, Mr. Norton, with his eyes fixed upon the glowing grate, fell into a fit of musing. Look at him a moment, while he sits thus, occupied with the memories of the past. Twenty years have passed since he was introduced to the attention of the reader, a missionary to a remote and benighted region. He is now sixty years old, and very few have passed through greater toil and hardships than he has endured, in asserting the claims of the Redeemer to the gratitude and love of the race. Yet his health and vigor of mind are scarcely impaired, and his zeal continues unabated.

Beginning his journey early each spring and returning to his family late every autumn, he had spent sixteen successive summers in Miramichi, engaged in self-imposed labors. Each winter, he wrought at his anvil, and thus helped to maintain an honest independence.

Four years previous, a parish having become vacant, in the town where he resided, it was urged upon his acceptance, by the unanimous voice of the people. By his efforts, a great change had been wrought in the field of his past labors and a supply of suitable religious teachers having been provided there, he accepted the invitation as a call of Divine Providence, and had ministered to the spiritual wants of the people of Rockdale since.

Business called him occasionally to the city of P. His visits there were always regarded by the Lansdownes as especial favors. The two families had frequently interchanged visits and had grown into habits of the closest intimacy.

Having been in the city several hours and dispatched the affairs which drew him thither, he had now come to look in upon his friends for the night, expecting to hasten away at day dawn.

There was something in his situation this evening, thus housed in warmth, light, and comfort, protected from the darkness and the storm without, and ministered unto by a lovely young maiden, that reminded him of a like scene, that had occurred, twenty years ago. He vividly recalled the evening, when, after a day of toil and travel on the banks of the distant Miramichi, he reached the house of Dubois, and how while the tempest raged without he was cheered by the light and warmth within, and was ministered unto by another youthful maiden, in form and feature so like her, who had just left him, that he could almost imagine them the same. A glance around the apartment, however, dispelled the momentary fancy. Its rich and beautiful adornments afforded a striking contrast to the appointments of that humble room.

He was roused from his meditations by the ringing of the street bell, and in a moment Mr. and Mrs. Lansdowne came forward to welcome their early and long-tried friend.

The good man, who loved them with an affection akin to that which he felt for his own family, had preserved a watchful care over their earthly and spiritual welfare. Sometimes he feared that their wealth and fame might draw away their hearts from the highest good and impair the simplicity of their religious faith.

After the first cordial greetings, in accordance with his habit on occasions like this, he indulged in a careful scrutiny of his two friends.

Time had in no wise impaired the charms of Mrs. Lansdowne. Experience of life, maternal cares, and religious duties had added a softer light to her once proud beauty, and her old friend might well be pardoned a thrill of admiration as he gazed and thought within his heart, that Mrs. Lansdowne, robed in black velvet, Mechlin lace, and the diamonds of the house of Rossillon, surpassed in loveliness, the radiant Adele Dubois, arrayed in the aerial garments of girlhood.

When also his keen eye had wandered over the face and figure of John Lansdowne, it returned from its explorations satisfied. No habits of excess had impaired the muscular strength and vigor of his form. Nor had ungoverned passion, avarice, political craft, or disappointed ambition drawn deep defacing lives, to mar the noble beauty of his countenance.

"It is well with them still", ejaculated the good man mentally, "and may God bless them forever".

THE END.

* * * * *



Loring's Railway Library.

ADELE DUBOIS:

A STORY OF

The Lovely Miramichi Valley,

IN NEW BRUNSWICK.

LORING, Publisher:

BOSTON.



Loring's Publications.

CHOICE FICTION.

