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them."

slipped by you without profit. I or are you to be hard-hearted and am generous, madam, and I for- merciless to the end ?bear to say more. Tell me of these “I am proud to say, madam, that people here all that you know of Miles M'Caskey comes of a house them, for they are my more imme- whose motto is 'Semper M'Caskey.'diate interest at present.”

A scornful curl of her lip seemed “I will tell you everything, on to show what respect she felt for the simple condition that you never the heraldic allusion; but she respeak to me nor of me again. Pro- covered herself quickly, and said, mise me but this, Miles M'Cas- “I can stay no longer. It is the key, and I swear to you I will hour the Countess requires me; but conceal nothing that I know of I will come back to-morrow, with

out you would let me buy off this “You make hard terms, madam," meeting. Yes, Miles, I am in earnest; said he, with a mock courtesy. “It this misery is too much for me. I have is no small privation to be denied saved a little sum, and I have it by the pleasure of your agreeable pre- me in gold. You must be more sence, but I comply."

changed than I can believe, or you “And this shall be our last will be in want of money. You meeting?" asked she, with a look shall have it all, every ducat of it, of imploring meaning.

if you only pledge me your word * Alas, madam if it must be !” never to molest me-never to follow

“Take care," cried she, suddenly; me-never to recognise me again !” “you once by your mockery drove “Madam,” said he, severely,“this me to

menial station you have descended "Well, madam, your memory to must have blunted your sense of will perhaps record what followed. honour rudely, or you had never I shot the friend who took up your dared to make me such a proposal. cause. Do you chance to know of Let me see you to-morrow, and for another who would like to imitate the last time." And haughtily wavhis fortune ?"

ing his hand, he motioned to her to “Gracious heaven !” cried she, leave, and she turned away, with in an agony, “has nothing the her hands over her face, and quitted power to change your cruel nature; the room.

CHAPTER XL.—THE MAJOR'S TRIALS.

Major Miles M'Caskey is not a it would be a needless cruelty to foreground figure in this our story, chronicle it. nor have we any reason to suppose The Major, as we have once pasthat he possesses any attractions singly seen, kept a sort of brief for our readers. When such men journal of his daily doings; and a

-and there are such to be found on few short extracts from this will life's highway-are met with, the tell us all that we need know of world usually gives them what him. On a page of which the upsailors call a "wide berth, and ample per portion was torn away, we find room to swing in,” sincerely trust the following:-“Arrived at M-ing that they will soon trip their on the 6th at sunset. Ruined old anchor and sail off again. Seeing rookery. Open at land side, and all this, I have no pretension, nor sea defences all carried away; never indeed any wish, to impose his com- could have been strong against arpany any more than is strictly in- tillery. Found Mrs M'C. in the dispensable, nor dwell on his so- style of waiting-woman to a Counjourn at the Molo of Montanara. tess Butler, formerly Nini BranIndeed, his life at that place was so caleone. A warm interview ; difmonotonous and weary to himself, ficult to persuade her that I was not in pursuit of herself — a feminine me with distinguished consideration, delusion I tried to dissipate. She” but nothing said of an audience.

-henceforth it is thus he always “ Pigeons again for supper, with designates Mrs M'Caskey -“she apology; quails had been sent for avers that she knows nothing of the to Messina, and expected to-morCount d'Amalfi, nor has ever seen row. Shot at a champagne-flask in him. Went into a long story about the sea, and smoked. Sir O's. toSir Omerod Butler, of whom I know bacco exquisite, and the supply so more myself. She pretends that ample, I am making a petite proNini is married to him-legally vision for the future. married ; don't believe a word of “Full moon. Shot at the camelias it. Have my own suspicions that out of my window. Knocked off the title of Amalfi has been con- seventeen, when I heard a sharp ferred on B. himself, for he lives cry—a stray shot, I suppose. Shut estranged from England and Eng- the casement and went to bed. lishmen. Will learn all, however, “ Thursday.-Gardener's boy before I leave.

flesh-wound in the calf of the leg ; “Roast pigeons, with tomato, a hope Sir 0. may hear of it and send strange fish, and omelette, with Capri for me.. to wash it down; a meagre supper, “A glorious capon for dinner, stuffbut they say it shall be better to- ed with oysters-veritable oysters. morrow.

