gentleman of your name; for I had always pictured this Mr. Jones as a disagreeable, vain, fat, short, pompous little man."

Her words so evidently meant to convey-"and you are so perfectly different from all this,"-that I was enchanted with the sense and artlessness of the girl, and I am sure she must have read my satisfaction in the glance I gave her. I have never tried that glance in vain. Amelia's eyes fell, as every woman's eyes have fallen, when I have bestowed that look on her. A young puppy of five-and-twenty could not have managed such a glance. It takes a little experience and knowledge of women to give a look that makes the eyelids droop, and the cheek blush on the instant.

There were several city men that I knew at Jellicoe's. Some with their wives and daughters, and some bachelors. There was a large proportion of young ladies in gauzy summer dresses, and transparent bonnets; and plenty of popinjay young fellows in brilliant neck-ties and patent leather boots.

The boat-race began. The grounds looked on to the Thames, and we all assembled at the edge to watch the race. There was a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm among the spectators; tremendous cries of "Go it, Cambridge!" "Well done, Oxford!" and so forth; great wavings of handkerchiefs on shore, and flags in wherries on the river; plenty of demi-semi-nautical conversation among young gentlemen, who had aquatic tastes and propensities; and, above all things, an amount of flirtation among our own party that I never saw equalled, and never desire to see again. It was infectious, sir-absolutely infectious.

The mania began to seize even me. The things I said to Amelia Jellicoe; the compliments I paid her; the looks I gave her -I should have been alarmed at my own rashness if I had had a moment to think about it, which I had not, for it was an unceasing whirl of conversation, excitement, and bewilderment, that left no time for reflection.

The race was over. Of course, either Cambridge or Oxford won, but I have not the slightest recollection which it was. No doubt the winners took too much beer afterwards to celebrate their triumph, and the losers also, to smother their defeat. They always do. Personally, I had no interest in the event, beyond the loss of a dozen pairs of gloves to Amelia Jellicoe, as of course I had backed the wrong side, as every man does when he bets with a lady.

The refreshments were ready, and we adjourned to the tent.

I have always thought champagne a very vulgar wine-that is to say, sparkling champagne, for I allow all merit to the still sort. It is a frothy, fizzing, upstart sort of liquor, which constantly disguises its want of flavour under its gaseous effervescence. Common people look upon it as the monarch of the vintage, because they get it so seldom, and are charged so very high for it-or for its usual substitute, gooseberry, It is just like a parvenu in its spasmodic attempts to attract attention and favour. In short, I could say a great deal about champagne if I had time and space, whereas, all I have to say at present is, that I drank an immense deal of it in the tent that day, from the sheer force of example.

The people were barbarous enough to keep taking wine with one another, and vulgar people always imagine it is a kind of insult if you drink to them in sherry or Madeira when they are imbibing champagne. So I did as the rest.

Amelia's eyes glowed more brilliantly, sparkled more eloquently, than ever. I sat next her-need I record that fact? How she blushed, and how she smiled at the things I whispered in her ear!

"What an exquisite moment!" I exclaimed softly, and I tried to take her hand, but she was eating an ice with it.

"Do you love solitude?" she asked tenderly.

I was just going to say, "I love nothing in the world but you," by Jove I was, sir! but I thought it was scarcely the moment; so I answered "Yes; but only solitude à deux."

"But you live quite alone, do you not?" she asked, with a look of surprise.

"Alas! yes," I said with a sigh, that actually made her curls flutter.

"The fault is yours," she replied, " is it not?"

"Do you think so?" I asked.

Yes, certainly," she replied, with such simplicity, and her eyes-oh dear! those eyes, I am perfectly confident read the very bottom of my heart. My head began to swim-no, sir! it was not the champagne: it was-it was-Amelia Jellicoe.

"Are you fond of the water?" asked Amelia, after a pause. "I dote on it myself."

Nothing I like so well," cried I, and I really fancied I was speaking the truth; though no cat ever had a greater, antipathy to water than I. But if Amelia had declared her fondnes for asafoetida I should have immediately felt convinced that I preferred it to bouquet de Windsor.

