with their vehement reaction against the despotism of fact, with their sensuous nature, their manifold striving, their adverse destiny, their immense calamities, the Celts are the prime authors of this piercing regret and passion of this Titanism in poetry. A famous book, Macpherson's Ossian carried in the last century this vein like a flood of lava through Europe. I am not going to criticise Macpherson's Ossian, here. Make Make the part of what is forged, tawdry, spurious, in the book as large as you please; strip Scotland, if you like, of every feather of borrowed plumes, which on the strength of Macpherson's Ossian, she may have stolen from that Vetus et Major Scotia, the true home of the Ossianic poetry, I make no objection.

But there will still be left in the book a

residue with the very soul of the Celtic genius in it, and which has the proud distinction of having brought the soul of this Celtic genius into contact with the genius of the nations of modern Europe, and enriched all our poetry by it. Woody Morven, and echoing Sora, and Selma with its silent halls!—we all owe them a debt of gratitude, and when we are unjust enough to forget it may the Muse forget us! Choose any one of the better passages in Macpherson's Ossian, and you can see even at this time of day, what an apparition of newness and power such a strain brings to the eighteenth century. (Then is quoted the beautiful passage, 'I have seen the walls of Balclutha,' &c.)"

We have endeavoured to prove the antiquity of Celtic poetry and prose fiction (the latter a corrupt modifica

tion of the former) and other portions of the old literature, by bringing before the attention of our readers the existence of the valuable MSS. into which they were copied from still older MSS. dating probably from the sixth and seventh centuries. We have also slightly dwelt on the merit of these our literary remains, strengthening our position by the unselfish testimony of so eminent an authority as that of the Professor of Poetry at Oxford. To complete our proposed task it will be necessary to confirm or modify the chief propositions in Mr. Arnold's essay by the quotation of passages from the best of our ancient remains, or exhibitions of their spirit and character, or analyses of their compositions. Meantime, on the part of every genuine lover of old Celtic literary relics, whether Gael or Briton, we express our gratitude to the distinguished poet and critic who with the tide of English feeling against him, has undertaken to assert the claims of the unfashionable literature of a portion of the peoples of Ireland, of the Highlands, and of Wales to respect and consideration. Let us rejoice that the task so kindly and genially done has fallen into the hands of a true poet as well as a sound critic, and thus the better fitted to adjudicate on a subject so compact of imagination and its products.

A GOOD many years ago I was trayelling with my husband to Italy. It was our wedding tour. Since then a good many things have changed. As I look in the glass it may be that my face has not so much colour as it had then, but the memory of that journey remains as fresh as if we had only set out yesterday.

I went the same route the other day, and I tried hard to kindle the embers of my lost enthusiasm, but I might as well hope to change my steady sober self into the happy laughing girl of twenty years ago.

It was, as I said before, our weding tour, and we had loitered so long and so pleasantly on the way, that although it was summer when we started, winter was fast closing

It was

in before we could make up our minds to quit Paris and follow out our original plan of wintering in Italy. An uncle of my husband's was living at Marseilles, and that was to be our first resting-place. Christmas eve before our last purchases were finally made, and we and our belongings were whizzing down in an express train to Marseilles. I can perfectly recall my feelings on the morning of the 24th December, in the year 18-. It was bitterly cold when we left Paris, snowing and hailing heavily at intervals, and all the bright weather we had been enjoying for weeks, gone. I felt gloomy and depressed, and as if a new chapter in my life were about_to_begin. I was very sorry to leave Paris, and

felt very nervous at meeting relations quite new to me, and being moreover not a little spoiled by the exclusive devotion of my husband, I felt slightly aggrieved and decidedly jealous at the evident pleasure with which he was looking forward to meeting his own people. He grew animated in his description of his favourite cousin Emily, and expressed a strong desire that we should be like sisters, and as for Charley, he was the handsomest and nicest fellow in the world, and so on, until the shortness of my answers, and the general sulkiness of my manner damped his ardour, and my having recourse to the usual feminine cloak for ill humour, a headache, finally reduced him to silence. The winter's day slowly wore away. We tried to get through the weary hours by all the usual travelling artifices. We read assiduously the little green volumes of fiction popular along the French line, we eat and drank at the regulation stations, and we took the regulation little snatches of uncomfortable sleep. So the hours went by, and it was almost quite dark when we came puffing and whizzing into the grand Lyons station, about seven o'clock.

