that Miss Belmont had recovered from the effects of what might have been a serious accident, which happened to her whilst performing the other evening in "King John," some extra interest was felt in the lady's benefit; and there was a crowded house in consequence, Uphill graciously condescending to take several boxes. The Fitzwaltons were amongst the Uphills, and they had Mr. Noel Stanton with them. The Mitchings were Downhills; but Mrs. Mitching outshone her fashionable rivals of both cliques, and sat like a queen in her customary sea of muslin. The Wiltons were neither Uphills nor Downhills; I had the honour of sitting between Esther and Miss Barbara, whilst Tom Folgate sat near Emmy, and was expected to pay particular attention to Miss Priscilla.

How vividly the little theatre crops up in my memory: a little stuffy place, not half so big as the Olympic. It had been redecorated; you could smell the size and glue and paste of the paper and paint that had been dabbed on the front of the dress-circle. New muslin curtains had been tacked over the two dress-boxes on the stage. The proscenium was adorned with florid studies of tragedy and comedy; and the light of the chandelier glimmered upon a circle of young loves on the ceiling. The gallery was very noisy. It entertained the house for some time with running comments upon the ladies and gentlemen in the boxes; it let its playbills fall over into the gas, and quarrelled about front seats. The pit was redolent of sawdust and orange-peel; and ginger-beer was freely indulged in by the younger portion of the occupants. In the dress-circle everybody was radiant. Many faces shone with a ruddy country polish; many damsels in those days at Lindford preferred this healthy gloss to the powder-toned complexions of very high society. I remember what a show there was of fresh bright girls, and how the bucks of Lindford came out in white waistcoats and snowy shirt-fronts. I thought it was quite a grand and festal scene, and I was happy beyond description.

It was a merry play,-"The Taming of the Shrew," and we all laughed and enjoyed ourselves immensely, except when Miss Belmont, at the close, delivered a farewell address. The whole theatre seemed inclined to urge the young lady to stay on the promise of their attendance every night. But that was in a moment of excitement, and Julia Belmont knew how transient this is when measured at the close of the week by the pecuniary outlay of a country town in theatrical

amusements.

I thought the fair actress's eye wandered to the box in which I sat; and indeed she told me the next day that she had seen me.

I called to say good-bye, and I found her quite moved. She said the reception the night before had much affected her; Lindford has been so kind to her. She had never felt sensations of regret at leaving any place before. Would I write to her, and let her know how I got on in the world? My progress would have a special interest for her. I had been very kind to her, and she never forgot kindness. Her voice trembled slightly when she said this, and there was a little choking feeling in my throat that prevented me from making anything like a lively or cheerful reply. I could not say you over-rate my little acts of courtesy ; I could not say I have felt it an honour that you condescended to accept my little acts of service: I could say nothing. I should like to have taken her into my confidence about the girl in the lama frock; but I could not help feeling that this would prove uninteresting to her. At last she said, "Well, good-bye, Mr. Kenrick," and put out her hand. I shook it warmly, looked into her eyes, and said, "Good-bye, Miss Belmont; I hope we shall see you back in Lindford soon." She looked at me very earnestly, and by some extraordinary influence that seemed to be mutual in its action, our heads were drawn close together, and when I left the house it was with a kiss on my lips, and a mental kind of dizziness that made me feel stupid. It seemed as if I was playing the part of a villain to the actress, and that of a "gay deceiver" to the girl in the lama frock: but we are over-sensitive about a kiss in these young days of love making, and we exaggerate the importance of faltering voices and moist eyes.

CHAPTER XII.

THE SPINSTERS AND THEIR PRETTY SISTER.

BEFORE Miss Julia Belmont has turned her back upon Lindford, I find myself in that restless but determined mood which brings hotheaded youth into the presence of sober expectant parents, soliciting the honour and extreme gratification of being permitted to provide for one of their daughters.

In this state of mind I propose to Tom Folgate that he shall accompany me on a formal visit to Mrs. Wilton.

"What for, Kenny, my boy?" says Tom.

"I am going to ask her to let me and Esther be engaged." "It's a serious business, Kenny," says Tom, thrusting his big hands into his pockets, and looking curiously at me.

I always notice his hair when I am talking to Tom; it sticks up

like a plume over his forehead-a red waving plume. Nature evidently intended Tom for a very handsome nigger, and then changed its mind and made him white. He has thick lips, and his hair is one mass of little curls all climbing up into that tuft on the top. But he is a manly, noble-looking fellow, and I feel as if I could go through the world with him and be his lieutenant.

When he says, "It's a serious business, Kenny," that bushy lock of hair nods warningly, and I watch it with modest respect.

