She and I - Volume 1

by John Conroy Hutcheson________________________________________________________________The setting is a dull suburb in London, just after the middle of thenineteenth century. The hero spots a very pretty young lady in church, and falls in love with her. The first problem is to get anintroduction. He manages this, but the girl's mother, with an eye tothe long-term, knows that our hero is not well-off, while others, who wecan see are not the sort of person the girl would like to marry, are. Various parties and expeditions involving the church's congregation takeplace, and eventually the wooing of the young lady appears successful. 

The book is altogether in a different style to Hutcheson's later works, which are mostly nautical. Possibly a period of twenty years separatesthis book from the later ones. Certainly this book has about it, attimes, a feeling of the experimental, particularly in the use of certainwords, which one feels Hutcheson may have thought up, and which have not"caught on. " Another symptom is the use of unusual hyphenated words, and an over-use of common ones. There are also several quotations frompoetry, which one does not mind while they are in English, or perhapsFrench, but which get a bit tedious when they are in other languages. Iparticularly dislike this habit when one of these foreign poems is usedat the start of the chapter. Couldn't a good translation have done justas well?________________________________________________________________SHE AND I - VOLUME ONE

BY JOHN CONROY HUTCHESON

CHAPTER ONE. 

AT FIRST SIGHT. 

 "I muse, as in a trance, when e'er The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on me. I would I were So tranced, so wrapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore!"

I saw her first in church. 

Do you happen to know a quaint, dreamy old region in the west of London, which bricks and mortar have not, as yet, overtaken, nor newfangledvillas vulgarised?

A region of innumerable market gardens that are principally laid out inlong, narrow beds, lost into nothingness as they dwindle down in the dimvista of perspective, and which are planted with curly endive, piquante-looking lettuces, and early cabbages; squat rows of gooseberry bushesand currant trees, with a rose set here and there in between; and sweet-smelling, besides, of hidden violets and honeysuckles, and the pink andwhite hawthorn of the hedges in May:--

A region of country lanes, ever winding and seemingly never ending, leading down to and past and from the whilom silent, whilom bustlingriver, that never heeds their tortuous intricacies, but hurries by onits way through the busy city towards the sea below; lanes wherein areto be occasionally met with curious old stone houses, of almosthistorical antecedents and dreamy as the region in which they lie, scattered about in the queerest situations without plan or precedent, onwhich the casual pedestrian comes when he least expects:--

Do you know this quaint old region, this fleeting oasis in the Sahara ofthe building-mad suburban metropolis? I do, well; its market gardens, its circumambient lanes, its old, antiquarian stone houses, and all!

Many a time have I wandered through them; many a time watched the heavywaggons as they went creaking on their way to town and the greatemporium at Covent Garden, groaning beneath the wealth and weight of thevegetable produce they carried, and laden so high with cunningly-arranged nests of baskets on baskets, that one believed each moment thatthey would topple over, and held the breath for fear of hastening theirfall; many a time sought to trace each curving lane to its probablegoal, or tried to hunt out the hidden histories which lay concealedwithin the crumbling walls of the old dwellings on which I might happento light in my walks. 

But my favourite ramble, eclipsing all others now in pleasantrecollections of by-gone days, was through the Prebend's Walk, borderedwith its noble grove of stately lime trees and oaks and elms on eitherhand; and passing by open fields, that are, in spring, rich with yellowbuttercups and star-spangled daisies, and, in summer, ripe with thearomatic odours of new-mown hay. 

The Prebend's Walk, beyond where the lime-grove ends, whence theprebend's residence can be faintly distinguished through the clusteringmasses of tree-foliage, merges into the open, commanding the river infront; but it is still marked out by a stray elm or horse-chestnut, placed at scanty intervals, to keep up the idea of the ancient avenuebeyond. 

Here, turning to the right and crossing a piece of unkempt land, halfcopse, half meadow, the scene again changed. 

You came to a stile. That surmounted and left behind, a narrow by-pathled you through its twisting turns until you reached a tiny, rusticstone bridge--such a tiny, little bridge! This was over the sluice andaqueduct from the adjacent river, which supplied the fosse that in oldentimes surrounded the prebend's residence, when there were such things assieges and besiegements in this fair land of ours. 