Hitherto we had been free from fellow passengers, much to my enjoyment; but here we were joined by a lady. Somehow she impressed me unfavourably. She was much wrapped up in shawls, and her travelling hood was closely drawn over her face. Her dark eyes gleamed fitfully from under it with an unnatural brightness. Her mouth had a cold sarcastic expression, and a soupçon of a moustache disfigured her upper lip. When she spoke, in answer to some slight civility of my husband's, her voice was hard and repulsive. My husband made several efforts to enter into conversation, but she received them so coldly that we left her to herself. Still she kept a furtive and cat-like watch upon us, which had an irritating effect upon my nerves. After a time my husband fell asleep, but do what I would I could not, although worn out with fatigue, follow his example.

I was in that excited state of mind when trifles assume an unnatural importance, and, although to some it may seem almost laughable, yet I am sure a nervous reader will under

stand me when I say that the unbroken stillness of the carriage, the regular breathing of my husband, the unceasing swing, swing of the lamp above my head, and, above all, the presence of our fellow passenger in the corner, became to me perfectly intolerable. At last, I resolutely shut my eyes, and after a time fell into a kind of semi-unconsciousness.

While in this state it seemed to me that our opposite neighbour performed the most extraordinary antics. I thought she lay at the bottom of the carriage, and dragged herself slowly and stealthily towards us. She got gradually nearer and near; her face came quite close to mine; her breath was hot on my cheek; her hand was on my mouth; I gave a loud piercing shriek, and opened my eyes. The elderly lady was in her place by the window, looking a little flurried and agitated, but that was to be accounted for by my startling her. My husband was much alarmned, and could not account for the nervous tremor which seemed to have seized upon me. I clung close to him, and whispered the cause of my fright.

As I spoke in English, I thought myself secure, but I felt her cold eyes upon me, and my husband's assurances that it was only a dream failed to calm me. She was most anxious in her enquiries about me. She had been looking at me asleep, she said, and saw that I was strug gling with a nightmare or bad dream; at the first station I ought to have some strengthening tisane or coffee. After this she became quite lively and chatty, but her conversation was to me more unpleasant than her silence. She kept up an unceasing fire of questions as to where were we coming from-where were we going to. She was herself an officer's widow in Lyons, and was going to see her son at Marseilles. It provoked me exceedingly to see that my husband considered her an intelligent and rather agreeable companion, he told her all our plans, and they got on together very pleasantly.

Later on we came into a large station. "Here," said our fellowtraveller, after consulting with great attention the Railway Guide, "we are to wait twenty minutes. I would recommend that monsieur would alight and get madame a cup of good strong

coffee, and the same for me, if monsieur would have the kindness."

I felt the most curious dislike to be left alone, but I was ashamed to give utterance to such a childish fear, and my husband was too anxious to get me the coffee to listen to my assurances that I did not want it. I strained my head out of the window, but soon lost sight of him in the darkness. I thought I felt the premonitory jerk of the train, and I looked round anxiously. The bell rang out loudly, and I started to my feet in an agony. "Sit down," said my companion quietly, "that is nothing." While she was speaking the train moved slowly out of the station. I made a frantic rush to the window, but I was held back and replaced in my seat by my friend, who, while she kept on soothing and reassuring me in her croaky voice, held me so tight that I could not possibly move. When we were fairly off she fell back in her seat, screaming and clapping her hands in delight, while I shrank back in horror and

amazement.

I was in a perfect tumult of agitation. Here were all my fears realized; this dreadful mad woman would be alone with me for the whole night, for we made no further stop till we reached Marseilles. She had no sympathy for me, and no doubt she was laughing at me in her sleeve.

I hastily wiped away the tears that had forced themselves to my eyes, and tried to recover from my agitation. "That's right," said the odious voice beside me-for she had moved her seat next to me. "Cheer up, and don't cry its eyes out. Never you mind, a few years more, and you will be only too glad to dispense with the presence of ce cher mari on your little excursions." Amazed at her impertinent manner, I said coldly, "that she was unacquainted with Englishwomen, or she would not make such a remark."

nervous shrieks and tender clingings. Ah, your English husbands, they are the nice lot. I could tell you stories, my little love, that would rise the hair up off your virtuous head; and as for ce cher Henri, he is no better than another. Ha, ha!"

