self. Can't you get any one to walk with you? "I am not so fortunate," said Winterbourne," as your companion." Giovanelli, from the first, had treated Winterbourne with distinguished politeness; he listened with a deferential air to his remarks; he laughed, punctiliously, at his pleasantries; he seemed disposed to testify to his belief that Winterbourne was a superior young man. He carried himself in no degree like a jealous wooer; he had obviously a great deal of tact; he had no objection to your expecting a little humility of him. It even seemed to Win terbourne at times that Giovanelli would find a certain mental relief in being able to have a private understanding with him to say to him, as an intelligent man, that, bless you, he knew how extraordinary was this young lady, and didn't flatter himself with delusive or at least too delusive hopes of matrimony and dollars. On this occasion he strolled away from his companion to pluck a sprig of almond blossom, which he carefully arranged in his button-hole. "I know why you say that,” said Daisy, watching Giovanelli. "Because you think I go round too much with him!" And she nodded at her attendant. "Every one thinks so-if you care to know," said Winterbourne. "Of course I care to know!" Daisy exclaimed seriously. "But I don't be lieve it. They are only pretending to be shocked. They don't really care a straw what I do. Besides, I don't go round so much." "Haven't you noticed anything?" Winterbourne asked. "I have noticed you. But I noticed you were as stiff as an umbrella the first time I saw you." "You will find I am not so stiff as several others," said Winterbourne, smiling. "How shall I find it?" "By going to see the others." "What will they do to me?" "They will give you the cold shoulder. Do you know what that means?" Daisy was looking at him intently; she began to color. "Do you mean as Mrs. Walker did the other night?" "Exactly!" said Winterbourne. She looked away at Giovanelli, who was decorating himself with his almond blossom. Then looking back at Winterbourne, "I shouldn't think you would let people be so unkind," she said. "How can I help it?” he asked. "I should think you would say something." "I do say something; " and he paused a moment. "I say that your mother tells me that she believes you are engaged." "Well, she does," said Daisy very simply. Winterbourne began to laugh. "And does Randolph believe it?" he asked. "I guess Randolph doesn't believe anything," said Daisy. Randolph's scepticism excited Winterbourne to further hilarity, and he observed that Giovanelli was coming back to them. Daisy, observing it too, addressed herself again to her countryman. "Since you have mentioned it," she said, "I am engaged." . . . Winterbourne looked at her; he had stopped laughing. " You don't believe it!" she added. He was silent a moment; and then, "Yes, I believe it," he said. "Oh, no, you don't," she answered. "Well, then I am not !" The young girl and her cicerone were on their way to the gate of the enclosure, so that Winterbourne, who had but lately entered, presently took leave of them. A week afterwards he went to dine at a beautiful villa on the Cælian Hill, and, on arriving, dismissed his hired vehicle. The evening was charming, and he promised himself the satisfaction of walking home beneath the Arch of Constantine and past the vaguely-lighted monuments of the Forum. There was a waning moon in the sky, and her radiance was not brilliant, but she was veiled in a thin cloud-curtain which seemed to diffuse and equalize it. When, on his return from the villa (it was eleven o'clock), Winterbourne approached the dusky circle of the Colosseum, it recurred to him, as a lover of the picturesque, that the interior, in the pale moonshine, would be well worth a glance. He turned aside and walked to one of the empty arches, near which, as he observed, an open carriage one of the little Roman street-cabs was stationed. Then he passed in, among the cavernous shadows of the great structure, and emerged upon the clear and silent arena. The place had never seemed to him more impressive. One-half of the gigantic circus was in deep shade; the other was sleeping in the luminous dusk. As he stood there he began to murmur Byron's famous lines, out of "Manfred; " but before he had finished his quotation he remembered that if nocturnal meditations in the Colosseum are asma. recommended by the poets, they are dep- | What if she were a clever little reprobate? recated by the doctors. The historic at- that was no reason for her dying of the mosphere was there, certainly; but the perniciosa. "How