"Sir!" said Emmerson, his pale cheek becoming red with anger.

"I only repeat what Lord Alverstock said, Mr. Emmerson."

Yes, Sir Henry only repeated what Lord Alverstock remarked," interrupted the lady, "and I think it very improper that you should have given me that sort of look.”

A peal of laughter from Lord Alverstock seemed to increase the ire of Lady Lamerton, and made Sir Henry look amazed. "I said no such thing," said the peer, as soon as his laughter subsided enough to permit him to speak, “I merely said the picture was but ebauché, and not being aware that Sir Henry does not know French, I could not imagine the word could be mistaken."

The baronet looked angry, and the lady offended. The first muttered something about the folly of using French words when English would do better, and the latter said, that "for her part, she never regretted her ignorance of a language which she was quite sure was very objectionable."

It was clear that the lady was offended with the peer, for having admitted that the portrait bore any resemblance to her, and his laughter

at the mistake relative to the French phrase added to her displeasure.

Lord Alverstock and Sir Henry St. Ives, both men of ruined fortunes, were seeking to retrieve them by a marriage with the rich widow. The baronet, gross and ignorant, was more suited to the lady's taste; but the rank of the peer disposed her to barter her gold for his coronet. It was while her mind was thus undecided, that the good breeding which prompted Lord Alverstock to avoid wounding the feelings of Emmerson by agreeing in the unjust answer pronounced by Lady Lamerton on her portrait, gave the first advantage over him to his rival, who, not only still more needy in circumstances, but infinitely less delicate in mind, was ready to assent to whatever the lady, whose wealth he aspired to possess, asserted.

The party soon withdrew, and a short time. after Emmerson read in the newspaper the announcement of the marriage of Sir Henry St. Ives to the Lady Lamerton, relict of the late Sir Matthew Lamerton, Knight, of Clapham Rise. An union which the scene in his studio had not a little tended to facilitate.

The por

trait was never completed; for the simple reason, that the lady deeming it unlikely that the artist could render justice to her charms, never returned again to favor him with a sitting, and forgot to pay the half price generally advanced on the first commencement of a picture.

35

GALERIA;

OR, THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

"Pourquois tous les hommes ne voyent-ils pas sans une emotion profonde les ruines, même les plus humble? ne serait-ce partout simplement pour eux un image du malheur dont ils sentent diversement le poids? Si les cimetières font penser à la mort, un village abandonné fait songer au peines de la vie; mais la mort est un malheur prévu, tandis que les peines de la vie sont infinies; or, l'infini n'est-il pas le secret des grandes mélancholies?"—BALZAC.

"WOULD the signora like to see the deserted village?" asked the master of the post-house where we stopped to refresh our horses, on our route from Rome to the Castle of Bracciano; "it is not above a quarter of a mile from this place, and those few strangers who travel our road all go to examine it."

Luigi, for so was the master of this posthouse named, was a handsome, intelligent-look

ing man his military bearing, and the mustache that shaded his lip, denoted he had served in the army; and a politeness and gentleness in his manner bore evidence that he had been accustomed to present himself before ladies: his language was correct, and, as well as his appearance and manner, indicated that he had seen much of the world; while a certain romantic air betrayed that its contact had not obliterated the natural bias of his character, which was that of a reflective and sentimental turn.

"There stands the village," said he, pointing to a mass of buildings seated on an eminence, overlooking the fertile valley of Arona; along which the clear and sparkling river of that name glided like a silvery serpent, but shaping itself, sporting through verdant meadows, and then losing itself amidst wooded knolls. We set out to visit Galeria, our communicative host acting as guide; and, after a short walk, found ourselves on a rustic bridge, at the base of the eminence on which the ruined village is seated; and which, seen from this spot, has a mos picturesque appear

ance.