busy world, as will be found by much searching. Next year Marryat was off in haste to the Continent. “Not one day was our departure postponed; with post horses and postillions, we posted, post haste, to Brussels.” As is too commonly the case, Mrs. Ross Church has nothing to say as to the cause of this flight--and we are left to conclude that it was due to that desire to economize with dignity which has driven so many Englishmen to the same voluntary exile. At Brussels or at Spa he went on working for the _Metropolitan_. He cannot have edited it, but he sent in his “Diary on the Continent,” and he wrote, in this year, “The Pirate” and “The Three Cutters,” in which, for the first time, he had the advantage of being illustrated by Clarkson Stanfield. With the _Metropolitan_ his connection was coming to an end. In 1836 he returned to England, to get rid of his proprietary interest in it to Saunders and Otley, and to part with those publishers in a friendly manner--but to part decisively, on the ground that they would hear nothing of an advance for fresh work. _The New Monthly_ was now his resource--at the increased rate of twenty guineas a sheet. To 1836 belong “Snarley Yow” and “The Pasha of Many Tales,”--and also the beginning of that “Life of Lord Napier” which was never to be finished. In 1837 he had begun to feel the need of a change, the desire to break fresh ground, and in April, leaving his family at Lausanne, he started for the United States. His life during these two years of foreign residence may probably be fairly well realized by the reader who will give himself the pleasure to remember some parts of Thackeray and many parts of Lever. The Marryats must have formed part of that English colony on the Continent at the head of which marched the Marquess of Steyne, while Captain Rook and the Honourable Mr. Deuceace brought up the rear. It was a society much more merry than wise, and it is to be feared more easy than honest. Its members lived abroad to escape something--perhaps it was only restraint, perhaps it was the heavy bills of English tradesmen not yet reclaimed from the evil ways of long credit and high prices, sometimes it was the sheriff’s-officer. Now and then it was only the English winter. That was the most wholesome reason; but it was the least commonly genuine, and the most frequently assumed. In all that curious expatriated world there was something of the Cave of Adullam. It was often only the more pleasant on that account. Acquaintances matured quickly; among people who were all more or less fugitives, few questions were asked; even Captain Rook and Mr. Deuceace were received without too much inquiry by people who neither imitated nor liked all their ways. Now we are less strict at home, and by a natural reaction more circumspect abroad. Besides railways keep people rolling, and have greatly broken up the old English colonies. Still even now there is a continental English society, less Bohemian