long have you been historic atmosphere, scientifically consid- here?" he asked, almost brutally. ered, was no better than a villanous mi- Daisy, lovely in the flattering moonlight, Then All Winterbourne walked to the middle looked at him a moment. of the arena, to take a more general the evening," she answered gently. glance, intending thereafter to make a I never saw anything so pretty.' hasty retreat. The great cross in the cen- "I am afraid," said Winterbourne, "that tre was covered with shadow; it was only you will not think Roman fever very pretas he drew near it that he made it out dis- ty. This is the way people catch it. I tinctly. Then he saw that two persons wonder," he added, turning to Giovanelli, were stationed upon the low steps which" that you, a native Roman, should counformed its base. One of these was a wom- tenance such a terrible indiscretion." an seated; her companion was standing in front of her. "Ah," said the handsome native, "for myself, I am not afraid." Presently the sound of the woman's voice came to him distinctly in the warming for this young lady." night air. "Well, he looks at us as one of the old lions or tigers may have looked at the Christian martyrs!" These were the words he heard, in the familiar accent of Miss Daisy Miller. "Neither am I - for you! I am speak He "Let us hope he is not very hungry," responded the ingenious Giovanelli. will have to take me first; you will serve for dessert!" Giovanelli lifted his well-shaped eyebrows and showed his brilliant teeth. But he took Winterbourne's rebuke with docility. "I told the signorina it was a grave indiscretion; but when was the signorina ever prudent? "I should advise you," said Winterbourne, "to drive home as fast as possible and take one." "I never was sick, and I don't mean to "I don't be," the signorina declared. look like much, but I'm healthy! I was Winterbourne stopped, with a sort of bound to see the Colosseum by moonlight; horror; and, it must be added, with a sort I shouldn't have wanted to go home withof relief. It was as if a sudden illumina-out that; and we have had the most beaution had been flashed upon the ambiguity tiful time, haven't we, Mr. Giovanelli? If of Daisy's behavior and the riddle had be- there has been any danger, Eugenio can come easy to read. She was a young lady give me some pills. He has got some whom a gentleman need no longer be at splendid pills." pains to respect. He stood there looking at her-looking at her companion, and not reflecting that though he saw them vaguely, he himself must have been more brightly visible. He felt angry with himself that he had bothered so much about the right way of regarding Miss Daisy Miller. Then, as he was going to advance again, he checked himself; not from the fear that he was doing her injustice, but from a sense of the danger of appearing unbecomingly exhilarated by this sudden revulsion from cautious criticism. He turned away towards the entrance of the place; but as he did so he heard Daisy speak again. "Why, it was Mr. Winterbourne! He saw me and be cuts me!" "What you say is very wise," Giova"I will go and make sure nelli rejoined. the carriage is at hand." And he went forward rapidly. Daisy followed with Winterbourne. He kept looking at her; she seemed not in the least embarrassed. Winterbourne said nothing; Daisy chattered about the beauty of the place. "Well, I have seen the Colosseum by moonlight!" she ex"That's one good thing." Then, claimed. noticing Winterbourne's silence, she asked him why he didn't speak. He made no answer; he only began to laugh. They passed under one of the dark archways; Giovanelli was in front with the carriage. Here Daisy stopped a moment, looking at the young American. "Did you believe I was engaged the other day?" she asked. "It doesn't matter what I believed the What a clever little reprobate she was, and how smartly she played at injured innocence! But he wouldn't cut her. Winterbourne came forward again, and went towards the great cross. Daisy had got up; Giovanelli lifted his hat. Winterbourne had now begun to think simply of the craziness, from a sanitary point of Well, what do you believe now?" view, of a delicate young girl lounging "I believe that it makes very little difaway the evening in this nest of malaria.ference whether you are engaged or not!" other day," said Winterbourne, still laughing. 