daughter. The avowal was received with the utmost condescension. The only thing that filled him with horror was, that he should in any way be indebted to a matrimonial advertiser for that which, begun in mere thoughtlessness, had turned out to be a very serious engagement. He would write to his family to announce his approaching marriage-he would acquaint his friends with his intentions, but not a word about M. de Saint-Roch or the Chevalier de Jeuflas should drop from his pen or from his lips-as to that he had completely made up his mind.

But Pascal was counting here without his host. Jean Lantier his partner, and Dr. Lorilleux, had been for some time past alike filled with wonder and anxiety at the new habits adopted by their friend. He was no longer at home in the evenings; he had become more particular in his dress and appearance; he was in every respect an altered man. The doctor was embued with the presentiment of a horrible catastrophe; Madame Lantier urged her husband to bring the young man to an understanding. Both presented themselves the same morning, having somewhat similar objects in view.

"Friends," said Pascal to them, by way of anticipating a painful cross-questioning, "you, who are my best friends, have a right to be the first informed; the matter is decided. I am about to be married."

The dear friends were thunderstruck. Lantier allowed himself to drop quietly into a chair. The doctor was petrified, and turned as white as his neckkerchief.

"How is this?" continued Pascal, "the news does not appear to please you. I expected congratulations and-"

"Oh, it is a joke!" ejaculated the partner.

"Not at all," observed Pascal; "and what is more, you shall help me to build a little house, in which I hope we shall eat our Christmas dinner en famille."

Lorilleux was too much hurt to venture an observation. The hopes of his life were blasted in one fell moment, and all he felt was a passionate desire to revenge himself upon one whom he now deemed to be his most deceitful and treacherous friend-Pascal-who had never as yet been even introduced to the wife so carefully kept in store for him. The means of revenge presented themselves at hand sooner than the angry doctor anticipated. Pascal, not a little discomfited by the extraordinary dismay displayed by his best friends upon the occasion of the announcement made to them, had withdrawn to another room. Jean Lantier had gone away; Lorilleux remained alone. He seized upon some letters that lay on the table. Among them he found one from M. de Saint-Roch, announcing to Pascal that the Chevalier de Jeuflas would wait upon him to introduce him to Mademoiselle Gerbeau.

"I have it!" exclaimed the irate doctor. "Pascal is the victim of an abominable conspiracy. This must be put a stop to." And there and then he seized upon some note-paper, and indited two letters: one to Monsieur Divorne, senior, requesting him to come at once to Paris, if he wished to save his son from utter ruin; the other to Monsieur Gerbeau, in which he denounced his dear friend Pascal as a man without principle, who had got himself introduced into the bosom of his family, and accepted by his daughter through the agency of a vile matrimonial advertiser. Monsieur de Saint-Roch's own letter was enclosed in the envelope with

the latter note, so that no doubt could be left as to the correctness of the statement made by the anonymous correspondent. He did not, however, post the letter the same day, it might give Pascal time to enter into explanations with his intended father-in-law. No, he would allow four days for M. Divorne to come up from Lannion, and then he would hurl the missive at the head of the confiding old manufacturer.

Pascal was busy one morning, foot-measure in hand, studying if by any alterations in the partitions he could adapt his apartments to the exigencies of the married state, when M. Divorne, senior, suddenly made his appearance.

"Father!" exclaimed the young man, dropping his rule.

"Yes, myself," replied the notary; " and without any further preamble, is it true that you are about to be married ?"

"I had written to communicate the fact to you."

"And that through the medium of a trader in heiresses ?"

"Too true!" gasped Pascal, horrified at the idea that his parent should know all about it. "But you must listen to how it happened. It began as a joke, but has had a serious ending, to which I am indebted for my happiness.'

M. Divorne listened to the story with the patience he would have devoted to the case of a client. When Pascal had concluded, "Poor young man!" he said, "and you do not see the trap that has been laid for you; that you are the victim of a comedy played at your expense!"

Pascal, indignant at the idea, did his best to vindicate the honour and respectability of the Gerbeau family, but his father would not listen. All he requested was the addresses of the family solicitor, and of the matrimonial ambassador; he would begin, he said, by visiting the former.

No sooner had M. Divorne, senior, taken his departure in quest of information which he had every reason to believe would lead to scandalous disclosures, than the Chevalier de Jeuflas made his appearance in the utmost state of consternation and despair. M. Gerbeau, he said, had discovered everything, and he was the bearer of a letter forbidding Pascal the house, and for ever repudiating the intended alliance.

