d, with ostentatious red-letter
inscriptions underneath, "Madonna and Child by Raphael. In the
possession of Frederick Fairlie, Esquire." "Copper coin of the period
of Tiglath Pileser. In the possession of Frederick Fairlie, Esquire."
"Unique Rembrandt etching. Known all over Europe as THE SMUDGE, from a
printer's blot in the corner which exists in no other copy. Valued at
three hundred guineas. In the possession of Frederick Fairlie, Esq."
Dozens of photographs of this sort, and all inscribed in this manner,
were completed before I left Cumberland, and hundreds more remain to be
done. With this new interest to occupy him, Mr. Fairlie will be a
happy man for months and months to come, and the two unfortunate
photographers will share the social martyrdom which he has hitherto
inflicted on his valet alone.

So much for the persons and events which hold the foremost place in my
memory. What next of the one person who holds the foremost place in my
heart? Laura has been present to my thoughts all the while I have been
writing these lines. What can I recall of her during the past six
months, before I close my journal for the night?

I have only her letters to guide me, and on the most important of all
the questions which our correspondence can discuss, every one of those
letters leaves me in the dark.

Does he treat her kindly? Is she happier now than she was when I parted
with her on the wedding-day? All my letters have contained these two
inquiries, put more or less directly, now in one form, and now in
another, and all, on that point only, have remained without reply, or
have been answered as if my questions merely related to the state of
her health. She informs me, over and over again, that she is perfectly
well--that travelling agrees with her--that she is getting through the
winter, for the first time in her life, without catching cold--but not
a word can I find anywhere which tells me plainly that she is
reconciled to her marriage, and that she can now look back to the
twenty-second of December without any bitter feelings of repentance and
regret. The name of her husband is only mentioned in her letters, as
she might mention the name of a friend who was travelling with them,
and who had undertaken to make all the arrangements for the journey.
"Sir Percival" has settled that we leave on such a day--"Sir Percival"
has decided that we travel by such a road. Sometimes she writes
"Percival" only, but very seldo