travelled by the foot of man. From Some bear upon tueir bluffs gashes of Santa Cruz to Laguna, the old capital red earth, as crimson as the blotches of Teneriffe, there is little to note. The on the dark shoulder of a wounded bull. foliage is scant and mean, with touches The sea and sky are of a blue so soft of silver where the sharp breeze in its and misted by the summer heat as to vagabond course tears over the fields. look like an interfusion of lights making

Laguna looks empty and cold; with a wall of liquid azure along the premoss-worked pavements that ring hol- cipitous shore. Through this veil the low to the tread of hoof. It wears a sad sail of a boat shows, its brilliant white. reminiscent air, as if it clung to the ness subdued to silver, and you can memories of capa and mantilla, and scarce tell if it be a thing of earth or resented the infelicitous introduction of sky. For sound there is the song of the modern raiment among the wandering ocean, and the birds fling notes as thick dons. There is something plaintive and as spray against your ear from the engaging in these forsaken cities, and roadside trees. You breathe every Laguna, now used as a summer abode vigorous and delicious odor from the for the people of Santa Cruz, up among pine woods that wander up the mounher hills, has the proud consciousness tain sides; the perfumed shrubs and of being her rival's superior in beauty underwood of the ravines, and the and nobility of aspect, even in her dis- paradisaical wilderness about you of mantled condition. She at least has heliotrope, roses, and sweet-peas that handsome decorated doorways and pic- grow in Nature's hedges of tropic turesque arches, and wears her air of bloom. fallen state with dignity. Close by you If you are not of an exploring cast of have the aromatic life of the woods, and mind, and have an aversion for the the softening wonder of an opaline mist physical labor of scaling peaks. you formed by the hot air of the coast may, at the villa of Orotava, repose conbreathed upward to this marshy emi- tentedly, perched between the upper nence, and condensed to a thick veil altitudes of this forested mountain-side, which you can watch descend steadily with the Port at your feet. Here may and roll away over the plain. The you dream amid every effect of lovelitrade-winds blowing round Laguna are

ness; encircling hills, divinely formed changed from west to east; thus you and most divinely clad, with the frown will within an hour be suffocated at of grey and purple rocks, the smiles of Santa Cruz and chilly up at Laguna. the pleasant fields, so lucidly green, the The Merced in the wood of Obispo out- splendor of vegetation and gardens, any side Laguna is a spot almost as famous of which might have been the fitting as the lovely valley of Orotava. To home of our first parents; savage torwander here is to drink deeply of bliss rent-beds with armies radiant in an earthly paradise. Can this have flowers encroaching beyond the verges been the spot of the garden of Hes- of their gloomy depths; enchanting perides? From this point begins the paths under trees that the sunlight falls faint blue bloom of the eucalyptus upon through in pools of glory upon the the landscape, like a summer haze, and shadowed ground; glades and thickets, with it you are launched into the heart and ever in view the eternal ocean as of the picturesque. Teide shows its glittering and purple as the Ægean dark peak under a hood of snow, and waters. upon its rounded shoulders lies a mantle The Peak itself from this point of of broken snow-lines. Should there be view does not strike the imagination as a cloud, it will catch it on the wing, and

one of the world's wonders; and the leave it as ragged against the white luxuriant orchards of the villa, and spurs as a beggar's cloak. Away and friendly solitude of the scented and around it, in violent contrast, the under open forest close by, speak with more hills make a girdle of sombre beauty eloquence to the indolent vagabond relieved by spots of dazzling verdure, than Teide's tale of convulsed rocks and

