agricultural counties are evidently a more happy race than those who inhabit the cities or the manufacturing districts. An honest old farmer took us through his farm, and through the house, and into the kitchen, to show us the mode of life of an English peasant.

We were much interested by a visit to the private apartments of the Duchess of Rutland. She has been dead twenty-seven years; still her memory is fondly cherished by the Duke and by her children. The rooms remain just as they were when death claimed her. One old servant has charge of them. They are a kind of Mecca to her children, and her husband never fails to visit them on the anniversary of her death. How sweet is this cherished memory of the "loved and lost!" A solemn feeling crept over my heart, as I stood by the bed upon which she slept her last sleep of life, and looked upon the Bible, opened where she had read her last chapter. In every portion of the Castle we saw pictures and busts of her. She was not only beautiful, but gifted as a painter, a sculptor, and a poetess.

The mausoleum where the Duchess is buried, is on a hill in front of the Castle. We passed through a deep forest to reach it. The mausoleum is of Gothic form, without windows. At one end is the statue of the Duchess, enveloped in light drapery, with the hands raised, the face beaming with holy joy, and the form springing, as it were, heavenward. Above the statue, resting amid the clouds, are her four angel-children, holding forth their hands to welcome the mother. One holds a crown, which is just near her brow. The light comes from above, and through rose-colored, or some other warm-tinted glass, giving the figures the look of life. It is indescribably beautiful, and so touching, tears came to my eyes as I looked upon them. The design of this temple of the dead," was found among the papers of the

Duchess, and the Duke at once had it built precisely after the original drawing. In front of the building is a grove of ancient yew trees, supposed to have been planted long ere the family possessed these lands. The trees are of enormous size, and are absolutely gray with age.

From the mausoleum we passed on to the "Duke's Walk," a long avenue or lofty corridor cut through the trees of the forest, extending three or four miles. Not a sunbeam can penetrate the deep shade. The most delicious coolness pervades these green arcades, and it was really an effort to leave them.

Belvoir Castle is one of the grandest of the princely residences of England, and I shall never forget my brief sojourn there; or the kindness, the cordiality, and genial greeting of the Rutland family. I deeply regretted I could not accept the invitation to pass the autumn months in the Castle, when there is a gay and distinguished company assembled.

When we returned to London from Belvoir, we found a friend from our far-away home awaiting us. Oh! how our hearts and thoughts flew back over the vast Atlantic, to that dear spot of earth, where dwell the loved ones! All was forgotten in the delightful emotions awakened by the spelllike charm of Home, and of our own country.

CHAPTER XI.

July 19th. LAST night we attended the "conversazione" of the Lord and Lady Mayoress, at the Mansion House, in the midst of the old city of London. These parties are given several times during the year, and all the notabilities, foreign and nativeborn, are invited. The assemblage was aristocratic, democratic, artistic, and literary. The Lord Mayor stood in the centre of the reception-room, while a person in splendid uniform announced the names of the guests as they approached. The Lord Mayor shook them cordially by the hand, and presented them to the Lady Mayoress. It reminded me very much of the levées at the President's House in Washington.

We lingered for a time near the host and hostess, to watch the entrée of the guests. There were many thousands present, and of course among them distinguished and famous personages. Our excellent friends, the Bennochs and Croslands, introduced us to numerous literary and artistic persons, with whom we were really delighted. Martin F. Tupper we found a most pleasant, charming man. He spoke with great appreciation of America, where he had passed some months. The handsome young Oriental, Risk Allah, the Secretary of the Turkish Embassy, received much atten

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tion. As he speaks English, he seemed a wonderful favorite with the gentler sex, whom he evidently magnetized by the glances of his lustrous and eloquent eyes. Albert Smith was full of jest and merriment; a laughing throng were always around him. Then there was Cruikshank, a queer, wild-looking person, with a nervous, quick manner, and most mirth-provoking words. Miss Pardoe and Miss Strickland were standing together, when we were presented to them. I could but think their faces and forms were types of their writings. Miss Pardoe is fresh, bright-eyed, merry and talkative. Miss Strickland is tall, formal, and stately, but with an earnest and kind manner. I was charmed with Mackay, the " Poet of the People." He has a fine face, lighted up with noble emotions of the soul.

Many foreign Ministers were present; among the most conspicuous were the Turkish Ambassador and the Greek Ambassador, in their beautiful costumes; the Bishops of Salisbury and St. David's, and several high dignitaries of the law. Many of the leading men of England, Earl Grey, Duke of Newcastle, Sir Charles Wood, Mr. Joseph Hume, and D'Israeli. The Duchess of Sutherland, most superbly attired, accompanied by her son-in-law, the Duke of Argyll, attracted much admiration. There were, besides, many elegant women of the aristocracy.

Among the distinguished painters were Sir Charles Eastlake, Sir Edward Landseer, and Martin; Freiligrath, the German poet, whom I had met before, and Dr. Kinkel, the German patriot; then Harrison Ainsworth and Jordan, Dr. Bowring, the indomitable traveller, and Monckton Milnes, the poet and Member of Parliament-he has a beautiful forehead, and most expressive eyes; Tennyson, too, with his poetic face, over which lingers a soft shade of sadness; Dr. Southwood Smith, the philanthropist, who has done so much

to ameliorate the condition of the poor of London; Sir George Head, author of the capital book, "A Bundle of French Faggots," and Mrs. Cowden Clarke, whose work upon Shakspeare is so much valued. Earl de Grey wore the blue ribbon and the garter at the knee. Spohr, the composer, was one of the guests, and Sir Peter Laurie and Douglass Jerrold.

In truth, it is quite impossible to enumerate all the celebrities. Mr. Wire, (one of the Aldermen,) a most agreeable person, became kindly my cicerone, and guided me through the numerous rooms, pointing out the valuable paintings of Maclise and other artists. The Egyptian Hall is a magnificent room, with columns of white and gold, adorned with many fine statues. In this room the Band of the Coldstream Guard was playing. Above stairs, the educational models filled a suite of rooms, and here were the works of the pupils who are receiving instruction in the "Schools for the Blind." Many of the pupils were present; they sang several concerted pieces, feeling the notes with their fingers. There were supper rooms well served; there was dancing, too, but conversation was the chief amusement of the evening.

I was happy again to meet the Halls, and Mrs. Howitt, who mentioned that she was translating Miss Bremer's new book, "Homes in the New World."

We were delighted with the "conversazione," though regret was mingled with our pleasure, for our farewell was spoken to the dear friends who have made London so enrapturing. Most kindly did they greet us, not as strangers, or as those commended to.their civility, but with a warm, generous, frank friendliness, which won our gratitude, while it captivated our hearts. At this parting hour, earnestly do we exclaim, "Blessings upon our Mother-Land." bright stars were fading" before the light of day, ere we

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