The prebend's residence was then a castle, protected, probably, bybattlements and mantlets and turreted walls, and with its keep and itsdrawbridge, its postern and its fosse--simple works of defence that werearmed for retaliation, with catapult and mangonel, the canon raye of theperiod, besides arquebuse and other hand weapons wielded, no doubt, bymighty men at arms, mail-clad and helmeted, who knew how to give andtake with the best of them; now, it was but a peaceful priest'sdwelling, inhabited by as true a clergyman and gentleman as ever lived, although it was still a fine old house. 

As for the fosse, it sank long ages ago to the level and capacity of acommon ditch, and was almost hidden from view by the overhanging boughsand branches of the park trees on the opposite side, and the half-decayed trunks of former monarchs of the forest that filled its bed--aditch covered with a superstratum of slimy, green water, lank weeds, andrank vegetation; and wherein, at flood time, urchin anglers could fishfor eels and sticklebats, and, at ebb, the village ducks disportthemselves and mudlarks play. 

Along this fosse, the path continued. Further on, it widened into abroader way, which led you direct to the churchyard of Saint Canon's. So studded is it with weatherworn tombstones, inclining at all angleslike so many miniature leaning towers of Pisa, ivy-wreathed obelisks andquaintly-fashioned, railed-in monuments, that you can scarcely make outthe lower buttresses of the ancient church that stands up from amongsttheir midst. 

With its whitish-grey walls, time-stained and rain-eaten, its severe-looking, square Norman tower, and its generally-formal style ofarchitecture, that edifice does not present a very imposing appearancefrom without; but, within, the case is different. 

Lofty, pointed, stained-glass windows light it. The chancel bears thestamp of the Restoration. Oaken beams; carved galleries, curiouslycontrived to fit into every available space; high, upright box pews--ofthe sort instituted, in the reign of Anne, by the renowned BishopBurnett to restrain the roving eyes of the congregation and makegallants better attend to their devotions; all these, in addition to thememorial slabs and tablets, and weeping angels over cinereal urns, tendto give the church that air of ugliness and comfort which the modernchurchman detests. 

Dear old church!

I love its old walls, its old chancel, its old pews, its form ofworship, and all; for it was there that I first saw her, --my own, mydarling!

O, Min, Min! can I ever forget that time?

Can I!

One Sunday--it is not so long ago that my hair is grey, nor so recentlyas to prevent my having a story to tell--I was in Saint Canon's church, sitting in one of its old, square box pews, where one was, as it were, shut up in a small, private house, away from all connection with theouter world; for you could not see anything when the door was closed, with the exception of the roof overhead, and, mayhap, the walls around. I was listening to the varied fugue introitus that the organist wasplaying from the gallery beyond the pulpit, --playing with the full windpower of the venerable reed instrument he skilfully manipulated, havingall the stops out, --diapasons, trumpet, vox humana, and the rest. Themusic was from Handel, a composer of whom the maestro was especiallyfond; so fond, indeed, that any of the congregation who might have thelike musical proclivities need seldom fear disappointment. They couldreckon upon hearing the Hallelujah Chorus at least once a fortnight, andthe lesser morceaux of _Israel in Egypt_ at intervals in between. 

Presently, just before the vicar and curate made their customaryprocessional entry, ere the service began, two ladies were ushered intothe large pew which I occupied alone in solitary state. There was roomenough, in all conscience. It could have accommodated a round dozen, and that without any squeezing. 

Both the ladies were dressed in half-mourning, which attracted myattention and made me observe them more closely than I might otherwisehave done. My mind was soon engaged wondering, as one is apt to do--when in church, more particularly--who and what they were. One, I saw, was middle-aged: the other had not, probably, as yet reached hereighteenth year; and what a charming face she had, --what an expression!

I could not take my eyes off her. 

How shall I describe her? I had ample opportunity of taking a study, asshe faced me on the opposite side of the pew, seated beside the otherand elder lady, who, I could see at a glance, was her mother, from thestriking likeness between them--although, there was a wonderfuldifference the while. 

Have you never observed the slight, yet unmistakable traits of familyresemblance, and the various points in which they are displayed? Theymay sometimes be only traceable in a single feature, a smile, a look, orin some peculiar mannerism of speech, or action, or even thought; butthere they are; and, however indistinct they may be, however faint oncasual inspection, a practised eye can seldom fail to perceive them anddistinguish the relationship betwixt father and son, or mother anddaughter:--the kinship of brothers and sisters is not so evident tostrangers. In the present case no one could doubt: the younger ladymust certainly be the daughter of the other. 

But, what was she like, you ask?

Well, she was not beautiful. She was not even what empty-headed people, unaware of the real signification of the term, call "pretty. " She wasinteresting--will that word suit?

