stow upon a young female in her situation; for it happened that Mr. Cooke was at this time such as nature had qualified him for being at all times.

When they stopped at the door, Emma, having thoroughly recovered her self-possession, said, "I will not ask you in, sir. I know your engagements. My aunt will add her thanks to mine, for your politeness, at some other time. I hope you will call upon her, she is not now at home. The thanks and blessings of the orphan are with you, sir." Then suddenly bending her head, under the impulse of excited feelings, she pressed her lips upon the hand which had assisted her, he felt a warm tear drop, and she hastily left him.

Cooke, and his two attendants, turned to retrace their way to the theatre, and they had walked in silence for a minute or two, when the hero of the buskin ejaculated the single word, "strange!" He drew out his handkerchief, and, rubbing his eyes, said, "Who is this beautiful creature, Dennis ?"

"Sure and she is beautiful, sir," said Dennis.

"I know that, you blockhead; but who is she?"

"Sure, Mister Cooke, you wouldn't call me a blockhead for not knowing all the beautiful creatures. And, indeed, Mr. Cooke, and I think she is none of the company, or she would not have minded a little affair of that sort-quite so much."

"Get out, you blackguard, do you know what you are say

ing?"

"Mr. Dog-hearty," said Davenport, "means the present company."

"To be sure," said Dennis, "that's what I mean; the company always excepted."

"He don't know what he means," said Cooke.

present

Fai't, and I do, sir, without maining any disrespect to yourself, Mr. Cooke, or any of the other ladies of the stage, past, present, or to come."

"Hold your tongue, sir!"

"And I can do that; and what the more will you know if I do?"

"Have you ever seen her before, Davenport?" inquired the tragedian, turning to his yankee attendant.

I have, be sure, Mr. Cooke," said the valet de sham," and noticed her with considerable admiration. For, to tell the truth, which I always endeavour to do, modesty, in our house, shines like a candle in a dark night, or a good deed in a naughty world,' as the poet says. But I see her in another house-at church; and there she looks like an inhabitant of the upper re

gions: I don't mean the gallery, or the upper tier of boxes. An angel-a descending spirit, come to tell the secrets of the world unknown,' as Norval says."

This rhapsody, given with a nasal tone, and true New England or old English peculiarity of accent and enunciation, tickled the tragedian's fancy, and turned the current of his thoughts. After good naturedly exclaiming, Hush, you barbarous murderer of Dominie Home!" he communed with himself as he returned to the business of the night; occasionally a word escaped him, such as "brute"-"beautiful"-" daughter"—but further communication with Dennis or Davenport, he held none.

CHAPTER III.

A Renunciation.

"Time is the nurse and breeder of all good."

Temperance is a delicate wench."-Shakspeare.

Its incidents are such,

My story is one of ordinary life. mainly, as I have known to occur. If I have introduced an Irishman and a Yankee, it is because my scene is in New-York; and in New-York one cannot turn a corner but an Irishman is at one elbow and a Yankee at the other. It will be seen by the sequel that I mean no disrespect to the natives of the Emerald Isle-I feel none. Take Pat from the influence of bad, or no education; give him a fair chance in the race, he will outstrip the best and the proudest of Europe; and Jonathan is my own countryman, only born further down east," where I have found some of the most enlightened heads, and truest hearts, of all who can boast the name of "Yankee."

We will now take up the thread of our story, and open the conversation which was on the eve of commencement when we dropt the stitch in our knitting-work. We return to the colloquy of Mrs. Epsom, Mrs. Spiffard, (late Mrs. Trowbridge,) and Emma Portland, which has been so long necessarily delayed.

"Emma, dear," said Mrs. Spiffard, as she selected the dress she intended to wear in the evening; "will you help me with these ruffles ?***

"Certainly, cousin ;" and putting aside her needle-work, she crossed the apartment to receive the stage ornaments. "Why, these are old fashioned."

They are for an elderly lady; I am to play an old lady tonight in Cumberland's Wheel of Fortune.' You, who do not read plays, may not know that Penruddock is one of Kemble's, Cooke's, and Cooper's fine parts. As this is the first time of Mr. Cooke's playing the character in America, I am anxious that he may be well supported, as far as my exertions can go towards giving support to his talents."

"I have read the Wheel of Fortune,' said Emma, "and most of Cumberland's plays. My brother"—and a slight cloud passed over her beaming countenance; "my brother did not prohibit dramatic authors, but he selected for me. I once had a strong relish for plays."

"When you were young, I suppose," said Mrs. Epsom, with a sneering snuffle.

"When I was -" Emma was going to say 'happy;' but delicacy, and the consciousness of present good, checked her. "When my-" again she stopped. "What shall I do with this

ruffle, cousin?”

Mrs. Spiffard gave the necessary directions, and described the dress which was intended for the character of Mrs. Woodville, in the above named play, and then continued "I don't think you ever saw me personate an old woman. I am to play a part, perhaps, unsuited to my figure to-night, and I hope you will go and see how I perform, that I may have your opinion

to-morrow."

