BOOK IV.-INITIAL CHAPTER-COMPRISING MR. CAXTON'S OPINIONS ON THE MATRIMONIAL STATE, SUPPORTED BY LEARNED AUTHORITIES. Yet," quoth my uncle, "I think Shakspeare represents a lover as falling into slovenly habits, neglecting his person, and suffering his hose to be ungartered, rather than paying that attention to his outer man which induces Signior Riccabocca to leave off his spectacles, and look as handsome as nature will permit him." 66 "There are different degrees and many phases of the passion," replied my father. Shakspeare is speaking of an ill-treated, pining, wobegone lover, much aggrieved by the cruelty of his mistress-a lover who has found it of no avail to smarten himself up, and has fallen despondently into the opposite extreme. Whereas Signior Riccabocca has nothing to complain of in the barbarity of Miss Jemima.” "Indeed, he has not!” cried Blanche, tossing her head-" forward creature!" "Yes, my dear," said my mother, trying her best to look stately, "I am decidedly of opinion that, in that respect, Pisistratus has lowered the dignity of the sex. Not intentionally," added my mother mildly, and afraid she had said something too bitter; but it is very hard for a man to describe us women." The captain nodded approvingly; Mr. Squills smiled; my father quietly resumed the thread of his discourse. "To continue," quoth he. "Riccabocca has no reason to despair of success in his suit, nor any object in moving his mistress to compassion. He may, therefore, very properly tie up his garters and leave off his spectacles. What do you say, Mr. Squills-for, after all, since love-making cannot fail to be a great constitutional derangement, the experience of a medical man must be the best to consult." "Mr. Caxton," replied Squills, obviously flattered, "you are quite right; when a man makes love, the organs of self-esteem and desire of applause are greatly stimulated, and, therefore, of course, he sets himself off to the best advantage. It is only, as you observe, when, like Shakspeare's lover, he has given up making love as a bad job, and has received that severe hit on the ganglions which the cruelty of his mistress inflicts, that he neglects his personal appearance; he neglects it, not because he is in love, but because his nervous system is depressed. That was the case, if you remember, with poor Major Prim. He wore his wig all awry when Susan Smart jilted him; but I set it all right for him.' ་་ or Mexican mother to her daughter, in which she says-That your husband may not take you in dislike, adorn yourself, wash yourself, and let your garments be clean.' It is true that the good lady adds- Do it in moderation; since, if every day you are washing yourself and your clothes, the world will say that you are over-delicate; and particular people will call you-tapetzon tinemáxoch!' What those words precisely mean,' added my father modestly, "I cannot say, since I never had the opportunity to acquire the ancient Aztec language-but something very opprobrious and horrible, no doubt." "I dare say a philosopher like Signior Riccaboccca," said my uncle, "was not himself very Tapetzon_tine-what d'ye call it?—and a good healthy English wife, like that poor affectionate Jemima, was thrown away upon him.” "Roland," said my father, "you don't like foreigners; a respectable prejudice, and quite natural in a man who has been trying his best to hew them in pieces, and blow them up into splinters. But you don't like philosophers either-and for that dislike you have no equally good reason." “I only implied that they were not much addicted to soap and water," said my uncle. "A notable mistake. Many great philosophers have been very great beaux. Aristotle was a notorious fop. Buffon put on his best laced ruffles when he sat down to write, which implies that he washed his hands first. Pythagoras insists greatly on the holiness of frequent ablutions; and Horace -who, in his own way, was as good a philosopher as any the Romans produced-takes care to let us know what a neat, well-dressed, dapper little gentleman he was. But I don't think you ever read the Apology of Apuleius?" "Not I-what is it about?" asked the captain. "About a great many things. It is that sage's vindication from several malignant chargesamongst others, and principally indeed, that of being much too refined and effeminate for a philosopher. Nothing can exceed the rhetorical skill with which he excuses himself for using-tooth-powder. 