"You have been unfortunate, Mr. Bunting," I observed.

"Ah!" he sighed, "there must be storms as well as sunshine. Do you know my motto?" What is it?"

"No.

"Occurrent nubes."

"From the Latin, eh? Something about clouds, is it not ?"

"Ay! clouds will intervene."

"An excellent motto!" said I, glancing at his azure visage.

Bunting advanced to the table, and took up the machine which had just been brought by Long Ned.

"Is this your model?" he inquired.

"A model of what?" I interrupted.

"Perpetual motion!" answered Long Ned, with a chuckle, turning his back upon me, as if not disposed to answer any more of my queries.

It was not to be supposed, however, that the philosophers deeply engaged as they were with their own momentous projects-would waste their time in idle speculations with the incredulous. They entered into a scientific discussion of their respective opinions and theories; and concluded that their scheme was entirely practicable. Furthermore, they were convinced that their fortunes

would soon be made; and with this consoling and magnificent idea they broke forth into a most enthusiastic dialogue.

"Away with the dull newspaper!" cried the editor.

"Away with the dull routine of a village life!" exclaimed Long Ned; and here they vehemently sang and shouted.

They had already determined upon a foreign

tour.

"To England!" cried Long Ned.

"To Rome!" shouted the more classical editor. And when their enthusiasm had in a measure subsided, Bunting more calmly resumed :

"A packet sails in a few days for Liverpool; in this we will take passage. We will repair immediately to London: there we will visit St. Paul's, with its monuments of heroes and statesmen ; Westminster Abbey, with its kings and poets; and the Tower, with its jewels and regalia. Then we will cross the Channel, and hasten on to Paris. In this famous city we shall have a glorious field for observation and amusement: ay! Paris is the place for a laughing and merry life,—Paris, with her women and wine,-Paris, with her magnificent walks and gardens,—Paris, with her ten thousand means of enjoyment never dreamed of in any

other city. And there is Germany, too, with her legends and romance; Switzerland, with her mountains and lakes; Italy, with her orange and citron groves, her bright skies, and her beautiful daughters.'

In a few weeks Bunting had really taken his departure, unaccompanied, however, by Long Ned. It was thought he had sailed for London, although nothing was known certainly upon this subject. There were many strange rumours, as might have been expected, in relation to his sudden disappearance. One said his circumstances had been embarrassed by employing a German artist, at an extravagant rate, to complete the model of his self-moving machine. Another affirmed that he had paid an exorbitant sum for two large diamonds which were to enter into its construction; a third (Mrs. Rattleton) thought it probable that he had been guilty of seduction; while a fourth declared that he had maliciously fired a pistol at the silk-dier, and was obliged to fly for his life. But as the gossip of a country village is not always to be believed, the reader should be extremely cautious in making up his opinion.

CHAPTER XIV:

Had you beauty's picture took,

It must, like her, or not like beauty look.

ALEYN's Henry VII.

What clear arch'd brows! what sparkling eyes! the lilies

Contending with the roses in her cheeks,

Who shall most set them off. What ruby lips:

:

Or unto what can I compare her neck,

But to a rock of crystal? Every limb

Proportion'd to love's wish, and in their neatness

Add lustre to the richness of her habit,

Not borrow'd from it.

MASSINGER.

THE present chapter commemorates that period of my life when a spirit of change came over me. The frailties of youth were in some measure forgotten in the more sober virtues of the man. There were moments when I was visited by a feeling of sadness, before unknown to me; but I knew not whence it proceeded, unless, by casting my eyes round upon the world, I perceived, for the first time, how transient and fleeting were all

sublunary things. I did not give myself up entirely to melancholy; but I loved, at times, to hold communion with my own thoughts-to ramble alone in the silent woods—or to climb the unfrequented rocks, with no other companion than my faithful dog, in whose kindness and caresses I knew there could be no deception.

It was a pleasant afternoon, in the month of May. I threw my gun over my shoulder, and sauntered carelessly along the banks of the river. A heavy rain in the forenoon had rendered the air delightfully pleasant-purified and fraught as it Iwas with the fresh breath of flowers.

I was already several miles from Essex, on my way up the river. My gun had not even once disturbed the general quiet of the scene. Nature seemed to be at rest: the warbling of birds, perched among the trees, was the only sound which broke upon my ear.

I came to a large, jutting rock, around which a path inclined obliquely to the left, leading, after numerous windings, to the summit of a hill. This eminence overlooked a deep and pleasant valley, bordered on either side by a thick copse. At a short distance, in the midst of this beautiful retreat, there appeared a rustic stone mansion, with vines clambering over it in the wildest luxu