a little conversation with Annie's pale protégée, Louisa, for the purpose, if possible, of learning something concerning the position held by the Barnaby family at home. Not indeed that he wanted the gentle spinster's evidence to convince him that the father, mother and daughter were not, as perhaps he would have phrased it, "de nous autres," nor that the son-in-law was not a true blooded Hidalgo, nor that his friend Louisa herself, or her fair sister, were not ladies particularly well educated or highly bred. All this he might have trusted to his mother-wit to decide for him; but he thought it worth while to discover, if possible, whether the military chef of the party had or had not enjoyed the reputation of being an honest man. It required no very difficult manoeuvring to induce the grateful Louisa to walk out upon the convenient terrace with him, even though the doing so involved the necessity of an evident and obvious tête-àtête between them, under the shelter as usual of a blooming orange tree. "How do you like this warm climate, Miss Perkins?" he began. "I think you seem to suffer from it less than most of us." "It does not make me ill at all, Mr. Egerton," she replied, "but I suppose all English people would like a little more cool air if they could get it." "Undoubtedly. Have your friends the Barnabys been used to such a climate as this before? I rather suppose not, from their appearing so greatly oppressed by it." "Upon my word that is more than I am able to say," returned Miss Louisa; "for, notwithstanding we have got so very intimate, we have not known them long." "Indeed! I rather imagined you were related," said Egerton. "Not at all, sir; not the least in the world," she replied. "Then you must think them very amiable people, Miss Perkins, to set off on so long an expedition with them," he observed. Miss Louisa was rather at a loss how to reply to this observation; for, in fact, it was during but a short portion of their not long acquaintance that she had been beguiled by her good-nature into thinking any one of them amiable at all; yet though she hesitated about saying this in so many words, she had quite tact enough to feel that this good, kind young gentleman (when she had made up her mind to be certain, was violently in love with her young friend and ally Annie Beauchamp) was not at all likely to admire or approve the ways and manners of the Barnaby race more than she did herself, and it was more from esteem for him than any love of gossip, and less still of any unkind feeling, that she answered, "I don't know about that, Mr. Egerton. My sister Matilda thought she should like to see something of this country, and its ways, which she thought likely, I believe, to be greatly different from ours, and that it was that brought us across the sea." "That was very sisterly and good-natured on your part, Miss Louisa," he replied; "but do you not think it was rather a dangerous experiment for two single ladies to put themselves under the protection of a gentleman whom they knew so little of? You must forgive my speaking so freely, Miss Perkins, on the score of my being a countryman." "Indeed, sir, it needs no excuse; on the contrary, I take it exceedingly kind of you, and I won't deny but what I think your remark seems a very just one. To be sure we seem to be very comfortable just now, because all the American ladies and gentlemen seem inclined to be so civil to us on account of Mrs. O-I mean Mrs. Allen Barnaby's writing a book about them." "What name was it, Miss Louisa, that you were going to give her?" said Egerton; "something beginning with an O?" Though Miss Louisa Perkins had been certainly desired not to refer in any way to the former appellation of the major, it did not occur to her as possible that Mr. Egerton should take any unfair advantage of him on account of his having changed his name, and she therefore replied with perfect frankness, "I was going to say the name O'Donagough, sir. They used to call themselves O'Donagough when we first knew them, which is now rather better than a year ago.' "O'Donagough?" repeated Egerton, musingly. "Is it an Irish name?" "I don't know any thing about that, Mr. Egerton," she replied. "We made acquaintance with them first at Brighton, where, as I dare say you know, sir, a great many strangers are always coming and going without knowing very much about one another. But this I must say for Major and Mrs. O'Donagough, and their daughter Miss Patty as she then was, that we saw them in the very best of society. Indeed they were very nearly related to some of the highest company there. Perhaps you may have heard of General Hubert, sir? He seemed to be a gentleman very well known by all the higher sort of people." "General Hubert ?" repeated Egerton, with a stare of great astonishment. "These Barnabys, as they now call themselves, related to General Hubert? I cannot help thinking that you are mistaken about that, Miss Louisa. I do not think it likely that General Hubert should be related to these-to this family that you are with." “I don't think it does seem very likely, sir, myself," replied Miss Louisa, very ingenuously; "but yet I do assure you it is quite true, for I was in their company myself, and my sister Matilda with me, when General Hubert, and Mrs. Hubert, and young Mr. Hubert the son, and old Mrs. Compton, Mrs. Hubert's aunt, all came to drink tea and pass the evening with Major and Mrs. O'Donagough, as they were called then, at Brighton. And my sister Matilda made the tea; so you see, sir, that I could not very well be mistaken." ""Tis very strange," said Egerton, looking almost as much mystified as the Danish prince himself when using the same words. "But certainly, Miss Perkins," he added, after a few moments' consideration, "I do not see how it is possible you could be mistaken about it." "Oh no, sir, you may quite take my word for it, that I'm not at all mistaken about this relationship. And what's more," continued Miss Louisa, with natural eagerness to convince her companion that she was making no blunder in her statement, "what's more, Mr. Egerton, I have been at a party in their house in Curzon-street, in London, when not only General Hubert and his lady and daughter were there too, but ever so many more ladies and gentlemen also, who were, I believe, re lated to the general or his lady. A Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson were some of them. Perhaps, sir, you may know the names of Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson, too?" 66 Certainly I do," replied Egerton, his puzzle becoming greater as his belief strengthened, as to the correctness of Miss