No. The description would not give you the least idea of what her facereally was like--much less of her expression, in which consisted itsgreat charm. 

Shall I endeavour to picture her to you as I saw her for that first timein church, before Love's busy fingers had woven a halo of romance aroundher, only allowing me to behold her through a sort of fairy glamour; andmaking me forget everything concerning her, save that she was "Min, " andthat I loved her, and that she was the darling of my heart?

I will. 

Her figure seemed to me then a trifle below the middle height, but sowell-proportioned that one could not easily tell, unless standing besideher, whether she was actually short or tall. Her features were Grecianin outline, as regarded the upper portion of her face, and irregularbelow; with such a delightful little dimple in her curving chin, andfull, pouting lips. Her eyes, calm, steady, quiet, loving, grey eyes, --eyes symbolical of faith and constancy, and unswerving fidelity ofpurpose: eyes that looked like tranquil depths through which you couldsee the soul-light reflected from below; and which only wanted thestirring power of some great motive or passion to illumine them with amyriad irradiating gems. 

But, --pshaw! How can I describe her? It is sacrilege thus to weigh andconsider the points and merits of one we love. Besides, even the mostperfect and faultlessly-beautiful face in the world would be unable tostand the test of minute examination in detail. As Thomson sings, toput his poetry into prose, how can you "from the diamond single out eachray, when all, though trembling with ten thousand hues, effuse onedazzling undivided light?"

It is impossible. No words of mine could put before you what her facereally was like, as it appeared to me then and afterwards when I hadlearnt to watch and decipher every versatile look and expression itwore. Sometimes, when in repose, it reminded me of one of Raphael'sangels. At other times, when moved by mirth and with arch glancesdancing in the deep, grey eyes, --and they could make merry when theywilled, --it was a witching, teasing, provoking little face. Or, again, if changed by grief, --under which aspect, thank God! I seldom saw it, --a noble, resolute face, bearing that indescribable look of calm, set, high resolve, which the face of the heart-broken daughter of Lear, orthe deep-suffering mother of the Gracchi might have borne. You may say, perhaps, that this is rhapsody; but what is love without rhapsody?--what, a love story?

I determined at first, before I had studied it more attentively, thather face lacked expression; but I made a grievous error. I quicklyaltered my opinion on seeing it in profile and upturned; for I markedthe embodiment of devotion it betrayed during the service, when hervoice was raised in the praise of her Maker. She looked now exactlylike the picture of Saint Cecilia; and her appearance recalled to mymind what one of the American essayists, I forget who it is, observesquaintly somewhere, that it is no wonder that Catholics pay their vowsto the queen of heaven, for "the unpoetical side of Protestantism is, that it has no woman to be worshipped. "

Of course I had fallen in love with her, --love at first sight; and, although you may not credit the assertion, allow me to put you rightupon the point and inform you that such a thing is not only possible, but much more probable, and of more frequent occurrence than a good manypeople imagine or believe. Love is sometimes the growth of degrees: itmay also bound into existence in a moment; for there is a certainsympathetic attraction between some persons, as there is between othersan antipathetical, repulsive force. Understand, passion is not herealluded to. That is, of the senses. What I mean is, the essence orspirit of love, as pure as that which may subsist amongst the angelsabove. 

I felt such love growing within me, as I looked at her, with herdowncast eyes bent over her Bible, or as she sat, with head upraised andattentive ear, drinking in the words of spiritual wisdom addressed us byour good old pastor, of which at the time _I_ took but little heed. Shedid not seem at all conscious that she was being observed; although shedoubtless knew that I was looking at her, in that instinctive way commonto her sex, in which they manage to take cognisance of everything goingon around them, without so much as raising an eyelid. Indeed, she toldme afterwards that she had been well aware of my watch, and added thatshe thought me "very rude, too;" but, just now, she took no notice of mylooks and longings, as far as I could see. 

It was not until the close of the service, and when she and her motherwere leaving the pew, that I obtained a glance, a look, which dwelt inmy memory for days and days. She had brought with her into church atiny spray of mignonette, and this she left behind her on the seat closeto where she had been sitting. I perceived it, and taking it up, madeas if to restore it to its lawful owner. 

A half smile faintly played across her slightly parted lips, as shelooked at me for an instant, an amused sparkle in her clear, grey eyes, and then turned away with a polite inclination and shake of her littlehead, in refusal of the mignonette, which I have kept ever since. Butthat smile!

