very long, but I fancied you too shrewd to be done by artifices so shallow! But what are the wisest among us? Is there a wise man on earth?" He rose from his chair as he spoke, and marched across the room, pausing after every step, as he recited the well-known lines from his favourite Boileau:

De tous les animaux qui s'élèvent dans l'air,

Qui marchent sur la terre, ou nagent dans la mer,
De Paris au Pérou, du Japon jusqu'à Rome,

Le plus sot animal, à mon avis, c'est l'homme.

"And now to exemplify my own folly. Open your case, Mr. Ashley, and bewilder me with its contents! You will very soon find that I am as great a fool as the rest."

Dr. Brocas sat down and drew near the table, but before he could satisfy the curiosity which now was uppermost in him, some visitors were announced.

They proved to be Mrs. Basset and Claribel.

The latter started on seeing Brunton, and he turned pale.

"Ah!" said Dr. Brocas, rising and taking Claribel's hand, “I am glad you are come! But you ought to have been here before. We have had such fun! These gentlemen are Mr. Ashley, whom you have met before, and Mr. Brunton, a great lover of Art, whom I beg to present to you. Now, come and see what I have got here. But what is the matter, moppet-you don't look well?"

"Oh yes, sir," replied Claribel, "I am very well; at least I was so a minute ago. A sudden faintness, nothing more."

"A glass of water, somebody!" cried Dr. Brocas.

Brunton poured out a glass from a carafe that stood on the table, and hastened to offer it. Claribel drew back, declaring that she was better already.

"Something in the room, I dare say," said Dr. Brocas, looking round. "Ah! the villanous pot-pourri, no doubt, which that idiotic Turnerini would fill the large china vase with. I detest that kind of perfume! I detest all perfumes! Go into the garden, child. The fresh air and the flowers will do you good. Mrs. Basset, I can't spare you. Here are the spoons that Julius Cæsar used to stir his tea with, and the sugar-tongs of Alexander the Great! The greatest curiosities that ever were seen!" "Lor!" exclaimed wondering Mrs. Basset. "You don't say so, Doctor! Well, I never!"

It seemed to be the greatest relief to Claribel to escape from the room. She waved her hand to Dr. Brocas as he led her aunt away, and went out at one of the open French windows. Brunton's eye was fixed upon her, but she never turned her face towards him.

Mr. Ashley now displayed his treasures, which were well worth a connoisseur's notice. Dr. Brocas was charmed with them, but he was charmed still more with Mrs. Basset's ignorance. There were certain persons who invariably awoke the mocking vein that ran like an under-current through his nature, and Mrs. Basset was one of these. He explained the carvings and reliefs on the weapons and ornaments that were spread before him in a hundred ridiculous ways, invented the most in

credible stories about their uses and ownership, and finally became so absorbed in the process of mystification that the absence of Brunton, who stole away as soon as he saw that Dr. Brocas was fairly engrossed by his subject, was quite unperceived by him.

Through the same window as that by which Claribel had disappeared, Brunton followed. He looked round eagerly, but she was nowhere to be seen. The garden was very picturesquely laid out, the foreground being filled with beds of beautiful flowers, which were scattered over the lawn; groups of young and graceful shrubs occupied the middle distance, allowing glimpses of the Thames to be seen between, and masses of towering trees enclosed the whole. From a terrace beneath the drawing-room windows various paths diverged. Uncertain which to take, Brunton chose one that kept him out of view should Dr. Brocas chance to turn his head. He was not long in sight from any point, for he walked quickly, straining his eyes to discover the object he was in search of. He left his original track more than once and crossed it several times, but still without success. At last he approached the river side of the garden and was impatiently cursing his ill-luck, when, at a sudden turn of the path, the flutter of a white dress caught his attention, and he saw Claribel advancing towards him, and only a few paces distant. She also saw him at the same moment, and made a gesture as if to retrace her steps, but she changed her mind and moved quietly forward.

Brunton had observed the movement and noticed her heightened colour; two steps more on each side and they were close together. Brunton took off his hat and spoke.

"I fear, Miss Page," he said, "that I have offended you. You try to avoid me!"

"You will permit me to pass, sir," returned Claribel, without vouchsafing any other answer.

"Not until you have explained to me," said Brunton, "the reason of your indifference, your coldness, your manifest dislike."