THE GAYWORTHYS. By the Author of 'Faith Gartney's Girlhood.' 8th Edition. $2.00

INTO THE LIGHT: or, THE JEWESS. 1.75

PIQUE: A Tale of the English Aristocracy. 15th Ed. 1.50

SIMPLICITY AND FASCINATION: A Tale of the English Gentry. 3d Ed. 1.50

MAINSTONE'S HOUSEKEEPER: A Tale of the Manufacturing Districts. 9th Ed. 1.50

THE QUEEN OF THE COUNTY. 4th Ed. 1.50

BROKEN TO HARNESS. By EDMUND YATES 4th Ed. 1.50

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. " " 3d Ed. 1.50

MOODS. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 3d Ed. 1.25

A LOST LOVE. By ASHFORD OWEN. 4th Ed. 1.25

* * * * *

For Young Ladies

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD. 16th Ed. 1.75

JUDGE NOT: or, HESTER POWERS' GIRLHOOD. 2d Ed. 1.50

MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS. 4th Ed. 1.50

MILLY: or, THE HIDDEN CROSS. A Romance of School Life 3d Ed. 1.50

HELEN FORD. A Romance of New York City Life. By HORATIO ALGER. jr. 1.50

COUNTESS KATE. By MISS YONGE. 3d Ed. 1.25

* * * * *

For Young Gentlemen.

MARK ROWLAND. A Romance of the Sea. By HAUSER MARTINGALE. 1.50

THE BOYS AT CHEQUASSET. By the Author of 'Faith Gartney's Girlhood.' 1.25

FRANK'S CAMPAIGN. By HORATIO ALGER, jr. 1.25

PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE. " " 1.25

CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE. " " 1.25

RAGGED DICK: A Story of New York Boot Blacks and News Boys. 1.25

TIMOTHY CRUMP'S WARD—and What Came of It. 1.00

THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN IN GREEN: A Fairy Story for Boys and Girls 75

* * * * *

Mrs. Warren's Popular Home Manuals.

HOW I MANAGED MY HOUSE ON L200 A YEAR. 60

COMFORT FOR SMALL INCOMES. 50

HOW I MANAGED MY CHILDREN from Infancy to Marriage. 50

HOW TO FURNISH A HOUSE WITH SMALL MEANS. 50

Loring's New Books.

A Week in a French Country House. Cls 25 By Mrs. Adelaide (Kemble,) Sartoris.

Leslie Tyrrell. By Georgiana M. Craik 30

The American Colony in Paris, 1867; What they do—how they appear to a Frenchman 10

No Throughfare: An Amusing Burlesque of Charles Dickens's Christmas Story. By Bellamy Brownjohn 10

Miss Thackeray's exquisite "Fairy Stories for Grown Folks". 80

Louisa M. Alcott's Proverb Stories,—("great favorites",) 25

Was it a Ghost? The Murders in Bussey's Wood 75 (An extraordinary Narrative.)

Rugged Dick: or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Black 1.25

Florence Marryat's New Novel. "Nellie Brooke", 75

Lucy: or, Married from Pique. A story of real life. From the German 30

* * * * *

NEARLY READY:

Medusa and other Stories. By the author of "A Week in a French Country House".

Kate Field's Pen Photographs of Charles Dickens's Readings, revised and greatly enlarged by several amusing chapters.

Doctor Leo—Baron von Oberg: A story of Love Unspoken. From the German.

* * * * *

Sold by all Booksellers and Newsdealers throughout the Country—by the Book Messengers on the Railroad Trains, Or sent by Mail, free of Postage, on receipt of the advertised price.



LORING'S PUBLICATIONS.

LORING'S RAILWAY NOVELS.

THE ROUA PASS: or, Englishmen in the Highlands. $0.75 TWICE LOST: A story of Remarkable Power. 75 LINNET'S TRIAL. By the Author of 'Twice Lost.' 75 Florence Marryat's successful Novels. LOVE'S CONFLICT. 75 TOO GOOD FOR HIM. 75 WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 75 FOR EVER AND EVER. 75 THE CONFESSIONS OF GERALD ESTCOURT. 75 NELLY BROOKE: A Homely story. 75

LORDS AND LADIES. By Author of 'Queen of the County.' 75 HUNTED TO DEATH: A Story of Love and Adventure. 75 BAFFLED SCHEMES. A Sensation Novel. 75 THE FORLORN HOPE. By EDMUND YATES. 75 BROKEN TO HARNESS. " " 75 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. " " 75 MOODS. By LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 75 A LOST LOVE. By ASHFORD OWEN. 75 PIQUE: A Tale of the English Aristocracy. 75 SIMPLICITY AND FASCINATION. 75 MEDUSA AND OTHER STORIES ADELE DUBOIS: A Story of the lovely Miramichi Valley. 75 MAINSTONE'S HOUSEKEEPER. 75 LUCY: Or, MARRIED FROM PIQUE. 30 LESLIE TYRRELL. By GEORGIANA M. CRAIK. 30 A WEEK IN A FRENCH COUNTRY HOUSE. MAD. SARTORIS. 25 PROVERB STORIES. BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 25

* * * * *

WAS IT A GHOST?