Her whole face lit up, gaining just the colour and expression which itappeared to lack. My fate was sealed; and, as the organ pealed forththe grand prayer from _Mose in Egitto_ for the exodus of thecongregation, and I slowly paced down the aisle after my enchantress, mysoul expanded into a very heaven of adoration and love!

CHAPTER TWO. 

EXPECTATION. 

 "With what a leaden and retarding weight, Does expectation load the wing of time!"

When, after a few minutes, I got outside the church, she haddisappeared, although I had endeavoured to follow as close as I could onher footsteps, without, of course, appearing to be intrusively watchingher. 

I had managed too cleverly. She was gone. I had been so long, to mygreat vexation, painfully pacing after the slowly-moving, out-shufflingmass of ex-worshippers--dexterously essaying the while to avoid treadingon the trailing trains of the ladies, or incurring the anathemas, "notloud, but deep, " of gouty old gentlemen with tender feet, which they_would_ put in one's way--that, on my succeeding at length in arrivingat the outer porch, and being enabled to don my hat once more, there wasnot a single trace of either her mother or herself to be seen anywherein sight. 

Here was a disappointment! While getting-out, I had made up my mind totrack them home, and find out where they lived; and now, they might bebeyond my ken for ever. 

I had noted them both so keenly, as to their appearance and the mannerin which each was dressed, for, in spite of mother and daughter beingalike "in mourning, " there were still distinctive features in theirtoilets, that I could not have failed to distinguish them from the restof the congregation. 

But now, my plans were entirely overthrown. What should I do in theemergency? Stop, there was Horner; I would ask him if he had seen them. There, dressed a merveille and with his inseparable eye-glass stuckaskew in the corner of his left eye, he stood listlessly criticising thepeople as they came forth from prayer, in his usual impertinently-inoffensive way. He was just as likely as not to have seen them, andcould naturally give me the information I sought about the direction inwhich they had gone. 

"Jack Horner, " as he was familiarly styled by those having the honour ofhis acquaintance, was a clerk in Downing Street languishing on ahundred-and-fifty pounds per annum, which paltry income he received froman ungrateful country in consideration of his valuable services onbehalf of the state. How he contrived merely to dress himself andfollow the ever-changing fashions on that sum, paid quarterly though itwas, appeared a puzzle to many; but he did, and well, too. It wascurrently believed, besides, by his congeners, that he never got intodebt, happy fellow that he was! notwithstanding that, in addition to hishopes of promotion at "the office, " he had considerable "expectations"from a bachelor uncle, reported to be enormously wealthy and with nonear kindred to leave his money to save our friend Horner, whocultivated him accordingly. 

No, Horner never got into debt. He was said to be in the habit ofpromptly discharging all his tailor's claims punctually every year, asthe gay and festive season of Christmas--and bills!--came round. 

Truth to say, however, there need not have been any great astonishmentconcerning Horner in this respect. The surprise would have been that hehad _not_ discharged his just obligations to his tailor and others; forhis habits were regular, and he was guiltless of the faintest soupcon ofextravagance. He never played billiards, did not smoke, did not careabout "little dinners" at Richmond or elsewhere, never betted, neverwent to the Derby, seldom, if ever, patronised the theatre, unlessadmitted through the medium of orders; consequently, he had noexpenditure, with the exception of that required for his toilet, as heeschewed all those many and various ways mentioned for running throughmoney, which more excitable but less conscientious mortals than himselffind thrown in their way. 

His neatly-clad form and constant eye-glass were in great request at alltea-parties and carpet dances that took place in the social circle towhich he belonged; but, beyond such slight beguilements of "life's dullweary round, " his existence was uneventful. His character altogethermight be said to have been a negative one, as the only speciality forwhich he was particularly distinguished was for the variety ofintonation and meaning which he could give to his two favouriteexclamations, "Yaas, " and "Bai-ey Je-ove!"--thus economising hisconversational powers to a considerable extent, which was a greatadvantage for him--and others, too, as he might, you know, have hadlittle more to say. 

Horner's principal amusement when at home on a Sunday, was to go tochurch; that is, if he had not to go to town, which was sometimes thecase even on the great day of rest, through his diplomatic skill beingrequired in Downing Street. This was what he said, pleading his havingto adjust some nice and knotty point of difference between the valiantKing of Congo and the neighbouring and pugnacious Ja Ja, or else toremonstrate, in firm and equable language, as Officialdom knows so wellhow to do, against the repeated unjustifiable homicides of the despot ofDahomey, in sacrifice to his gods, beneath the sheltering shade of thetum-tum tree. 

