wo?"

"I was just thinking of those Serravezza springs," said Upton; "they
contain a bi-chloride of potash, which Staub, in his treatise, says, 'is
the element wanting in all nervous organizations.'"

"But remember the season,--we are in mid-winter; the hotels are closed."

"The springs are running, Princess; 'the earth,' as Mos-chus says, 'is
a mother that never ceases to nourish.' I do suspect I need a little
nursing."

The Princess understood him thoroughly. She well knew that whenever the
affairs of Europe followed an unbroken track, without anything eventful
or interesting, Sir Horace fell back upon his maladies for matter of
occupation. She had, however, now occasion for his advice and counsel,
and by no means concurred in his plan of spending some days, if not
weeks, in the dreary mountain solitudes of Serravezza. "You must
certainly consult Zanetti before you venture on these waters," said
she; "they are highly dangerous if taken without the greatest
circumspection;" and she gave a catalogue of imaginary calamities which
had befallen various illustrious and gifted individuals, to which Upton
listened with profound attention.

"Very well," sighed he, as she finished, "it must be as you say. I'll
see Zanetti, for I cannot afford to die just yet. That 'Greek question'
will have no solution without me,--no one has the key of it but myself.
That Panslavic scheme, too, in the Principalities attracts no notice
but _mine_; and as to Spain, the policy I have devised for that country
requires all the watchfulness I can bestow on it. No, Princess,"--here
he gave a melancholy sigh,--"we must not die at this moment. There are
just four men in Europe; I doubt if she could get on with three."

"What proportion do you admit as to the other sex?" said she, laughing.

"I only know of one, madame;" and he kissed her hand with gallantry.
"And now for Florence, if you will."

It is by no means improbable that our readers have a right to an apology
at our hands for the habit we have indulged of lingering along with the
two individuals whose sayings and doings are not directly essential
to our tale; but is not the story of every-day life our guarantee
that incidents and people cross and re-cross the path we are going,
attracting our attention, engaging our sympathy, enlisting our energies,
even in our most anxious periods? Such is the world; and we cannot
venture out of reality. Besides this, we are disposed to think that the