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"I don't think you ever have," she said playfully; "but as you have now found your way here, I hope you will be less a stranger."

Swallowing a whole glass of wine to free his utterance, and urged by a strong impulse to ask to whom he was so deeply indebted, and how or why he had been so fortunate as to attract her notice, "Pardon me," he gasped, "forgive me, knowing that, in my present position, I am not in my right senses

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But before he could ask the question, a gentleman of commanding stature, and formidable presence, walked into the room, and stared at them for a moment.

'Ha, ha!" roared the stranger, "I have caught you at last!" Then, seizing the lady by the arm, he swung her out of the room, and, turning to Benjamin, gripped him by the throat, and dashed him violently to the ground. When he recovered the shock, he found himself lying on the floor in front of the fire, and looking round in amazement.

"Ah! damn it!" he muttered, "then I have only been dreaming, after all!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

Review.

Napoleon III. and England. London: HORNE & Co.

THIS pamphlet, which has all the appearance of being at least, semi-official, recapitulates, in rather a decided tone of mingled apology and remonstrance, the main facts of the political relations between England and France, since the accession of the present Emperor, and reminds the people of this country, calmly and candidly enough, of the many occasions on which, if he had not steadily controlled the impatience and irritation of his subjects, the Emperor might have availed himself of sufficiently colourable pretexts for breaking off all intercourse of a friendly nature. It reminds us of his sympathies with England and freedom, on the question between Austria and Turkey respecting the extradition of the Hungarian refugees in 1819; and in the misunderstanding that arose a short time after, between the English government and Greece. It proceeds, then, to review the patient confidence and fidelity with which the Emperor remained unmoved by the severity of comment with which a considerable section of the English press regarded the events of the 2nd of December, 1852; the flattering circumstances of his reception at the English Court; the intimate sympathy and reciprocal devotion of the two armies during the Russian, war when "they buried their rivalries with their dead under the sands of the Crimea ;" and the generous spirit of forbearance in which he refrained from taking advantage of our Indian troubles, to resent the small desagrémens that had arisen from diplomatic discussions respecting the settlement of the Danubian Principalities. All this is true enough. It is undeniable that Napoleon III. has most faithfully and loyally adhered to the English alliance-it has been all along the best card in his handand it may be added, with reference to the facts of the memorable 2nd of December; that the circumstances of his accession involve not more, perhaps indeed, considerably less, than the average amount of usurpation, violence,

bloodshed and confiscation attendant upon all changes of dynasty. But then comes the remonstrance, cautiously and temperately, but most artfully worded, against our protection of refugees; and the enumeration of the several items of primá facie evidence against England; that, in addition to the last attempt of the 14th of January, the several similar enterprises of the years 1852, '53, and '54 were all the results of arrangements made in England. That such should be the case is an inevitable and necessary consequence of our freedom of asylum. Refugees will, of course, conspire against the powers that have made them exiles; and it is only where they find rest for the soles of their feet that conspiracies can be organized. No human power, by any direct legislation can prevent this. It is a truism, almost too trite to be repeated, that it is not by suppressing its utterances, but by going back to its causes and removing them, that political discontent can be allayed. What is it, then, that the Emperor of the French has required of our Government? Not the abolition of our right of asylum; for he remembers with gratitude that he enjoyed it himself at a time when the country which he now rules would have given him only a dungeon; not that men shall be placed under restraint for having suffered wrongs that might possibly make them conspirators; nor that the publication of revolutionary libels shall be punished; because the pamphlet itself confesses that this has always been done; and in one remarkable instance in 1803. He knows that it would be worse than useless to make any such demands as these: it is only under the governments of those exemplary Sovereigns whose names must not be taken in vain and whose actions must be sacred from comment, that, upon mere suspicion, men can be arrested, imprisoned, tortured, and starved for long years, without the privilege of hearing the charges under which their natural freedom is suspended.

