General) the Honourable Henry Lygon. Newland Swan was passed on the right, and the horses began their slow pace up the Link, noted for its upsets. Its summit was turned, the turnpike gained-the very turnpike of our adventure in later years-and the party were in the village

of Great Malvern at last.

"Which inn are we to go to ?" asked Georgianna, looking back from her carriage towards her mamma.

"It don't matter which," called out Mrs. Juniper, "as it's only to leave the horses and the ve'cles. I don't much like the one with the outlandish name: it gives precious little butter to its sandwidges."

"The Belle-Voo mamma means," observed Georgianna to De Courcy. "The what?" he inquired, thinking he had never heard such a name for an inn before.

"The Belle View," corrected Elizabeth Juniper, from the back seat. "We must go to the Crown then. Drive on, Mr. de Courcy; Georgy will show you where it is."

De Courcy drove on, and passing the ever mispronounced and everto-be mispronounced Belle Vue Hotel, stopped before the door of the Crown.

Before the hampers, Mrs. Juniper's fowls and tongues and à-la-mode beef, could be got from the carriages, the party were surrounded by a shoal of donkeys, with their drivers, sunburnt women, boys, and girls. "Are we to ride or walk up ?"

“Who asked the question on such a day as this?" said one of the gentlemen. "Look out the strongest for Mrs. Juniper. And I say, my good donkey-women, give an eye to your saddles: they have a habit of turning, you know."

Soon, all were mounted, save De Courcy, and he chose to walk, not a very wise determination, as Mrs. Juniper told him, with the thermometer at its present height. She did not know that the heat and the toilsome ascent were to him as nothing, whilst he could thus keep by the side of Florence Erskine. And so they commenced their ascent of the hill, determining to proceed no further up it than St. Ann's Well, and Mrs. Juniper sincerely wished there was a carriage way to that, so that she might avoid the zig-zag path of the jolting donkey. A few years afterwards, the wish was gratified, the carriage drive to the Well being rendered ascendable for the accommodation of the Princess Victoria, when she was staying, with the Duchess of Kent, at Malvern.

They took De Courcy to an elevated spot, and then made him turn suddenly. The day was more favourable for the view than if the sun had been out in a blaze, and oh the glorious beauty of the scene that burst upon him. Go and look at it, you who have never done so, it is worth journeying a hundred miles to see. The amazing expanse of prospect extending out around, touching the horizon, as it were, in the distance; the peaceful plains, lying broad and distinct; the blending together of wood and dale; the striking contrast of the green fields and the golden hue of the ripening corn; Bredon Hill there, the Old Hills here, hills everywhere; the few mansions scattered with a sparing hand, imparting life to the landscape; on the right, in the extreme distance, a narrow, glittering line, giving rise to a suspicion that it is the Bristol Channel; and, last of all, Worcester, fair, fair Worcester, lying near, its fine old

cathedral standing out conspicuously, and St. Andrew's spire raising its point to the clouds. Oh go to Malvern! go and look, for once in your: lifetime, at these glories of God's marvellous works, and then hush your

heart in reverence!

As De Courcy did. But, ere it was well time, Mrs. Juniper's voice brought him back to common life. "If you'll believe me, them apes are a going to the top!"

De Courcy turned, and saw that all the younger members of the party were continuing their way up the hill: the elder had dismissed their donkeys and were gathered in and about St. Ann's Well.

"Have you lost your wits?" screamed out Mrs. Juniper again, in an angry tone.

"No, mamma. Why ?"

"If you attempt to ride to the top in this heat, you'll be dead."

"Oh we don't care for that. What time are you going to dine?" "At two o'clock," replied Mrs. Juniper. "One can't do nothing else to-day, so we may as well have it early. Mind you are down." "We'll be down. Come along, Mr. de Courcy."

Mrs. Juniper sat down inside the room at the Well; some superintended the laying the cloth for dinner; one gentleman threw himself flat on the mountain side, endeavouring to get a breath of air. In vain: the element was still as death.

"Why here they are already!" exclaimed one of the ladies, catching sight of the white cloths of the donkeys, slowly winding round from the heights above. "We shall hear how they feel after their broiling."

"I have heard of women in Ingee," remarked Mrs. Juniper, extending her head outside to get a view of the broiled, "as have voluntary throwed themselves into a fire, or afore it, to be roasted alive. I think, if the choice was gave me, I'd rather prefer that, to going up the hill to-day as them geese have, 'specially if 'twas a-foot, like Mr. de Courcy."

tion.

"It was quite impossible to endure it," called out Cicely, in explana“I believe, if we had gone on, we should have dropped down dead, as mamma said, and the poor animals too. So that's why we are back again."