Louisa's statement. "Did the Huberts and Stephensons know these friends of yours by the name of Barnaby as well as by that of O'Donagough?" "Miss Perkins reflected for a moment before she answered, and then replied, "Upon my word I don't know about that-I don't much think they ever were called Barnaby till they came away." 66 May I ask you, Miss Perkins," resumed the persevering Egerton, "if you know the reason which induced the major to change his name?" This question seemed to awaken the simple-minded Louisa to the impropriety she had been guilty of in so frankly stating to a perfect stranger a circumstance which she had been especially desired to conceal, and she stammered, blushed, and faltered considerably before she determined how to reply to it; but at length she said in an accent calculated to remove suspicion, if any thing could. "I believe, Mr. Egerton, I have done what they would think very wrong in talking about it at all; but though I must say the doing it at first was just thoughtless and nothing else, yet your kindness, sir, in seeming to care a little about us, because of our being English, makes me feel as if I had done no more than right neither; and this much I think I ought to say over, and into the bargain, and that is, that Mrs. Allen Barnaby, as we call her now, did tell me, and my sister Matilda, the whole history why it was that the major thought it best to change his name, and that it is rather for his honour than the reverse, and what many a gentleman, I believe, would be proud to tell of." The name of General Hubert, however, probably did more than this simple testimony of the worthy Louisa's opinion on this point, towards persuading Mr. Egerton that he was mistaken as to the notion he had formed respecting the major's style of play. Nevertheless, not even this could altogether remove a vague feeling of doubt upon the subject, by no means indicative of very high personal esteem for his well-connected countryman. And it gave him satisfaction to think, as he meditated upon the visit he was so unexpectedly engaged to make, to Colonel Beauchamp, that at least he should in some sort be able to repay his hospitality by giving a little attention to the game, if it should happen that he and the military consort of the authoress should chance to play together during the time his own visit lasted. THE POPPY. BY HORACE SMITH. THE man who roams by wild-flower'd ditch or hedge, Or treads the corn-field path, along its edge, May mark a weed, Whose rugged scarlet gear might well denote A road-side beggar in a soldier's coat. Hence, terms misplaced, and thoughts disparaging! Thou art the Croesus of the field-its king A mystic power, With emblems deep, and secret blessings fraught, When thy hues catch, amid the growing corn, The traveller's eye, "Weeds! weeds!" he cries, and shakes his head in scorn: But when on high The grain uplifts its harvest-bearing crest, The poppy's hidden, and the taunt suppress'd. Our scarlet-blushing moral weeds are seen, But as we rise in rank we win repute, Flush in the fields, and grace the hovel door, That from the city's palaces forlorn, Its cells exude, Charming the mind's disquietude malign To peaceful mood, Soothing the body's anguish with its balm, Lulling the restless into slumbers calm. What! though the reckless suicide-oppress'd By fell despair, Turns to a poison-cup thy chalice, bless'd And basely flying, while the brave remain, That higher power, Both in one soil-one atmosphere their breath, Nor move his own in sympathetic prayer, To Him whose might Combined the powers-O thought bewild'ring deed! THE SNOW STORM. BY THE HONOURABLE CHARLES STUART SAVILE. ABOUT the close of the year 183- I quitted Tabreez, the chief town of Azerbijan, a province of Persia, with the intention of proceeding to Ooroomia, a distance of above a hundred and fifty miles. Although the winter had set in for some time, the plain of Tabreez was only very partially covered with snow-a very uncommon occurrence for that season of the year, as in general, from the commencement of November until the April following, the snow lies in those parts to the depth of several feet, save where the trampling of caravans may have made a beaten track. At the time, however, that I commenced my journey the plain was free from any such incumbrance, excepting where the various patches gave the vast expanse the appearance of being covered with small white islands. I had left Tabreez about half-past one o'clock in the afternoon, having sent on my baggage early in the morning towards a small village, twenty-five miles distant, where it was my intention to pass the night. The weather was beautiful, although cold, and I was in hopes of arriving at the end of the stage in about three hours, as I rode upon a small but excellent white Arab horse, and was accompanied by two Persians, nearly equally well mounted with myself, and being incumbered with very little baggage-for instance, some provisions and the mouth-bags of the horses, containing their provender-we were enabled to proceed at a very rapid pace. Gaily we galloped along; Tabreez had faded from our view, when the sun set, and I made the calculation that I was about nine miles from our journey's end, when I overtook some baggage-mules, which I discovered to be my own; they were standing still, some of them unloaded, while their drivers were quietly sitting at the roadside, eating and smoking. As may be imagined, I was exceedingly vexed and disappointed at finding them so far from the end of the stage, as they had started at an hour sufficiently early to have ensured their arrival long before. I, in consequence, rated the muleteers very severely for their neglect and indolence in having delayed and tarried until so near nightfall, when they knew how anxious I had been that on my arriving at the end of the stage I should find every thing prepared for me. They returned for answer that two mules, which they had considered in good condition, had knocked up on the road, and that in consequence they had been compelled to halt and rest several times. Knowing that this was merely an excuse for the purpose of concealing their having lingered in Tabreez after they had quitted me in the morning, I ordered them to load and proceed immediately, and remained with them until I had seen my commands carried into execution. Some time, however, was necessarily consumed, before all was ready for a start, and it was becoming very dusk. As soon, therefore, as the mules were again in motion, I told the muleteers to follow as quickly as possible, and galloped forward. I had not gone above two miles, when the sky, which had hitherto |