"Such explanations," replied Claribel, with hauteur, are not due to strangers."

"But I am none, Miss Page. I am your uncle's intimate friend!" "It may be, sir; but that makes you no less a stranger to me." "You forget that I have enjoyed your society on two different occa

sions."

"I remember that the only time when a conversation was possible, you forgot the respect which every gentleman is bound to show to every woman!"

"How can you misconceive me so, Miss Page! There is no one breathing for whom my respect is so profound as for yourself. If in an unguarded moment, impelled by an irresistible passion-a passion that rises to adoration-I dared to give utterance to the feeling that swells my bosom-surely so venial a trespass may be forgiven. It is not in the nature of beauty to hate its worshipper! Say that you forgive me!"

"Forgive you, sir! He who has earned contempt, can claim no other sentiment for his wages. Hear me, since you force me to speak! Believing that you saw in my position one towards whom every familiarity may be permitted, you dared'-as you yourself have said-you dared

to address me, at the very first word, if not in terms of licence, in a tone that left room for none but a degrading interpretation. It may so happen, sir, that your acquaintance with our sex has unhappily blinded you to what is pure and good-but you have this to learn, that the character even of an actress may be as highly placed as that of the noblest lady in the land. Shame to you, sir, that I should have to defend that character. Oblige me to say no more!"

She tried to pass Brunton as she spoke, but he effectually barred her passage.

"Miss Page!" he exclaimed, "listen to me also. You are doubly unjust in supposing that I erred from an evil motive. I only saw in you a creature to be loved with all the truth and intensity of which the heart of man is capable. God is my witness that I had no thought of wrong! At the risk of again exciting your anger-for I will not believe that I incur your contempt-I declare to you, here, with no witness but the sun that shines above us, that nothing can make me forego the hope of one day calling you mine. Yes, I swear it, by this-and this!"

He caught her hand and pressed it twice to his lips. Claribel struggled to set herself free. Brunton heard voices on the river and the dash of oars; he relinquished his grasp, and the frightened girl, moving swiftly away, was lost in the shrubbery. There was a loud laugh and then an oath, but he did not wait to ascertain from whence either proceeded. He also turned and walked quickly back to the house. Claribel was not there.

"I am afraid, Ashley," he said, "that my time is up. I have a business engagement in town at three, and it is now half-past two, but my horse is a good stepper."

"What! are you going already?" said Dr. Brocas. "I thought to have shown you my pictures. You must, you say? Well, then, another time, and come as soon as you like. I shall keep all these things, Mr. Ashley."

Claribel saw Brunton leave the house, and when she knew that his carriage had driven away, she re-entered the room where Dr. Brocas was talking to her aunt.

"Better, child, I hope ?" he said, as he went to meet her. "But no! you look worse. Good God, what has happened?"

Claribel made no answer, though more than once she tried. Failing altogether, she threw herself in Mrs. Basset's arms and burst into a flood of tears.

LIFE AT THE FRENCH WATERING-PLACES.

SEATED at this moment, with the gently rippling waves making dulcet melody as they break over the pebbles beneath our window, we can fully appreciate the self-torture any luckless editor is undergoing in London, as he paces the burning flags of Pall-mall, and charitably wishes the rebellious Sepoys where he would so much like to be himself, namely, at the bottom of the sea. The English are an amphibious race, and must find their way to the sea-side so soon as the dog-star rages; like salmon, they have their periodical desire to visit the mighty ocean, and return with invigorated health and fresh energies to their tasks. But this longing for salt water is not confined to our side of the Channel: the French, stimulated by the endeavours to convert Paris into a seaport, have rushed off in a body to visit what the German recitative calls "Ozean du Ungeheuer !" and watering-places have sprung up as if by magic along the pleasant coasts of Normandy and Picardy. Suppose, then, that we pay them a flying visit in company with M. Félix Mornand, who has constituted himself the champion of French sea-bathing places, and doughtily defends them against the attacks of the rival establishments, which sit at the receipt of custom within telescopic range across the Channel.

