a corresponding change even in her appearance. The coquettish smile, the careless toss of the head, the very walk, were either gone or mellowed down; without being crushed the exhilarant spirits were chastened, and no one could have told her to be the same being she had been only a few weeks ago. It was all a change for the better; the Earl loved her more as Il Penseroso, than he did as L'Allegro. The Countess loved her more, and she won the most favourable opinions from all her friends and relatives, who saw the change without being privy to the cause. To use a hackneyed similitude, she had been like the plant, which uncrushed is beautiful, yet void of perfume, but which gives out its most precious odours when bruised and crushed. About a month after young Ravensworth had sailed the papers reported the safe arrival of the vessel off Funchal in the Madeiras. The ship which had spoken the "Recluse," also brought home letters,--a long and affectionate one to Lady Florence from himself, in which he gave an interesting account of his voyage, and all the wonders of the deep he had seen. Several very nice young fellows were on board, as well as many ladies going out to their husbands or friends; one exceedingly pretty, with whom he was a great favourite, he added by way of raillery, and he was quite afraid she would make him forget Florence. He said he was drest in sailor's costume, and helped the tars in their tasks aloft; they had dancing by moonlight every night--the air was clear and delightful, and they were nearing the Trades. Funchal was a little Paradise on the waters, such flowers and fruits, he wished he could send some of its wines to the Marquis. The stars were magnificent, and the southern constellations daily growing more splendid, and more brilliant than dwellers in the northern zone could imagine. He ended by tenderest love to his Florence and the Countess, and best remembrances to the Earl, saying he hoped to bring home the sword he had given him hacked like a saw in many a stiff encounter. Months passed by, and then a second letter from St. Helena arrived; so far all had gone well, their sails were filled with the fresh trade winds again, after three weeks' becalming in the tropics, under a fierce red sun, vertical, and casting such rays as melted the very tar on the ropes, and beneath which the waters seethed like pitch. They had only anchored off the island, not being allowed to land owing to its then being the prison of the illustrious Buonaparte. He spoke with great delight about the cross of the south, a constellation surpassing all his powers of description; "and yet," he added, "when on the line I beheld the great bear's seven stars, magnified into fearful splendour, as if most glorious ere it left its old friends, I turned from the flaming southern cross to those stars sinking beneath the waters, and they alone were dear! the only, lonely lights that still bound us together, and I sorrowed when I could see no