Well, what of that--you may pertinently remark--a most praiseworthyproceeding, surely, on his part to go to church whenever he possiblycould? Granted; but then, Horner was prone to indulge in anotherpractice which might not be held quite so praiseworthy in some people'sview. 

Quite contrary to his abnormal mode of progression, he would hasten outof the sacred edifice immediately after the doxology; and, plantinghimself easily and gracefully in a studied attitude some short distancefrom the doors, would from that commanding position proceed to stare atand minutely observe the congregation, collectively and severally, asthey came tripping forth from the porch after him. This was, really, very indefensible; and yet, I do not think that Horner meant to commitany deliberate wrong in so doing. 

Be the motive what it may, such was his general habit. 

He would always courteously acknowledge the passing salutations of men-folk with an almost imperceptible nod, so as not to disarrange thecareful adjustment of his eye-glass, or disturb the poise of his beaver:to ladies, on the contrary, he was all "effusion, " as the French say, dashing off his hat as if he metaphorically flung it at their feet for agage d'amour, not of battle--just like an Ethiopian minstrel strikingthe gay tambourine on his knee in a sudden flight of enthusiasm. All inall, Horner was essentially a ladies' man, his points lying in that way;and, although what is popularly known as "harmless, " he was not by anymeans a bad sort of fellow on the whole, when judged by the moreexacting masculine standard, being very good-natured and obliging, likemost of us, when you did not put him out of his way or expect too muchfrom him. 

To me at this crisis of my fate, he appeared for the nonce an angel inhuman form. He would be just the person who could tell me in whatdirection my unknown enchantress went. I would ask him. 

Fiat. 

"Hullo, Horner!" I said, tapping him at once on the shoulder, andarresting him from the abstracted contemplation of two stylish girls inpink, who were just turning the corner of the churchyard out of sight. 

"Yaas, 'do?" he replied, moving his head round slowly, as if it workedon a pivot which, wanted greasing, so as to confront me. He was as mildand imperturbable as usual. An earthquake, I believe, would not havequickened his movements. 

"How d'ye do?" responded I to his mono-syllabical greeting. "I say, oldfellow, " I continued, "did you chance to see which way two ladies wentwho came out a minute or so before myself? One was middle-aged, orthereabouts; the other young; both were dressed in half-mourning. Theylooked strangers to the parish, I think: you must have seen them, I'msure, eh?"

"Bai-ey Je-ove! Two middle-aged ladies; one dwessed in hawf-mawning?--"

"Nonsense, Horner!" said I, interrupting him; "what a mess you aremaking of it! I said _one_ lady was middle-aged; and _both_ dressed inhalf-mourning. "

"Weally, now? No, Lorton, 'pon honah; didn't see 'em, I asshaw you. Was it Baby Blake and her moth-ah, now, ah?" and he smiled complacently, as if he had given me a fund of information. 

"Baby Blake!" I ejaculated in disgust--"why, Horner, you're quiteabsurd. Do you take me for a fool? I think I ought to know Baby Blakeas well as yourself by this time, my Solon!"

"Yaas; but, my deah fellah, I don't know who you know, you know. Bai-eyJe-ove! there's _Lizzie_ Dangler. Who's that man she's got in tow, ah?"

"Hang Lizzie Dangler!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "Can't you answer aquestion for once in your life--did you see them, or not?"

"Weally, Lorton, " said he, in quite an imploring way, "you needn't getangwy with a fellah, because he can't tell you what you want to know, you know! It's weally too hot for that sawt of thing. I didn't seethem, I tell you. I can't say mo-ah than that, can I? You mustn'texpect a fellah to see evwybody. Why, it's seem-plee impawsible!"

His languid drawl exasperated me. 

"Oh, bother!" I muttered, sotto voce, but loud enough for him to hear;and turned away from him angrily, leaving him still standing in his petattitude, taking mental stock of all the fast-looking fair ones whomight come under his notice. "Oh, bother?" I am not prepared to assertpositively that I did not use a much stronger expletive. He _ought_ tohave seen them! What the deuce was the use of his sticking star-gazingthere, unless to observe people, I should like to know?

Just fancy, too, his comparing my last madonna, the image and eidolon ofwhose witching face filled my heart, to that odious little flirt, BabyBlake, a young damsel that hawked her tender affections about at thebeck and call of every male biped who might for the moment be enthralledby her charms! It was like his cool impudence. And then, again, hisasking me his stupid, inane questions, as if I cared what man, and howmany. Lizzie Dangler or any other girl might have "in tow, " as hecalled it. Idiot! I declare to you I positively hated Horner at thatmoment, inoffensive and harmless as he was. 

