‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. “He is a sad blunderer. But what affair is this of yours?’ But Captain Roding was not attending. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. We shall have him on his return.
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