"You row, of course?" said Amelia.

"Of course," replied I. Heaven forgive me, I had never pulled an oar but once, and that was in a punt on a fish-pond when a boy, and then I capsized myself, and was nearly drowned.

"Papa has ordered some wherries to be at the water's edge, by our grounds, soon," continued Amelia. "The gentlemen are to row, but Papa will insist on having one waterman in each boat to He says the river's so dangerous on these race-days." "He's quite right," said I, beginning to feel horribly nervous, and devoutly wishing the wherries would forget to come. "Boats are ready, sir!" cried one of the servants at this

steer.

moment.

I felt wretched.

"I suppose you will come," said Amelia in my ear, as she rose with the rest of the company.

"Certainly," cried I; "could you doubt it? do you think I could tear myself away from-"

"We shall be left to the last," cried Amelia, smiling, but with a faint touch of impatience in her tone.

I held out my arm: she took it, and the touch of her hand seemed to vibrate through my frame, so that I was myself again

-prepared for her sake to brave the dangers of the deep-" the deep" being the river Thames at Fulham.

"This way, dear Mr. Jones," cried Amelia, as I was shirking the nearest road to the boats.

How that little word "dear" went through me! Do you suppose, sir, that I was afraid to row all the Thames' wherries in the world now?-not a bit of it! I even expressed my contempt for having a waterman to steer.

"Yes, but we'd better let him come," said Amelia, "or Papa will be angry; and, besides, if there should be an acccident,-" "Oh! certainly, certainly," said I, suddenly getting nervous again.

"I mean, you know, that we might get into a boat with some one who couldn't row, and that's very dangerous. Mrs. Tims, an aunt of mine, was upset once, and nearly drowned, through a gentleman pretending to row her, who could n't do it a bit, and

who'd had too much wine."

Mercy on me! how I felt. I was quite dizzy and sick. Why I might even go committing murder and suicide. I must confess myself an impostor at once; own that I had not a notion of rowing, and beg to be

Step in," cried some one, handing Amelia into the boat. "That's your bench, Mr. Jones; catch hold of this scull; that's it, we're full now: shove her off,-holloa there! lift oars, don't back water yet!"

The last admonition was addressed to me; for I had been thrust on to a bench, and had an oar in my hand, before I knew where I was. I did lift the oar somehow, and away we shot from the bank.

"Would you like to pull stroke?" asked the young gentleman that handed us in, addressing me.

I had not a notion of what he meant, so I muttered something about "doing very well where I was."

"All right then-I'll pull stroke," said he, taking the seat "aft" me, as I think they call it.

"Now then!"

The "now then "" was said as he lay forward and took the first pull. I, feeling like a criminal resigned to his fate, whatever it might be, tried to imitate him; but somehow or other my oar stuck fast in the water and the motion of the boat pitched me head foremost, right into the lap of Amelia Jellicoe. As I live she burst out laughing!

They picked me up in an instant while I muttered,

"There's some confounded thing in the water."

"Crabs," grunted the waterman, and I think he meant it to be impertinent.

"Try again," said the young man, handing me my scull which had been fished out of the river into which it tumbled when I let go of it.

I did try, and very carefully.

"You've been used to heavier craft than this, I see," said the young gentleman; "couldn't you manage not to dip your oar quite so deep?"

"All right," said I valiantly, for I was quite surprised at having managed three strokes without another upset, though I thought each of them would have dislocated my arms, and I heard my waistcoat buttons flying off like pop-guns.

I tried to do as I was told, dipped my oar very lightly and took my usual heavy tug at it. Gracious goodness, where was I? Heels over head backwards in the bottom of the boat. I thought my back was broken-all my waistcoat buttons were gone. Amelia was laughing, I vow!

"That gentleman had better let me come there, if we're not to be drownded," growled the waterman. "Hope you can swim, miss?" he added to Amelia.

"You're a little out of practice," said the young gentleman as I rose and made my way to the stern, eagerly accepting the waterman's offer.