66 66 Daisy took her seat in the carriage and the fortunate Italian placed himself beside her. "Don't forget Eugenio's pills!" said Winterbourne, as he lifted his hat. He felt the young girl's pretty eyes fixed | was not, after all, such a monstrous goose. upon him through the thick gloom of the "Daisy spoke of you the other day," she archway; she was apparently going to an- said to him. "Half the time she doesn't swer. But Giovanelli hurried her forward. know what she's saying, but that time I Quick, quick," he said; "if we get in by think she did. She gave me a message; midnight we are quite safe." she told me to tell you. She told me to tell you that she never was engaged to that handsome Italian. I am sure I am very glad; Mr. Giovanelli hasn't been near us since she was taken ill. I thought he was so much of a gentleman; but I don't call that very polite! A lady told me that he was afraid I was angry with him for taking Daisy round at night. Well, so I am ; but I suppose he knows I'm a lady. I would scorn to scold him. Any way, she says she's not engaged. I don't know why she wanted you to know; but she said to me three times, Mind you tell Mr. Winterbourne.' And then she told me to ask if you remembered the time you went to that castle, in Switzerland. But I said I wouldn't give any such messages as that. Only, if she is not engaged, I'm sure I'm "I don't care," said Daisy, in a little strange tone, "whether I have Roman fever or not!" Upon this the cab-driver cracked his whip, and they rolled away over the desultory patches of the antique pavement. But, as Winterbourne had said, it mattered very little. A week after this the poor girl died; it had been a terrible case of the fever. Daisy's grave was in the little Protestant cemetery, in an angle of the wall of imperial Rome, beneath the cypresses and the thick spring flowers. Winterbourne - - to do him justice, as it were mentioned to no one that he had encountered Miss Miller, at midnight, in the Colosseum with a gentleman; but nevertheless, a couple of days later, the fact of her having been there under these circumstances was known to every member of the little American circle, and commented accordingly. Winterbourne re-glad to know it." flected that they had of course known it at the hotel, and that, after Daisy's return, there had been an exchange of remarks between the porter and the cab-driver. But the young man was conscious at the same moment that it had ceased to be a matter of serious regret to him that the little American flirt should be "talked about" by low-minded menials. These people, a day or two later, had serious information to give: the little American flirt was alarmingly ill. Winterbourne, when the rumor came to him, immediately went to the hotel for more news. He found that two or three charitable friends had preceded him, and that they were being entertained in Mrs. Miller's salon by Randolph. In "It's going round at night," said Randolph-that's what made her sick. She's always going round at night. I shouldn't think she'd want to it's so plaguey dark. You can't see anything here at night, except when there's a moon. America there's always a moon!" Mrs. Miller was invisible; she was now, at least, giving her daughter the advantage of her society. It was evident that Daisy was dangerously ill. Winterbourne went often to ask for news of her, and once he saw Mrs. Miller, who, though deeply alarmed, was- - rather to his surprise perfectly composed, and, as it appeared, a most efficient and judicious nurse. She talked a good deal about Dr. Davis, but Winterbourne paid her the compliment of saying to himself that she Winterbourne stood there beside it, with a number of other mourners; a number larger than the scandal excited by the young lady's career would have led you to expect. Near him stood Giovanelli, who came nearer still before Winterbourne turned away. Giovanelli was very pale; on this occasion he had no flower in his button-hole; he seemed to wish to say some. thing. At last he said, "She was the most beautiful young lady I ever saw, and the most amiable." And then he added in a moment, " And she was the most innocent." Winterbourne looked at him, and presently repeated his words, "And the most innocent?" "The most innocent!" Winterbourne felt sore and angry. "Why the devil," he asked, "did you take her to that fatal place ?" Mr. Giovanelli's urbanity was apparently imperturbable. He looked on the ground a moment, and then he said, "For myself, I had no fear; and she wanted to go." "That was no reason," Winterbourne declared. The subtle Roman again dropped his eyes. "If she had lived, I should have got nothing. She would never have married me, I am sure." "She would never have married you?" "For a moment I hoped so. But no. I am sure." Winterbourne listened to him; he stood staring at the