d at Maltravers, clapped her little hands, and
laughed outright. Maltravers caught the contagion, and laughed also.
But he hastened to repair the pedantic error he had committed of talking
over the heads of the company. He took up the guitar, which, among their
musical instruments, the serenaders had brought, and after touching its
chords for a few moments, said: "After all, Madame, in your society,
and with this moonlit lake before us, we feel as if music were our best
medium of conversation. Let us prevail upon these gentlemen to delight
us once more."

"You forestall what I was going to ask," said the ex-singer; and
Maltravers offered the guitar to Tirabaloschi, who was in fact dying to
exhibit his powers again. He took the instrument with a slight grimace
of modesty, and then saying to Madame de Montaigne, "There is a song
composed by a young friend of mine, which is much admired by the ladies;
though to me it seems a little too sentimental," sang the following
stanzas (as good singers are wont to do) with as much feeling as if he
could understand them!

NIGHT AND LOVE.

When stars are in the quiet skies, Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me, then, thy tender eyes! As stars look on the sea!

For thoughts, like waves that glide by night, Are stillest where they shine;
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when angels keep Familiar watch on men;
When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep,-- Sweet spirit, meet me then.

There is an hour when holy dreams Through slumber fairest glide;
And in that mystic hour it seems Thou shouldst be by my side.

The thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam;--
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream!

And now, the example set, and the praises of the fair hostess exciting
general emulation, the guitar circled from hand to hand, and each of the
Italians performed his part; you might have fancied yourself at one
of the old Greek feasts, with the lyre and the myrtle-branch going the
round.

But both the Italians and the Englishman felt the entertainment would be
incomplete without hearing the celebrated vocalist and improvvisatrice
who presided over the little banquet; and Madame de Montaigne, with a
woman's tact, divined the general wish, and anticipated the request
that was sure to be made. She took the guitar from the last singer, and
turning to Maltravers, said, "