Heavily and listlessly passed the time, in the unbearable heat, till they sat down to dinner, and most sincerely did they wish their excursion had been deferred to a more propitious day. When the meal was over, four or five of them rose to wander up the hill, De Courcy and Florence being amongst them. The heat was really dreadful, not perhaps quite so burning as it had been in the morning, but the oppressive, sultry sensa tion had greatly increased. It seemed as if they could scarcely draw their breath; and ominous clouds of copper colour were gathering in the sky. Unheeding the weather, and regardless of fatigue, De Courcy and Florence continued on their way, but their companions dropped off, one by one, and when they reached the top of the hill, they were alone. There they stood some time, that he might admire the vale of Herefordshire; a beautiful prospect also, but not like the magnificent one on the other side. And then, turning to the left, they continued their way on the hill's summit, until they reached the little, round building, scarcely larger or higher than a good-sized watch-box, known as Lady Harcourt's Tower.

Here they entered and sat down, and De Courcy, clasping her to him, laid her cheek upon his bosom, and poured forth his words of love. Eloquent they were, more eloquent than they need have been, for where love reigns in a heart, as it did in hers, eloquence is needed not: and she, drowning reflection in the rapture of the moment, thrust her conscience wilfully aside: she forgot her own disobedience; she forgot the certain refusal of her father to sanction her love; she braved his denunciation and his fierce anger, and solemnly betrothed herself to Louis de Courcy.

A flash of lightning startled them, and as they rushed outside the tower, a long, loud, frightful echo told that the storm had begun. Never, perhaps, has a storm, in its violence, come on more rapidly the clouds had gathered together, black, lurid, and angry, the forked lightning playing amongst them; the thunder reverberated in the hollows of the hills; and the atmosphere appeared as if tainted with death, it was so

still and terrible.

"We must make the best of our way down, Florence," he exclaimed, hastily.

But, at the same moment, there came, flying on to the top of the hill, five or six of their party. An old Worcester lawyer and his daughter, two of the Juniper girls, and a lad of fifteen and his young sister. They had been close to the top when the thunder commenced its roaring, and were running along now, to take shelter in Lady Harcourt's Tower.

"I do not like it," interposed De Courcy. "We shall be safer going down the hill than there."

"Not at all," dissented the lawyer, a very stout man, who was puffing and blowing with his recent exertion. "I remember being overtaken in this very spot, when a boy, by a most violent thunder-storm; this is nothing to it" (present storms never are anything to past ones); "so we shut ourselves in here, there was a door to the place then, and were quite safe and comfortable; whilst in the valley below there were two cows and a milkmaid killed."

Again De Courcy remonstrated, uselessly; for there was not one willing to descend the hill with him, and brave the fury of the storm: so they gathered themselves together in Lady Harcourt's Tower. Their situation was appalling enough. Perched on the summit of one of the highest of the Malvern Hills, the valley beneath them appeared, in the distance, as if it were miles away, and they planted in the air, on that narrow ledge, midway between the earth and the sky, midst all the roar and battle of the elements.

The storm increased in its violence; peal succeeded flash, and flash succeeded peal, without an instant's cessation; the heavens were in a blaze of light from one extremity to the other, and a noise, as of a thousand cannons, seemed bursting close overhead. The poor girls were fearfully terrified: De Courcy tried to reassure them, but could not succeed a scream from one, a shriek from another, tears and sobs from the little girl; exclamations that the lightning blinded, and the thunder deafened them, were mixed with murmured prayers, and dread whispers that they should never get down again alive. Florence was quiet, and betrayed less terror than they did. Why was it? Had she more physical courage ?-was she less alive to the danger?-or was it that she remembered they were in the keeping of God, and that He would pro

tect them, if it were His own good will? No, no, alas no! She felt only that she was by the side of him, her lover, and so all-absorbing was the presence of her love for him, that other emotions, even the dread of danger, were lost in it: his protection seemed to be all-sufficient for security, like it was for happiness. She was not the first, or the last, who has forgotten the Creator in the blind worship of the creature. De Courcy had thrown his arm round her and drawn her to his side, where she quietly stood, her face hidden against him, and her heart beating with its sense of bliss: Cicely Juniper he had drawn to him on the other. "There!" he exclaimed, suddenly pointing to a distant part of the heavens. It was a small ball of fire, darting down to the earth. The sight was but momentary: before the others could look, it was gone.

"I must say I wish we were safe down," exclaimed the old lawyer. "I wonder how Mrs. Juniper and the rest feel at the Well."

