I heard the sounds of wheels outside on the
gravel, with strange confusion as of many
tongues, and that some one came rushing in
hurriedly—seeking me—and telling me I
must lose no time—not an instant. I knew
by a kind of instinct what it all was about,
and why it was I was thus brought away.
There was a heavy load upon my heart, as of
some evil impending, some dreadful blow
about to fall. Then came the long, hurried
journey through the dark night—the rattle
over the pavement, and the flittering of lights
past the window, as we drew near the noisy
city. Then was I led up-stairs softly in a darkened
room—the drawing-room, where were
many people crowded together, and whispering.
And there, on the sofa, just as I had left
her, I caught a dim vision of sweet Lizzie—
very pale and sad—with the same gentle
look of reproach. I heard the old soft voice,
full of affectionate welcome and forgiveness,
and then it seemed as though the Shadows
were beginning to fall, and shut me out from
her for ever! With a wild cry I stretched
forth my arms to the fading vision—and there
was I back again in my old study at
Donninghurst, with the fire sunk down in ashes
and the lamp flickering uneasily on the
verge of extinction, and great gaunt shadows
staiting up and down all round me on the
wall. The scales had fallen from my eyes.
The delusion had passed from me for ever.
Just then the village clock began chiming out
the hour—three quarters past eleven. I recollected
there was a train to London at mid-night,
and in another instant I had fled from
the house, and was rushing up the deserted
street. There were scarcely any passengers
—so late was the hour—and there was a
lone deserted look over the vast station, very
chilling and dispiriting to one in my mood—
after what seemed a weary, never-ending
journey, we reached London, and in ten
minutes I was in my own house at the
drawing-room door. She had not gone to
bed; and, as I opened it softly, I saw her
stretched upon where she had cried herself
to sleep—just as I had seen her in my
dream!

What a meeting followed on that waking,
may be well imagined and need not be set
down here. I never fell back into the old
slavery. All my famous treasures were
ruthlessly sent away into banishment down
to Donninghurst, where they may now be
seen. And, not very long after, I heard of
another copy of the great Chronicle being in
the market; but I heard it with the utmost
placidity.

Thenceforth our lives ran on smoothly as a
bright summer's day; and, as they tell of the
good people in the story books, we lived
happily together for ever after.

For ever after! It were better not to cast
a shadow upon this vision of a poor lonely
man, by dwelling on what befel me within a
brief interval after that. I have not courage
to say it now. So let those cheerful words
stand, by way of an endearing fiction, to
receive, as my only hope and comfort, their
full enduring truth in the long hereafter of
another world.

CHIP.

A PUZZLING GAZETTEER.

IN the copious index to a new Atlas of
North America, published by the Messrs.
Black, we find that the case made out on
behalf of reform in the nomenclature of our
London streets, is, in one sense, whipped
throughout their whole land by the North
Americans. Of course there is everywhere
in the New World a confusion of languages
remarkable enough. In the State of Maine
we have Grand Lake and Spencer Ponds,
and we have Mollycbunkomug Lake, Lake
Pemadumcook, and Lake Wallahgosquegamook.
One stage from the town of La Grange
is Edinburgh, on the River Passadumkeog,
and Charlotte is but a few miles from
Meddybemps.

There are seven Edinburghs in North
America; one called New, four more that
are spelt Edinburg, and one that is spelt
Edinboro. Of Londons there are six, besides
eleven New Londons and one London
Bridge. There are ten Dublins, only one being
a New Dublin. Ten towns are named Paris,
thirteen towns Petersburg (without the Saint),
fifteen Vienna, and eighteen Berlin. There
are a dozen Romes, to which some Shakesperian
aspirants among the pioneers has
added a Romeo. The Romeo is not left
unmatched with a Juliet; yet, while there are
three places named Ovid, and there is place
found also for Virgil, there is not a single
Shakespeare in the land; although fifteen
places have adopted the great Milton for
their designation. There are eighteen different
towns of Athens, and eleven Spartas,
but there is only a single Thebes. Again,
two Hannibals, seven Alexanders, three
Anthonys, and a Pompey, exist in different
parts of the States, yet no Cæsar, except as a
name for slaves? There is not so much as a
Julius, although there is a Junius. There
is no Augustus, although of Augustas there
are seventeen.

On the other hand, there are seventy-one
Washingtons, sixty-five Franklins, fifty-eight
Jeffersons—counties, towns, mountains, or
rivers, named after the good men of the soil.
There are eighteen La Fayettes, fifteen
Fayettes without the La, and nine Fayettevilles.
After John Adams, the first Vice-
President, and second President of the
National Administration of the United States,
twenty-seven places are named—some of these,
however, may be in honour of John Quincy
Adams, the sixth President. After Jefferson,
third President, fifty-eight places are called
as before stated; after Madison, the fourth