inning of all things, and, with
a little patience, I 'll soon get further. Mr. Montague Bramleigh made
acquaintance in Ireland with a certain Italian painter called Giacomo
Lami, who had been brought over from Rome to paint the frescos of this
great house. This Lami--very poor and very humble, ignoble, if you like
to say so--had a daughter of surpassing beauty. She was so very lovely
that Giacomo was accustomed to introduce her into almost all his
frescos, for she had such variety of expression, so many _reflets_, as
one may say, of character in her look, that she was a Madonna here, a
Flora there, now a Magdalene, now a Dido. But you need not take my word
for it; here she is as a Danae." And he opened his watch-case as he
spoke, and displayed a small miniature in enamel, of marvellous beauty
and captivation.

"Oh, was she really like this?"

"That was copied from a picture of her at St. Servain, when she was
eighteen, immediately before she accompanied her father to Ireland;
and in Giacomo's sketchbook, which I hope one of these days to have the
honor of showing to you, there is a memorandum saying that this portrait
of Enrichetta was the best likeness of her he had ever made. He had a
younger daughter called Carlotta, also handsome, but vastly inferior in
beauty to my grandmother."

"Your grandmother?"

"Forgive me, madame, if I have anticipated; but Enrichetta Lami
became the wife of Montague Bramleigh. The young man, captivated by her
marvellous beauty, and enchanted by a winning grace of manner, in which
it appears she excelled, made his court to her and married her. The
ceremony of marriage presented no difficulty, as Lami was a member of
some sect of Waldensian Protestants, who claim a sort of affinity with
the Anglican Church, and they were married in the parish church by the
minister, and duly registered in the registry-book of the parish. All
these matters are detailed in this book of Giacomo Lami's, which was
at once account-book and sketch-book and journal and, indeed, family
history. It is a volume will, I am sure, amuse you; for, amongst
sketches and studies for pictures, there are the drollest little details
of domestic events, with passing notices of the political circumstances
of the time--for old Giacomo was a conspirator and a Carbonaro, and
Heaven knows what else. He even involved himself in the Irish troubles,
and was so far compromised that he was obliged to fly the country and
get over to Hol