'Ought a philosopher,' he exclaims, to allow anything unclean about him, especially in the mouth-the mouth, which is the vestibule of the soul, the gate of discourse, the portico of thought! Ah, but Emilianus [the accuser of Apuleius] never opens his mouth but for slander and calumny-toothpowder would indeed be unbecoming to him! Or, if he use any, it will not be my good Arabian tooth-powder, but charcoal and cinders. Ay, his teeth should be as foul as his language! And yet even the crocodile likes to have his teeth cleaned; insects get into them, and, horrible reptile though he be, he opens his jaws inoffensively to a faithful dentistical bird who volunteers his beak for a tooth "By shaming Miss Smart into repentance, or getting him a new sweetheart?" asked my uncle.pick."" Pooh!" answered Squills, "by quinine and cold bathing." "We may therefore grant," renewed my father, "that, as a general rule, the process of courtship tends to the spruceness, and even foppery, of the individual engaged in the experiment, as Voltaire has very prettily proved somewhere. Nay, the Mexicans, indeed, were of opinion that the lady at least ought to continue those cares of her person even after marriage. There is extant, in Sahagun's History of New Spain, the advice of an Aztec LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIX. 5 CCCLX. My father was now warm in the subject he had started, and soared miles away from Riccabocca and "My Novel." "And observe," he exclaimed -"observe with what gravity this eminent Platonist pleads guilty to the charge of having a mirror. Why, what,' he exclaims, more worthy of the regards of a human creature than his own image,' (nihil respectabilius homini quam formam suam!) Is not that one of our children the most dear to us who is called the picture of his father?' But take what pains you will with a picture, it can make the best of things; but Metellus, sanctus vir— a holy and blameless man, grave and sincere, to whit, and addressing the Roman people in the solemn capacity of censor-was bound to speak the plain truth, especially as he was treating of a subject on which the observation of every day, and the experience of every life, could not leave the least doubt upon the mind of his audience.' Still Riccabocca, having decided to marry, has no doubt prepared himself to bear all the concomitant evils -as becomes a professed sage; and I own I admire the art with which Pisistratus has drawn the precise woman likely to suit a philosopher.' never be so like you as the face in your mirror! | becomes rhetoricians to adorn, and disguise, and Think it discreditable to look with proper attention on one's-self in the glass! Did not Socrates recommend such attention to his disciples-did he not make a great moral agent of the speculum? The handsome, in admiring their beauty therein, were admonished that handsome is who handsome does; and the more the ugly stared at themselves, the more they became naturally anxious to hide the disgrace of their features in the loveliness of their merits. Was not Demosthenes always at his speculum? Did he not rehearse his causes before it as before a master in the art? He learned his eloquence from Plato, his dialectics from Eubulides; but as for his delivery-there he came to the mirror! 66 Therefore," concluded Mr. Caxton, returning unexpectedly to the subject-"therefore it is no reason to suppose that Dr. Riccabocca is averse to cleanliness and decent care of the person, because he is a philosopher; and, all things considered, he never showed himself more a philosopher than when he left off his spectacles and looked his best." “ Well,” said my mother kindly, “I only hope it may turn out happily. But I should have been better pleased if Pisistratus had not made Dr. Riccabocca so reluctant a wooer." "Very true," said the captain; "the Italian does not shine as a lover. Throw a little more fire into him, Pisistratus-something gallant and chivalrous." 66 Fire-gallantry-chivalry!" cried my father, who had taken Riccabocca under his special protection" why, don't you see that the man is described as a philosopher?-and I should like to know when a philosopher ever plunged into matrimony without considerable misgivings and cold shivers. Indeed, it seems that-perhaps before he was a philosopher-Riccabocca had tried the experiment, and knew what it was. Why, even that plain-speaking, sensible, practical man, Metellus Numidicus, who was not even a philosopher, but only a Roman censor, thus expressed himself in an exhortation to the people to perpetrate matrimony-If, O Quirites, we could do without wives, we should all dispense with that subject of care, (eû molestiû careremus;) but since nature has so managed it, that we cannot live with women comfortably, nor without them at all, let us rather provide for the human race than our own temporary felicity."" Here the ladies set up a cry of such indignation, that both Roland and myself endeavored to appease their wrath by hasty assurances that we utterly repudiated that damnable doctrine of Metellus Numidicus. My father, wholly unmoved, as soon as a sullen silence was established, recommenced-"Do not think, ladies," said he, "that you were without advocates at that day; there were many Romans gallant enough to blame the censor for a mode of expressing himself which they held to be equally impolite and injudicious. Surely,' said they, with some plausibility, if Numidicus wished men to marry, he need not have referred so peremptorily to the disquietudes of the connection, and thus have made them more inclined to turn away from matrimony than given them a relish for it.' But against these critics one honest man (whose name of Titus Castricius should not be forgotten by posterity) maintained that Metellus Numidicus could not have spoken more properly; For remark,' said he, that Metellus was a censor, not a rhetorician. It Pisistratus bows, and looks round complacently; but recoils from two very peevish and discontented faces feminine. Mr. Caxton (completing his sentence)—" Not only as regards mildness of temper and other household qualifications, but as regards the very person of the object of his choice. For you evidently remembered, Pisistratus, the reply of Bias, when asked his opinion on marriage:-Ho zadn▾ ἕξεις, ἡ αἰσχρὰν καὶ εἰ καλήν, εξεις κοινήν· εἰ δὲ αἰσ your, is mourir.” Pisistratus tries to look as if he had the opinion of Bias by heart, and nods acquiescingly. Mr. Caxton.