lava-blackened and burnt earth. The Shakespeare himself might walk undisvilla is built on the slope of a 'hill, in a turbed incognito as Mr. William. The net-work of gardens and orchards like people here are the friendliest I have an Italian town. It is clean and pretty ever met. Peasant women, whom I and picturesque, and the moss-sown stopped to talk to, led me through some streets wind up and down, always open marvellous orchards and gardens, and to the eye of the fowers and the boom gathered me stacks of flowers. I might of the ocean. It has its own engaging have lived upon natural scents so thick note, if it lack both-castellated and with them was the air I breathed in my Moorish suggestion and the exquisite hotel room. I sat among roses, carnaglow of color that charms us in old tions, and heliotrope, in strange places, southern towns. It smiles mirthfully in amongst wide-eyed foreigners, and, to Ils sunlit slumbers, and wears a fine please them, told the tale of my voyhint of nobility in decay. Instead of ages. Men came out and joined us in historic columns, it offers you the hills, wonder, and said "caraye” and “ave alive with the life of the woods, fra- Maria purissima,” and then they gave grant with nature's sweetest scents, me cheese and coffee, and, weighted with and aglow with all her precious hues. my burden of flowers, somebody was And beyond the sharp dip of its base, sure to insist that I should go and see through fields of corn and maize, in a another garden down the carretera. It tangle of rich vegetation, it shows you was delicious to break away, through the long roll of foamy surf. It breathes acres of maize, with the tassels shaken content from earliest dawn till night against your cheek, swing in under the turns the dusky woods to impenetrable laden boughs of the fruit-trees, and shadow. Along the valley-way it in- move to spare the royal bloom of the vites you out of its bright little streets, pomegranate; jumping silver rills that through a succession of enjoyments. If make their own beds along the plantayou happen to be a first-class traveller, tions as they trickle down from the it points to the palatial hotel below at hills. the Puerto, which, like Teide's peak, I know nothing more cheering to the is an insistent note in the landscape. vagabond than this readiness of friend

There is, of course, the usual rivalry ship among the common people. Go between the Villa and the Puerto. The where you will abroad, you may shake Port looks up the hill, sniffs from a dis- the hand of beggar, loafer, peasant and tance of two miles, and asserts that cottager. All have the same free and the Villa is unhealthy. The Villa hearty welcome for you. They seem to glances down at the Port in pity, and delight in outlandish acquaintance, and points to its upper hilis as a sanative if you happen to be a woman, you inbackground. If the wiles of both ap- stantly appeal to their better selves. peal to you, you may build yourself a Here, as elsewhere, I have kindly brand-new mansion along the lovely memories of people whose names I carretera which winds down from Villa never knew, and who did not know to Puerto, and there be as happy as a mine. I remember driving by diligence grateful heart will permit. One osten- with a brave and heroic-looking young sible eccentric from over has gentleman beautifully clad. He wore labelled his caprice with an inscription long boots, radiant

linen, velvet that greets the eye as a foreign tongue: breeches, a short, smart jacket, and a “This is the house that Jack built." wide-brimmed hat. Men of breeding The natives speak of him as Don Juan, might go as far as his native village to and stare to find you do not recognize acquire his perfect manners. Wonderhim for an acquaintance from the de- ing who this picturesque and operatic scription. It would be waste of breath young man might be, I afterwards questo point out that, except the man in the tioned the diligence driver (a rascal I legend, not a living soul could be traced had reason to suspect of stealing my as simple Don Juan. In his native land bag with all my things, and the won.



derful bargains in Orotava lace and em- given part of his soul to the world the broidery I had driven), and learnt that world should want the whole. But the he was a village butcher. So with all curious are innocent of modesty; and the tradespeople here. I wanted to -yes, the number should be interestmatch some stuff sold me by a woman ing." of Orotava down at Santa Cruz, and "There will be a fight for the letwas informed I should apply to Don ters, you think?” I said. Pablo or Don Pedro, and then to Don “Yes, probably. Guitine has someNicholas of the Puerto. Surnames are thing of a vogue just now. The women suppressed-every one is still as well- are discovering that he wrote as in born as they were on the Peninsula in their best hours they think. And inthe days of Lope da Vega and the Ger- deed it was a tender, womanly muse. man ambassador, who, asking for a The little man standing by the tableservant's credentials, was presented him with the glasses I mean-will, I with proof of his descent from a Gothic think, get them. He is a professor at king.

