such as none else, in Tremaine's opinion, had ever exhibited. It was the lightning play so beautifully described by Petrarch, in the "lampeggio del angelico riso" of Laura.

Tremaine was, in fact, peculiarly struck; so much so, that with all his usage du monde, he seemed lost; till at length he stammered out a sort of compliment to Evelyn upon his having such a companion in his solitude, which must, he said, for ever have prevented time from hanging heavy.

"Why aye," said Evelyn, "a daughter is a good thing enough to help an old bachelor to keep house, scold the maids, and carve at table. It is a pity that I have not the gout, that she might complete her perfections by setting cushions and folding flannel. In other respects, too," he added, smiling, "the lady is well enough; at least, she tells me so herself."

At these words, such riant looks were interchanged by the father and daughter, that Tremaine almost experienced a feeling of envy, though he knew not to what it pointed.

"I imagine," said he, at last, looking round upon a Guarini which lay open on the table," that Miss Evelyn is made for other things than to scold maids, and settle cushions."

"That is a town compliment," said Evelyn; “and I must request," added he, smiling, " that you will

not begin your visit to Evelyn, by turning the head of its parson's daughter."

"If you knew how I hate the town," replied Tremaine, "you would not accuse me of affecting any thing belonging to it."

"Surely that involves too general a censure," said Evelyn; “and if you are serious (which I hope you are not), I must express my concern at a disgust which I should apprehend, in one like you, must certainly be unsound, or at least premature.

"So far from it," returned Tremaine, "that few things could, I believe, make me relish the world again; and if you had your leisure all to yourself, I know not the man whose life I could envy so much as yours."

"Thank God, and my girl," said Evelyn, looking at her with affection, "it has not been unhappy; but I assure you, if I were to complain of any thing in my life, it should not be that I had not my leisure all to myself: that is a demon whose slave I have no inclination to be."

"You astonish me," said Tremaine: "not wish for leisure! the prime, the only sweetener of life! the only desideratum of a wise man !"

"I am afraid I am not wise enough to be of that opinion," replied Evelyn; "for, to let you into a secret, I have long thought I should not know what to do with it."

"With your attainments ?" asked Tremaine. "Yes! and more too, if I had them," said Evelyn; "and if I did not preach, marry, and christen, besides poking myself into all the quarrels of the neighbourhood; to say nothing of raising cabbages, and growing barley: and if Georgy there did not, as I said, scold the maids and make butter,—we should conjuguer le verbe, and be as badly off as the poor prince, who with all his high rank was miserable, from having nothing else to do.”

Tremaine looked his wonder, and expressed it, too, that persons apparently so formed for all the refinements which leisure alone could produce, should so mistake and calumniate its blessings; but as for the prince, and conjugating the verb, he owned himself ignorant of the allusion.

"Shew him the passage, my dear," said Dr. Evelyn; upon which his daughter took down a volume of Thiebaut's Souvenirs, and with some timidity, but the farthest in the world from mauvaise honte, and shewing only how much her first object was to please her father, read as follows:

"Que faites-vous à Potzdam?" demandai-je un jour au prince Guillaume.

"Monsieur," me répondit-il, "nous passons notre vie à conjuguer tous le même verbe; oui, monsieur, nous faisons tous une conjugaison, et toujours la même; Je m'ennuie, tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuie, etc.

enfin, monsieur, la conjugaison toute entière; voilà notre unique occupation."

Though Tremaine felt the pleasantry of the quotation, he denied that it could apply. "You would not have me believe," said he, "that what was above a mere unlettered prince, is too much for the well-stored minds of those with whom I am conversing."

"Thanking you for the compliment," said Evelyn, "I know not that the prince was unlettered."

"He was a prince," answered Tremaine, with something like spleen.

"But surely not unlearned," said Evelyn. "If the command of the best instructors that learning can supply, can ensure the communication of knowledge, princes ought to be, and therefore may be, knowing."

"You forget," observed Tremaine, "that if the instructors are even well selected, they will not always enforce instructions; but they never can be well selected."

"And why not?" asked Evelyn.

"Because it is a world where intrigue and bad ministers carry every thing. It is not every prince that can have the good fortune of being instructed by a La Harpe."

"You are too quick for me," said Evelyn; "other

wise, I should contest your bad ministers; but you, I believe, are a Whig, and it is long since Whigs have been in office !"

Tremaine smiled at the intended inference, but with some bitterness; and Evelyn proceeded: “I, who am neither Whig nor Tory, am at least content with our own men; and as for La Harpe, supposing the merit you seem to give him, I would rather have named a Markham,* or a Jackson,† to prove not only that good instruction for princes was not confined to Russia, but that our own princes had enjoyed that advantage in even a still greater degree. You will, however, my good friend, I think allow

* Dr. Markham, the late Archbishop of York, so venerable, so learned, so liberal, and so kind!-It is difficult to name the memory that is so much and so fondly cherished, by the friends, young and old, who survive him.

Dr. Cyril Jackson, the late Dean of Christ Church, a man not more formed for the college, than for the court, the state, and the world. The latter he shuns, only (as it is said, and as we hope) that he may yet be still more its benefactor. A man who was supposed to be most ambitious, but proved himself to be so, only by soaring above ambition. His uncommon powers in directing his college are acknowledged by the first characters in the state, who may owe it in some measure to him, that they are what they are. His refusal of all dignities, and his retreat from the world, in a green old age, have puzzled many it is for himself to unravel it; but as it is said the discovery will be posthumous, it is to be hoped it will not be soon. Of these two men, he who writes may say, as Johnson once said of one of his early benefactors, "I honoured them, and they endured me." Such