icians unwillingly
give me, that they have no great hopes of my recovery."

She started as he spoke, and then endeavoured to flatter him into a
belief that his apprehensions were groundless.

"I do not wish to be deceived," said he. "To meet death as becomes a man
is a privilege bestowed on few. I would endeavour to make it mine. Nor
do I think that I can ever be better prepared for it than now." He
paused some moments. "I am in such a state as calls for sincerity. Let
that also excuse it. It is perhaps the last time we shall ever meet." He
paused again. "Let it not offend you to know your power over one so
unworthy. To love Miss Walton could not be a crime; if to declare it is
one, the expiation will be made."

Her tears were now flowing without control.

"Let me entreat you," said she, "to have better hopes. Let not life be
so indifferent to you, if my wishes can put any value on it. I know your
worth--I have known it long. I have esteemed it. What would you have me
say? I have loved it as it deserved."

He seized her hand, a languid colour reddened her cheek; a smile
brightened faintly in his eye. As he gazed on her it grew dim, it fixed,
it closed. He sighed, and fell back on his seat. Miss Walton screamed at
the sight.

His aunt and the servants rushed into the room. They found them lying
motionless together.

His physician happened to call at that instant. Every art was tried to
recover them. With Miss Walton they succeeded, but Harley was gone for
ever.

* * * * *

XAVIER DE MAISTRE

A Journey Round My Room

Count Xavier de Maistre was born in October 1763 at Chambery,
in Savoy. When, in the war and the upheaval that followed on
the French Revolution, his country was annexed to France, he
emigrated to Russia, and being a landscape painter of fine
talent, he managed to live on the pictures which he sold. He
died at St. Petersburg on June 12, 1852. His famous "Journey
Round My Room" ("Voyage autour de ma chambre") was written in
1794 at Turin, where he was imprisoned for forty-two days over
some affair of honour. The style of his work is clearly
modelled on that of Sterne, but the ideas, which he pours out
with a delightful interplay of wit and fancy, are marked with
the stamp of a fine, original mind. The work is one of the
most brilliant _tours de force_ in a literature remarkable for
its