"Youar countryman haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."

"It is a beautiful place."

"Did you aiver see anythin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face.

"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed. He had been betrayed into a compliment. The Countess sighed.

"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to mortals to sociate as zey would laike."

"Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond, how tender,-poor thing! poor thing!"

"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.

"How I adamair youar style of mind, so different from ze Italiana! You are so strong, so nobile. Yet would I laike to see moar of ze poetic in you."

"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.

"Ah-good-nais - eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano. Your langua ees not sufficient

musicale for poatry."

"It is not so soft a language as the Italian." "Ah-no-not so soft. Very well.

you of ze Italiano?"

And what theenka

"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days." "Ah now-ycu hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator."

66

"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naïvely. Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera." And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan.

"What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?”

"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some surprise. "O-why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot.

"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet, it is naturale zat you loafe him best.'

"Steam-engine? O no!

This one was a minister."

"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbe? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of all youar poets."

"He made up hymns, marm, and psalms,-for instance, 'Watts' Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'

"Songs? Spirituelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator."

"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly. "He is the best known by far of all our poets."

"What! better zan Shakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass me."

"Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry is known by heart through all England and America."

"Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possible! An yet he is not known here efen by name. It would please me mooch, my Senator, to haire you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell to me some words of his which I may remembaire.”

"I have a shocking bad memory."

"Bad memora! O, but you remember somethin, zis mos beautiful charm nait-you haf a nobile soul-you mus be affecta by beauty-by ze ideal. Make for a me one quota

tione.'

And she rested her little hand on the Senator's arm, looked up imploringly in his face.

and

The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him. Perplexing,-but very flattering, after all. So he replied,

"You will not let me refuse you anything."

"Aha! you are vera willin' to refuse. It is difficulty for me to excitaire youar regards. You are fill with the grands ideas. But come, will you spik for me some from your favorit Watt?"

"Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly; and he hesitated.

"Ah, I do wis it so much!"

"Ehem!"

66

Begin," said the Countess.

"Behold me. I listen. I

hear every sin, and will remembaire it forava.”

The only thing that the Senator could think of was a verse which had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured rhythm keeping time with every occupation:"My willing soul would stay-'

"Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly dropped her eyes.

"Ma willina sol wooda sta-'

"In such a frame as this,' " prompted the Senator. "Een socha framas zees.'

Wait- Ma willina sol wooda

sta in socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?"

666

And sit and sing herself away,' said the Senator, in a faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language.

"Ansit ansin hassaf awai," repeated the Countess, her face lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression.

The Senator paused.

"Well?"

"I-ehem! I forget."

"Forget? Impossible!"

"I do really."

"Ah now! Forget! I see by youar face-you desave. Say on."

The Countess again gently touched his arm with both of her little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it. "Have you fear? Ah, cruel!"

The Senator turned pale, but, finding refusal impossible, boldly finished:

666

"To everlasting bliss '-there!"

666

"To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I repeat it all: 'Ma willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to affarlastin blees thar.' Am I right?"

"Yes," said the Senator, meekly.

"I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, confidingly. "You are honesto-true-you cannot desave. When you spik I can beliv you. Ah, my Senator! an you can spik zis poetry!-at soch a taime! I nefare knew befoare zat you wos so impassione!—an you air so artaful! You breeng ze confersazione to beauty-to poatry-to ze poet Watt-so you may spik verses mos impassione! Ah! what do you mean? Santissima madra! how I wish you spik Italiano."

The Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only deepened his perplexity.

"How that poor thing does love me!" sighed the Senator.

She

"Law bless it! she can't help it,--can't help it nohow. is a goner; and what can I do? I'll have to leave Florence."

The Countess was standing close beside him in a tender mood waiting for him to break the silence. How could he? He had been uttering words which sounded to her like love; and she-" a widow! a widow! a widow! wretched man that I am!"

There was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward the Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say? What business had he to go and quote poetry to widows? What an old fool he must be! But the Countess was very far from feeling awkward. Assuming an elegant attitude she looked up, her face expressing the tenderest solicitude.

"What ails my Senator?"

"Why, the fact is, marm-I feel sad—at leaving FlorI must go shortly. My wife has written summoning The children are down with the measles."

ence.

me home.

O base fabrication! O false Senator! There was n't a word of truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished La Cica to know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was very badly done.

La Cica changed neither her attitude nor her expression. Evidently the existence of his wife and the melancholy situation of his unfortunate children awakened no sympathy.

66

But, my Senator-did you not say you woodą seeng yousellef away to affarlastin blees?"

"O marm, it was a quotation,-only a quotation." But at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up by the arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen. James de Mille.

HENRY V.'S WOOING.

SCENE.-An Apartment in the French King's Palace.-King Henry, Katherine, and Alice her Gentlewoman.

King Henry. Fair Katherine, and most fair!

Will

you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms,

Such as will enter a lady's ear,

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak

your England.

K. Hen. O fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate? Kath. Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is—like me.

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are like an angel.

Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable à les anges?

Alice. Ouy, vrayment, sauf vostre Grace, ainsi dit-il.

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not blush to affirm it.

Kath. O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.

K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men are full of deceit?

Alice. Ouy; dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits; dat is de Princess.

K. Hen. The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say—I love you: then, if you urge me further than to say-Do you in faith? I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; I' faith, do, and so clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?

Kath. Sauf vostre Honneur, me understand well.

K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure; and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my armor on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife; or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like a jack-anapes, never off: but, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation; only down-right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier; if thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to