Here she broke into an odious chuckling laugh that thrilled my blood.

'Well, there, then; shall it go to sleep like a good child, or shall I tell it a few stories of the Englishmen I have known ?" Much alarmed at her manner and language, I faintly answered that I thought I should like to go to sleep.

"Very good; well, then, to sleep with you; but first baby shall drink something to settle its nerves; it is a cordial, and I think it will be better than the coffee monsieur went in search of. Ha, ha! How green of him to swallow my little invention of the twenty minutes; but the English are so bête. My little angel I was determined to secure a tête-àtête with you. Here, now, drink."

Afraid to refuse this dreadful madwoman, I drank some of the cordial she offered; it had an odd taste, and seeing that she was busy replacing the bottle in her bag, I hastily threw the rest out of the window next, and handed her back the glass. She was much pleased by my obedience, and took great pains in settling me comfortably, and wrapping cloaks around

me.

For some time I kept watching her; I was determined not to go asleep, and I kept my wakeful eyes like sentries on her in her corner following her, while she seemed absorbed in some calculation with pencil and paper.

Thoughts crossed rapidly through my mind. What should I do when I got to Marseilles? How should I find out our uncle? for I had forgotten his address. Would that dreadful creature murder me, if I fell asleep for a few minutes? What could have been her object in getting my husband out of the carriage. She was evidently mad and possessed of all the cunning of insanity. My eyelids grew sore in my effort to keep them open and on guard. I would close them for five minutes only to rest them. I feel calmer; she is still in the corner, all safe. My eyelids are getting heavier and heavier; resistance is

me.

How long I slept I didn't know, but by degrees I began to dream that I was in prison, and under the sentence for death; and that when I came to the scaffold the executioner had the features of the French lady. Then it changed, and I was at Marseilles, and saw my husband; but he did not seem to know me, and then I called to him; he turned and showed me the face of my odious fellow-passenger. At this I awoke.

The train was whizzing along. The lamp was swinging above, and the air in the carriage was very dense and confined. I was so confused, and I was so confused, and felt my head so heavy, that I lay for some minutes not well knowing where I was. Then I slowly raised my head. Has my hateful tormentor gone? She is not in her corner, thank goodness; but who is that figure with its back to me, bending over my husband's carpet bag, turning over all the contents? Am I getting mad? Am I getting mad? Is it my husband? No, it is too tall. I am still sleeping. I shut my eyes and open them again. No, it is still there. It has on my husband's travelling coat and cap. I am the victim of some horrible delusion. My tongue cleaves to my mouth. I would give worlds the French woman were here, or that something would break the horrid stillness. Presently the man turned slowly round. Good heavens! it was the face of the French woman; her gleaming eyes, her sarcastic mouth. Cautiously he is tying on a black beard, which he adjusts carefully. Then he lets down the window, and throws a bundle out. I see it all. Our companion has been a man disguised as a woman. Overcome with horror, I gasp in very agony of mind. Immediately the wretch turns to my side of the carriage, and our eyes meet. "Diablesse! Treacherous cat!" he cries, "So you have been awake and watching me. You spy on me, do you? Twice you have circumvented me; your pretty little shriek prevented the chloroform doing its work on your fool of a husband, and now you shall pay the penalty. This pistol will make quick work of you, and your body thrown out in this dark night will tell no tales. You will pass for some unfor

and you will make a pretty article for the newspapers." In my agony I fell on my knees and implored mercy of this ruffian, offering him moneyjewels to spare my life. He listened gloomily, then after a few minutes he said :

"There, that's enough; get up. I will spare you on one condition; and, remember, you have no one to blame but your own infernal curiosity; only for that feininine propensity you need never have known but that the French woman got out and I got in during your sleep. But you must peep and spy, curse you. But you can be of some service, so listen; but first swear never to reveal what has happened this night, and secondly, swear solemnly to follow implicitly my instructions."

Trembling in every limb, I gave the required assurance.

