Yes; there he stood. There seems to be no doubt about that. Nearly half of this delirious story has now been delivered to the reader. It seems a pity to reduce the other half to a cold synopsis. Pity! it is more than a pity, it is a crime; for, to synopsise McClintock is to reduce a sky-flushing conflagration to dull embers, it is to reduce barbaric splendour to ragged poverty. McClintock never wrote a line that was not precious; he never wrote one that could be spared; he never framed one from which a word could be removed without damage. Every sentence that this master has produced may be likened to a perfect set of teeth—white, uniform, beautiful. If you pull one, the charm is gone. Still, it is now necessary to begin to pull, and to keep it up; for lack of space requires us to synopsise. We left Elfonzo standing there, amazed. At what, we do not know. Not at the girl’s speech. No; we ourselves should have been amazed at it, of course, for none of us has ever heard anything resembling it: but Elfonzo was used to speeches made up of noise and vacancy, and could listen to them with undaunted mind like the ‘topmost topaz of an ancient tower’; he was used to making them himself; he—but let it go, it cannot be guessed out; we shall never know what it was that astonished him. He stood there awhile; then he said, ‘Alas! am I now Grief’s disappointed son at last.’ He did not stop to examine his mind, and to try to find out what he probably meant by that, because, for one reason, ‘a mixture of ambition and greatness of soul moved upon his young heart,’ and started him for the village. He resumed his bench in school, ‘and reasonably progressed in his education.’ His heart was heavy, but he went into society, and sought surcease of sorrow in its light distractions. He made himself popular with his violin, ‘which seemed to have a thousand chords—more symphonious than the Muses of Apollo, and more enchanting than the ghost of the Hills.’ This is obscure, but let it go. During this interval Leos did some unencouraged courting, but at last, ‘choked by his undertaking,’ he desisted. Presently ‘Elfonzo again wends his way to the stately walls and new-built village.’ He goes to the house of his beloved; she opens the door herself. To my surprise—for Ambulinia’s heart had still seemed free at the time of their last interview—love beamed from the girl’s eyes. One sees that Elfonzo was surprised, too; for when he caught that light ‘a halloo of smothered shouts ran through every vein.’ A neat figure—a very neat figure, indeed! Then he kissed her. ‘The scene was overwhelming.’ They went into the parlour. The girl said it was safe, for her parents were abed and would never know. Then we have this fine picture—flung upon the canvas with hardly an effort, as you will notice.