s, she is insane. Quite harmless, you
know; but having been made with the worst temper in England, this
climate has developed it into positive insanity."

"And she lives at home?" I asked, sadly, for it came over me what a
tragedy Mr. Erle's life must be.

"Yes, Gerald is more than faithful to her. Ah, Thesta, child, we do not
know all the patient endurance of God's men and women in this nineteenth
century."

The bells of St. Mary's rang midnight as I lighted my bedroom candle,
and kissed the smooth brow of my white-haired hero. "You do not ask what
became of Lillie Burton," he said.

"Did you ever hear of her?"

"Yes, Satterlee was there years afterwards, and found her Lillie Dunn,
with three children clinging to her skirts."

"And Nathan?"

"O, Nathan turned out splendidly, and led the Flury hunt for years. They
say his memory is green in ----shire yet."

"Poor Mr. Erle!" I said, summing up the whole story, as I went off to
bed.

THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL.

The traveller who first reaches the Lake of Constance at Lindau, or
crosses that sheet of pale green water to one of the ports on the
opposite Swiss shore, cannot fail to notice the bold heights to the
southward, which thrust themselves between the opening of the Rhine
Valley and the long, undulating ridges of the Canton Thurgau. These
heights, broken by many a dimly hinted valley and ravine, appear to be
the front of an Alpine table-land. Houses and villages, scattered over
the steep ascending plane, present themselves distinctly to the eye; the
various green of forest and pasture land is rarely interrupted by the
gray of rocky walls; and the afternoon sun touches the topmost edge of
each successive elevation with a sharp outline of golden light, through
the rich gloom of the shaded slopes. Behind and over this region rise
the serrated peaks of the Sentis Alp, standing in advance of the farther
ice-fields of Glarus, like an outer fortress, garrisoned in summer by
the merest forlorn hope of snow.

The green fronts nearest the lake, and the lower lands falling away to
the right and left, belong to the Canton of St. Gall; but all aloft,
beyond that frontier marked by the sinking sun, lies the _Appenzeller
Laendli_, as it is called in the endearing diminutive of the Swiss-German
tongue,--the Little Land of Appenzell.

If, leaving the Lake of Constance by the Rhine valley, you ascend to
Ragatz and the Baths of Pfeffers, thence turn westward t