Now, get up, little fool, and listen to me. But first, to show you I was not idle while you reposed, here is plenty of money for any little trip we may take, and I will look to you to find me more from your store of pretty things.

So speaking, he showed me Henry's pocket-book, filled with gold and notes from his travelling-case. Obeying his directions, I unlocked my dressing-case, and, while he disposed of its contents in various little bags about his person, he proceeded to unfold his plans. He would, he said, make little or no alteration in my husband's arrangements, with which he so kindly acquainted him. He would certainly dispense with the visit to ce cher oncle, and avail himself of the excellent Henri's purse, wife, and passport to push on to Civita Vecchia. Once landed on Italian ground he would despatch me back to my friends and sorrowing husband in the most convenient manner, and I could account for my little adventure in any way most pleasing to myself, and compatible with strict adherence to my oath.

Never," I cried, "will I submit to such an indignity; I would rather die first."

"It is a pity you did not think of that when I was disposed to oblige you. Now, your oath having satisfied me, you are safe from me, but suicide is still open to you, only it is an

unpleasant death; it would get me rather well out of the difficulty. No, no, madame, be reasonable, and do not drive me to extremities. I will be civil and quiet, and during the time that I shall be called upon to play the part of your husband you will have nothing to complain of from any undue attention on my part. I hate your baby-face snivelling women. There, go back to your corner, and don't disturb me with your crocodile tears. I think, first, your dress wants a little alteration. Take off your jaunty coquettish hat and cloak, and put on these more respectable garments, belonging to your esteemed fellow-traveller. I kept them expressly for you."

So saying, he threw me over the horrid hood and cloak that had been worn by the French lady. When my transformation was effected, he surveyed me with much satisfaction, and remarked with an odious chuckle that I was a disgrace to a dashing fellow like him, and that not even ce cher Henri would know me now.

He then produced a bottle, from which he continued to drink uuremittingly, while I, in my corner, afraid to move or stir, endured such misery as does not often fall to the lot of mortals. It seemed to me that I lived centuries in that wretched night, and I don't think the quiet happiness of years has effaced the impression.

In the gray of the morning we came into Marseilles. I think a criminal under execution must feel something like what I did as the train came into the terminus on that Christmas morning. If I could have broken my oath, it was physically impossible, as for the time I had lost the power of speech. Even my tormentor seemed to be struck with the change in me, and spoke more gently. He let me sit still while he collected all our travelling things. Oh, the agony I felt at seeing Henry's things in his hands.

The instant the train stopped he seized me by the wrist, and held me tight, while he assisted me to alight with great politeness. He whispered "Remember" in my ear, and then, drawing my arm through his, hurried

me into a cab, saying to the cabman "We have no luggage," gave the direction to drive off. I was just about frantically shrieking for help, reckless alike of life or my oath, when a young gentleman came running up in the opposite direction. Tell me, coachman," said he eagerly, has the Paris train come in?" "Yes, monsieur."

"Oh, then," he said, turning to my companion, perhaps you can tell me did you happen to see a young English lady? Her husband, my cousin, left her by a mere accident at one of the stations. The train went off suddenly. He telegraphed to me to meet her, and"

With a wild, piercing shriek I interrupted him. My companion uttered a fearful oath under his breath, and then, with the most consummate politeness, said

"Monsieur, this is the lady of whom you speak. She has been under my protection since I joined her at station; I am only too happy to leave her in safe hands. At great personal inconvenience to myself, I was about conveying her to her friends. I am a doctor, and I cannot conceal from you that the lady's nerves are terribly shaken. I found her in a high state of excitement, and, in fact, for the greater part of the night she has been raving, and fancying all kinds of delusions. I should not be surprised that a severe illness was the result." Then, with a profound bow, and an Ádieu, madame; remember that at any dangerous symptom you may expect a visit from me," he left us.

For many weeks I lay unconscious, struggling with all the horrors of brain fever. During my slow recòvery I had time to prize the cousin Emily, of whom I had felt a foolish jealousy upon that eventful morning, and my appreciation of cousin Charles is equal to that my husband feels for him.

With a delicacy and tact for which Ifelt most grateful, they never alluded to the events of that dreadful night. My husband sometimes teases me by saying he thinks the man was right and the whole thing a delusion.