Year: 1864




] never honestly envied but two peo'
ple-St. Simeon Slylites, the old chap
who stood forty years on pillar, ant
Caesar Borgia. 1t must be so jolly to FIND
out how good or how bad you are capa-
BILE of being. am certain the angels
are more tolerant of great, big, honest
sin than of the petty meannesses and
weaknesses with which we belitlle oui
souls and disfgure our lives. In short
to carry out the comparison as unpleas.
antly as possible, | would rather have
one deep, incurable cancer than legion
of tiny scrofulous sores that can be Gov
cred up and painted so as to make, you
whited sepculchre Of respectability.


The night after my arrival, | went tc
ball at the cercis made stupid by the
presence of the grand duke, and hi.
duchess, and that illfavored eldest born
of their, whom one likes to think of as
being deprived of all hopes Of snver-
eighty of any sort. am sure that in the
millennium potentates will be oblige tc
be handsome.


Amongst the crowd of familiar faces
saw one that perplexed me extremely.





The lady came in late, escorted by an
old Florentine dame whose dimonds and
former eccentricites were the envy OF
half her acquaintance. The latter
would have sent her to the tread mill,
twenty years before, if she had been a
poor girl; and if there had been any
truth in the legend that the beautiful
stones will lose their lustre in the pre-
sence OF guilt, the gems on her forehead
would have turned to pebbles long ago.
But no matter, she had an acknowledged
position aud high rank, and the fact OF
her presenting a stranger was enough to
insure, for him or her, gracious recep-
ton from all the world,


A pretty woman the new conner was
stylish, beautifully dressed, with de-
lightful devil looking out of her grey eyes,
and promise o. great character and
strength in every line OF her face.


Where had seen her ?-ior seen her
| had. tried in vain to recall the time
and place tried to satisfy myself that
it must have been in some of the Cont
Mental cities; but, in spite of my efforts,
my fancy would insist upon setting her
further back, away among the recollec-
tons Of my boyhood.


The idea was simply absurd, but it
was in my head, and their it would stay.
asked somebody who she was.


Mrs. Flinton-rich, and widow. l
fancy she is countrywoman Of yours


That was not the slightest clue. Never
had even heard the name, 10 the best of
my recollection, yet there was that per-
picking idea haunting me still.


Then | was engaged for some time,
and lost sight of the widow. Suddenly
she passed the place where | was stand
ing-our eyes met-hers wore an odd
look of recognition and amusement at
my puzzled expression. | was just
rushing in pursuit of her, in order to be
presented aud mend the broken link in
my chain of memories, when somebody
that same somebody, my dear, who
dosen't concern you-wished TO leave the
ball, and my services we're in requisiion.
! forgot all about Mrs. Flinton in an in
stant.


/ remembered her no more till my
customary walk the next morning, meet
ing her suddenly. face to face, with that
provoking laugh still in her eyes, evident
ly enjoying, to the fullest extent, my ab-
surd astonshment.


had strayed up the hill back of the
first village. If you remember, quite near
the grandduke's villa there is a pretty
little white house nestled as completely
among the shadows as bird on her nest.
had, unconsciOusly, intruded upon
the grounds connected with the dwelling,
and there | met the stranger.


She was standing on the brow of the
hill, looking down on the little village in
the narrow valley which had just width
enough to hold it, the Serchio cleaning
out, here and there, like a white banner
shaken in the wind.


caught the expression of her solitude.
grave and thoughtful. At the sound of
my approach she turned-as / said, I
stood there quite stupid-and the wistful
look changed to the old expression of ma
licous fun.


4 fear have trespassed on private
properly managed to siammer.


You are very welcome, she replied, !
laughing. i shall not be as uncom-



promising as old Farmer Locke, who ar.