Drank Mrs M'C.'s health in the "Seventh, Wednesday. — Slept impression that this was a polite soundly and had a swim; took a attention on her part. No message sea view of the place, but could see from Sir O. no one about. Capital breakfast— “Friday.-A general fast; a lentil

Frutti di mare,' boiled in Rhine soup and a fish: good but meagre; wine; fellow who waited said a took it out in wine and tobacco. favourite dish of his Excellency's, Had the gardener's boy up, and meaning Sir O. B. Best chocolate introduced him to sherry-cobbler. I ever tasted out of Paris. Found The effect miraculous; danced Tathe menue for dinner on the table rantella till the bandage came off all right; the wine is au choix, and and he fainted. I begin with La Rose and La Veuve “Saturday. – Rain and wind; Cliquot. A note from her referring maccaroni much smoked ; cook lays to something said last night; she is it on the chimney that won't draw ill and cannot see me, but encloses with a Levant wind. Read over my an order on Parodi of Genoa, in instructions again, and understand favour of the Nobile Signor il Mag- them as little as before ;-'You will giore M'Caskey, for three thousand hold yourself at the orders of the seven hundred and forty-eight francs, Count d'Amalfi till further inand a small tortoise-shell box, con- structions from this department.' taining eighty-six double ducats in Vague enough all this ; and for gold, so that it would seem I have anything I see, or am likely to see, fallen into a 'vrai Californie' of this Count, I may pass the autumn here. Reflected, and replied with a here. Tried to attract Sir O.'s atrefusal; a M'Caskey cannot stoop tention by knocking off the oranges to this. Reproved her for ignoring at top of his wall, and received inthe character to whom she address- timation to fire in some other died such a proposal, and reiterated rection. my remark of last night, that she “Sunday.-Don Luigi something never rose to the level at which has come to say mass. Asked him she could rightly take in the native to dinner, but find him engaged to chivalry of my nature.

the Countess. A dry old cove, who “Inquired if my presence had evidently knows everything but been announced to Sir O., and will tell nothing; has promised to learned it had. Orders given to treat lend me a guitar and a book or

two, in return for which I have ly dissimilar-neither of them, howsent down three bottles of our ever, had this neither had this," host's champagne to his reverence. cried he, as he darted a look of cat“ Monday.-Lobsters.

like fierceness from his fiery grey Tuesday.--Somebody ill appar- eyes. “The Princess Metternich ently; much ringing of bells and fainted when I gave her that glance. disorder. My dinner an hour late. She had the temerity to say, 'Qui est Another appeal from Mrs M'C., re- ce Monsieur M'Caskey?! Why not peating her former proposal with ask who is Soult? who is Wellinggreater energy; this feminine in- ton? who is everybody? Such is sistance provokes me. I might tell the ignorance of a woman! Madame her that of the three women who la Princess," added he, in a graver have borne my name none but her- tone, “if it be your fortune to turn self would have so far presumed, your footsteps to Montpellier, walk but I forbear. Pity has ever been into the churchyard there, and see the weakness of my nature; I feel the tomb of Jules de Besançon, its workings even as I write this. late Major of the 8th Cuirassiers, it may not carry me to the length and whose inscription is in these of forgiveness, but I can compas- few words- Tué par M'Caskey.' sionate; I will send her this note :- 1.put up the monument myself,

for he was a brave soldier, and de“MADAM,—Your prayers have served his immortality.” succeeded; I yield. It would not be Though self-admiration was an atgenerous in me to say what the sacritractive pastime, it palled on him fice has cost me. When a MCaskey at last, and he sat down and piled bends, it is an oak of the forest up the gold double ducats in two snaps in two. I make but one con- tall columns, and speculated on the dition ; I will have no gratitude. various pleasures they might proKeep the tears that you would shed cure, and then he read over the at my feet for the hours of your draft on Parodi, and pictured to his solitary sorrow. You will see, there- mind some more enjoyments, all fore, that we are to meet no more of which were justly his due, "for,"

