"It was in this way," said the girl. "One day, when he came in to change a book, I was writing to London to order a parcel of books down. He suddenly said that perhaps my agent in London would be good enough to procure him a new medical work that had recently been published it would save the trouble of having it sent direct to himself. Yes, I said, and it would perhaps save him also a few shillings by way of discount. The book came in my parcel; it was a very expensive one in two volumes, nearly three guineas, I think. Probert gave me that five-pound note in payment, and I returned him the change."

"Those wicked scandal-mongers!" mentally groaned Mrs. Sims. "Mr. Probert used to come in to change books?" she said aloud.

"Yes, ma'am, often; nearly every other day. He should be lost, he said, without a good book of fiction to relax his mind with at the close of day. There is nothing like it, he thinks, for relieving a tired brain. Lately he has not had time to read."

"I'll not question her about the other, which that Jemima Raddle tells of I should be ashamed to," decided Mrs. Sims. And she dropped the subject for one of pleasantness, speaking words of peace and consolation.

When she carried her report home to her husband, and told him her conviction that Winnifred Dee was pure and innocent as the day-Mr. Sims put on his top-coat and hat, and went out to make a call upon the Doctor.

"Have I been in the habit of visiting Winnifred Dee late in the evening ?—Why, what on earth do you mean, Sims ?" demanded the surgeon, in reply to a question or two which had astonished him.

"Did you never go to her house late at night-for any purposeten or eleven or twelve o'clock; I don't know exactly what time. To change books, say-or on some other errand ?"

"Never."

"It is said you did."

"But I tell you I did not.

Who says it?"

"Miss Jemima Raddle affirms she saw you. I had better repeat to you all that is being said," continued the clergyman; "indeed, I have no alternative now but to sift the matter to the bottom." And, drawing his chair nearer, he forthwith told the whole.

Mr. Probert responded by a few strong words, calling the ladies anything but angels, especially Miss Jemima. In the midst of this tirade, against which the clergyman mildly put up his hand in protest, he suddenly stopped short.

"Stay a bit," said he, after a pause; "I see it now. Says, does she, the old jade, that she saw me come stealing down the streetstealing, forsooth!—and look up at Winnifred Dee's bedroom window, and then knock at the door, and go in when I was admitted? Well, it's true."

"True!"

"It occurred in this way. Mary Thorpe was to be married the next day. She and her mother had had their bonnets at Miss Dee's. I was over at the farmer's that afternoon, attending the little lad who was ill, and heard a lament from the farmer's wife that she should not be able to wear her bonnet: it was too small, would not come on, and she had no one, they were so busy, to send in with it to Miss Dee's to get it altered. I offered to bring it in for her, and to take it back in the morning I was going to the wedding, you know. So she had the band-box, it was but a small one, put in my gig, with the bonnet and a note in it, and I brought it in to Miss Dee, undertaking to send for it again in the evening. Before evening came, I was called out to a patient, from whom I did not get away till close on eleven o'clock. I was nearly at home when I remembered Mrs. Thorpe's bonnet. It was too late to send a servant for it, and on the spur of the moment I turned back for it myself, knowing I should be off betimes in the morning. Deuce take that Miss Jemima, with her miserable notions!" emphatically spoke the Doctor, breaking off to say it. "Never mind Miss Jemima; go on."

"There's not much more. I looked up at the window: had it been dark I should have concluded they were gone to bed, and taken the chance of the morning; but there was a light in it, so I rang. The little servant, Milly, opened the door

"I thought Milly did not sleep there," interrupted Mr. Sims. "She did, I believe, while Martha White was absent. Any way, she was there that night. Miss Dee followed her downstairs and gave me the band-box, which was all ready for me, and I carried it home. I was not there two minutes. And that's the whole truth, Sims, on my sacred word."

He

The clergyman went out with a downcast face, musing on the iniquity of the human heart in woman; its proneness to believe evil instead of good, its propensity to traduce rather than to excuse. called upon Miss Eliza and Miss Jane Down, and gave them, in his mild way, a little of his mind; and from them he went to Miss Jemima Raddle.

"I'd put the backbiting old maids in the pillory, give me my way,” pronounced Captain Curlew the next day, when Rillbrook was being convicted of its slander. "Hang me if I'd not!"

But it was too late to save Winnifred Dee. A very short while, and the angels came down, to bear her in their arms from this cruel world to one where slander and sorrow entereth not.

"She was delicately and nervously constituted, and she inherited consumption from both father and mother," observed Mr. Probert to a knot of questioning ladies. "And the worry that fell upon her from the whispering of false tongues, the sleepless nights, the hours of weeping, must have prepared her for bodily illness, so that when it seized upon her frame she could not make head against it.I'd not stop at Rillbrook for the world."

'You are not going to leave it, Doctor?" exclaimed Miss Jane Down, breathlessly, who made one of the listeners.

"Indeed I am, ma'am. I was already thinking of joining a friend in London, whose practice is too large for him, and this has decided me. Who knows what might be said of me next, were I How could I suffer my little daughter to grow up in the

to stay? place?"

