restaurants, &c. There are also boats painted and decorated in the most gorgeous style, and tastefully adorned with flowers; whence they are called "flower boats," literally a floating garden. They have, in fact, the same reputation as the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, or Vauxhall in London. There is also an amount of feasting done, and at night they are brilliantly illuminated with a myriad of tiny Chinese lanterns, which give them a fairy-like effect. Issuing from them may be heard the sounds of revelry, of laughter, and the shrill falsetto whine called music, far into the early hours of morning. The Chinese enjoy themselves by night. All their feasts and festivals are kept through the night, generally by moonlight; and although, when poor, he exists on a farthing's-worth of rice a day, yet when riches accumulate he becomes the most luxurious of sybarites, indulges freely in the most recherché delicacies of the table, like any Roman voluptuary becomes corpulent and phlegmatic. Invited to a grand Chinese dinner, the hour named was 11 A.M. and the locale a boat. Having heard much of the obnoxious stuff I should have to eat, and been duly cautioned that I should be ill for at least a week afterwards, I intimated to a medical friend that I was about to "dine à la Chinoise," and should probably require his services that evening. He gave me the prescription, "Take a very little of each dish, and take a very long time about it." Of the latter I had no choice, for we began at eleven and did not conclude until half-past five. I felt a little squeamish but was not actually sick, and the doctor said I had the digestion of a horse. To enumerate the dishes we ate and the prices paid for them would seem fabulous. We commenced with tea and finished with soup. Some of the intermediate dishes were shark's fin; birds' nests brought from Borneo (costing nearly a guinea a mouthful); fricassee of poodle, a little dog rather like a pig, except for its head; the fish of the kouk shell, an elastic substance like paxwax or indiarubber, which you might masticate but could not possibly mash; peacock's liver, very fine and recherché; putrid eggs, nevertheless very good; rice, of course; salted shrimps; baked almonds; cabbage in a variety of forms; green ginger; stewed fungi; fresh fish of a dozen kinds; onions ad libitum ; salt duck cured like ham, and pig in every form, roast, boiled, fried; Fouchow ham, which seemed to me equal to Wiltshire. In fact, the Chinese excel in pork, but Europeans will rarely touch it, under the superstition that the pigs are fed on babies. Of course a pig will eat a baby, if it finds one, as it will devour a rattlesnake, but that does not prevent us eating American bacon, where the pigs run wild in the wood, and feed, from choice, upon any vermin they can find. When in the Southern States I got two magnificent rattlesnakes, and my pigs ate them both. That did not prevent the pigs being eaten in their turn; and I think I would as soon eat transmutation of baby flesh as of rattlesnake, especially the rattle. But I believe the whole to be a libel. The Chinese are most particular about their swine, and keep them penned up in the utmost cleanliness and comfort, rivalling the Dutch in their scrubbing and washing. They grow whole fields of taro and herbs for their pigs, and I do not believe that one porker in a million ever tastes a baby. About two o'clock we rose from table, walked about, looked out of window. Large brass bowls were brought filled with hot water, and towels. Each one proceeded to perform ablutions, the Chinese washing their heads. After which refreshing operation we resumed our seats, and recommenced with another description of tea. Seven different sorts of samshoo we partook of, made from rice, from peas, from mangoes, cocoa-nut; all fermented liquors; and the mystery remained -that I was not inebriated. Perhaps it was following the doctor's advice, the length of time which elapsed, and the small quantities. The samshoo was drunk warm, in tiny cups, during the course of the dinner. The whole was cooked without salt, and tasted very insipid to me. The birds' nests seemed like glue or isinglass; but the cocks'combs were palatable. The dog meat was like very delicate gizzard well stewed a short close fibre and very tender. The dish which I fancied the most turned out to be rat; for upon taking a second help after the first taste, I got the head, and I certainly felt rather sick upon this discovery. But I consoled myself by the remembrance that in California we used often to eat ground-squirrels, which are first cousins to the flat-tailed rats; and travellers who would know the world must go in boldly for manners and customs. We had tortoise and frogs; a curry of the latter was superior to chicken. We had fowls' hearts, and brains of some bird-snipe, I think. We had chow-chow of mangoes, rambustan preserved, salted cucumber, sweet potatoes, yams, taro, all sorts of sweets made from rice, sugar and cocoanut. Every dish was separate. And the soup which terminated the repast was surely boiled tripe, or some interior arrangement, and I wished I had halted a little time ago. The whole was eaten with chopsticks, or a spoon like a small spade or shovel. The sticks are made into a kind of fork by being held crosswise between the fingers. I was the only lady-for it is not the usage for the sexes to meet together in society-I dined with the ladies, and was crammed in the same way, but with a larger admixture of fruits, sweets and tea. Rice is the substitute for bread, and poultry and pork for mutton and beef; though occasionally there is mutton and goat; beef very rarely, except for Europeans. The greater part of my time was spent upon the rivers; and a wonderful life it was. I went into all the back streets or creeks, and, with my five senses on the alert, examined everything I could. The novelty, as I have remarked, was incessant and never-ending, and fully repays the traveller, in interest, for the inconvenience he may experience. Philip Leigh. CHAPTER XIV. THE WINTER'S TALE. "I believe Victorian is her lover. I believe That I shall be to-morrow, and thereafter As Taurus chases Aries."