"Can't say. She's a devilish pretty girl, Kenny; so round, and plump, and happy-looking."

"Oh, she is, Tom !" I exclaim.

"And when do you think of being married?"

"I don't know. How much will it cost?"

"A lot, my boy; but it will be cheaper marrying Esther than Emmy."

"Will it ? "

"Emmy's got grander notions. She goes in for doing the swell." "I have always had a sort of fear of Emmy; I stand in awe of her now."

"You can't marry and set up a house under, say, two hundred pounds."

"Indeed! Well, I haven't as many shillings."

"That's awkward," Tom says; and I repeat, "That's awkward." "And how are you going to keep a wife, Kenny?"

"Then I'll get more-two hundred, three, five if necessary." "That's the way to say it, Ken,-spoken like a man! Bravo, Kenny! Come along; let us go and see the old lady."

We go. I pull my hat firmly upon my head and take Tom's arm with a fixed and settled resolution to win a home for Esther Wilton. "Who is that?" I ask, when we are nearly on the threshold of the Wiltons.

"That swell who has just left the house?" "Yes."

“Mr. Howard, a rich young gentleman whom Emmy is anxious They say he's worth five thousand a

that Esther should marry.

year."

I hate the fellow immediately, with a fierce hatred, and begin to

"Of course not," Tom replies; and by this time we are on the doorstep.

Mrs. Wilton is alone, fortunately or unfortunately, I hardly know which.

Tom takes me in, and makes an excuse to leave us alone.

I say boldly what my business is. Mrs. Wilton is not surprised; but she weeps. I suppose it is proper to weep under these circumstances. She says it reminds her of her own youthful days. Her first husband was no older than I am when first she was engaged to him. But we are both too young, she says, and she cites her experience on the question.

I urge that all I wish is that she should sanction my visits and permit us to be engaged, if her daughter is willing. I own that I am not rich; but hint that I have hopes of rising in my profession.

She has no opinion of newspaper people, she says. It was one of those gentleman who once visited the late Mr. Wilton, and drunk himself into the workhouse. Newspaper persons and actors she fears even more than musicians and betting men.

I say there are glorious exceptions, and mention some great names amongst journalists.

She does not doubt that I shall get on, because everybody says so; but there's Mr. Howard, now,-he's rich, and a gentleman.

"Mr. Howard!" I exclaim. "You would not, I suppose, influence your daughter's choice, even if she selected a poor man in preference to a rich one."

"No, Mr. Kenrick; but it's good to have money, it is hard struggling without it."

And then Mrs. Wilton weeps again, and complains that hers is a trying situation.

I say that I will not press her to do anything which her judgment does not approve. Will she give me leave to hope that if I prove myself worthy of Esther, I may have the family's consent to marry her some day.

VOL. II., N. S. 1868.

Yes, she will give me her word to that extent, she says. I kiss her hand, just as Emmy enters.

"Well, Mr. Kenrick, and how are you, sir?" says this dark beauty, looking first at me and then at her mother.

"Very well, indeed, thank you," I say, rising and returning her look with as much defiance as I can muster.

"I hope you have recovered from the excitement of the farewell benefit ?"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Emmy."

"And I suppose Miss Belton has gone for good?"

"I think so."

"You will be very lonely now."

She says this just as my own darling comes in, just as Esther comes smiling up to me, and gives me her hand, with a pleasant "How do you do, Mr. Kenrick?"

"Why do you think I shall be lonely, Miss Emmy?" I ask, blushing slightly, much to my annoyance.

"You will have no one to play duetts with you now," Emmy replies.

"I very rarely played duetts with Miss Belton."

"Oh, I thought you were a constant visitor there," she replies, carelessly; and then she turns round to greet Tom Folgate, who comes in with Priscilla, and we are quite a family party now.

"Will you come and give us a little music, Emmy?" Tom says. He always coaxes her away into the drawing-room if he can. "No thank you, Tom; not now."

"Do," says Tom.

"I would rather not; ask Mr. Kenrick, he is a great performer." "I can hear Kenny perform at home," Tom replies. "Come, Emmy, do."

"Yes, come and play something, Emmy," says Esther, in a soft, low voice.

"No, thank you, I will not," she replies; taking some work from a basket and sitting down to sew.

Tom looks savage, as if he would like to stamp his feet and say, "Hang it, you shall play;" and Emmy glances at him tauntingly, as much as to say, "Be angry, if you like ;" and then the next minute she looks lovingly up at him, and says, "Come here, Tom, I want to talk to you," whereupon he is by her side, subdued and interested.

Priscilla orders Esther to go and fetch that book off the sideboard. She does not ask her to be good enough to go and bring it, she commands her as if she were a menial. I hate Priscilla. She is