The Murders in Bussey's Wood, is not a "sensational" story, as many suppose. It is a simple recital of all the facts that are or can be known in connection with this fearful tragedy, by one who lived in the immediate vicinity. The spiritual apparition was to him a reality.

A dual murder, so unaccountable, should not be allowed to die out till Justice is satisfied.

In this sense this book has a mission.



PIQUE:

A Tale of the English Aristocracy.

11th edition. 1 vol. 12mo. Price $2.00.

Three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six new books were published in England this last year, which is about the average number of past years.

Thirteen years ago PIQUE was first published in London, and up to the present time, notwithstanding the enormous number of new books that have been issued, the effect of which is to crowd the old ones out of sight, this remarkable novel has continued to have a large sale.

This is the strongest praise that can be bestowed on any book.

It is not in the least "sensational", but relies solely on its rare beauty of style and truthfulness to nature for its popularity.

It has the merit of being amusing, pleasantly written, and engrossing.

The characters being high-bred men and women, are charming companions for an hour's solitude, and one puts the book aside regretfully, even as one closes the eyes on a delicious vision. The American edition has taken everyone by surprise, that so remarkably good a novel should have so long escaped attention.

Everybody is charmed with it, and its sale is immense, and will endure for years to come.

FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD.

By the Author of "Boys at Chequasset".

11th edition. 1 vol., 12mo. Cloth. Price $1.75.

This charming story fills a void long felt for something for a young girl, growing into womanhood, to read.

It depicts that bewitching period in life, lying between FOURTEEN and TWENTY, with its noble aspirations, and fresh enthusiasm. It is written by a very accomplished lady, whose previous book was universally pronounced to be "the best Boys' book written".

A lady of rare culture, and wide experience, says,—

"'Faith Gartney's Girlhood,' is a noble, good work, that could only have been accomplished by an elevated mind united to a chaste, tender heart. From the first page to the last, the impression is received of a life which has been lived; the characters are genuine, well drawn, skilfully presented; they are received at once with kind, friendly greeting, and followed with interest, till the last page compels a reluctant farewell.

"'The book is written for girls, growing as they grow to womanhood.' The story has an interest, far beyond that found in modern romances of the day, conveyed in pure, refined language; suggestive, pleasing thoughts are unfolded on every page; the reflective and descriptive passages are natural, simple, and exquisitely finished.

"In these days, when the tendency of society is to educate girls for heartless, aimless, factitious life, a book like this is to be welcomed and gratefully received. Wherever it is read, it will be retained as a thoughtful, suggestive—if silent—friend".

Parents, give it a wide circulation.



Margaret and her Bridesmaids.

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"The Lady of Glynne", "Mr. and Mrs. Ashton", "Valley of a Hundred Fires", "The Ladies of Lovel Leigh", "The Challenge", "The Queen of the County".

3d edition. 1 vol., 12mo. Cloth. Price $2.00.

This talented authoress ranks first among the successful female novel writers of England. Her books are immensely popular there; edition after edition of each has been called for, and the announcement of a new one from her pen creates a new demand, and increases the popularity of what has been published. By an arrangement with her and her English publishers, all her books are to be brought before the American public, where she is almost wholly unknown, except to the readers at LORING'S CIRCULATING LIBRARY, and they are enthusiastic over them.

"Margaret and Her Bridesmaids" is the one chosen to introduce her with, as this, she writes me, has enjoyed the greatest popularity in England. This will be followed by "THE QUEEN OF THE COUNTY", and the others, as fast as compatible.

It is the history of four school-girls.