raw protuberance among the April daisies. When he turned away again Mr. Giovanelli, with his light slow step, had retired. Winterbourne almost immediately left Rome; but the following summer he again met his aunt, Mrs. Costello, at Vevey. Mrs. Costello was fond of Vevey. In the interval Winterbourne had often thought of Daisy Miller and her mystifying manners. One day he spoke of her to his aunt - said it was on his conscience that he had done her injustice. "I am sure I don't know," said Mrs. Costello. "How did your injustice affect her?" "She sent me a message before her death which I didn't understand at the time. But I have understood it since. She would have appreciated one's esteem." "Is that a modest way," asked Mrs. Costello, "of saying that she would have reciprocated one's affection? Winterbourne offered no answer to this question; but he presently said, "You were right in that remark that you made last summer. I was booked to make a mistake. I have lived too long in foreign parts." Nevertheless, he went back to live at Geneva, whence there continue to come the most contradictory accounts of his motives of sojourn: a report that he is "studying" hard- an intimation that he is much interested in a very clever foreign lady. HENRY JAMES, JUN. From The Cornhill Magazine. THE ENGLISH ADMIRALS. "Whether it be wise in men to do such actions or no, I am sure it is so in States to honor them." - Sir William Temple. THERE is one story of the wars of Rome which I have always very much en vied for England. Germanicus was going down at the head of the legions into a dangerous river on the opposite bank the woods were full of Germans when there flew out seven great eagles which seemed to marshal the Romans on their way; they did not pause or waver, but disappeared 1160 into the forest where the enemy lay concealed. "Forward!" cried Germanicus, with a fine rhetorical inspiration. "Forward! and follow the Roman birds." It would be a very heavy spirit that did not give a leap at such a signal, and a very timorous one that continued to have any doubt of success. To appropriate the eagles as fellow-countrymen was to make imaginary allies of the forces of nature; the Roman empire and its military fortunes, and along with these the prospects of those individual Roman legionaries now fording a river in Germany, looked altogether greater and more hopeful. It is a kind of illusion easy to produce. A particular shape of cloud, the appearance of a particular star, the holiday of some particular saint, anything in short to remind the combatants of patriotic legends or old successes, may be enough to change the issue of a pitched battle; for it gives to the one party a feeling that right and the larger interests are with them. If an Englishman wishes to have such a feeling, it must be about the sea. The lion is nothing to us; he has not been taken to the hearts of the people, and naturalized as an English emblem. We know right well that a lion would fall foul of us as grimly as he would of a Frenchman or a Moldavian Jew, and we do not carry him before us in the smoke of battle. But the sea is our approach and bulwark; it has been the scene of our greatest triumphs and dangers, and we are accustomed in lyrical strains to claim it as our own. The prostrating experiences of foreigners between Calais and Dover have always an agreeable side to English prepossessions. A man from Bedfordshire, who doesn't know one end of the ship from the other until she begins to move, swaggers among such persons with a sense of hereditary nautical experience. To suppose yourself endowed with natural parts for the sea because you are the countryman of Blake and mighty Nelson, is perhaps just as unwarrantable as to imagine Scotch extraction a sufficient guarantee that you will look well in a kilt. But the feeling is there, and seated beyond the reach of argument. We should consider ourselves unworthy of our descent if we did not share the arrogance of our progenitors, and please ourselves with the pretension that the sea is English. Even where it is looked upon by the guns and battlements of another nation we regard it as a kind of English cemetery, where the bones of our seafaring fathers take their rest until the last trumpet; for I suppose no other nation has lost as many ships, or sent as many brave fellows to the bottom. they had the readiest ear for a bold, honorable sentiment, of any class of men the world ever produced. There is nowhere such a background for heroism as the noble, terrifying, and Most men of high destinies have highpicturesque conditions of some of our