annoyances to our many "dear friends," whose forte is sympathy or
consolation--and all men are eloquent on the subject of their woes; not
so with their joys: some have a miser-like pleasure in hoarding them up
for their own private gratification; others--and they are prudent--feel
that the narrative is scarcely agreeable even to their best friends; and
a few, of whom I confess myself one, are content to be happy without
knowing why, and to have pleasant souvenirs, without being able to
explain them.

Such must be my apology for not more minutely entering upon an account of
my life at Callonby. A fortnight had now seen me 'enfonce', the daily
companion of two beautiful girls in all their walks and rides, through a
romantic, unfrequented country, seeing but little of the other members of
the family; the gentlemen being entirely occupied by their election
tactics, and Lady Callonby being a late riser, seldom appeared before the
dinner hour. There was not a cliff upon the bold and rocky coast we did
not climb, not a cave upon the pebbly beach unvisited; sometimes my fair
companions would bring a volume of Metastasio down to the little river
where I used to angle; and the "gentle craft" was often abandoned for the
heart-thrilling verses of that delightful poet. Yes, many years have
passed over, and these scenes are still as fresh in my memory as though
they had been of yesterday. In my memory, I say, as for thee

"Qui sa si te
Ti sovrerai di me."

At the end of three weeks the house became full of company, from the
garret to the cellar. Country gentlemen and their wives and daughters
came pouring in, on every species of conveyance known since the flood;
family coaches, which, but for their yellow panels, might have been