According to M. Mornand, the present thirst for salt water which affects the Parisians may be referred to the German hydropathists; but, after all, it seems to us that the doctors are still following the principles of Sangrado. At the beginning of the century they indulged in phlebotomy, now they adhere with equal perseverance to water, and possibly they will end by reverting to a happy combination of the two, and Gil Blas's master will be honoured in his grave as a mighty discoverer of the true art of healing. Now-a-days, all sufferers from nervous afflictions are sent off to the sea, as well as those malades imaginaires at whom Molière poked such fun. But we fancy they were really ill, and the unfortunate men whom Purgon martyrised in the seventeenth century were born just two hundred years too soon. They were, in point of fact, hypochondriacs suffering from the demon of indigestion; and much suffering and many sols tournois would that poor Argan have saved if he had been sent to the sea-side. But in the time of M. Fleurant the tonic properties of the Thermal Thetis were almost unknown. The mineral waters, such as Vichy, Bourbonne, Plombières, &c., were being visited, it is true, but a man would have been thought a maniac who plunged into the restless sea; and the feeling of the day may be best exemplified in the remark of Madame de Ludre, immortalised in the letters of Sévigné, when she said, "Ah, Zésu! ma sère De Grignan, la drôle de soze que d'être zetée toute nue dans la mer !"

It was not till the Duchesse de Berry visited Dieppe and bathed repeatedly, that the sea-side became a fashionable resort of the Parisians, and until very recently Dieppe, if not the only watering-place, had no cause to fear any dangerous rivalry. Now, however, all that is changed,

* La Vie des Eaux. Par Félix Mornand. Paris: L. Hachette.

and no fishing village so small but that it allures visitors by boasting the velvety nature of its sands, and by fitting up hotels. The French are beginning to be acquainted with the sea otherwise than through the classic voyage to Havre, and in fact are suffering from an embarras du choix. The entire coast from Havre to Ostend is invaded each summer by a countless swarm of bathers, and in their train necessarily moves all that valetaille of scamps and chevaliers d'industrie who follow the Parisian travelling world, like vultures scenting their prey afar off. At the moment of writing, Paris is at the sea-side, and we all know that the habits and customs of the most frivolous city in the world are packed up with the gorgeous toilettes with which the ladies propose to dazzle the eyes of gentlemen in search of health, and who too often find a wife as the result of their summer trip. Let us, then, while enjoying our own sea-side, take a mental trip to those places where our new-born allies wash off the arugo of the capital, and lay in a fresh stock of health to enable them to stand the racket of the following winter.

Of the French watering-places, Dieppe, as the oldest, must have precedence. It is a cleanly, well-built town, which results from the fact of its having been bombarded and burnt by the English in 1694: the great king swore in his wrath that it should rise from its ashes more brilliant and flourishing than before. A Sieur Ventabren, a self-styled architect, was entrusted with the task; he drew some magnificent plans, but, of course, could not condescend to matters of detail. Hence the houses were all built without staircases, and to this day the Dieppese go up to bed by means of a ladder, or something approaching to it. Still, this was a capital exercise for the maritime population, and initiated them in the art of climbing betimes.

It seems curious that, according to our author, the authorities at Dieppe do very little for the comfort of the bathers, although the prosperity of their town depends upon them; and any one venturing to bathe at high water will assuredly meet with the fate of Edipus, as far as his feet are concerned. The beach is very steep, and encumbered with cordage, &c., but the municipality directs its attention solely to the proper maintenance of decency, in an uncompromising spirit which would gladden the heart of the Marquis of Westmeath. It is, indeed, curious that the English, generally so straitlaced in such matters, are so far behind their Continental neighbours in the matter of bathing toilette; but we hope this will undergo an amelioration ere long, not from impossible legislation, but through the united remonstrances of seaside visitants. Our author appears extremely shocked at the conduct of English demoiselles at Dieppe, and says: "But that which cannot be sufficiently admired in this aquatic community is the peaceable demeanour of the chaste and timid English girls, who assuredly would never venture to risk an allusion, even of the most roundabout nature, to the necessary garment, and yet pass the day seated on the beach in modestly watching the gentlemen enjoying their maritime sports."

The Pollet, once an illustrious faubourg of Dieppe, has lost much of its ancient renown, and is now only a suburban congregation of houses without character or elegance. That quaint costume which once formed the delight of masked balls and the Opéra-Comique has almost entirely disappeared: still the visitor to Dieppe has plenty of excursions to amuse