-"That is, my dears, the woman you would marry is either handsome or ugly; if handsome, she is koiné, viz., you don't have her to yourself; if ugly, she is poiné-that is, a fury.' But, as it is observed in Aulus Gellius, (whence I borrow this citation,) there is a wide interval between handsome and ugly. And thus Ennius, in his tragedy of Menalippus, uses an admirable expression to designate women of the proper degree of matrimonial comeliness, such as a philosopher would select. He calls this degree stata forma-a rational, mediocre sort of beauty, which is not liable to be either koiné or poiné. And Favorinus, who was a remarkably sensible man, and came from Provence-the male inhabitants of which district have always valued themselves on their knowledge of love and ladies-calls this said stata forma the beauty of wives-the uxorial beauty. Ennius says, that women of a stata forma are almost always safe and modest. Now Jemima, you observe, is described as possessing this stata forma! and it is the nicety of your observation in this respect, which I like the most in the whole of your description of a philosopher's matrimonial courtship, Pisistratus, (excepting only the stroke of the spectacles,) for it shows that you had properly considered the opinion of Bias, and mastered all the counter logic suggested in Book v. chapter xi., of Aulus Gellius." 66 For all that," said Blanche, half-archly, halfdemurely, with a smile in the eye, and a pout of the lip, "I don't remember that Pisistratus, in the days when he wished to be most complimentary, ever assured me that I had a stata forma―a rational, mediocre sort of beauty." "And I think," observed my uncle, "that when he comes to his real heroine, whoever that may be, he will not trouble his head much about either Bias or Aulus Gellius." But so naturally amiable was she, that she hastened to curb her emotion, and efface as well as she could the trace of a stepmother's grief. When this was done, and a silent self-rebuking prayer murmured over, the good woman descended the stairs with alacrity, and, summoning up her best smiles, emerged on the terrace. She was repaid; for scarcely had she come into speak first of the lady, as in chivalry bound, Mrs. | jugal jealousy," henceforth I am only second in his Riccabocca had entirely renounced that melancholy home. He has gone to welcome his child!" And which had characterized Miss Jemina; she became at that reflection Mrs. Riccabocca shed tears. even sprightly and gay, and looked all the better and prettier for the alteration. She did not scruple to confess honestly to Mrs. Dale, that she was now of opinion that the world was very far from approaching its end. But, in the mean while, she did not neglect the duty which the belief she had abandoned serves to inculcate-" She set her house in order." The cold and penurious elegance that had characterized the Casino disappeared like enchantment- the open air, when two little arms were thrown that is, the elegance remained, but the cold and round her, and the sweetest voice that ever came penury fled before the smile of woman. Like Puss- from a child's lips, sighed out in broken English, in-Boots after the nuptials of his master, Jackeymo" Good mamma, love me a little." only now caught minnows and sticklebacks for his own amusement. Jackeymo looked much plumper, and so did Riccabocca. In a word, the fair Jemima became an excellent wife. Riccabocca secretly thought her extravagant, but, like a wise man, declined to look at the house bills, and ate his joint in unreproachful silence. Indeed, there was so much unaffected kindness in the nature of Mrs. Riccabocca-beneath the quiet of her manner there beat so genially the heart of the Hazeldeans-that she fairly justified the favorable anticipations of Mrs. Dale. And though the doctor did not noisily boast of his felicity, nor, as some new married folks do, thrust it insultingly under the nimis unctis naribus—the turned-up noses of your surly old married folks, nor force it gaudily and glaringly on the envious eyes of the single, you might still see that he was a more cheerful and light-hearted man than before. His smile was less ironical, his politeness less distant. He did not study Machiavelli so intensely-and he did not return to the spectacles; which last was an excellent sign. Moreover, the humanizing influence of the tidy English wife might be seen in the improvement of his outward or artificial man. His clothes seemed to fit him better; indeed, the clothes were new. Mrs. Dale no longer remarked that the