days; then we must make a magnificent return.' "I wish it was a return to the country sadly," said the aunt; "but all this work must be got through, since you have dragged me from the country, because it is necessary that you should enter into life just as I am thinking of leaving it." "Vaus plaisantez matante," answered Grace; 66 you are only just seeing the world; who knows but you may get a sweetheart yet, ha, ha, ha." Aunt "Deborah smiled at the word sweetheart, but it was followed by a deep groan at the expence, just as the distant thunder murmurs as the sudden refulgence flashes through a cloud Now aunty was persuaded to take a lesson of decarte, and to play guinea points at whist, and was drawn upon for a ballet master to perfect the Misses in quadrilles and waltzes, and to pay for chalking the floor for a magnificent return; she was also (not likewise) prevailed upon to invite a hungry Lancer to dine daily en famille, and to tolerate a half-pay captain of infantry to attend her every where, and to laugh at her over his left shoulder. Pride occasionally triumphed in her entré amongst high titles and splendid circles, and partial affection at times repaid her for her vigils, and losses at play, from witnessing the admiration bestowed on her nieces, and what she deemed their growing celebrity; but moments of cool reflection would as often engross her mind, and destroy all her brief enjoyment. Languid and fatigued with what the giddy call pleasure, and fevered after a morning sleep, she would not unfrequently unload her trunks, her boxes, and her carriage seats, to sigh over a huge mountain of articles of wearing apparel, presenting an account of money unprofitably sunk, and of articles now prohibited, as it were, by the veto of fashion; here was a rich silk robe, the form of which was quite superannuated: there a black satin dress, trimmed with bugles, which had figured at an election ball, but which was now too short in the waist, and equally unfashionable in other points; another dress had faded; a third (a white one) had acquired a cream by making me ridiculous: how differ- coloured hue from lying by; a fourth was too tight and too short, in consequence of aunty's having grown a-little larger than when it was first made tight enough to sew her up in it; a fifth (trimmed with sable) had been attacked by moths; a sixth was spoiled by Grace's throwing eau de Cologne over it, one was country made; and another was promised by my niece to her lady's maid; laces had lost their colour, patterns were not of vogue; thus was all her former ornaments come to nothing; thus, in a few weeks, was all the matron-like respectability of a worthy country gentlewoman brought down to the standard of drawing-room lumber, and confounded with a legion of old fantwinkling faded coquettes, who outlive admiration, pass by consideration and esteem, and infest the theatres and gaudy apartments of the fashionable world. Nor was this the worst; if her coming to town was so fraught with trouble and vexation, her quitting it was still more serious and perplexing. Her coffers were drained from the ruinous expense of six weeks in town; her niece Grace had run away with the Lancer, whose fortune had long since been spent, and Isabella had lost her character by flirting it away with a married man. Aunt Deborah was blamed for all this, laughed at in town, and pitied in the country. On her return she brought down with her a variety of fashions, which induced her female neighbours to borrow them of her; but instead of the welcome and admiration which she anticipated, her charitable acquaintances and her faithful waiting woman brought her back all the kind expressions of the ladies of the neighbourhood, such as "a beautiful gros de Naples indeed, and exquisitely made, but what a caricature must aunt Deborah be in such a juvenile habit! This frock and slip are admirable, but what an old fool must our neighbour be to venture on wearing such a dress! Poor thing, her old noddle must be turned ere she could have been persuaded to make herself thus ridiculous." So much for the tittle-tattle behind her back, the conversation in her presence was little less annoying; "Poor Grace!" was an object of insulting commiseration to half her acquaintance; whilst her other niece was the theme of village scandal. One niece accompanied her husband to the rules of the King's Bench, the other run away with a recruiting officer, aunt Deborah shut her door against every one, turned Methodist, and thus ended “the Journey to London." THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. BY GEOFFREY CRAYON. [Not yet published in the American edition of "The Tales of a Traveller."] man, in a kind of military travelling- was It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman; a wreck of one of those princely families which had lived with almost oriental magnificence, but had been broken down and impoverished by the disasters of Poland. The Count, like many other generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his country. He had resided for some time in the first cities of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all his cares and pleasures were now centred. He had taken her into so ciety, where her beauty and her accomplishments had gained her many admirers; and had she not been the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish nobleman, it is more than probable that many would have contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her health had become delicate and drooping; her gaiety fled with the roses of her cheek, and she sunk into silence and debility. The old Count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. "We must try a change of air and scene, "said he; and in a few days the old family carriage was rumbling among the Appenines. Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. He had followed his master in all his fortunes; had fought by his side; had stood over him when fallen, in battle; and had received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which added such grimness to his countenance. He was now his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. The only being that rivalled his master in his affections was his youthful mistress; she had grown up under his eye. He had led her by the hand when she was a child, and he now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent; nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for her good; and felt a parent's vanity in seeing her gazed at and admired. The evening was thickening: they had been for some time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, along the edge of a tumbling The scenery was lonely and The rocks often beetled stream. savage. over the road, with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, and gazing down upon the travellers. They had between two and three leagues yet to go before they could reach any village; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old fellow, who had refreshed himself at the last haltingplace with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talking alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent entreaties of the Count and maledictions of Caspar. The clouds began to roll in heavy masses among the mountains, shrouding their summits from the view. The air of these heights, too, was damp and chilly. The Count's solicitude on his daughter's account overcame his usual patience. He leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an angry tone. "Forward!" said he. "It will be midnight before we arrive at our inn." "Yonder it is, Signior," said the muleteer. "Where?" demanded the Count. "Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile of buildings about a quarter of a league distant. "That the place?-why, it looks more like a ruin than an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night at a comfortable village." Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations and ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue of a delinquent muleteer. "Such roads! and such mountains! and then his poor animals were wayworn, and leg-weary; they would fall lame; they would never be able to reach the village. And then what could his Excellenza wish for better than the inn; a perfect castello-a piazza-and such people!