ner.

If our daily life at the farm was very unvarying, it was exceedingly
pleasurable; we rose early, and I accompanied Martin into the fields
with the workmen, where we remained till breakfast. After which I
usually betook myself to a little brook, where there was excellent
fishing, and where, her household duties over, Amy joined me. We dined
about two; and in the afternoon we--that is, Amy and myself--rode
out together; and as we were admirably mounted, and she a capital
horsewoman, usually took a scamper "cross country," whenever the
fences were not too big and the turf inviting. Home to tea, and a walk
afterwards through the green lanes and mossy paths of the neighbourhood,
filled the day; and however little exciting the catalogue of pursuits,
when did I feel time pass so swiftly? Let me be honest and avow, that
the position I enjoyed had its peculiar flattery. There was through all
their friendship a kind of deferential respect--a sense of looking up
to me, which I was young enough to be wonderfully taken by: and my
experiences at Foreign Courts--which Heaven knows were few and meagre
enough--had elevated me in their eyes into something like Lord Whitworth
or Lord Castlereagh; and I really believe, that all the pleasure my
stories and descriptions afforded was inferior to the delight they
experienced in seeing the narrator, and occasionally the actor, in the
scenes described, their own guest at their own table.

It was while revelling in the fullest enjoyment of this pleasant life
that I received a Foreign Office letter, in reply to an application I
had made for promotion, rejecting my request, and coolly commanding my
immediate return to Florence. These missives were not things to disobey,
and it was in no very joyful mood I broke the tidings to my host.

"What's it worth?" said Martin, abruptly.

"Oh, in point of money," said I, "the appointments are poor things. It
is only that there are some good prizes in the wheel, and, whether one
is lucky enough to gain them or not, even Hope is something. My salary
is not quite two hundred a-year!"

Martin gave a long, low whistle, and said,--

"Why, dang it! my poor brother George, that's gone, had six hundred when
he went out as inspector over that silk factory! Two hundred a-year!"
mused he; "and what do you get at your next promotion?"

"That is not quite certain. I might be named _attache_ at Vienna, which
would, perhaps, give me one hundred more--or, if I ha