sea sounding names. Pym and Habakkuk fights. Hawke's battle in the tempest, may do pretty well, but they must not and Aboukir at the moment when the think to cope with the Cromwells and French admiral blew up, reach the limit Isaiahs. And you could not find a better of what is imposing to the imagination. case in point than that of the English And our naval annals owe some of their admirals. Drake and Rooke and Hawke interest to the fantastic and beautiful are picked names for men of execution. appearance of old war-ships and the ro- Frobisher, Rodney, Boscawen, Foulmance that invests the sea and everything Weather Jack Byron, are all good to catch sea-going in the eyes of English lads on a the eye in a page of naval history. Cloudes half-holiday at the coast. Nay, and what ley Shovel is a mouthful of quaint and we know of the misery between decks en- sounding syllables. Benbow has a bullhances the bravery of what was done by dog quality that suits the man's character, giving it something for contrast. We like and it takes us back to those English to know that these bold and honest fel-archers who were his true comrades for lows contrived to live, and to keep bold plainness, tenacity, and pluck. Raleigh and honest, among absurd and vile sur- is spirited and martial, and signifies an roundings. No reader can forget the act of bold conduct in the field. It is description of the "Thunder" in "Rod- impossible to judge of Blake or Nelson, erick Random: " the disorderly tyranny; no names current among men being worthe cruelty and dirt of officers and men; thy of such heroes. But still it is odd deck after deck, each with some new ob- enough, and very appropriate in this conject of offence; the hospital, where the nection, that the latter was greatly taken hammocks were huddled together with but with his Sicilian title. "The signification, fourteen inches' space for each; the cock- perhaps, pleased him," says Southey; pit, far under water, where, "in an in- "Duke of Thunder was what in Dahomey tolerable stench," the spectacled steward would have been called a strong name: it kept the accounts of the different messes; was to a sailor's taste, and certainly to no and the canvas enclosure, six feet square, man could it be more applicable." Admiin which Morgan made flip and saimagun- ral in itself is one of the most satisfactory di, smoked his pipe, sang his Welsh songs, of distinctions, it has a noble sound and a and swore his queer Welsh imprecations. very proud history; and Columbus thought There are portions of this business on so highly of it, that he enjoined his heirs board the "Thunder" over which the to sign themselves by that title as long as reader passes lightly and hurriedly, like a the house should last. traveller in a malarious country. It is easy enough to understand the opinion of Dr. Johnson: "Why, sir," he said, "no man will be a sailor who has contrivance enough to get himself into a jail." You would fancy any one's spirit would die out under such an accumulation of darkness, noisomeness, and injustice, above all when he had not come there of his own free will, but under the cutlasses and bludgeons of the press-gang. But perhaps a watch on deck in the sharp sea air put a man on his mettle again; a battle must have been a capital relief; and prize-money, bloodily earned and grossly squandered, opened the doors of the prison for a twinkling. Somehow or other, at least, this worst of possible lives, could not overlie the spirit and gaiety of our sailors; they did their duty as though they had some interest in the fortunes of that country which so cruelly oppressed them, they served their guns merrily when it came to fighting, and But it is the spirit of the men, and not their names, that I wish to speak about in this paper. That spirit is truly English; they, and not Tennyson's cotton-spinners or Mr. D'Arcy Thompson's abstract bagman, are the true and typical Englishmen. There may be more head of bagmen in the country, but human beings are reckoned by number only in political constitutions. And the admirals are typical in the full force of the word. They are splendid examples of virtue, indeed, but of a virtue in which most Englishmen can claim a moderate share; and what we admire in their lives is a sort of apotheosis of ourselves. Almost everybody in our land, except humanitarians and a few persons whose youth have been depressed by exceptionally æsthetic surroundings, can understand and sympathize with an admiral or a prize-fighter. I do not wish to bracket Benbow and Tom Cribb; but, depend upon it, they are practically brack |