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it in books, the imagination of no one is strong enough to keep seclusion warm. I might otherwise leave ambition to those who murdered Beaufort; yet, I should be glad (if only to solve a problem in the moral history of man), to make the discovery whether it is possible for any one beyond a certain age, and who has at all tasted of public excitement, to throw it off and be happy with privacy, and nothing but his imagination to gild it. Shew me such a man, and I may still be a dreamer."

De Vere thought of Okeover and Flowerdale, whose history he recounted; but Wentworth rejected it, as not in point. "He was evidently," he said, "a country gentleman, with a good estate, without which, perhaps, his philosophy would not have served him. Besides, you say he was fully interested in the business and politics of the world. This is not what I want. Bolingbroke, indeed, had his favourite maxim of 'vacare literis.' But this was only secondary in his mind: his real wish, to the last, was for power. What I do want is a man of keen faculties, buoyant and active, with spirits under no disgusts, swayed by no other absorbing passion, and therefore fit for the world if he pleases, yet arising above its ambition by sufficing to himself wherever he goes. Shew me, I say, such a man, and as at present disposed, I should be inclined to enlist under him.”

De Vere laughed, and said he knew of no such person, but, under such an alternative, would not shew him if he could.

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"He is not to be found," observed Wentworth, "and therefore my dream of romance may continue for a few weeks at least, without danger."

At that moment, they had arrived at the castle of Lourde, high among the mountains, to the governor of which they had letters; but, on presenting themselves, they were sorry to find he was absent at Toulouse; and as the only auberge in the place was a poor one, and their horses could proceed no further without rest, they were glad to learn, that by a pleasant walk among torrents and fells, they might easily reach the romantic St. Sauveur. The serjeant of Lourde, who commanded the small party called the garrison, in lieu of the governor, said they would there find an hôtel magnifique, and, being famous for its waters, la meilleure société du monde. They, therefore, set out on foot, leaving their horses to follow as soon as refreshed.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MAN OF IMAGINATION.

I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love or gold,

Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE travellers had not proceeded very far when St. Sauveur opened to their view, though at a great

distance, and perched up among the crags like eagles' nests. It overhung one of the numerous mountaintorrents that abounded, and was, as usual, backed by a grove of dark pines. The western sun, clothed all the front in splendour, but rendered the heat powerful enough for a pair of fatigued and hungry pedestrians to wish to avoid it. By entering the bed of a river, now almost dry, they thought not only to do this, but to escape a hill. Accordingly, they pursued a goatpath worn within the channel, till they came to a sort of natural shrubbery, beyond which, voices were plainly heard, though the speakers were hid from view. Again their own language struck their ear; but it did not now so much surprise them, as in the instance of honest François, who had, indeed, apprised them that they might meet many of their countrymen among these mountains. They pursued the sound; though Wentworth observed he had little wish to trench upon the perfect freedom from English associations, for which he had come abroad, by renewing among these unknown countrymen, the reminiscences of home. "We have enough of them," said he, " in ourselves."

As their way, however, lay directly through the party, they were obliged to proceed, and soon came within sight of a tent pitched among the shrubs, close to the banks, where glided the mountain stream which they had pursued. Here, broader and fuller, it furnished the fishermen with some of that excellent trout with which almost all the Pyrenean rivulets

abound. The voices had ceased, but they now heard the tuning of a guitar, as if in preparation to accompany a song.

Indeed, on the outside of the tent, lay other musical instruments, -as a French horn, and a clarionet, intermixed with two or three fishing-rods, nets, and some baskets with plates, unfolded napkins, and cut -breadi ndicating that there had been a repast within the tent. A tethered mule, with panniers, was feeding not far off.

Presently the guitar, being perfectly in tune, and a voice cleared with a few hems, a well-known song in English arrested the attention of the friends, who looked at one another as if astonished at the appositeness of the sentiment to their late conversation.

"Under the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note,

Unto the sweet bird's throat

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,

And loves to live i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather."

was alive. He did so, found her not only alive, but single, for she had resisted great offers, she knew not why, from a baker at Tarbes, and a restaurateur at Barèges. The cheek of Catalina had lost its freshness; but this little account made it as blooming as ever in the eyes of François, who offered, and was accepted with joy.

Upon this he immediately changed his fine English clothes for the course mountain dress of his youth, and soon became master of the inn himself; "where," said he, "I have lived a blessed life without ever stirring from it; though my chief pleasure is when I chance to receive my dear master's countrymen, as I do to-day."

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So saying he bowed, not ungracefully, and received felicitations on his history, which were sincerely bestowed. It furnished still more food for the speculations of both the gentlemen, who admired the romantic site of François' dwelling, and wondered it was not oftener visited by the restless pilgrims of Britain. The landlord assured them he had no cause of complaint, for that during the season for the waters, the Pyrenean hamlets were well stocked with travellers, and that many had lately passed in their way to Barèges, and St. Sauveur, towns now not far off.

"We have had," said De Vere, as they mounted their horses to pursue their way to Lourde, "a beautiful lesson on true natural happiness, unsophisticated by the artificial excitements with which, under our

This story is exactly true in all its parts.

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