“One of the ducats is clipped on as he said himself aloud, “I have the edge, and another discoloured dealt generously by that woman." as by an acid ; I am above requir- At last he arose, and went out on ing that they be exchanged. No- the terrace. It was a bright starlit thing in this last act of our inter- night, one of those truly Italian course shall prevent you remember- nights when the planets streak the ing me as “Semper M'Caskey." calm sea with long lines of light,

“'Your cheque should have speci- and the very air seems weary with fied Parodi & Co., not Parodi alone. its burden of perfume. Of the To a man less known the omission voluptuous enervation that comes might give inconvenience; this too, of such an hour he neither knew however, I pardon. Farewell.'" nor asked to know. Stillness and

calm to him savoured only of death; It was evident that the Major he wanted movement, activity, exfelt he had completed this task with citement, life, in fact, life as he had befitting dignity, for he stood up always known and always liked it. before a large glass, and placing one Once or twice the suspicion had hand within his waistcoat, he gazed crossed his mind that he had been at himself in a sort of rapturous sent on this distant expedition to veneration. “Yes," said he, thought- get rid of him when something of fully, “George Seymour, and D’Or- moment was being done elsewhere. say, and myself, we were men! His inordinate vanity could readily When shall the world look upon supply the reasons for such a course. our like again ? Each in his own He was one of those men that in style, too, perfectly distinct, perfect times of trouble become at once famous. “They call us dangerous," thought that if no intention of forsaid he, "just as Cromwell was cible detention had ever existed, dangerous, Luther was dangerous, the fact of his having feared it would Napoleon was dangerous. But if be an indelible stain upon his courwe are dangerous, it is because we age. “What an indignity,” thought are driven to it. Admit the supe. he, "for a M'Caskey to have yieldriority that you cannot oppose, yield ed to a causeless dread !" to the inherent greatness that you As he thus thought, he saw, or can only struggle against, and you thought he saw, a dark object at will find that we are not dangerous some short distance off on the sea. -we are salutary.”

He strained his eyes, and though “Is it possible,” cried he aloud, long in doubt, at last assured himself “that this has been a plot—that it was a boat that had drifted from while I am here living this life of her moorings, for the rope that had inglorious idleness the great stake fastened her still hung over the is on the table—the game is begun, stern, and trailed in the sea. By and the King's crown being played the slightly moving flow of the tide for ?" M'Caskey knew that whether towards shore she came gradually royalty conquered or was vanquish- nearer, till at last he was able to ed-however the struggle ended reach her with the crook of his there was to be a grand scene of riding-whip, and draw her up to pillage. The nobles or the mer. the steps. Her light paddle-like chants-it mattered very little which oars were on board, and M'Caskey to him—were to pay for the coming stepped in, determined to make a convulsion. Often and often, as he patient and careful study of the walked the streets of Naples, had he place on its sea-front, and see, if he stood before a magnificent palace, could, whether it were more of chaor a great country-house, and specu- teau or jail. lated on the time when it should be With noiseless motion he stole his prerogative to smash in that smoothly along, till he passed a stout door, and proclaim all within little ruined bastion on a rocky it his own. “ Spolia di M'Caskey” point, and saw himself at the enwas the inscription that he felt trance of a small bay, at the extrewould defy the cupidity of the mity of which a blaze of light boldest. “I will stand on the bal- poured forth, and illuminated the cony,” said he," and declare, with a sea for some distance. As he got wave of my hand, These are mine : nearer he saw that the light came pass on to other pillage.”

