horse, and on the ground Joe Dowsett with
that unconscious, scarlet- coated,
mud-bespattered figure in his arms!

She sank back shivering into a corner of
the carriage, and said in a voice little louder
than a whisper, "Not that way, papa!"
The vicar partly understood her feeling.
But he could not understand why that spot,
and that alone, out of all the numerous
places and persons connected with the past,
that she had hitherto seen, should so move
her. She herself could not have told why;
but it indubitably was so.

Cesare had marked her changing face
and voice. He leaned forward, and took
her hand. "Cara mia diletta," he
murmured, "you are chill! This evening
air is too sharp for you. I saw you shiver!
Did not your maid put a shawl into the
carriage? Let me wrap you more
warmly."

Veronica accepted his assumption, and
suffered herself to be enfolded in the
shawl. The vicar meanwhile explained to
Dickinson the road which the coachman
must follow to approach the vicarage by
the side of St. Gildas.

"You will see a specimen of our ancient
church architecture," said Mr. Levincourt
to his son-in-law in laboured and highly
uncolloquial Italian.

Cesare professed himself much interested.
But when his eyes lighted on the squat
tower of the old church, and the bleak
barren graveyard, he stared around him as
though he had in some way missed the
object he was bidden to look at, and as
though that could not surely be the
"specimen of ancient church architecture."

"Why, there is Maudie on the look-out
for me," said the vicar. "How surprised
she will be! And who is that with her?
I declare it is—yes, positively it is Mr.
Plew!"

GREAT EATERS.

THE Wiltshire boors who lately had an
eating match against time probably never
heard about Hercules, Ulysses, or Milo; and
therefore did not know that their achievement
had been far outdone. The two sweet
youths wagered with each other as to
which would eat a given quantity in the
shortest time. One got rid of six pounds
and a half of rabbit, a loaf of bread, and
two pounds of cheese, in a quarter of
an hour; and he was so flattered with
the applause of the bystanders, that he
finished off with a beefsteak, a pint and a
half of gin, and half a pint of brandy. So
far good—or, rather, so far bad. Now, Mr.
Badham, in his "Prose Halieutics," tells
us that, "amongst immortal gluttons,
Hercules the beef-eater was the chief; he
would eat up the grilled carcase of a cow
at a meal, with all the live coals attached
to it. The edacity of Ulysses is
competently attested in the Odyssey. Milo
carried an ox round the stadium in his arms,
and then with as little difficulty in his
inside."

If it be alleged that these three ancient
worthies never lived except in the pages of
mythology, there is no difficulty in finding
real mortals that will serve the purpose.
Lucullus had a room in his house for every
kind of supper each at a particular cost;
and even his cheapest supper was worth
a moderate fortune. Apicius killed
himself when he had only eighty thousand
pounds sterling left, fearing that he would
die of starvation. One epicure had sauce
for a pair of partridges prepared from
two dozen; and twenty-five legs of mutton
cut up to supply one choice plateful of
special delicacy; and a dish prepared at
endless cost from peacocks' brains.

Boehmer, a German writer, described
somewhat fully the case of a man at
Wittenberg, who, for a wager, would
eat a whole sheep, or a whole pig, or a
bushel of cherries including the stones.
His strength of teeth and power of
swallowing enabled him to masticate, or at
least to munch into small fragments, glass,
earthenware, and flints. He preferred birds,
mice, and caterpillars; but when he could
not get these delicacies, he put up with
mineral substances. Once he devoured pen, ink,
and sand-pounce, and seemed half inclined
to deal in the same way with the inkstand
itself. He made money by exhibiting his
powers in this way until about sixty years
of age, after which he lived nearly a score
more years in a more rational way.
Although a Latin treatise was published in
elucidation of his marvellous powers, it
may not be uncharitable to suppose that
there was a little chicanery in the matter,
as in the case of the fire-eaters with whom
we are familiar at the fairs and in the
streets, and who doubtless live upon more
reasonable diet when not engaged in
money-making exhibitions. A story is
told of General KÅ“nigsmark, an officer
engaged in one of the many wars waged in
bygone times by Sweden against Poland
and Bohemia, which illustrates both the