Emma had anticipated the trial which now approached. Even before the outrage which had been offered by the unknown ruffian, and which we have related, she had felt a growing reluctance to visiting the private part of the theatre. That occur

rence had determined her; and with due consideration she had made up her mind, (after consulting a friend who will be hereafter introduced to the reader,) to avoid, unless some duty required her attendance, (some service not otherwise to be performed for her protectors,) to avoid any communication with the recesses of the theatre. To introduce the subject to her friends, as they were situated, was a difficulty which her delicate mind shrunk from. She had feared to mention the story of the insult that had been offered to her; and feared still more to make known the determination which had been its result; but now she found it necessary to avow her resolution, and assign the cause. Having thus resolved what her conduct must

be hereafter in respect to the theatre, she answered with all the firmness of a philosopher, but with all the gentleness of her sex, and peculiarly sweet character, "No cousin, I hope you will excuse me."

"No! why not?" and both the ladies fixed their eyes in astonishment upon her.

"I hope my aunt, and you, cousin, will permit me to remain at home this evening, and not even ask why?" Again she felt unequal to her task, and wished to avoid explanation.

"You may do as you please, certainly. But why not see the play? The Wheel of Fortune is an unceptionable comedy."

"I have read it, and many by the same author. Mr. Cumberland has been characterized by Goldsmith as the Terence of England, the mender of hearts;' but I do not think his plays unexceptionable. There are many objectionable passages; and in all his works he is an advocate for the absurd and unchristian practice of duelling."

"O my Emma, you are a little prude," said Mrs. Spiffard; and rising, she took a seat nearer Emma, accompanying her words with a playful tap on the cheek.

"I hope not, Cousin," said the blushing girl.

"I can't see what objection you can have to seeing your cousin's scenes," snuffled Mrs. Epsom.

"Will not my dear aunt permit me to remain at home?" "You grow more and more opposed to the theatre, I think," was the reply; "and with your voice and figure, it is exactly the line of life you ought to choose, and I have told you so again and again.”

you

"But you have also told me, dear aunt, that would have me consult my own happiness. My needle, and my habits of industry place me above the dread of want; and I have no ambition to display my voice or figure."

"And then," continued the aunt, "what an advantage to have the instruction of your cousin and myself."

"But Emma,” added Mrs. Spiffard, " would feel herself degraded by treading the stage.' This was said with some asperity-perhaps from consciousness.

"Oh," exclaimed Emma, her beautiful cheeks glowing with additional colour, "Oh, how I have dreaded and wished to avoid this subject! But I find that in this as in every thing else, an honest, plain avowal of the truth, is the best mode of overcoming difficulties."

"I beg your pardon, my dear," said Mrs. Spiffard, earnestly and tenderly. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings, or

reproach you for differing from us in opinion. My education has been very unlike yours;" and she sighed. "But you

had better go with us-perhaps you will be very lonely here. Take your book, as you have before done, and sit in our room, if you will not go in front and see the play."

"Unless for some very particular reason, cousin," said Emma, firmly, "I will never again enter the walls of that theatre." Heyday! what have we now !" exclaimed the aunt.

66

Emma, then, with simplicity, related the insult she had received, and the fright she had experienced. She narrated the occurrence, not as we have described it (we, to whom all things are known,) but as it appeared to her. She apologized for letting so many hours pass without mentioning the circumstance. She expressed her deep feeling of the insult offered to her from some one evidently acquainted with the house, and, as she could not but suppose, feeling at home in it. She expressed strongly her gratitude to her protector, and added, "It is not the fear of personal injury that has made me come to this resolution, but a sense of what is due to you and to myself; to you, my aunt and cousin, as protectors of my orphan state; to myself, as one depending for future prosperity and usefulness on present conduct. I ought, as the subject is now unavoidably brought into discussion, to add that it is not alone the event I have recounted to you that has caused my determination, but the improper words I have, at various times, been obliged to hear in passing and repassing to your apartment in the theatre, and the improper conduct I have been forced to witness. With you-in your company, I am protected from insult, and see, at least, the appearance of decency among the people called supernumeraries, and others, who, when unrestrained by the presence of their superiors or employers, are not governed by laws or feelings which render them proper persons for a young and unprotected female to be placed so near, as to be within hearing of their jests and ribaldry. You cannot be always with me-your duty calls you before the public-and my appearance does not command respect from the ignorant, or shield my conduct from the suspicions or the censures of the libertine. My pleasure is in retirement. The gay frequenters of the boxes-or the glittering decorations of the proscenium of the theatre, give me, of late, no delight; I am isolated among the auditors; and the scenes which appear to please them, too often disgust me. If such is my situation in front of the curtain, behind it I feel that I am exposed to insult except in your immediate presence. The gentlemen and ladies of the theatre are engaged in their