lingered last in her box at the opera. The Count was splendidly handsome, three-and-twenty, and, above all, he did not lack that greatest charm in women's eyes-the prestige of former bonnes fortunes with the sex. "It was the bishop's birth-day. His cook had surpassed himself; and the right reverend prelate, as his chaplain murmured a brief grace, inwardly thanked a merciful Providence that had spared the temporalities of an Irish Church, and blest him with an unimpaired digestion at fiftyfive. Count Adolphe joined the dinner-party; he was more witty than usual, and with admirable tact postponed his best bon-mots till their appreciation no longer interfered with that of the repast. That finished, the Bishop, as was his wont, sought his cushions of eider-down for a temporary repose; while her youthful ladyship withdrew to a small garden-pavilion, in which she had of late somewhat capriciously insisted on spending her evenings. "The Bishop's slumbers were profound; but at length he awoke-where was coffee, the Count, and Lady Arabella? "It is said that the butler at once surmised the truth; but the faithful servant (having reason to think his master's will was incomplete) forbore to make known the afflicting discovery till he had taken counsel with the Bishop's medical attendant in the morning. But his lordship survived it (whether he derived consolation from religion or his lawyer is more than I can inform you); and a paragragh in Galignani's announced, that the reverend prelate was about to return to his episcopal duties in the diocese of Donoughmore. Le pauvre Adolphe is in Italy, and probably in Dr.'s court by this time, tasting the pleasures of love, or rather learning the price, which we English, being a nation addicted to barter and traffic even to the sale of our wives, set upon them. "Now let me add the moral to my story. Never commit the folly of an elopement, my dear boy, for the éclat attending it is perfectly unnecessary with one-half the sex; and above all things, follow that useful commandment which prohibits you making love to your neighbour's wife-the costs of that style of amusement are so deucedly heavy afterwards. I speak from experience, having tried it myself; and though I confess the pursuit was exciting, the prize I never found worth the money. N.B.-That sentence ought to be stereotyped for the use of the rising generation. At twenty-two we adore a fine woman, at thirty we are decidedly less susceptible to the influence of the sex, and at forty-five our affections are centred in a good dinner. "Now, my dear Harry, you are in the age of romantic theories, fancying yourself, perhaps, a victim to that epidemic disorder of youth we term love. A few years later, my dear boy, your heart will still be in its place, but-'tis a physiological fact-all its tender sensibilities will be transferred to the stomach. You will think less of a woman's smile than a glass of Curaçoa; and the ruby lips of your lady-love at twenty will not bear a comparison with your favourite plat, dressed with the inspiration of a Soyer. It is not his relatives, my dear boy, that a rich man weeps to leave on his death-bed; it is his wellstocked cellar, and his cuisine,-the last dozen of that celebrated vintage which his medical man will not allow him to finish; the artist who has been the glory of his establishment, and who he knows will enter the service of his rival in dinner-giving, the millionaire who lives on the opposite side of the way; the pictures that will come to the hammer, and the favourite hunters that his graceless nephews will henceforth ride. How thoughtful and affectionate are those young men at this important juncture -big with the fate of consols and of acres! How anxiously they deprecate his long interviews with his lawyer, in the fear that a codicil and a bequest to the county hospital may shipwreck all their chance of a legacy! “ 'Tis a touching sight, this; and how often seen in the world! But a truce to the subject. I shall find you in town, I suppose, on my return. Did you know that I gave orders for the left wing of Castle Deloraine to be restored; sent Pugin to inspect the chapel; and modernize the rooms, anticipating the old place might again become the residence of a lady? to "I am going to feed with the Marquis de this evening, and my valet has been waiting this half-hour; so believe me, in haste, “Faithfully yours, "P.S.-Private intelligence has arrived respecting the bereaved bishop. The reverend prelate is no worse-and his cook has confidentially informed a brother-artist that he can bring him through.' Does not this go to prove the truth of my theory? If the soul of the famous cook of Lucullus had migrated into the |