nerous old squire settled a handsome sum upon them both, sufficient to
supply them with all the essential comforts of life.

"And now, friend Frank," said Vernon Wycherley, "I believe, after all,
you will make a convert of me; for I find that the attachment I had
indulged in, until despair of obtaining the loved object made me fancy
myself the most miserable wretch alive, and that I had incurred the
worst evil that could have befallen me, has made me the happiest of
mankind, and has indeed turned out to be ALL FOR THE BEST; nor can I
think of my blundering fall into the lead shaft in any other light; as,
but for that accident, I should probably never have formed the
acquaintance to which I owe all my good fortune."

"Then, for the future," said the worthy squire, "let us put all our
trust in Heaven, and rest assured that whatever may be the will of
Providence, IT'S ALL FOR THE BEST."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: _Cornice_--"him."]

[Footnote 13: "Put"--_Cornice_--to take or carry.]

[Footnote 14: Cleverly.]

[Footnote 15: Commencing each line with a letter of the loved one's
name.]

THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA.

There is no district in Europe which is more remarkable, or has more
strongly impressed the minds of men in modern times, than the ROMAN
CAMPAGNA. Independent of the indelible associations with which it is
connected, and the glorious deeds of which it has been the theatre, its
appearance produces an extraordinary impression on the mind of the
beholder. All is silent; the earth seems struck with
sterility--desolation reigns in every direction. A space extending from
Otricoli to Terracina, above sixty miles in length, and on an average
twenty in breadth, between the Apennines and the sea, containing nearly
four thousand square miles, in the finest part of Italy, does not
maintain a single peasant.[16] A few tombs lining the great roads which
issued from the forum of Rome to penetrate to the remotest parts of
their immense empire; the gigantic remains of aqueducts striding across
the plain, which once brought, and some of which still bring, the
pellucid fountains of the Apennines to the Eternal City, alone attest
the former presence of man. Nothing bespeaks his present existence. Not
a field is ploughed, not a blade of corn grows, hardly a house is to be
seen, in this immense and dreary expanse. On entering it, you feel as if
you were suddenly transported from the garden of Europe to the wilds of
Tartary.