had never been put together
before'--'so well,' he meant to add, but gulped it. He meant
'so well,' certainly, for Tillemont, whom he quotes in every
page, has done the very thing. Well, from that hour to this,
I have never seen him, though he used to call once or twice
a week: nor has sent me the third volume, as he promised. I
well knew his vanity, even about his ridiculous face and
person, but thought he had too much sense to avow it so
palpably.

"I have read Sheridan's Critic, but not having seen it, for
they say it is admirably acted, it appeared wondrously flat
and old, and a poor imitation; it makes me fear I shall not
be so much charmed with the School for Scandal, on reading,
as I was when I saw it."

There is of course no denying that these attempts to make "small beer"
of the Gibbons, Humes, Goldsmiths, Johnsons, Smolletts, and other
spirits already secure and serene among the immortals, however amusing
in themselves, become mighty ridiculous by the side of as perpetual
praise of the writer's own clique.

THE COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY.

TRANSLATED FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE FROM THE FRENCH OF H.
DE ST. GEORGES.

_Continued from page 357._

XI.--ON PAROLE.

Three days after the night upon which the father and son had knocked at
the door of No. 7 Rue de Menors, another scene occurred. It was ten
o'clock. The Prince had not appeared at dinner. Confined by a slight
indisposition to his room, he sent an excuse to his daughter-in-law. The
Prince was respectful as far as possible to Aminta, looking on her as
head of the family and mistress of the household. The Countess of
Grandmesnil had embroidered away a portion of the day, contradicted her
niece, admired her nephew, commented on the last sermon of the Abbe de
Rozan on worldly pleasures, contriving therein to insert various
bitter-sweet allusions to Aminta. Finally the Countess left the room.

The Marquis and Marquise were then alone together. After her discovery
of the nocturnal absence of Henri, and especially after the reading of
the fatal note in which an appointment was made with the Marquis, Aminta
felt a sadness which she could not overcome. Too proud to reproach him,
or suffer him to discover her sorrow, divided between unextinguished
love and deep mortification, Aminta lived in perpetual constraint,
biding her grief and humiliation under a fa