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Majesty's army in India, he, young Horace Furbelle, would have been immortalised !".

I was paralised. I attempted once more not to submerge him by the remembrance of an English author, I fled to my scanty vocabulary of Greek and Latin authors.

" Cicero, Demosthenes, Plato," I exclaimed.

“ Cicero tush, Demosthenes stuff, Plato ditto,-tut, tut, tut,—did they, you chrysalis,-did they know modern manners,—could they discuss about the Repeal Act, even if they were alive,—did they ever place themselves for a shot at Singapore, as your Uncle, Benjamin Baugh, has done ?"

“But it was the property," I observed, “ of every Roman author to be a soldier,-indeed, the bravest in the field were often so in the forum.”

My Uncle seemed overpowered by my means of attack, he took my hand in his, and looking me stedfastly in the face, broke forth in the following ejaculation,

“ Horace Furbelle, you are young.” I was aware of the painful fact.

“Nevertheless you have discretion,—therefore tell me, how does the world esteem me?”

“ As a great linguist, but no soldier.”

- Then,” said he, “ since the world says that, I say the world is wrong, and in future whatever the world gives out as true, I abolish it as false ; and whatever she says is false, I con tend that it is as true as the canticles of Holy Writ. I am a great soldier, but no linguist. Remember that," said he, receding towards the door, “remember that; tut, tut, tut." The door had closed after him, and in the warmth of his eloquence, he had locked it, and withdrawn the key.

The old Hall clock chimed four,-it drew from my heart a painful recollection that at that hour my sisters were to arrive with the Squire's daughter. I attempted to open the door by main force; my efforts were in vain, and in the depths of my despair, having snatched a book from the table, I gave myself up a victim to thought and fancy.

PART II.

THREE ladies were seated in a room of no very large dimension, or elaborate furniture: two of them were evidently sisters--the same style of dress, tlie colour and braiding of their hair, the gold ornaments attached to their jet bracelets, the more than usually striking resemblance of their features, seem to add sufficient testimony to the fact of their being of the same origin ; planted and reared in the same hothouse, fostered 'neath the eye of the same florist, they had under his daily inspection and unceasing attention grown into healthy and flourishing plants. The third figure in this domestic group was different from either of the two we have mentioned. A profusion of light auburn hair fell in graceful ringlets over her white temples, and here and there, like the light from the sun appearing through the thickest verdure of the forest, displayed a neck and chest of surpassing loveliness,-a soft blue eye added a tranquillity to the picture, and in the foreground, a lily-hand dangled over the rich embroidered arm of the chair in which she sat. The former of the predescribed were my sisters Annie and Clara,—the latter, Amelia, the rich Squire Tibbets' daughter..

"I do not think that we shall be able to procure our tickets for the New-Year Ball to-day,” said Annie.

“Horace will be going to the stationers this afternoon, and he can inquire about them,” exclaimed Clara.

“I wonder who will be there. Oh! I shall be so glad to go, if Pa will only let me,” resumed Amelia.

"Oh, you must go, the Brownings, the Waltons, and Horace's friend, the Honorable William Augustus Buttercup will be there,” said Annie.

“But then he is so ugly, and you know he talks about nothing but poets and private theatricals, and I firmly believe that he has something to do with the acting department when he comes here,” exclaimed Clara.

Don't be ridiculous, Clara,” said my sister Annie, blushing like a rose beneath an August sky.

“But then you know what he said to you last Monday evening, when he fetched us home from Amelia's house.”

“What did he say? I am sure he said nothing to me, but what he meant for yourself.”

“ Why, he told you in my hearing, “Nymph, in thine orisons be all my sins remembered.' Now I have a slight notion of the English tongue,-as far as I remember, orisons means prayers,—and therefore he insinuated that you should remember him both night and day. Another thing, I do not like that hat of his, or as he calls it'that tile,' it is so very, very, ‘seedy,' to use his own expression, that I really blushed for shame when we walked home with him although it was night.”

“ To be sure ! 'its a little soiled, but then what's a hat. A new one would make him such a darling! And as regards the language he makes use of, let me tell you, he has lived in Germany, and those are every-day expressions there."

“For my own part, I'm glad. If the cap fits you, wear it by all means.”

“ I'm sure he did not call me Nymph: for if he had, I would not have taken his arm at all."

This conversation was put a stop to by the sudden appearance of a gentleman having a coat with the tail partly torn off,—his hair all stroked over his face,-shirt, collar, and tie each coinciding with one another in irregularity, and bedaubed with blood from a wound in his right hand.

“ Hang that croaking Colossus ! that pettyfogging Uncle," cried the intruder, who, perceiving the ladies in the room, turned his speech of anger into a mild smile.