But," said Pascal, when he had a little recovered from this second blow, "do you mean to say that neither M. Gerbeau nor his daughter knew anything about your friend, M. de Saint-Roch ?"

"Not a syllable, upon my honour. M. de Saint-Roch does not do business in that way. He has agents who move in good society, and who give him that information which he turns to account."

"Then I am delighted," exclaimed Pascal, to the surprise of his acquaintance. "Antoinette is not yet lost to me! But one question, how did M. Gerbeau become acquainted with the circumstance?"

66

By an anonymous letter."

"So also did my father!"

"It will be my ruin," muttered the chevalier; "I shall be refused every respectable house."

"I tell you what, I will discover the traitor," observed Pascal; "it is not M. Gerbeau's interest, nor that of his daughter, to bruit the affair. All will be right yet, so console yourself."

M. de Saint-Roch was busy inditing an advertisement of unusual elo quence, when a visitor was announced, and no sooner admitted, than an

aged gentleman sprang forward, and seized him by the collar, utterly regardless of his frill, cravat, pins and chains, apostrophising the illustrious ambassador at the same moment as "a wretch !"

M. de Saint-Roch jumped up in terror, and hastened to place the table between himself and his irate interlocutor. A parley then took place upon more equal grounds. M. Gerbeau stormed; the ambassador retorted. Both declared that they would appeal to a court of justice. M. Gerbeau asked the ambassador how he had dared to use his daughter's name. M. de Saint-Roch stated that was his business. M. Gerbeau denounced Pascal as an impostor. M. de Saint-Roch declared that the young man's little finger was worth more than all M. Gerbeau's person. The discussion was still at its height when a third person was announced, It was M. Divorne, senior, who arrived from visiting the solicitor, where he had obtained information of a very different character to what he expected, and which only redounded to the credit of the Gerbeaus. But still he had resolved to see M. de Saint-Roch upon the matter. The matrimonial ambassador was delighted. He at once saw a means of escape from the dilemma in which he was placed, and he hastened to introduce the two papas to one another with that exquisite urbanity which even the disorder of his dress could not rob him of. The two old gentlemen bowed haughtily. Each considered himself as a dupe, and recriminated with the other. At length it was suggested that they should refer the matter to M. Gerbeau's solicitor. M. Divorne, senior, now that M. Gerbeau refused to give his daughter in marriage to his son, insisted as energetically that his son was a man of honour and integrity, and that he should wed Antoinette, as before he had opposed the consummation of what he had deemed to be a plot. The solicitor, who looked upon himself as a kind of professional buffer, intended by his very avocations to break the shock of opposing interests, took a rational view of the matter. He saw that the misunderstanding had had its origin in a mistake, and he soon brought the two fathers to such a perfect understanding, that before they parted the day of the marriage was settled, and they left on the most friendly terms possible, the one to communicate the good news to his son, the other to his daughter. The treachery of Dr. Lorilleux was made patent, but Pascal pardoned him for the sake of old friendship, as also in consideration of the circumstances which had impelled him to so disgraceful an act.

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Strange," said Pascal to himself. "My best friend intended that I should marry his sister, Lantier projected a wedding with one of his daughters, and my mother has discovered a rural heiress; and I am going to be married through the agency of a matrimonial advertiser!"

The unfortunate Chevalier de Jeuflas, was not, however, invited to the wedding, which took place a fortnight after the occurrence of these events; but a month after the marriage the matrimonial ambassador made his appearance in his gala dress, and with straw-coloured gloves. He received his commission, which amounted to ten thousand francs, of which seven thousand were for him, and three thousand for the gambling chevalier d'industrie.

503

ACROSS THE WATER.

OUR WATERING-PLACE.

THE western dominions of the British crown, hitherto so little known to the majority of English people, except through the medium of overdrawn novels and equally extravagant stage pieces, are at present attracting no usual share of public notice through the medium of Fenian émeutes and Yankee raids.