buttons were off the wristbands, which was a great satisfaction to her. But the sage still remained faithful to the pipe, the cloak, and the red silk umbrella. Mrs. Riccabocca had (to her credit be it spoken) used all becoming and wifelike arts against these three remnants of the old bachelor Adam, but in vain. "Anima mia-soul of mine," said the doctor tenderly, I hold the cloak, the umbrella, and the pipe, as the sole relics that remain to me of my native country. Respect and spare them." Mrs. Riccabocca was touched, and had the good sense to perceive that man, let him be ever so much married, retains certain signs of his ancient independence-certain tokens of his old identity, which a wife, the most despotic, will do well to concede. She conceded the cloak, she submitted to the umbrella, she concealed her abhorrence of the pipe. After all, considering the natural villany of our sex, she confessed to herself that she might have been worse off. But, through all the calm and cheerfulness of Riccabocca, a nervous perturbation was sufficiently perceptible;-it commenced after the second week of marriage-it went on increasing, till one bright sunny afternoon, as he was standing on his terrace gazing down upon the road, at which Jackeymo was placed-lo, a stage-coach stopped! The doctor made a bound, and put both hands to his heart as if he had been shot; he then leapt over the balustrade, and his wife from her window beheld him flying down the hill, with his long hair streaming in the wind, till the trees hid him from her sight. 'Ah," thought she with a natural pang of con 66 66 Love you? with my whole heart!" cried the stepmother, with all a mother's honest passion. And she clasped the child to her breast. "God bless you, my wife!" said Riccabocca, in a husky tone. "Please take this too," added Jackeymo in Italian, as well as his sobs would let him--and he broke off a great bough full of blossoms from his favorite orange-tree, and thrust it into his mistress' hand. She had not the slightest notion what he meant by it! CHAPTER III. VIOLANTE was indeed a bewitching child—a child to whom I defy Mrs. Caudle herself (immortal Mrs. Caudle!) to have been a harsh stepmother. Look at her now, as, released from those kindly arms, she stands, still clinging with one hand to her new mamma, and holding out the other to Riccabocca-with those large dark eyes swimming in happy tears. What a lovely smile!-what an ingenuous, candid brow! She looks delicate-she evidently requires care-she wants the mother. And rare is the woman who would not love her the better for that! Still, what an innocent infantine bloom in those clear smooth cheeks!-and in that slight frame what exquisite natural grace! "And this, I suppose, is your nurse, darling?" said Mrs. Riccabocca, observing a dark, foreignlooking woman, dressed very strangely-without cap or bonnet, but a great silver arrow stuck in her hair, and a filigree chain or necklace resting upon her kerchief. "Ah, good Annetta," said Violante in Italian. "Papa, she says she is to go back-but she is not to go back, is she?" Riccabocca, who had scarcely before noticed the woman, started at that question-exchanged a rapid glance with Jackeymo-and then, muttering some inaudible excuse, approached the nurse, and, beckoning her to follow him, went away into the grounds. He did not return for more than an hour, nor did the woman then accompany him home. He said briefly to his wife, that the nurse was obliged to return at once to Italy, and that she would stay in the village to catch the mail; that, indeed, she would be of no use in their establishment, as she could not speak a word of English; but that he was sadly afraid Violante would pine for her. And Violante did pine at first. But still, to a child it is so great a thing to find a parent-to be at home-that, tender and grateful as Violante was, she could not be inconsolable while her father was there to comfort. For the first few days, Riccabocca scarcely permitted any one to be with his daughter but himself. He would not even leave her alone with his Jemima. They walked out together-sat, together for hours in the Belvidere. Then by degrees he began to resign her more and more to Jemima's should have the constant guidance of a superior care and tuition, especially in English, of which mind. language at present she spoke only a few sentences, (previously, perhaps, learned by heart,) so as to be clearly intelligible. CHAPTER IV. THERE was one person in the establishment of Dr. Riccabocca, who was satisfied neither with the marriage of his master nor the arrival of Violante -and that was our friend, Lenny Fairfield. Previous to the all-absorbing duties of courtship, the young peasant had secured a very large share of Riccabocca's attention. The sage had felt interest in the growth of this rude intelligence struggling up to light. But what with the wooing, and what with the wedding, Lenny Fairield had sunk very much out of his artificial position as pupil, into his natural station of under-gardener. And on the arrival of Violante, he saw, with natural bitterness, that he was clean forgotten, not only by Riccabocca, but