from three large windows that openThe horrible suspicion that he ed on a terrace, thickly studded with might be actually a prisoner all this orange-trees, under the cover of time gained on him more and more, which he could steal on unseen, and he ransacked his mind to think and take an observation of all withof some great name in history whose in; for that the room was inhabited fate resembled his own. “Could was plain enough, one figure conI only assure myself of this,” said tinuing to cross and recross the winhe, passionately, “it is not these old dows as M'Caskey drew nigh. walls would long confine me; I'd Stilly and softly, without a ripple scale the highest of them in half an behind him, he glided on till the hour; or I'd take to the sea, and light skiff stole under the overhangswim round that point yonder—it's ing boughs of a large acacia, over a not two miles off ; and I remember branch of which he passed his rope there's a village quite close to it." to steady the boat, and then standThough thus the prospect of escape ing up he looked into the room, presented itself so palpably before now so close as almost to startle him, he was deterred from it by the him.

LEWES'S ARISTOTLE.

MR LEWES is known to every selves willing or able to read critistudious reader by his ‘Biographical cally the original Greek of a by no History of Philosophy,' by his phy. means captivating writer, some such siological writings, by his ‘Life of work as this was absolutely necesGoethe,' and by a host of miscellane- sary. Aristotle as a logician is ous papers, all displaying the same known, or presumed to be known, tact, the same clear vision and lucid to all educated men; at all events, style. Remarkable for a distinct and there are works enough in our lanrapid development of difficult and in- guage to which to refer the eager tricate subjects, he has proved him- student thirsting for syllogism, or self one of the happiest expositors of the categories, or even for whatever those metaphysical subtleties which the ancient sage may have taught he, at the same time, describes and of rhetoric, or politics, or poetry. discards; while in that branch of But if any one, bewildered by the science to which he has sedulously contradictory estimates thrown out devoted himself, he has been, if not by eloquent lecturers, or other disa discoverer, yet much more than tinguished men, desired to know an expounder, for he has introduced what really Aristotle taught on into it an accuracy of thought, a scientific subjects on the inorgandistinctness in the reasoning or ic and organic world before us, theorising upon known facts, which on the great mechanism, in short, the readers of physiological works of nature—there was no book in our most often have felt the want of language, nor, as Mr Lewes assures Having paid his homage, his fare- us, in any modern language, which well tribute to philosophy, the part would have given him the materials ing guest, whom he “slightly shakes for a calm and sober judgment. On by the hand," he, as a true son of the one hand, we hear the most unthe nineteenth century, turns to sparing contempt thrown upon the wards science,

science of Aristotle ; and till lately * And with his arms outstretched as he all popular lecturers, in their extrawould fly,

vagant eulogies upon Bacon, were Grasps in the comer."

accustomed to tell their credulous It is now apparently his design to audience that, till the lord of Verudo for the history of science what lam arose, no one understood that he had formerly done for that of the knowledge of nature was built metaphysics-to describe the course on the observation of nature. On of its development, to give what he the other hand, there have been has called “the embryology of eminent men who were not satisfied science;" and the present volume with proving that Aristotle knew is a chapter from this projected as well, and had stated as distinctwork. It is a chapter which may ly as any of his successors, the very well constitute a distinct and paramount necessity of observation separate treatise, what our neigh- and an accurate collection of facts, bours have taught us to call a mo- but that he had really observed and nograph. We bave Aristotle brought reasoned upon facts in so miraculdistinctly before us as the man of ous a manner as to have been able science.

-standing, as it were, at the very To all who felt a curiosity in es- starting point of science—to have timating Aristotle from this point anticipated many of those disof view, and who were not them coveries to which the moderns

* Aristotle: A Chapter from the History of Science, including Analyses of Aris. totle's Scientific Writings.' By George Henry Lewes.

VOL XCVI.—NO. DLXXXVI.

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