Before the words had well passed his lips, there was a vivid flash, a terrific peal, and a scream from Cicely Juniper, who declared the tower was shaking. It may have been her fancy, or it may have been that the tower did shake with a shock of electricity, the others felt nothing; but Florence Erskine had fallen on the ground at De Courcy's side. There was no perceptible change in her countenance, yet the Spirit had flown

for ever.

"Good God! she has fainted!" exclaimed the old man, stooping, and pulling at her hand.

"It is the faintness of DEATH!" shuddered De Courcy, bending down his ashy face. He raised Florence in his arms, as he spoke; he called her by every endearing name, unmindful, now, of the ears of those around; he pressed his white cheek to hers, vainly hoping to feel signs of breath and life. But there was no further life for Florence Erskine in this world, for she had indeed been struck and killed by lightning. And when the wailing and terror-stricken party returned that night to Worcester, the corpse of the ill-fated young lady was all that remained of her

to bear home to her father.

And so ended the day of pleasure at Malvern: a remarkable one, in truth, as that strange man, the wizard, had foretold. On the day following Florence Erskine's death, Cicely, in her horror and perplexity, disclosed to Mr. Juniper the particulars of their visit to this man, with his prediction regarding Florence, and the surgeon went down at once to seek him out. But he had disappeared, none knew when or where, and was never more heard of in the city. Whence he derived his information, that spirit of divination that he really appeared to possess, none can pretend to speculate-for indeed this has been no fancy sketch.

De Courcy never flirted with Georgy Juniper again: from that hour he was a wiser and a graver man. Georgy married in the course of years, and went abroad with her husband; and poor Cicely's wedding has never come yet. But I daresay, if you could see into her heart, she has not quite given up all hope, for though she has taken to "fronts" and to ever so many false teeth, she dresses jauntily, almost as a young girl. So now, good reader, our visit to Worcester is over. And in repayment for the amusement it may have given you, you must join with me heartfully in echoing the prayer of its motto,

"FLOREAT SEMPER, FIDELIS CIVITAS."

TALES OF MY DRAGOMAN.

BY BASIL MAY.

No. VII.-BEETROOT versus COFFEE-POT.

You will not have forgotten our old acquaintances, Achmet Benali and Achmet Ali, the grand master of the mules and whipper-in in ordinary to the seraglio, and the master of the pantaloons and dispenserin-extraordinary of otto of roses, those fellow-ministers of the guilty Bibi and Kiaya, who were so deservedly put to death for their misdeeds, and you may have thought that so salutary an example, and the timely warning they had received from Muftifiz, would have effectually deterred them from ever again betraying the trust reposed in them by the state. Indeed, so long as the faithful Muftifiz remained with his beloved master, to watch over his interests and direct his councils, both Achmet Benali and Achmet Ali were much too prudent to risk a second offence; but the widespread publicity of this worthy servant's good deeds having reached even the sultan, that prince had expressed a wish that he should join his court. The desire was equivalent to a command; and, with much regret on both sides, Muftifiz having packed up his things, bid the pacha a heartfelt farewell, and quitted the province.

Upon this, Achmet Benali and Achmet Ali, freed from the supervision to which they had been subjected, returned to their old and reprehensible ways. Setting at nought the estimable sentiments of the humane but weak-minded pacha, who, now that he had lost the valuable counsel of Muftifiz, seemed incapable of offering an objection, they took the high hand, governed as they liked, framed new laws, repealed others, introduced oppressive taxation, admitted objectionable distinctions, rode the high horse, saddled the nation, overran the constable, and licked the watch.

It is not to be supposed that even so lymphatic a people as the Moslem could submit to this treatment without raising a finger in sign of dissent. There were grumblings, and meetings, and vociferations, and resolutions, and petitions, on the one hand; and on the other, courtesy, and calipash and calipee, and silence and contempt.

But you will easily understand this when I inform you that it was through his ministers only that any address to the pacha could reach him; for although, now and then, he went abroad unaccompanied, still they had led him to believe there was that spirit of insubordination amongst his people that, for the insurance of his personal convenience and comfort, he should undertake those journeys strictly incog. Once or twice the poor pacha had evinced a disposition to kick over the traces of these restrictions; then had there set in for him one of those days of political "clouded happiness," which none but wedged-in monarchs can fully understand, and sledge-hammer diplomatists fully explain. That had put a damper on his aspirations. True, there was the Yachmack Expositor, the Tchorbadji Herald, and the morning and evening Pantalet. These were all laid upon his table, and I presume he occasionally glanced at them; but, sir, what's the use of a grand