almost by Jackeymo. It was true that the master still lent him books, and the servant still gave him lectures on horticulture. But Riccabocca had no time nor inclination now to amuse himself with enlightening that tumult of conjecture which the books created. And if Jackeymo had been covetous of those mines of gold buried beneath the acres now fairly taken from the squire, (and good-naturedly added rent-free, as an aid to Jemima's dower,) before the advent of the young lady whose future dowry the produce was to swellnow that she was actually under the eyes of the faithful servant, such a stimulus was given to his industry, that he could think of nothing else but the land and the revolution he designed to effect in its natural English crops. The garden, save only the orange-trees, was abandoned entirely to Lenny, and additional laborers were called in for the fieldwork. Jackeymo had discovered that one part of the soil was suited to lavender, that another would grow camomile. He had in his heart apportioned a beautiful field of rich loam to flax; but against the growth of flax the squire set his face obstinately. That most lucrative, perhaps, of all crops, when soil and skill suit, had, it would appear, been formerly attempted in England much more commonly than it is now; since you will find few old leases which do not contain a clause prohibitory of flax, as an impoverishment of the land. And though Jackeymo learnedly endeavored to prove to the squire that the flax itself contained particles which, if returned to the soil, repaid all that the crop took away, Mr. Hazeldean had his old-fashioned prejudices on the matter, which were insuperable. "My forefathers," quoth he, "did not put that clause in their leases without good cause; and as the Casino lands are entailed on Frank, I have no right to gratify your foreign whims at his expense. To make up for the loss of the flax, Jackeymo resolved to convert a very nice bit of pasture into orchard ground, which he calculated would bring in £10 net per acre by the time Miss Violante was marriageable. At this, squire pished a little; but as it was quite clear that the land would be all the more valuable hereafter for the fruit trees, he consented to permit the "grass land" to be thus partially broken up. All these changes left poor Lenny Fairfield very much to himself-at a time when the new and strange devices which the initiation into book knowledge creates, made it most desirable that he One evening, after his work, as Lenny was returning to his mother's cottage, very sullen and very moody, he suddenly came in contact with Sprott the tinker. CHAPTER V. THE tinker was seated under a hedge, hammering away at an old kettle-with a little fire burning in front of him-and the donkey hard by, indulging in a placid doze. Mr. Sprott looked up as Lenny passed-nodded kindly, and said"Good evenin', Lenny; glad to hear you be so 'spectably sitivated with Mounseer." "Ay," answered Lenny, with a leaven of rancor in his recollections," you're not ashamed to speak to me now that I am not in disgrace. But it was in disgrace, when it wasn't my fault, that the real gentleman was most kind to me." "Ar-r, Lenny," said the tinker, with a prolonged rattle in that said Ar-r, which was not without great significance. "But you sees the real gentleman who han't got his bread to get, can hafford to 'spise his cracter in the world. A poor tinker must be timbersome and nice in his 'sociations. But sit down here a bit, Lenny; I've summat to say to ye!" "To me To ye. Give the neddy a shove out i' the vay, and sit down, I say." Lenny rather reluctantly, and somewhat superciliously, accepted this invitation. "I hears," said the tinker, in a voice made rather indistinct by a couple of nails which he had inserted between his teeth: "I hears as how you be unkimmon fond of reading. I ha' sum nice cheap books in my bag yonder--sum as low as a penny." "I should like to see them," said Lenny, his eyes sparkling. The tinker rose, opened one of the panniers on the ass' back, took out a bag which he placed before Lenny, and told him to suit himself. The young peasant desired no better. He spread all the contents of the bag on the sward, and a motley collection of food for the mind was there-food and poison-serpentes avilus-good and evil. Here, Milton's Paradise Lost, there The Age of Reason— here Methodist Tracts, there True Principles of Socialism-Treatises on Useful Knowledge by sound learning actuated by pure benevolence-Appeals to Operatives by the shallowest reasoners, instigated by the same ambition that had moved Eratosthenes to the conflagration of a temple; works of fiction admirable as Robinson Crusoe, or innocent as the Old English Baron, beside coarse translations of such garbage as had rotted away the youth of France under Louis Quinze. This miscellany was an epitome, in short, of the mixed World of Books, of that vast City of the Press, with its palaces and hovels, its aqueducts and sewers-which opens all alike to the naked eye and the curious mind of him to whom you say, in the tinker's careless phrase, "Suit yourself." But it is not the first impulse of