"Heard what?"

"About Mr. Manning and Miss Maple? Why, they're not enemies any longer, they're friendsgreat friends-they're going to get married!"

"So that's how they've composed their differences," he cried, "what an awfully good plan! Letty, Letty, what better could we do than follow their example?"

"I don't know what you mean," she faltered, maiden blushes mantling her cheeks.

He took nearly an hour to explain his meaning, and as no more currants were picked during that interval, it is to be inferred that she gave him her careful attention.

Miss Maple did not sell the pearls; she wore them at her own wedding, and about a year later they graced the neck of another and a younger bride, who carried them as her most precious gift back to London with her.

The partnership entered into by the philanthropists-rivals no longer-worked successfully.

"Seeing either sex alone

Is half itself, and in true marriage lies
Nor equal, nor unequal-each fulfils
Defect in each, and always thought in thought,
Purpose on purpose, will in will, they grow."

When young Mrs. Jim Benson gave up her red collecting book, there was no lack of volunteers to succeed her in the care of it. The mission proved very popular, both among young ladies, and among ladies who were no longer very young, for was it not whispered with mysterious nods and meaning smiles at the Melchisford tea parties that two very happy marriages had been promoted by it already? And there was no saying what might happen! History does sometimes repeat itself.

AM quite sorry to think of losing you," said Mr. Scrymgeour, genially, on the eve of our departure from Cedar Grange. "After all, isolation among one's books, though very delightful, lacks some advantages. I really think I shall soon have to run up to town to see you again, unless, indeed, the Symposium can arrange a joint expedition for this autumn, like the last."

He glanced inquiringly from one to the other.

"Ah, it would not be the same!" exclaimed Mr. Waldegrave. "Such holiday associations as those you have described to me may come off in an impromptu way, and are charming, but if you try to arrange them, they turn out a failure. Some of the best things in life are of necessity impromptu-alas, that it is so! -and can never be made to order."

"A very prevalent-a too prevalent opinion," commented the Philosopher, with darkening brow. "I will give you a conclusive instance to the contrary. At the very beginning of our Scottish holiday I made a proposal to a certain young lady that we should fill up the time by mutual converse on some chosen theme! This she regarded as 'talking to order,' and accordingly resented! Yes, Miss Nancy! it is useless to shake your head. I read your thoughts. But how many interesting discussions of the sort we have had since that day! Don't rely too much on the impromptu-that is my advice to you-but compel circumstances as far as you can, and take my

word for it, they will prove more tractable than you suppose."

"Well, that is a very encouraging view," said Mr. Beauchamp; "and how should you propose to realise it?"

A discussion immediately began as to the possi bility of a joint stay in the Highlands, English Lakes, or even on the Continent. "It shall be a personally conducted tour," proclaimed Mr. Scrymgeour, "and I shall be at its head. Only I should not include that impertinent youth - Frank Merton, I think his name is-who spoiled our luncheon at the Vale of Ossian-that would have to be distinctly understood."

"Why?" suggested Mr. Beauchamp, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Continental travel under your guidance might improve Merton -sober his judgment, enlarge his experience; in fact, make a new man of him!-it would be cruel to exclude him from such advantages."

"How much a dunce who has been sent to Rome Excels a dunce who has been kept at home."

quoted Mr. Scrymgeour impressively.

"Do you remember the secretary' in Lord Lytton's Money' suddenly reads that out loud, just as one of the guests is planning a trip abroad?" said Mr. Arnold; "that always strikes me as such an uncivil act, it is a wonder he was not immediately knocked down, instead of being allowed to say, 'Cowper, my dear sir-Cowper'!" "I can oppose another quotation to yours," observed Mr. Beauchamp who seemed rather in a lively mood.

"Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus!

Home-keeping youths have ever homely wits.
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.""

"What Shakespeare said is more forcible than ever now," remarked Mr. Arnold; "in the multitude of opportunities for travel, it has become an important factor in ordinary life, affecting popular character and views more than, perhaps, is usually appreciated. Rest and change for the overwearied are the first motives in the majority of cases; but more than rest and change is gained."

"As the stress of modern life increases, it seems likely that this love for foreign travel will also increase," added Mr. Waldegrave. "A short holiday, even, can now be spent abroad, and for the brain worker, more benefit must be gained by an excursion away from his own land. The very change of language is worth a great deal. A fresh current is given to his ideas. Then the change of dress, habits, food, all helps on the beneficial effect."

