I crossed the room, arousing ber as I did so, and positing with alarm and sorrow the grief and despair visible in her tenance. It was no time to choose words, or austier actions. In another moment her hand was in mine, the same gentle little hand, frst clasped during the rude mountain journey, and I was looking into her face.

"Trust me, Melanie! Love me, Melanie, as I have loved and trusted you."

For one moment the little hand lay passive in mine; for one moment a glow of rich sunlight, the sunlight of the soul, transformed with its sparkle and its warm beauty that lovely countenance; and then, with tenfold sadness came sweeping over it the storm and the tempest, the gloom and terror. It is ever in the native tongue that the darkest words of sorrow are framed.

"Pitié! pitié! mère de Dieu! ayez pitié de moi! Sainte Vierge! la tentation est au-dessus de ma force! Saurez moi, je n'en peuz plus. Saurez moi de ntoimême."

When the plaintive wail of this appeal had passed, Melanie collected all her strength and told me, oh so calmly and clearly, and yet with such a marble paleness-oh so gently and kindly, and yet with so much repressed passion-that she honoured and esteemed me, and would ever think of me as a dear friend, a 'brother indeed,' but she dared not love me; and when at this expression I broke out afresh, she silenced me by asking whether I would compel her again to quit the refuge she had found, and wander away into the wide world

still more unhappy and forsaken than before-and entreated me to leave her.

"My friend," she said, falteringly at last, "I have warned you of this, I did so even in London. It was wrong to trust too much to self-command. It was mistaken to allow of a little happiness, purchased at a cost so terrible, the retribution has come upon me now, and we must for ever bid each other farewell. For ever, my good, my best friend-for ever in this world. Let us part now in heart, and when you meet me this evening, the worst bitternes will have passed; for hope will no longer lead us astray-God bless you dear Paul, good bye-good bye!"

She waved her hand and fell back upon the sofa, completely giving way. It was very piteous to hear her sob, but it was better so, the strain had been too great. I watched her quickly leave the room, hardly conscious of surrounding things, and wandered out again into the sweet summer air like a man that has been stunned, and is in the first stage only of his recovery.

Mr. Dalrymple's tale was of so interesting a nature, that it assisted in preventing me from betraying myself during the evening, and the next morning a sadder" if not "a wiser man," after a sleepless night I left the neighbourhood of Leytonstow, the pleasant parties, the cool shady forest, all the agreeable setting in which the only jewel that I valued on earth was enshrined. My late kind host's tale is amusing enough to form a separate chapter.

CHAPTER XII.

A STORY OF THE STEREOSCOPE.

“Who, and what gave to me the wish to woo thee
Still, lip to lip, to cling for aye unto thee?
Who made thy likeness to my soul the link
Who bade me burn thy very breath to drink

My life in thine to sink ?"

BULWER'S TRANSLATION OF SCHILLER.

Ir was within six months of the time when the little instrument came generally into use. I had pooh-pooh'd it, satirised my friends who purchased views, and discouraged them by asserting that the photographic art was completely in its infancy, and that within a few years pictures would in all probability be taken naturally coloured. All the practical men spoken to in this way denied the possibility of such events, and glorified themselves exceedingly at the progress already made.

"My friends," exclaimed I, "within the next fifty years you will be able, at moderate expense, to paper your walls with excellent photographic copies of the finest productions of the old masters, if such decorations suit your fancy!"

"Anything more in the imaginative line?" "As much as you will; it is a great subject to reflect upon. Picture to yourself a man of fortune who desires to travel, but is uncertain which part of the world will please him best. He finally decides upon two or three places, and to confirm or reject the advice received, goes to a proper office established for the purpose, where, upon payment of a small fee (if, indeed, the sight be not established by government, and free to all), he may step into the East or West Indian Room, or Australasian Gallery, and behold hundreds of large views of those parts of the world he has selected, together with the latest and best information respecting them, and the most convenient method of transit from England. That will be the stereoscopic Bradshaw of the next century!"

One day, however, it was my fate to gaze upon a picture which, in spite of every effort, completely took me by surprise. It was no dreary river, with a few melancholy, dejected trees starting leafless from its banks; no excruciating effect of foreground, or rugged plain, comprising nothing but stones and stunted grass; no majestic Alpine vision, resolving itself, after much time wasted in adjustment, into some black and white barren patches, equally interesting whether viewed upside down, or, what the sanguine artist termed the right way up.

I only go on particularizing in this way, because words are absolutely wanting to give an idea of the essential difference between these and like produc

tions staring out from so many shop windows, and the "slide" yet to be spoken of. "Slide," indeed, such a name is unworthy of surely the most fascinating portraiture that was ever seen since the days of Rafaelle.

It was the face and figure of a young girl, simply clad in white muslin, reminding one of the lines a modern Spanish poet has, in his "Recuerdo a mi Patria," which may be translated as follows:

"But what to me the jewels worn,
The silks, and gold, and costly lace,
Or much or none-

Or what to me the matchless form,
The quiet ease and rosy grace
Of northern fair one?

My simple girl, so fair, so gay,

With pure white muslin for array,
With sweet flowers laden-

She scorns the needless, rich display,
Or, terrified, she flies away:

The bashful maiden."

Her face, of the most faultless contour that I ever saw, was shaded by half-negligent masses of slightly waving dark brown hair, wreathed with buds and leaves, and a few flowers. The head was slightly turned, as she stood leaning upon a shepherdess's crook. In the distance were dancing groups, which, from the excessive beauty of the principal figure, escaped notice. So unusual had it been for me to see, in stereoscopic pictures, a truly handsome figure, that it was some time before I recovered from my astonishment. The slide had