the university, and doubtless meditates an article in one of the reviews. Himself without sentiment, he will criticise their sentiment. Already he has written more than

unkind From The Cornhill Magazine. thing about the Guitine morals; the THE LOVE-LETTERS OF A POET. letters will give him get a new text.” It was at Brussels, in the auction For a moment or two I looked at the rooms at the corner of the streets Leo- professor's hard, thin face, and sympold and Wiertz, that the incident hap- pathized with the dead poet; then, as pened. My friend was an Englishman, the auctioneer mounted to his place but he had lived long in the country and commenced the day's sale, I turned and had acquired a taste for the Bel- my eyes to one and another in the gian arts that seemed almost native room. Mostly the crowd was of men, and that made him something of a col- dealers or chance buyers, but here and lector. The sale at the rooms was to there were women with the usual catbe very similar to a sale at Sotheby's, alogue and pencil, and among them and the catalogue referred to original was one whose dress and manner inmanuscripts, and first editions, and to terested me even to curiosity. Near a hundred things loved by the curioso. to us she stood, impatiently buttoning My friend was present in the hope of and unbuttoning å glove, and I saw securing some early engravings, and I that she was pretty, but somewhat too was with him as part of the idleness well dressed, and somewhat too freely of a holiday. We were early, and jewelled. while awaiting the time of the sale we Do you know," I asked my friend, looked together at the catalogue, and “who is the girl a little to our right?" he entertained me with talk of this He looked, and slightly shrugged his and that entry.

shoulders, and said: “Yes, she is “This number should be interesting,” Marie Carbara, one of the actresses at he said, pointing to a line on the first The new theatre. This season she page, “the love-letters of Guitine, our uides in the morning with the Baron poet of love. Keats's letters, you re- Dégremont, next season she will ride member, were sold in London not long with some one else. She is only a minor

one of your versemakers actress, ut you see her cloak and the wrote a lamenting sonnet. Guitine krooch clasping it. They are all ulike was not so great a. poet as Keats, but these pretty singers and dancers; all his passion for Jetta Teterol was as love the sunshine and the butteriy wildly spoken as the other's for Fanny life. What brings Marie here I do Brawne. Your versemaker was right; not know, nor what makes her it is hard that because a man has

angry with her glove. The boudoir

ago, and

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wants a picture, perhaps, and the and the fight was now clearly between baron has unchivalrously left it to her the two. At the end of a table the to buy. That was very little for the girl stood, looking earnestly to the aucLouis vases. Ah, here are the Guitina tioneer and the bundle of letters before letters; ilicy will fetch more.”

him; at the other 'the man, looking The auctioneer spoke of the poet, and angrily at the girl. Within me was a of his love for Jetta Teterol, and of hope that she, and not be, would be his writings to her; again I looked the last to speak. about the room to one and another. “Tour hundred.Many seemed little interested in the “Tive hundred." bundle of yellow sheets, but a few "Six hundred." seemed likely bidders. The professor There was a movement of interest in was listening to the auctioneer's words the room. The offers were not largeand smiling as one amused; other men, a picture had just before been sold for who knew less than the professor, several thousands; but they seemed were listening with more humility; the large for the few sheets of faded writgirl Marie had ceased to play with her ing. They came, too, the one glove, and held one hand lightly in quickly following another than in the the other. At the girl I looked longer other sales; there was no delay of calthan at the men; she had an earnest- culation or doubt. The excitement of ness of expression that was pretty to those who watched was very natural. see, an earnestness that presently gave "A thousand.” me an idea.

“Fifteen hundred.” It is not a picture that has brought "Carbara wins,” said my friend; "the Mademoiselle Carbara here," I said 10 professor will go but little higher. my friend; "it is lhese letters. Look How angry the man looks!” at her."

“Two thousand." “She is certainly concerned for them; “Two thousand five hundred,” said perhaps you are right,” he replied. the girl. “As I said, the women are beginning "Two thousand five hundred,” said to read and to love Guitine; and-yes, the auctioneer, and waited for an adperhaps you are right. Still, my man vance. speaks first, and he is not likely soon "Two thousand five hundred,” he to give in.

repeated, looking questioningly at the The professor moved his glasses for professor. ward a little and said "Ten francs,” A shake of the head was the reply, and the bidding commenced. and people knew that the fight was “Twenty," said the girl Marie, and I over. With an assumption of indifnoticed the pleasantness of her voice, ference the professor moved his glasses and was glad my idea had not been yet more forward, and began anew to wrong. “Thirty," said a man to my turn the pages of his catalogue. left; “Thirty,” replied the auctioneer. “Two thousand five hundred,” said

“Yes, it is a fight,” said my friend, the auctioneer again; and in the moas ten by ten the offer rose, “but be- ment after the sale

finished. tween our two people only. The other Jetta Teterol's letters had passed to is an agent, and will presently reach Marie Carbara; and Jetta Teterol had his limit; indeed, already he seems to been dead a hundred years. have reached it."