The London Athenaeum, the highest literary authority, says of it: "We may save ourselves the trouble of giving any lengthened review of this book, for we recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel, to read it for themselves. They will find it well worth their while. There is a freshness and originality about it quite charming, and there is a certain nobleness in the treatment, both of sentiment and incident, which is not often found. We imagine that few can read it without deriving some comfort or profit from the quiet good sense and unobtrusive words of counsel with which it abounds".

The story is very interesting. It is the history of four school-fellows. Margaret, the heroine, is, of course, a woman in the highest state of perfection. But Lotty—the little, wilful, wild, fascinating, brave Lotty—is the gem of the book, and, as far as our experience in novel reading goes, is an entirely original character—a creation—and a very charming one. No story that occurs to our memory contains more interest than this for novel readers, particularly those of the tender sex, to whom it will be a dear favorite.

We hope the authoress will give us some more novels, as good as "Margaret and her Bridesmaids".

TWICE LOST.

A NOVEL.

By S.M., Author of "Linnet's Trial".

Read the Opinions of the English Press.

Another first-rate novel by a woman! The plot well conceived and worked out, the characters individualized and clear-cut, and the story so admirably told that you are hurried along for two hours and a half with a smile often breaking out at the humor, a tear ready to start at the pathos, and with unflagging interest, till the heroine's release from all trouble is announced at the end. *** We heartily recommend the book to all readers. It is more full of character than any book we remember since Charles Reade's "Christie Johnstone".—Reader.

"Twice Lost" is an entertaining novel; the struggle between the high-spirited, generous, half-savage heroine, and her specious, handsome, unprincipled, soi-disant father, is exciting; and the sympathy of the reader is cleverly enlisted for the heroine, Lucia, from the first moment. The personages have all of them a certain look of reality, and there is a notion of likeness which insures the reader's interest. We can recommend "Twice Lost" as a novel worth reading.—Athenaeum.

By far the cleverest book on our list is "Twice Lost".... This is bold and skilful drawing, and it is a fair sample of the earlier half of the volume. The combined vigor, ease, and perspicuity of the writing is unusual.—Guardian.

Nothing can be better of its kind than the first portion of "Twice Lost".... The caustic humor and strong common sense which mark the sketches of character in this book, betray a keenness of observation and aptitude for producing a telling likeness with a few strokes, which need only a wider cultivation to secure a more complete success than has been attained in "Twice Lost".—Westminster Review.

It is quite clear that the author has given a good deal of thought to the construction of the story, with a view to producing strong interest without the use of the common sensational expedients. To say that "Twice Lost" is very well written, and very interesting, would not be doing it justice.—Morning Herald.

There can be no doubt of the author's power. She holds her characters and incidents well in hand, writes firmly, and often very happily, and there are many passages which indicate power much above mediocrity.—London Review.

Not very often do we meet with a novel so thoroughly good as "Twice Lost". If, as may be assumed from both subject and style, its author is a woman, she may at once be classed with the Bronte sisters and George Eliot. She has the firm conception and distinct touch of the first-class artist. Her characters are real and individual.—Press.

This is a well-written romantic tale, in which we find many pleasing incidents and some successful portraiture of character. The character of Miss Derwent, the companion and governess of the heroine, Miss Langley, is very well developed in the course of the narrative. The moral tone of the book is very good, and so far as religious matters are touched upon, they are treated with propriety and reverence.— English Churchman.

The characters are well drawn—the situations are new, the sentiments are unsentimental, and the incidental remarks those of a clever woman who is reasonable and tolerant.—Globe.

The plot of this tale is an original one, and well worked out.... We can sincerely recommend this tale; it is quite out of the general run of books, and is sure to prove an interesting one.—Observer.

We notice this story because its authoress will one day, we believe, produce a powerful novel.—Spectator.

The reader is carried along with unflagging and exciting interest, and the book is full of characters finely sketched, and of passages powerfully written.—Patriot.

That the author of "Twice Lost" can write well, the book itself furnishes sufficient evidence.—Nation.

This is a striking story. It has a freshness and originality about it which are very pleasant.—Morning Advertiser.

Without being a sensation novel this is a most exciting and attractive story.—Daily News.

A most romantic story, the interest being well sustained throughout, and everything coming right at the end. Any one must be entertained by it.—John Bull.