"I really can never see that," quietly observed Aunt Hester. "There is no rest to me in hurrying from place to place. If I want a holiday I like to avoid as far as possible the worries of travel, and prefer to settle down in some lovely English spot."

"Oh, of course, all must be done in moderation," said Mr. Beauchamp.

"Men often make a mistake in going straight from their sedentary lives, fagged with work and spent with London air, to Switzerland, and immediately attempting some arduous ascent.

They

ought to wait until they are in condition again. And it is painful to see the irritation evoked by travel in women of jaded nerves. They should take their journey all at once, and then settle down."

We talked for a little while on a few of the more obvious aspects of travel, and then turned to the influence which it could not fail to have, and which, as the habit of travelling increases, must permeate through almost all classes of society. For travelling has ceased to become the luxury of the rich and leisured, and it is no longer necessary to "sell one's own lands in order to see other men's," as Rosalind suggested to the melancholy Jaques. The remark was made that we had, or ought to have, discovered that we had much to learn from Continental nations, No longer can the Englishman sally forth in the calm conviction that he is a model to the universe. Courtesy of manner, brightness and kindliness of speech, for instance, can be studied with advantage-though not universally so!--in France and Switzerland.

"The habit of bowing to one's neighbours at table d'hôte when one rises to leave the table, is an instance of what I mean," said Mrs. Beauchamp. 'Surely it is much prettier and better mannered than the English custom of stalking off without a sign."

66

"And another good trait of foreigners is the composure with which they hear our attempts at their language, and the graceful kindness with which they encourage us to believe that we are expressing ourselves successfully," said Mr. Arnold.

"I would rather have English sincerity," observed Mr. Scrymgeour.

"But why suppose that what is kind, gracious, and pleasant, must necessarily be insincere?" cried

Mr. Beauchamp. "That is not a very good compliment to English sincerity.' We have, or used to have, a sort of idea that frankness is synonymous with being disagreeable. People who say unpleasant things and then say, 'Well, you know, I always speak my mind!' lay themselves open to the retort, What a disagreeable mind you must have!' Why should not one suppose that the kindly grace of your Continental neighbour-his lenient judgment of your efforts-is really meant?" We laughed.

6

Well," observed Mr. Waldegrave, "there is no doubt that travel is admirably calculated to put a man in his right place, and give him a true estimate of his own position in the scheme of the universe."

"What! even with the Continental flattery of his bad French, Italian, and German?" growled Mr. Scrymgeour.

"I remember one instance," remarked Mrs. Waldegrave. "I was staying in an out-of-theway part of Switzerland with my husband, and we were in a pension where there were only Germans. We took exception to their guttural language, their noisy conversation and other details, and felt ourselves unspeakably superior, out of place, and uncomfortable among this host of aliens, so that we arranged to leave as soon as our week was up.

"Before that week was over, we saw the utterly mistaken view we had formed. We were among people who were our equals, if not our superiors in intelligence, knowledge of art and literature, social station and so forth; and we began to enjoy their society so much, that we bitterly regretted having taken rooms elsewhere, and being obliged to depart. Some of our fellow guests were eminent people, and it was we, not they, who were honoured by the intercourse. instance, one of them was the bishop of the Old Catholics, Bishop Rheinkens of Bonn, and a most charming and interesting man he proved to be."

For

"That country of table d'hôte is a wonderful country," said Mr. Beauchamp. "In our own circle our environment must be largely determined by our own tastes and interests, but in going abroad,' all these limits are swept away, and we meet people (such as your Bishop) whom we never could have met at home. These chance acquaintances may make the most precious and lasting friendships. For myself, the friendships I have gained in travelling, either in Great Britain or abroad, have proved intensely delightful."

"And I am sure I may say so," observed the Philosopher, bowing with unwonted politeness.

"All conventional considerations are swept. away," continued the Artist. "I'get on' with you abroad, not because you attend the same church, because your parents knew mine, because we are in the same profession, or are engaged in like interests, or because there is any social reason why we ought to get on; but because I like you and you. like me!"