-and such a larder!-and such beds !-His Excellenza might fare as sumptu ously and sleep as soundly there as a prince!" The Count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to get his daughter out of the night air; so in a little while the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gateway of the inn. The building did certainly in some measure answer to the muleteer's description. It was large enough for either castle or palazza; built in a strong, but simple and almost rude style; with a great quantity of waste room. It had, in fact, been, in former times, a hunting-seat for one of the Italian princes. There was space enough within its walls and in its outbuildings to have accommodated a little army. A scanty household seemed now to people this dreary mansion. The faces that presented themselves on the arrival of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, and scowling in their expression. They all knew old Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he entered, singing and talking, and almost whooping, into the gateway. The hostess of the inn waited herself on the Count and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They were conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then through a suite of chambers opening into each other, with lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across them. Every thing, however, had a wretched, squalid look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting that here and there hung some great painting, large enough for a chapel, and blackened out of all distinctness. The only thing that contradicted this prevalent air of indigence was the dress of the hostess. She was a slattern of course; yet her garments, though dirty and negligent, were of costly materials. She wore several rings of great value on her fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round her neck was a string of large pearls, to which was attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the remains of beauty; yet there was something in the expression of her countenance that inspired the young lady with singular aversion. She was officious and obsequious in her attentions, and both the Count and his daughter were relieved when she consigned them to the care of a dark, sullen-looking servant-maid, and went off to superintend the supper. Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either through negligence or design, subjected his master and mistress to such quarters; and vowed by his mustachios to have revenge on the old varlet the moment they were safe out from among the mountains. He kept up a continual quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only served to increase the sinister expression with which she regarded the travellers, from under her strong dark eye-brows. Per As to the Count, he was a goodThey chose two bed-rooms, one humoured, passive traveller. within another; the inner one for haps real misfortunes had subdued his the daughter. The bedsteads were spirit, and rendered him tolerant of massive and mishapen; but on exam- many of those petty evils which ining the beds, so vaunted by old make prosperous men miserable. He Pietro, they found them stuffed with drew a large, broken arm-chair to the fibres of hemp, knotted in great fire-side for his daughter, and another lumps. The Count shrugged his to himself, and seizing an enormous. shoulders,but there was no choice left. pair of tongs, endeavoured to re-arThe chilliness of the apartments range the wood so as to produce a crept to their bones; and they were blaze. His efforts, however, were glad to return to a common chamber, only repaid by thicker puffs of or kind of hall, where there was a fire smoke, which almost overcame the burning in a huge cavern, miscalled a good gentleman's patience. He would chimney. A quantity of green wood draw back, cast a look upon his dehad just been thrown on, which puff-licate daughter, then upon the cheered out volumes of smoke. The room corresponded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the centre, immoveable from its size and weight. less, squalid apartment, and shrugging his shoulders, would give a fresh stir to the fire. Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there is none greater than sulky attendance: the good Count for some time bore the smoke in silence, rather than address himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length he was compelled to beg for drier fire-wood. The woman retired muttering. On re-entering the room hastily, with an armful of faggots, her foot slipped; she fell, and striking her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple severely. The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled profusely. When she recovered, she found the Count's daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as any woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded; but perhaps there was something in the appearance of the lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones of her voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to be ministered to by such hands. Certain it is, she was strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of the Polonaise, and pressed it fervently to her lips: "May San Francesco watch over you, Signora ?" exclaimed she. A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The courtyard was in an uproar; the house in a bustle; the landlady hurried to attend such distinguished guests; and the poor Count and his daughter, and their supper, were for the moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear; but it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority of his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to the window just as the new-comers had alighted. A young cavalier sprang out of the carriage, and handed out the princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old lady, with a face of parchment, and a sparkling black eye; she was richly and gaily dressed, and walked with the assistance of a gold-headed cane as high as herself. The young man was tall and elegantly formed. The Count's daughter shrunk back at sight of him, though the deep frame of the window screened her from observation. She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the contrast between the splendid equipage of the princess, and the crazy, rheumatic-looking old vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. Whatever might be the reason, the young lady closed the casement with a sigh. She returned to her chair;a slight shivering passed over her delicate frame; she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair; rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked mournfully into the fire. The Count thought she appeared paler than usual. "Does any thing ail thee, my child?" said he. "Nothing, dear father!" replied she, laying her hand within his, and looking up smiling in his face; but as she said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and she turned away her head. "The air of the window has chilled thee," said the Count fondly, "but a good night's rest will make all well again." The supper-table was at length laid, and the supper about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new-comers; but the night air was cold, and there was no other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely made the apology when the Princess entered, leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. The Count immediately recognized her for a lady whom he had met frequently in society both at Rome and Naples; and at whose conversaziones, in fact, he had constantly been invited. The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who had been greatly admired in the gay circles both for his merits and prospects and who had once been on a visit at the same time with his daughter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. The meeting was agreeable to both |