One of the assistants took the bun“Two hundred," said the girl. “And dle to carry it to a side room, and the ten," said the professor. "Two huu- auctioneer began to speak of the next dred and fifty," said the girl, her number; and again, as if in impatience, cheek flushing a little. "Three hun- the girl fell to buttoning and unbuttondred,” said the professor, his mouth ing her glove. But suddenly, still in hardening.

impatience, she ceased and, putting The third bidder had become silent, out her hands, said:




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"Pardon, but if I may I will have time it was but a minute or two that them now. Will you give them me,

this was

doing; and now she please. Here are notes for the amount stepped

the floor there was -two of a thousand and one of five whispering only. But as she neared hundred. There is no objection ?" the door, men began to understand

"There is no objection,” replied the what she had done and they had seen; auctioneer strilingly. “It is not quite there had been sentiment, there had usual, but there can be no objection." been poetry in the action; the spirit Then to his clerk he said, “Take the had been the spirit of love. A sudden notes, please, and give Mademoiselle noise of clappings filled the room; for Carbara the letters. Mademoiselle a moment she paused as if startled; Carbara we all know and admire. Cer- then smiled, and bowed, and went on tainly she may have them."

into the street. As the girl took the bundle and “This has been fine," said my friend, loosened the string which bound it, “very much finer than your verse there were probably none in the room maker and his sonnet. Even the prowho were not gazing at her. Most, fessor was quiet and admiring. And like myself, were amazed at her eager- the girl reads Béranger; the lines were ness; one or two were a little con- perfect. What do you think of it all?” temptuous; the professor was resent- “What do I think of it all? Oh, I fully frowning. Nearer to her than envy the Baron Dégremont," I said. some I stood, and so better than some

EDGAR TURNER. I can tell what in the next minutes she said and did.

There were perhaps twenty or thirty letters; the uppermost one she unfolded and read. Quickly from be

From The Speaker. ginning to end she read it; then placed

LINDERHOF. it again with the rest; then said as if The late King Ludwig's castles of to herself

Hohen Schwangau and Neu Schwan

stein attract constant streams of travSon coeur est un luth suspendu;

ellers, and have been frequently deSitôt qu'on le touche il résonne;

scribed in print, but his so-called and then looked irresolutely from side Hunting Lodge, Linderhof, is less gento side.

erally known. This freak in the wilBut little time did she so stand. derness is easily reached from "Pardon,” she said, and stepped past Garmisch, so we again climbed the the man next to er; and “Pardon" steep road to Ettal and turned down again, and stepped past me to the room the beautiful Graswangthal that had corner where was a dully burning fire. tempted our eyes when passing its As I moved to give her space, I began mouth on the way to Oberammergau. to understand what now she would It is a thickly wooded vale, guarded do, and wondered and watched. by pinnacled cliffs and stern crests,

First she took the letter she had read and its solitude only broken by one and glanced at it again, and then with small bamlet throughout the five or six sudden movement thrust it among the miles from Ettal. The forest grows coals. Then, one by one, she took the denser, the crags grow more imposing others and dropped them, so that one as we near the royal retreat. by one they touched the flame and Leaving our vehicle at the Forsthaus were alight. Then, when the last yel- outside the Home Park, we walk low sheet had burned to blackness, through the woods to a wide torrent with her foot she crushed it and the bed of dry white stones, and cross the rest to powder; then smiled and turned bridge fronting the entrance. Grand towards the door.

avenues of beech and pine curve upThere has been silence during the wards from the gates, and climbing

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