“Take care, Mr. Mortimer,” said Miss Montargis, still smiling, “you are in dangerous vicinity. Have you no fear of cold?” “It is not sufficiently _positive_,” he replied, “to destroy my belief that it exists with much _latent_ warmth, which it requires but a little address to render quite _sensible_.” Mortimer spoke with mingled playfulness and seriousness, but the latter prevailed, and Miss Montargis felt it a reproof, and blushed, she scarcely knew why. “To be sensible,” she said, “it must affect others. Who ever felt its influence? not _she_ at least who has painfully realized its _negativeness_.” “I am sure you speak mysteries to me,” said Mrs. Falkner, laughing, “what can you mean?” &c. &c. We would proceed, but are positively out of patience with the gross stupidity of Mrs. Falkner, who cannot understand what the other ladies and gentlemen are talking about. Now we have no doubt whatever they are discoursing of “fate, foreknowledge, and free will.” About chapter the fifteenth it appears that the Count Laniski is not the Count Laniski at all, but only Mr. Theodore Montelieu, and the son of that old rigmarole, Madam Montelieu, the housekeeper. It now appears, also, that even that Count Laniski whose appearance at Montargis Castle had such effect upon the nerves of our heroine, was not the Count Laniski at all, but only the same Mr. Theodore Montelieu, the same son of the same old rigmarole. The true Count, it seems, in his younger days, had as little partiality for the match ordained him by fate and the two fathers, as the very “Bride of Destiny” herself, and, being at college with Mr. Theodore Montelieu at the time appointed for his visit to Montargis Castle, had no scruple in allowing the latter gentleman to personate his Countship in the visit. By these means Mr. M. has an opportunity of seeing his mother, the old rigmarole, who is housekeeper, or something of that kind, at the Castle. The precious couple (that is to say the old rigmarole and her son) now get up a plot, by which it is determined that the son shall personate the Count to the end of the chapter, and so marry the heiress. It is with this end in view, that Mr. Theodore Montelieu is now playing Count at the residence of the Baron in Vermont. Mr. Frederick Mortimer, however, is sadly in his way, and torments the poor fellow grievously, by grinning at him, and sighing at him, and folding his arms at him, and looking at him asquint, and talking him to death about “fate and foreknowledge and free will.” At last Mr. Mortimer tells the gentleman flatly that he knows very well who he is, leaving it to be inferred that he also knows very well who he is not. Hereupon Mr. Theodore Montelieu calls Mr. Frederick Mortimer a liar, a big liar, or something to that effect, and challenges him to a fight, with a view of either blowing out his already small modicum of brains, or having the exceedingly few blown out, which he himself (Mr.