"The country of table d'hôte has been defined by an able essayist as the land whereon the sun never sets; and where also the conventional note is pitched a full octave lower than in any other

1

civilised society. Meeting and parting, he says, have been defined in one word as 'hotel-life.' And he adds that in one of Coppée's Contes Nouveaux,' the heroine, being asked her nationality, gave the answer :-'Je ne suis ni de Londres, ni de Paris, ni de Vienne, ni de Saint-Pétersbourg. . . . Je suis de table d'hôte."

"Oh, that land of table d'hôte! its charms and possibilities! its opportunities of sudden, delightful friendship, its insight into new regions of thought and experience! I am almost tempted to abjure my native land and to exclaim, I, too, would be of the land of table d'hôte !"

"You must be of a remarkably sociable disposition," grumbled the Philosopher. "I never get as far as you seem to do at a Continental hotel, though my experience last autumn in Scotland was so fortunate."

One and another now began to give instances of friendships made for life in these chance en

counters.

"What a delightful thing it would be," said Mr. Arnold, "if we could know at once the favourite subject or habit of mind of our chance neighbour, without having to penetrate through an outer crust of conventional nothings! It is like digging for silver through a deep crust of earth. Sometimes, for instance, one sits by the side of a stranger for days, and it is not till the last moment that one finds out the real affinity that exists, which would have led to the most delightful intercourse had it been known earlier. And we grieve over possibilities lost for ever."

"It would be a good plan," I observed; "if we could each wear a small label indicating our favourite subject; such as 'Philanthropy,'' Dogs and Horses,' Music,' 'Art,' Chinese Metaphysics."" But the levity of this remark did not please Mr. Serymgeour, who directed his spectacles towards me with a frown.

"That is one of the charms, joking apart, of table d'hôte abroad,'" said Mrs. Beauchamp, "there is less difficulty in 'getting at' one another; less of a desert of commonplace to plod through before intimacy is reached. And it is true that the more we know one another, and the closer we get to one another, the more we really find to like in our fellow-creatures."

This remark also failed to awaken an echo from our host. who was taking down a volume of Bacon's Essays.

"I always find something worth learning here," he said, "no matter though it be old."

66

If I remember," said Mr. Waldegrave, "Bacon deals rather with the civic and social side of travel than the delights of natural beauty."

"That is so," replied the Philosopher. "And so far as the moulding of character is concerned, the haunts of men-courts, art galleries, churches, monasteries, antiquities of every sort-have of course far more effect than the sight of mountains, lakes and waterfalls."

This some of our party would not allow, and a discussion began as to the effect of landscape on character, in which what Ruskin calls the "land

"The Upper Engadine." Hon. Lionel Tollemache.

"One piece of advice Bacon gives which you ought all to follow," said the Philosopher, "that is to keep a diary in travel."

"I always do that!" sighed Mrs. Waldegrave; "it goes by the name of Moloch' in our family circle, for it exacts its sacrifices with dread severity. When one is tired, how agonising to have to record one's impressions before they fade, with pen and ink! And after all, what is the good? for one thing only is more exasperating than to have to write your own diary; that is, to have to read somebody else's."

The Philosopher was much shocked at this commentary on Bacon's advice, which he appeared to think sacrilegious. Somebody created a diversion by wondering whether railroads, in transporting the passenger like a parcel from place to place, had really tended to improve travel. In the old days progress was slow, but what was passed on the way was seen and enjoyed, and entered into the experience of the traveller, instead of being flashed past his unseeing, weary glance. "Travelling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity," says Ruskin, who declines to allow that going by railway is travelling at all. Still, the gain in the possibility of seeing the world is of course incalculable. The land of one's choice once gained, to walk about therein, as Ruskin advises, is the way to enjoy it; but not to walk after the manner of certain pedestrians in Switzerland, with swinging, rapid stride, streaming, anxious brow, eyes turned neither to left nor to right, the whole being absorbed in the aim of getting over the ground more quickly than Baedeker's time'! Such exercise is little better than the treadmill.

"Do you not think," asked Aunt Hester, gravely, "that the extension in the opportunities of foreign travel has had much to do with the increase of sacerdotalism in England?"

"A very suggestive thought," replied Mr. Beanchamp. "I should say that it undoubtedly has."

"On the other hand," observed Mr. Arnold, "do not you think that many who have been sentimentally inclined towards a superstitious view, have been repelled by looking behind the scenes, so to speak the tawdry accessories, tinsel and frippery of the Continental church decorations, the evident superficiality (sometimes, not always) of the people's devotion, together with many other