Oh, but-it was all a mistake, you know, dear Mr. Probert," cried Miss Jemima Raddle. "What should we do without you?" "What you can, ma'am," answered the Doctor. "I have sold my practice here to James Worthington, of Ripley. He has a wife and six children, and I hope you'll treat him better than you have treated me."

"Oh, dear! We never treated you ill, I'm sure. quite condoned it in you."

"No doubt! But you killed Winnifred Dee."

We quite

KINGSWEAR: A FAREWELL.

FAREWELL to Kingswear and its wooded bays,
Where the fair Dart is hurrying to the sea;
Its flower-enamell'd rocks and fern-clad ways,
Its heathery steeps, pine-scented greenery.
Its dusky hills, beneath the evening red,

Its shining sails that glide beneath the trees,
Its snowy sea-birds wheeling overhead,

And gush of moonlight over darkened seas.
Some greater bard than I may fitly praise,

I can but catalogue its beauties rare,
Though often much obscured by fog and haze,
And drenching rains, and heavy wintry air.

The sea-pinks rosying in ocean cave,
The river widening to infinitude,

The dove-like wings that rock upon the wave,
Or on opposing seas of ether brood-

No more with wistful eyes I stand to mark

Where sea and sun the heavens with glory pave,

And memory charters many a fairy bark,

While quickened fancy soars beyond the grave.

Sister, when next we meet where will it be?
Beside the widening river or the sea—

In wrinkled age, or youth's eternity?

C. M. GEMMER,

SAN MARCELLO:

THE PISTOJAN DISTRICT OF THE APENNINES.

How

WOW to make the most of a short time or a small sum of money are considerations which enter into many minds. Cook's and Gaze's circulars are consulted, other suggestions for travelling moderately are discussed, yet in spite of the facilities offered in various ways, most people are glad to listen to a few practical remarks from anyone who may have stayed at a particular spot in France, Italy, Germany, or elsewhere; to hear of the kind of accommodation afforded, the scenery and excursions to be made in the neighbourhood, the expense of going hither and thither, the mode in which the place is reached, and other similar matters.

Switzerland is pretty well known, is yearly more and more frequented, and perhaps no country presents such infinite variety of beauty. The snow-capped mountains, the blue glaciers, the lovely fertile valleys, the streams, lakes, and waterfalls, the delicate Alpine flowers, all give a series of beautiful pictures with which it is scarcely possible to meet in such quick succession in any other country.

At this season of the year many persons visit the Italian lakes, but they would fear to pass a summer further south lest they should be fairly scorched. This is because they imagine themselves walking through heated cities, having on either side of them glaring white buildings and the blazing sun pouring down upon their heads. They cannot conceive it possible that cool and refreshing retreats are to be found, such as are to be met with in the Apennines, or places where people with civilized habits could take up their abode. This is a mistake.

Many of the charming villages in the Apennines are already much visited, and some pleasant volumes have been written describing tours in a portion of the Pistojan districts, where now, at many points, decent, if somewhat simple, accommodation may be had. Two summers ago I passed three months in an old rambling villa at San Marcello, and spent them agreeably and coolly. Finding Florence intolerably hot towards the end of June, and that the lady at whose pension I had been living was going to take a country house for her family and friends, I asked permission to join the party. She readily agreed to my wish, and we soon left the suffocating city.

We started from Florence on the 25th of June, a little before seven in the morning, for Pracchia, a railway journey of between forty and fifty miles, which carried us through Pistoja and some beautiful country, until at half-past ten o'clock we reached Pracchia. Here a carriage was awaiting us to drive us still eight miles farther before we should arrive at San Marcello. Some travellers prefer driving from

Pistoja, but this only makes the journey longer, more fatiguing, and expensive. For twelve francs a carriage with two horses may be hired at Pracchia for the drive to San Marcello. There is also a public conveyance which goes to and fro twice a day, but it is dirty and close, and your companions are not always of the cleanest or pleasantest description.

The eight miles drive to San Marcello, in the midst of grand scenery, is truly delightful. The mountains are neither snow-capped nor barren, but covered with splendid Spanish, horse-chestnut and acacia trees, suggesting freshness and shade. The road ascends gradually the whole way to San Marcello, so that it was impossible to

drive very fast, and not until half-past twelve did we reach our destination.

The man-servant had preceded us, and our noonday meal was already spread in a cool room, the windows of which were darkened by thick sun-blinds; the floor was of brick, and everything was calculated to overcome heat. This room opened into a more furnished salon partially covered with carpet; there were sofas and easy chairs in abundance, plenty of books from a well-established library (Vieusseux's) in Florence, a good piano which we hired from Pistoja, all serving to make this an agreeable lounge after meals.

The front bed-rooms, with brick floors and of fair size, looked out on a small piazza, always lively on account of the cafés which lined it. Even in the country, an Italian would not be happy if he did not pass an hour or two in these lounges in the evening, smoking and

VOL. XXXII.