-LONGFELLOW. As here I come to a pause between the old life in London and the new life at Hatherleigh, it seems to me the fittest time to tell the story of how that winter was spent at Excombe. I never heard it told continuously by one person, but, bit by bit, I gathered it from Lady Dunsmore, Miss Vyvyan and others, and putting these together, I found that events must have happened as follows. For some weeks after Philip and I left Excombe the house was full of visitors. When they were gone, and the usual routine of life at Excombe recommenced, Lady Dunsmore remarked how very frequent a visitor she had in Lord Alton. Having once made his visits a subject for observation, she quickly saw that it was not for the pleasure of her company that Lord Alton came fifteen miles and rode fifteen miles home again, two or three times a week. Of course she saw that Constance was the cause of his coming so often to Excombe. This gave her some uneasiness, for the St. Stephens were old friends, and she thought it but right that they should know where Lord Alton spent so much of his time. She saw that the young man's admiration of her beautiful guest was very earnest, and she feared that his friends would disapprove highly should he ever ask Constance to marry him, and would blame her for not having warned them of his intentions. Lady Dunsmore determined to face the matter boldly; so one day after her return from Moorlands, she drove to St. Stephens by herself, resolved to know what the Earl and Countess would think of a marriage between Constance Le Geyt and their eldest son. She felt certain that Lord Alton was desperately in love with Constance, and she knew enough of the girl's character to be sure that she would not let such an opportunity of improving her position go by. After luncheon at St. Stephens was over, the Countess managed to send both her daughters away on some excuse, so as to leave the drawing-room in possession of herself, her husband, and Lady Dunsmore; then 'Dear Lady Dunsmore," she said, "I am quite sure that you have come to tell us something." The Countess was a woman of the world; she had known Lady Dunsmore long enough to find out that her actions had always some motive. "You are right," said Lady Dunsmore nervously. "I wanted to know if you were aware how often Alton rides over to Excombe." She looked keenly at the Earl as she said this; he looked at the Countess, and smiled. "I think we know, Lady Dunsmore," said he. "You know then whom he goes to see? It is not an old woman like me who brings him thirty miles three times a week." "Yes, we know." Lady Dunsmore was puzzled. "Do you really mean that you approve? Constance Le Geyt is beautiful, I own, but she has no money, and no relations. Do you know her history?" "I think we do," said the Earl. "You have been very frank with us, and we will be equally so with you. We saw Miss Le Geyt at Excombe; she is a lovely girl, and evidently a lady by education, and, to me, she seems unmistakably one by birth. Now tell me, is the fact that her parentage is unknown her only drawback ?" "It is," said Lady Dunsmore emphatically. "Well then, we have no objections to Alton's marrying her. You look surprised, but there are two sides to the question. This girl is a lady; she is wonderfully beautiful, charming, and accomplished; now Alton will be an earl, but I must own that he is neither very wise nor very steady; more than once his mother and I have had cause to fear that he would make a fool of himself. We wished to see him married; and if this lady be as wise as she is fair, and will marry and manage him, why, Lady Dunsmore, it will be a great relief to us. My dear," he added, turning to the Countess, “have I said what you wish me to say?" "Yes, quite." "But surely," said Lady Dunsmore, "you are misjudging your son ?" "I think not," said the Earl sadly. "Alton is honest enough, but he wants brains. We are always in fear lest some unscrupulous woman should manage to marry him. We have had two alarms; but I believe that with a good clever wife he would make a good husband, and any one can see that he is very much in love with your beautiful guest." "You have taken a weight off my mind," said Lady Dunsmore. "You wish, then, that I should encourage Alton's visits at Excombe ?" "Unless you see any objections yourself.", "I see none. It is a marriage which will give me great satisfaction." The Countess commenced to praise Constance's beauty. The dreaded announcement had been made, and Lady Dunsmore drove home in high spirits. A fortnight after this, Constance was engaged to Lord Alton with the full consent of his family, and the letters, which you, reader, have already seen, apprised Philip of the circumstance. His answer to Lady Dunsmore aroused some suspicions in her, but Constance managed to quiet them-how I cannot tell. The wedding was fixed to take place in the spring of the following year. Madam Constance, having now attained the object of her ambition -the prospect of becoming a lady of wealth and title-was, for a time, so dazzled with the idea that she viewed Lord Alton, and her future life as his wife, in a golden light. She was very charming in those days, gay, contented, and airily happy. But before long she grew tired, weary of the young man's small round of thoughts, tired of the sight of his freckled face and red hair, intolerant of his frequent presence at Excombe. Just as her feelings towards her lover were in this state, a change took place at the Vicarage of Ranscombe. The old vicar, who had played whist so long and invariably after all Lady Dunsmore's dinner-parties, fell ill, and was ordered abroad by his medical advisers. He went to winter in the South of France, and left a young curate to do his duty at Ranscombe. Lady Dunsmore saw this young man, took one of her violent fancies to him, and gave him a general invitation to Excombe. Better judges than she might have been pleased with him, for he was young and well-favoured, with an open, honest face, which was a true index of an honest heart. He was a brave, earnest man, who, seeing his work before him, would do it manfully, fighting for the good and the right. He brought courage and spirit enough to his work, a strong body and a stout heart. He was very handsome, and had seen much of the world both at home and abroad. Lady Dunsmore took him up in her impulsive manner. John Earl (that was the curate's name), having no faith in sudden friendships, drew back, until one fatal evening at Excombe, when Constance sang after dinner, and looked at him with her radiant eyes and soft smile. Then he became Lady Dunsmore's willing guest. To Constance, merely as a variety in the monotonous life she was then leading, he was very welcome. She laid herself out to please him, though she of all women had least need to make herself more attractive than she was. Of course there could be no harm, when he knew that she was engaged to Lord Alton. So she sang and smiled, and listened to the young man's fresh, eager talk with earnest eyes, and lured him on to love her. She grew strangely fond of the quaint |