Amelia did not smile on me as I approached her. I wished myself at the bottom of the Thames. I had not to wish it long, before I was there, for they started again before I had taken my seat. I lost my balance and disappeared backwards, over the side of the boat.

Eugh! what filthy stuff that Thames water is! What a wretched drowned cat sensation I had as they dragged me out by my boots, and I heard Amelia's shrieks

"He's tipsy-the wretch !" she cried-and I heard no more. My cup of misery was full-and so was my body of Thames water. I have a dim consciousness of feeling flabby and cold for some time, and of being peeled (I suppose they were taking off my clothes), and of being rubbed till I was sore, and of having brandy poured down my throat: and this last was the only sensation not unpleasant. But it was quite dusk when I had entirely recovered my senses and knew that I was lying in bed in a warm, comfortable room in Jellicoe's villa, with my dried clothes on a chair beside me.

I got up and dressed myself-- crept down stairs-met a servant and gave her half a sovereign to say nothing about my departure just yet-made my way by the back door out of the housecaught an empty cab, and got home to Bury-street.

Next morning a gentleman was shown into my room very early. It was the young man who "pulled stroke" in that everto-be-anathematised boat.

"My dear sir, I called at the request of your friends, the Jellicoes, to inquire after your health."

"I'm very well, indeed, thank you,” replied I. "May I ask your name, sir?"

"My name is Belton-ahem!-perhaps you 're not aware of my position-ahem!-with regard to the Jellicoes," and he coloured a little. “I mean—ahem !—that Amelia Jellicoe is to be-ahem! -Mrs. Belton."

I need not tell you, reader, that I certainly was not awarenor need I exactly inform you of how I felt on this discovery. If I had only known it yesterday!

VOL. XXXV.

BB

OUR CRUISE IN THE UNDINE: The Journal of an English Pairoar Expedition through France, Baden, Rhenish Bavaria, Prussia, and Belgium. Parker, 1854.

A VERY pleasant little volume, written in an unaffected, lighthearted, and spirited manner. This, with the novelty of the mode of voyage, the heart and pluck with which it was carried out, confer a charm on the work irrespective of the countries traversed. The route taken by the adventurous crew of the Undine, was from Paris to the Côte D'Or, by the Seine, the Yonne, the Canal de Bourgogne, &c. From the Côte D'Or to Strasburgh, by the Rhone and Rhine Canal, and then by the Rhine. The least known portion of the country is from Dijon to Strasburgh, though even where the country is known, the unhackneyed mode of description lends a new charm to it. Incidentally, we get glimpses of the manners, customs, and legends of the peoples, and have to regret that the scenery is not also described, by one evidently competent to do so. There is a total absence of fine language, nor is there any attempt to write for effect; and, indeed, this constitutes the prime merit of the book. The volume is accompanied by illustrations, which come from the pencil of an ingenious artist, who discovers originality and feeling, though deficient in the manipulation requisite to give effect to his ideas.

SUSSEX SERMONS. BY THE REV. R. LEWIS BROWNE, M.A., CURATE OF BEEDING. Masters, London.

Ir may be difficult to explain why sermons, even the most popular in delivery, are in general so little read. Unless when the preacher is a lion, and has plunged into some favourite effervescence with more than usual gusto, the public are contented to buy what they cannot make up their minds to read. And yet the subject-matter is unspeakably interesting to every one of us; and never, perhaps, was it better handled, or on the whole more appreciated, discussed, and understood than at this very time. Still, a readable volume of sermons is one of the desiderata of the day.

We hail, therefore, with much satisfaction this small and unpretending volume, which is destined, we suspect, to do something better than make a sensation-and that is, to be universally read. The style never flags; earnest, searching, wholesome, the subjects treated of, though old as the "Sussex hills," seem somehow to come before us with new faces, and to begin a fresh acquaintance with us. We heartily recommend young preachers who would be listened to, to take many a leaf out of this book. There is wisdom, genuine feeling, and not a little sound divinity to be found in these discourses.