What Napoleon, however, did not venture in express terms to demand, an English Minister, who understood him only too plainly, was ready to concede; and the result has been just that explosion of public indignation throughout England which might have been expected. It must be remembered, that it was upon the question of the Conspiracy Bill alone, that the late Administration was defeated; and not-as the servile adulators of Lord Palmerston would induce the public to believe-upon a mere matter of epistolary etiquette about which the country knew little and cared nothing. We can scarcely imagine, indeed, anything more short-sighted on the part either of those who gave, or, of those who acted upon the suggestion. With respect to Lord Palmerston, it may be that a long course of many-sided and time-serving diplomacy and the abject flattery with which he was intoxicated, might have led him to believe that there was more servility in the community than he has since found to exist; but, it was only natural to expect from a man who had seen and suffered so much of the world in all its phases,-exile, poverty, and political persecution-as the Emperor, and who should have found "exile a school of wisdom and maturity;" that he would have learned from all that experience, to rely for the stability of his power upon those liberal institutions by which aloue dynasties are perpetuated and thrones fenced about with loyalty; above all, that he would have studied human nature and especially the temper of his own nation sufficiently to know that freedom of public discussion, freedom even of public caricature, and liberty of the Press in all its departments, is the most anti-explosive of all safety-valves for public discontent; and that feelings which would naturally evaporate in harmless words, are certain, if that vent be impeded, to find a more dangerous outlet. Independently of the fact that the public acts of the greater portion of his reign-with the unfortunate exception of the armed occupation of Rome-have been such as to require no silence or reserve, he might take a profitable lesson from certain of his neighbours among whom, when the rich sinecures and money-greediness of the most exalted personages are held up to public view, the satire is permitted to wear itself out and blunt its own edge, and the cash is still pocketed with philosophic security and indifference. It may not be too late even now to slacken the curb.

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THE BRISTOL MAGAZINE.

MAY, 1858.

My First Romance.

CHAPTER XXII.

DURING the fortnight following the hasty departure of the ladies and O'Mahony, whom I had urged to accompany them, I received no intelligence whatever of anything passing either in the country or in London; and knowing that both these places were the scenes of events in which I must be deeply interested, I naturally felt an anxiety which was aggravated by my reluctance to make any inquiries. In the first place, it was impossible that O'Mahony should not have, immediately on his arrival, learned the whole history of the Dillons, and, if he knew that I was aware of it, might probably suppose-though it would have been a violation of confidence on my part-that I had not been sufficiently candid: and I now regretted, indeed, that I ever did hear anything of those longsilent horrors. The whole party, I knew, were staying at my father's house, and as I could not account for everybody's silence, I was fancying and conjecturing all sorts of things. Of Lady Leyster, I did not, of course, expect to learn anything, while Sir William lived: he might possibly live as long as myself; or, the visit might result in a reconciliation and amid all those uncertainties, my only resource was intense and incessant reading.

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At last, when I was beginning to feel as if suspense were the ordinary and natural condition of life, and, not only to be reconciled to it, but even to find a sort of excitement—a play for the imagination-in it; all my speculations were suddenly cut short by a visit from O'Mahony, who walked in one evening as unceremoniously as only the dwellers in college chambers are accustomed to do; planted a chair by the fire, and catching

up a pipe, as one might seize upon some long-lost treasure, began to smoke as if he were surrounded by the miasma of a plague.

Well," said I, "what have you been doing ever since ?"

"What a blessing it is," he observed, callous to my curiosity, "to be able to smoke in peace and quietness and-liberty! During these two mortal weeks past-that I thought would never come to an end—I have smoked but four times; and then it was only half a smoke at a time; dislocating my neck to get my head up the chimney; suffocated, and blinded until I actually shed tears, by a fast-burning cigar. How I did long to sit back fearless and erect, with all the independence of a human being, and inhale tranquillity from an old, cool, democratic, liberty-loving pipe! You see, we never know half the value of our common-place enjoyments, until we lose them."

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“Why,” said I, “you need not have restricted yourself, in or about our place, you know the lawn, the garden, the stables, anywhere—" "Oh! hang it! it's not that; but I was haunted and hunted and dodged everywhere, by two creatures of evil omen-human ravens-near relatives, I am sorry to say, of Monimia: my room was next to theirs by night; and they never, one or the other of them, lost sight of me by day. They are a man and his wife, named Blinkensee-and never was a name more beautifully appropriate-who came over from some country town in England, ostensibly to make a visit of condolence, but in reality with an eye-and such an eye!-upon Monimia's fortune. The man wears green spectacles with side-pieces-four panes of glass altogether—and a white cravat large enough to make a surplice; and the female Blinkensee, whose sight has been affected by weeping, you understand, carries a shade of green silk over her forehead, like the leaf of a Macedonian helmet. He has been endeavouring to annihilate me by calling me 'young man;' and the style in which she takes my measure, now and then, from under that pent-house, would be a caution to a rattle-snake. There is a sort of mystery and reserve about them, that makes one feel nervous. From the first moment, the antipathy between us was mutual and sensitive, for it is impossible that persons of their manner and appearance could ever bring anything but mischief to anybody. Just wait until you see them!"

“But, then,” said I, "what the deuce can they do?"

"Much, I suspect. They have already established some influence over Monimia. She fears, though she dislikes them; and then they are related to her mother. She feels, as anybody would, that their presence is a sort of inquisition; that they are perpetually on the watch for every unguarded expression, for every word and act that can commit one to anything."

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