I did, impressed on her balmy mouth half a dozen kisses.' His impetuosity seems to have given some offence; and he admits that it was wrong. But when he had begged her pardon, and assured her that the magic of her glorious eyes, added to the bright powers of her mind, had transported him beside himself, she was easily reconciled, and proposed a game at cribbage. Then, seeing the head of his German flute sticking out of his pocket, she asked him to oblige her with a song instead. Of course he readily complied, and proceeded to play one of his own composing; the old father, who had now finished his nap, arriving in time to hear the finish of it, and demanding another. The music so pleased the old gentleman, that he invited Buncle to stay a month if he liked, and to come again as often, and stay as long, as he pleased. After all this, the reader will not be surprised to find that, before many weeks had expired, Buncle was engaged to the lovely Hariot, who was to bring with her a large fortune in ready cash, and be made her father's heir. But there's many a slip between cup and lip, and, just a fortnight before the day fixed for their wedding, Miss Noel died of the small-pox. For the space of two months the bereaved lover scarcely spoke; then he resolved to go home to his father, whom he had not seen for five years. But at home further trouble was in store for him. His father had recently married a young

wife, who proved to be antagonistic to her stepson; and the father himself was so enraged when the son (having, since he left home, become a Unitarian) refused to read the orthodox prayers at family worship, that young Buncle was promptly disinherited, and turned out of house and home.

Having nothing on which to start in the world but a vigorous constitution, a purse full of gold, and a £500 bank-note which Miss Noel had left him by will the day she sickened, young Buncle put his trust in Providence, and took ship for England. And Providence almost immediately afforded him the opportunity of saving the life of a young lady, a fellowpassenger on board the ship. On landing at Whitehaven, he and this young lady, Miss Melmoth, put up at the same inn, and for the following three weeks breakfasted, dined, and supped together. Miss Melmoth was fluent in Latin and Greek, and they talked together 'like two critics, or two grammarians, antiquarians, historians, or philosophers,' but (a circumstance which he notes as 'very odd') during the whole of that time there was not one look of love between them. At the end of the three weeks, they travelled together to a point where their roads diverged; she and her servants being bound for Yorkshire, while he was bent on seeking out an old University chum, named Turner, who dwelt somewhere in the wilds of Westmoreland. Before they parted, however, Miss

Melmoth burst into tears; and on his inquiring for the cause, she told him her grief was caused by the thought that she might never see him, the gallant preserver of her life, any more. Buncle, as we shall see, did not usually wait for a hint from any lady; but he declares that it was then that, for the first time, he kissed Miss Melmoth, promising to travel on to her house in Yorkshire as soon as he had paid his

After parting with this

respects to his friend Turner. charming travelling companion, Buncle entered into 'a vast valley, enclosed by mountains whose tops were above the clouds, and soon came into a country that is wilder than the Campagna of Rome, or the uncultivated vales of the Alps and Apennines.' His love of the country, and especially his admiration for wild scenery, is in striking contrast with the indifference shown by most contemporary authors. Dr. Johnson, for instance, made his celebrated tour to the Hebrides in 1763, and he, as we know, declared that a blade of grass was always a blade of grass, whether in one country or another, and that, wherever a traveller might be, the proper study of mankind was Man. Buncle, on the other hand, seems to have been of opinion that the proper study of mankind was Woman; and he liked to picture her (and, what is more remarkable, was perpetually finding her) immersed in the study of theology and mathematics, against a background of wild and wonderful woodland scenery.

His

descriptions of the country he passes through are always extravagant; but again and again he goes into raptures as he traverses the beautiful country about the fells, riding by the shores of lovely lakes or along the banks of bright running streams, and seeing neither house nor man for eight hours or more at a time. It is characteristic of him, however, that always before nightfall he lights upon some well-placed mansion or sweetly situated cottage, whose owner, whether total stranger or former friend (and it is really astonishing what a number of long-lost friends he thus finds in unexpected places), receives him with delight, promptly places before him a fowl with bacon and greens, or a pound of rump steak and a quart of green peas, together with strong ale and port wine, entertains him likewise with a lengthy discourse on the principles of true Christianity (i.e. of course, Unitarianism), and invites him to stay a week, or a month, or as long as he likes.

The first house Buncle sees, at the end of his first day's journey after leaving Miss Melmoth, turns out to be the habitation of an old friend, named Jack Price, who is now married and settled, as he declares, with a wife who makes it the sole study and pleasure of her life to crown me every day with the highest satisfactions and comforts.' Jack had formerly been a terrible debauchee; but his Martha had converted him into a reasonable Christian,' or, in other words,

an enthusiastic Unitarian. I shall never forget the lesson,' he confides to Buncle; the substance of what she said is as follows'-and then we get a regulation sermon. By and by, Mrs. Price is introduced, and she and her visitor immediately plunge into a conversation on primitive Christianity; the lady having first innings in an argument which takes up eleven pages of the book, and Buncle following on, and victoriously scoring point after point against the orthodox professors of theology, for forty-seven pages more. After a short stay with these estimable friends, Buncle proceeds on his journey, and, having passed through a country whose wild scenery 'harrowed the soul with horror,' he arrived at a place named Burcott Lodge, where he finds a sort of female republic of one hundred souls, presided over by a young paragon whom he calls Azora. This lady, unlike most of those whom Buncle meets on his travels, was not particularly learned; she understood English only, and had but few books; but he found that she could instruct him in his favourite algebra, while on the fundamental points of religion he admits that he was not only out-talked but out-reasoned. And she gave him other valuable instruction as well; for he declares that, if he had set down all that she told him about salads, cucumbers, early cabbages, strawberries, etc., it would have made an octavo volume. Azora founded her female community (which strikes one as a grotesque