respect a brave Englishman, even as my foe;
how much more as my friend! I, also, am a
soldier."

"He has not remembered me, as I have
remembered him; he did not take such note
of my face, that day, as I took of his,"
thought Captain Richard Doubledick. "How
shall I tell him!"

The French officer conducted his guest
into a garden, and presented him to his wife:
an engaging and beautiful woman, sitting
with Mrs. Taunton in a whimsical old-
fashioned pavilion. His daughter, her fair
young face beaming with joy, came running
to embrace him; and there was a boy-baby
to tumble down among the orange-trees on
the broad steps, in making for his father's
legs. A multitude of children-visitors were
dancing to sprightly music; and all the servants
and peasants about the chateau were
dancing too. It was a scene of innocent
happiness that might have been invented for
the climax of the scenes of Peace which had
soothed the captain's journey.

He looked on, greatly troubled in his mind,
until a resounding bell rang, and the French
officer begged to show him his rooms. They
went upstairs into the gallery from which the
officer had looked down; and Monsieur le
Capitaine Richard Doubledick was cordially
welcomed to a grand outer chamber, and a
smaller one within, all clocks, and draperies,
and hearths, and brazen dogs, and tiles, and
cool devices, and elegance, and vastness.

"You were at Waterloo," said the French
officer.

"I was," said Captain Richard Doubledick.
"And at Badajos."

Left alone with the sound of his own stern
voice in his ears, he sat down to consider,
What shall I do, and how shall I tell him?
At that time, unhappily, many deplorable
duels had been fought between English and
French officers, arising out of the recent war;
and these duels, and how to avoid this officer's
hospitality, were the uppermost thought in
Captain Richard Doubleclick's mind.

He was thinking, and letting the time run
out in which he should have dressed for
dinner, when Mrs. Taunton spoke to him
outside the door, asking if he could give her
the letter he had brought from Mary? " His
mother above all," the Captain thought.
"How shall I tell her?"

"You will form a friendship with your
host, I hope," said Mrs. Taunton, whom
he hurriedly admitted, "that will last for
life. He is so true-hearted and so generous,
Richard, that you can hardly fail to esteem
one another. If He had been spared," she
kissed (not without tears) the locket in
which she wore his hair, "he would have
appreciated him with his own magnanimity,
and would have been truly happy that the
evil days were past, which made such a man
his enemy."

She left the room; and the Captain walked,
first to one window whence he could see the
dancing in the garden, then to another
window whence he could see the smiling
prospect and the peaceful vineyards.

"Spirit of my departed friend," said he, "is it
through thee, these better thoughts are rising
in my mind! Is it thou who hast shown me,
all the way I have been drawn to meet this
man, the blessings of the altered time! Is
it thou who hast sent thy stricken mother to
me, to stay my angry hand! Is it from thee
the whisper comes, that this man did his
duty as thou didst—and as I did, through thy
guidance, which has wholly saved me, here
on earth—and that he did no more!"

He sat down, with his head buried in his
hands, and, when he rose up, made the second
strong resolution of his life: That neither to
the French officer, nor to the mother of his
departed friend, nor to any soul while either
of the two was living, would he breathe
what only he knew. And when he touched
that French officer's glass with his own, that
day at dinner, he secretly forgave him in the
name of the Divine Forgiver of injuries.

Here, I ended my story as the first Poor
Traveller. But, if I had told it now, I could
have added that the time has since come
when the son of Major Richard Doubledick,
and the son of that French officer, friends as
their fathers were before them, fought side
by side in one cause: with their respective
nations, like long-divided brothers whom the
better times have brought together, fast
united.

THE SECOND POOR TRAVELLER.

I AM, by trade (said the man with his arm
in a sling), a shipwright. I am recovering
from an unlucky chop that one of my mates
gave me with an adze. When I am all right
again, I shall get taken on in Chatham Yard.
I have nothing else in particular to tell of
myself, so I'll tell a bit of a story of a seaport
town.

Acon-Virlaz the jeweller sat in his shop
on the Common Hard of Belleriport smoking
his evening pipe. Business was tolerably
brisk in Belleriport just then. The great
three-decker the Blunderbore (Admiral
Pumpkinseed's flag-ship) had just come in
from the southern seas with the rest of the
squadron, and had been paid off. The big
screw line-of-battle ship Fantail, Captain Sir
Heaver Cole, K.C.B., had got her blue-peter
up for Kamschatka, and her crew had been
paid advance wages. The Dundrum warsteamer
was fresh coppering in the graving
dock, and her men were enjoying a three
weeks' run ashore. The Barracouta, the
Calabash, the Skullsmasher, and the Nosering
had returned from the African station
with lots of prize money from captured
slavers. The Jollyport division of Royal
Marines—who had plenty of money to