I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. You are—horrible. There was no longer any risk in association with her. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Luckily, Mrs. . “Well, I don’t feel like standing it. "Souls," she answered, drily.
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