a picturesque construction," said the
diplomate, by way of generally inviting my confidence.

"We were conversing about the poems of Salis and Matthisson," I
pursued. "I had in my pocket a little translation of Salis's song
entitled 'The Silent Land,' and endeavored to bend the dialogue in
a suitable direction, but these allusions are incredibly hard to
introduce in conversation, and we happened to stray upon Baden-Baden.
I asked Miss Ashburton if she had been here, and she answered, 'Yes,
the last summer.' 'And you have not forgotten?' I suggested--'The
old castle,' she rejoined. 'Of course not. What a magnificent ruin it
is!'"

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE ALT-SCHLOSS.]

"What tact your friend displayed," said Berkley, "to feign utter
unconsciousness of the green tables, and see nothing but ruins in
Baden-Baden!"

"Permit me to say," I replied quickly, "that it is not agreeable to
me to have that lady alluded to, however distantly, in connection with
gambling-tables. The Ashburtons had been probably drinking the waters,
for her mother was noticeably stout and florid. But to continue with
the poets. I explained to her that the ruins of the Alt-Schloss had
suggested to Matthisson a poem in imitation of an English masterpiece.
Matthisson made a study of Gray's 'Elegy,' and from it produced his
'Elegy on the Ruins of an Ancient Castle.' Miss Ashburton became
nationally enthusiastic, and said she should like very much to see the
poem. Her wish was usually my law, but the translation of the other
song being in my pocket, I was obliged to palm it off upon her; and
after conceding that Matthisson had written his 'Elegy' with unwonted
inspiration, I sailed in upon that tide of feeling--with a slight
inconsequence, to be sure--and declaimed my version from Salis. Miss
Ashburton, sir, was obliged to turn away to hide her tears."

"I used to hear from my uncle of your attachment," said Sylvester,
with his politest air of condolence, "and I assure you my opinion ever
has been that your feelings did you honor. Nothing, in my view, is so
becoming to gray hairs and the evening of life as fidelity to a first
passion."

"Lord forgive you, Berkley!" I exclaimed, startled out of all
self-possession by his impertinence. "What on earth do you mean? You
are completely ignorant of what you are talking about. I have hardly
any gray hairs, and some excellent constitutions are gray at thirty.
You are partly bald yourself: I know it f