“ Miss Amelia Tibbets, my brother, -Horace, Miss Amelia Tibbets,” said my sister Clara, half stifling a laugh at my outré appearance.

“I really beg pardon,” said I, “ for appearing before you in this guise, but my venerable Uncle just called upon me. I told them my story at length, whereat, instead of sympathising, they burst forth into a torrent of laughter, even the rich Squire Tibbet's daughter. I own, I felt quite forgetful of the past; the way in which I had been received added vigour to my after conversation.

“Oh, Horace,” said one of my sisters, “we were talking about going to the ball on New Year's Eve; and I'm sure Amelia will be more than happy in dancing with you, either in a Quadrille, Galop, Cellarius, or Polka. What say you ? will you not pre-engage her ?"

Poor soul ! my kindest of sisters knew I could no more dance than fly. I saw the young Clara smiling at my

position. What couid I do? I could not refuse,-and there I stood a victim upon the scaffold, ready to be pardoned if I would only confess my fault. I was thrown into a maze of agitation, when my friend, who claims acquaintanceship from boyhood, when he used, he says, to sail boats with me upon the river Wye, and whom, I declare, I had never met till last Wednesday, at the concert,-he at this moment came to my assistance. His hat was shockingly bruised and beaten in by the tide of time ; dirty white gloves adorned his hands, and with his forefinger touching the brim of the afore mentioned chimney-pot, he saluted me with this familiar expression-not regarding my Sisters, or Miss Tibbets,–

“Hallo, Furbelle, you look pretty, you do." "I am fully aware of it,” said I.

(To be continued in our next.)

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With one exception, that of the Hungarian leader, no man has created a more intense excitement in this “ Island of the Free," than the Italian Orator and Reformer, Gavazzi. Nor will any one wonder that this is the case, who, for himself, has watched his speaking countenance, and his commanding and poetic attitudes; and listened to the tones of that thrilling voice, whose modulations are so expressive and so perfect. And yet it is no small thing to say that any man whose verbal language is, to ninety-nine out of every hundred, unknown, should have six times filled the magnificient Town Hall of our Midland Metropolis ; and each time have kept up a thrilling interest, till the last accent had died upon his lips. It at once testifies to the power of nature's oratory,—the language of action,—and to the intelligence of a people who could read that language through the medium of a spoken tongue, unknown to them.

Gavazzi, view him in what light we will, is no ordinary man. From early life, as a strong opponent of the Jesuits, he has manifested the possession of energies and determination almost indomitable. Difficulties, disappointments, and reverses, which would have crushed any other man to the dust, seem only to have

strengthened his powers, and added vigour to his determination, as, time after time, he has risen superior to them all. When taking a prominent part in the Italian struggle for liberty and nationality, his soul brightened in danger, and rose superior to adversity, unsubdued even by the most grievous disappointment that could befal him—that of finding a man in whom he fancied he could hail the regenerator of Italy, prove but the apostate instrument of rivetting her civil and ecclesiastical chains. The apostacy of Pio Nono seems to have been the heaviest blow that ever fell upon his giant mind; but it was also the chief means, in the hand of God, of awakening him to all the iniquities of the Papal system, which hitherto he had only somewhat feebly and incidentally opposed. He had hoped that a reforming Pope might purify the Cburch of his country; he now saw, or thought he saw, that the Italian Church could only be purified by the destruction of the Papacy. In the war of independence, after the PriestKing had fled from his country, and taken refuge at the pure Court of Naples, Gavazzi, though he wielded no “carnal weapon,” took, notwithstanding, a prominent part. In the language of his biographer, Campanella

“He dedicated all his powers to temper and direct the wild courage which burnt with too fierce a flame within those patriotic breasts, and sought, by Christian admonitions gently urged, to teach that mercy and true valour went ever hand in hand. But it was not thus only that his voice was employed. It sounded loudly in the hour of danger. On the city walls, where the sole rampart was of living men, Gavazzi might be seen fearlessly exposing himself to the thunder of the enemy's cannon, and, foremost in the ranks of death, might be heard cheering others on in a voice that rose like a trumpet call amidst the hideous din of battle. With a cross in his hand, and the word of Scripture in his mouth, the man who struck no blow himself imparted courage, life, and hope to those who fought like true patriots against the common enemy. Danger seemed to be his element, when, by incurring it, he could in aught protect the sacred cause, and often in moments of critical peril, his loud cry, uttered in the extremity of anguish, “ Save or die for fatherland!” turned the fortune of the day. Now again he might be seen by the side of some wounded sufferer pouring words of balm into his ear. The warlike cry was exchanged for soft tones of solace as he solemnly blessed the dying soldier, and bade him hope for those eternal rewards (impiously declared to be forfeited) which the just man who falls

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