In these days of rapid steam voyages and "return tickets," Ireland, of course, is "done" by the travelling public in the same manner as Belgium or the Rhine; but in the majority of cases the tourist's knowledge of the country and its peculiarities goes no further than the superficial, and in most instances false, impressions conveyed to his mind through the medium of car-drivers, begging impostors, and lying cicerones. Dublin and its neighbourhood cannot, of course, be taken as a fair specimen (at least on the surface) of Irish nationality, though possessing, we grieve to say, some of the worst national defects, in conjunction with much—in the eyes of strangers-incongruous luxury. The connexion of our ancient city with the period of the English Pale, and the days when the services of Saxon warriors were rewarded with grants of land in the rich province of Leinster, has left its trace in imported English names to the streets; so much so, indeed, that any individuality which might have marked Dublin as metropolis of the Irish nation has disappeared in a sort of second-hand nomenclature. This, and the air of a foreign and incongruous civilisation which pervades the chief shop-streets and marts of fashion, have always appeared to us humiliating tokens of the people being ashamed of their distinct nationality, while at the same time the nation repudiates the idea of their being really conquered by, and amalgamated with, their wealthier neighbours. These external features strike any one more forcibly who has visited some of the capitals of Europe, such as Paris, Brussels, or even the smaller cities of Frankfort or Geneva, where, however modern innovations may have swept away distinctive local buildings and streets, there are always sufficient indications-in the more secluded parts of the towns, at least-of national peculiarities and landmarks whereby we may confirm the records of their country's past history. Perhaps we need not go farther than Edinburgh for an example of what we mean; but we must look for an explanation of this want of individuality in Ireland's metropolis (the more remarkable among a people intensely national in other respects) in the records of the unhappy struggles by which the country was devastated in the earlier periods of her history.

Yes, war, famine, and religious animosity are three fiends which have long struggled fiercely for the possession of this naturally desirable land. and noble race of people, and even at this day Heaven only knows how the struggle is to end. The contending elements are but kept in check by stern external pressure, while beneath the surface lies a mass of discontent, sense of wrongs-some real, some imaginary-and a hopeless feeling of poverty and inability to rise nationally to the level of other and

VOL. LXIII.

2 L

more prosperous neighbours; while there are ever on the alert designing adventurers and unprincipled demagogues ready to turn these popular elements of misrule to their own selfish aggrandisement and mischievous

purposes.

But, leaving aside the question of the wrongs and rights of the "Green Isle," let us take a look at Dublin's far-famed bay, and the well-known watering-place which first salutes the 66 of the voyager eyes across the water." And we defy the lover of scenery to find us any prospect more pleasing or beautiful than the view of Erin's shores on a bright summer's morning as seen from the deck of the noble mail-packet, when, light veils of mist drawing off from the higher grounds, the striking features of the coast gradually reveal themselves. The hill and lighthouse of Howth, dear sight to many a home-bound wanderer! and (less romantically) oh, how welcome to the wretched victim of a rough passage from the Holy Head! (Query, was this so named by grateful voyagers in the 66 Ages of Faith" as a haven from the dangers of the sea and the horrors of mal de mer?) Then following the coast-line southward, we trace the graceful sweeps of the bay, its shores dotted with white-gleaming villas and frequent terraces, the panorama being continued along the heights of Killiney and Bray Head to those more distant mountains within whose bosom lie the song-famed ruins*

By that lake whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er.

There is a charm to us in the soft, wild beauties of Ireland's mountains, streams, and valleys which we have sought for in vain in the cold, bleak grandeur of Wales or in the rich plains and rising-grounds of "merrie England." Something, doubtless, must be allowed us for association, and that "amor patria" which will be found to underlie most natures, even where, perhaps, the individual scarcely acknowledges to himself the existence of any such feeling.

As the steamer touches Kingstown pier, it will strike the visitor (should he have ever read Thackeray's "Irish Sketch Book") that the externals of our watering-place have changed considerably since it was written. Indeed, clever though the book undoubtedly is, we think that the distinguished author regarded Ireland too much from a caricaturist's and, we hope to be pardoned for saying so, from an English point of view. Notwithstanding their outward union and amalgamation of interests, there remain national features and characteristic traits in " Paddy" which must ever leave a wide line of demarcation between him and his wealthier and more solid neighbour.

Kingstown-like other sea-side resorts-has advanced in the matter of buildings with the times, and no visitor to our Irish shores will be at any loss for accommodation in its "marine" hotels and "royal" hostelries; which establishments, considering the circumstances and fluctuating nature of prosperity on this side the Channel, show an amount of enterprise in their undertakers which is scarcely understood by the dwellers in a settled and uniformly successful country, like England. This ambition for architectural distinction has of late extended itself to our ecclesiastical buildings (and not before it was needed), in which an effort is visible to

* Glendalough,