a nature, healthful and still pure, to settle in the hovel, and lose itself amidst the sewers; and Lenny Fairfield turned innocently over the bad books, and selecting two or three of the best, brought them to the tinker and asked the price. "Why," said Mr. Sprott, putting on his spec MY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE. tacles, "you has taken the werry dearest; them 'ere be much cheaper, and more hinterestin"." "But I don't fancy them," answered Lenny; "I don't understand what they are about, and this seems to tell one how the steam-engine is made, and has nice plates; and this is Robinson Crusoe, which Parson Dale once said he would give me I'd rather buy it out of my own money. "Well, please yourself," quoth the tinker; "you shall have the books for four bob, and you can pay me next month." "Four bobs-four shillings? it is a great sum,' said Lenny," but I will lay by, as you are kind enough to trust me; good evening, Mr. Sprott." I'll just throw "Stay a bit," said the tinker; you these two little tracks into the barging; they be only a shilling a dozen, so 't is but tuppence and ven you has read those, vy, you'll be a reglar customer." The tinker tossed to Lenny Nos. 1 and 2 of Appeals to Operatives, and the peasant took them up gratefully. The young knowledge-seeker went his way across the green fields, and under the still autumn foliage of the hedgerows. He looked first at one book, then at another; he did not know on which to settle. The tinker rose and made a fire with leaves and furze and sticks, some dry and some green. Lenny has now opened No. 1 of the tracts: they are the shortest to read, and don't require so much effort of the mind as the explanation of the steamengine. The tinker has now set on his grimy glue-pot, and the glue simmers. CHAPTER VI. As Violante became more familiar with her new home, and those around her became more familiar with Violante, she was remarked for a certain stateliness of manner and bearing, which, had it been less evidently natural and inborn, would have seemed misplaced in the daughter of a forlorn exile, and would have been rare at so early an age among children of the loftiest pretensions. It was with the air of a little princess that she presented her tiny hand to a friendly pressure, or submitted her calm clear cheek to a presuming kiss. Yet withal she was so graceful, and her very stateliness was so pretty and captivating, that she was not the less loved for all her grand airs. And, indeed, she deserved to be loved; for though she was certainly prouder than Mr. Dale could approve of, her pride was devoid of egotism; and that is a She had an intuitive pride by no means common. forethought for others; you could see that she was capable of that grand woman-heroism, abnegation of self; and though she was an original child, and often grave and musing, with a tinge of melancholy, sweet, but deep in her character, still she was not above the happy, genial merriment of childhoodonly her silver laugh was more attuned, and her gestures more composed, than those of children Mrs. habituated to many playfellows usually are. Hazeldean liked her best when she was grave, and said "she would become a very sensible woman." Mrs. Dale liked her best when she was gay, and said "she was born to make many a heart ache;" for which Mrs. Dale was properly reproved by the parson. Mrs. Hazeldean gave her a little set of garden tools; Mrs. Dale a picture-book and a beautiful doll. For a long time the book and the doll had the preference. But Mrs. Hazeldean 69 poor child having observed to Riccabocca that the This last occupation brought her into immediate Lenny was extremely angry. Violante drew herself up, and never having been At "Non capisco," (I don't understand,) murmured Jackeymo turned to Leonard with the look of an Violante took instant compassion upon the victim she had made, and, with true feminine caprice, now began to scold Jackeymo for his anger, and, finally approaching Leonard, laid her hand on his arm, and said with a kindness at once childlike and queenly, and in the prettiest imaginable mixture of imperfect English and soft Italian, to which I cannot pretend to do justice, and shall therefore translate: "Don't mind him. I dare say it was all my fault, only I did not understand you are not these things weeds?" 66 No, my darling signorina," said Jackeymo in Italian, looking ruefully at the celery-bed," they are not weeds, and they sell very well at this time of the year. But still, if it amuses you to pluck them up, I should like to see who's to prevent it." Lenny walked away. He had been called "the scum of the earth," by a foreigner too! He had again been ill-treated for doing what he conceived his duty. He was again feeling the distinction between rich and poor, and he now fancied that that *It need scarcely be observed, that Jackeymo, in his ences with himself, employs his native language, which conversations with his master or Violante, or his conferis therefore translated without the blunders that he is driven to commit when compelled to trust himself to the tongue of the country in which he is a sojourner. 1 |