I left the precincts of the church; and, walking along the path by thefosse, directed my steps towards the Prebend's Walk, hoping to lightupon the object of my quest. 

The air was filled with the fragrance of wild flowers and the smell ofthe new-mown hay from the adjacent meadows. One heard the buzzing soundof busy insect life around, and the love-calls of song-birds from thehedge-rows; while the grateful shade of the lime-grove seemed to inviterepose and suggest peaceful meditation: but I heeded none of thesethings. I felt, like the singer of "The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doon, "out of harmony with nature and all its surroundings. My thoughts werejostling one another in a wild dance through my breast. Where on earthcould they have disappeared so very suddenly! It was quiteinexplicable. I must find them. Himmel! I must see _her_ again. Ifelt in a perfect state of frenzy. So excited was I, that, although itwas a broiling hot day in July, I walked along as if I were walking fora wager. I do not think, by the way, that a very learned anddistinguished philosopher was so very much out in his reckoning afterall, when he laid down the general dogma, that all men are more or lessmad. I know, at all events, that I felt mad enough at this moment, as Iwas careering along the Prebend's Walk. I was almost nerved up todesperation. 

I was an only child; and my parents being both elderly people, rarelymixing in society, I could not make use of home influence, as I mighthave done if I had had any kind sister to assist me in the way that kindsisters sometimes can assist their brothers when they fall victims tothe tender passion. Whom should I ask to help me in my strait? I couldnot go round everywhere, asking everybody after two ladies dressed inhalf-mourning, could I? Not exactly. People might take me for a maniacat large; and, even should I be one, still, I would naturally wish tokeep my mental derangement to myself. What could I do?

While I was thus perplexing myself with vain imaginings, therecollection of the Dashers occurred to my mind. How was it that I hadnot thought of them before, when they were the very people for mypurpose? Why, not a soul could come into Saint Canon's parish withouttheir knowledge, and a fresh face in church would set them at once onthe qui vive. The Dashers, of course, must have seen my unknown ladies, and would be able to give me more information concerning them than Icould expect from any one else. I had often heard three to one betted, with no "takers, " that they would tell you everything about anyparticular person, his, or her, antecedents, prospects, and position, who had but remained for ten consecutive minutes within a radius of onemile of their house. To the Dashers I would consequently go, by allmeans--thank Providence for the suggestion, and their existence!

Lady Dasher, the head of this all-wise circle, was the youngest daughterof a deceased Irish peer, whom she was continually bringing on thecarpet, and causing--unhappy ghost that he was--to retrace his weary wayfrom wherever the spirits of defunct Hibernian nobles most docongregate. 

She did not do this through family pride, or with any boastfulintention, but simply from sheer morbidity. She was always scoring downgrievances in the present by looking back on the past. With her, it wasall repining and retrospect. When her poor father, the earl, was alive, she was never slighted in this way. Had her dear papa but now existed, Mistress So-and-So would have returned her call, and not insulted her byher palpable neglect. It was very Christian-like and charitable to sayotherwise; but _she_ knew better: it was on account of her being poor, and living in a small house. Oh, yes! she was very well aware of_that_; yet, although she could not keep up a grand establishment andwas poor, she was proud, and would never forget that she was an earl'sdaughter. She would not be ground down with impunity! Even the wormwill turn: and so on. You can understand her character almost withoutanother word of description. 

In spite of being a kindly-hearted soul at bottom, she was really, Ibelieve, the most morbid and melancholic person that ever breathed, --atleast, in my experience. Should you, unfortunately, be forced to remainfor any length of time in her presence, she had a most singularlydepressing influence on your spirits. Wet blanket? Bless your heart!that would be no name for her. She was a patent shower-bath, comingdown on all your cherished sentiments, hopes, and schemes, with a"whish" of heavy extinguishment. The cheeriest, sprightliest mortal inthe world could not have continued gay in her society. Mark Tapleywould have met his match in her, I'm certain. 

Next to the demise of her lamented parent--which was indeed an afterconsideration--Lady Dasher's marriage was the source and well-spring ofall her woes. She had espoused, as soon as she had a will of her own, ahandsome young gin distiller, who "ran" a large manufactory in Essex. People said it was entirely a love match; but, whether that was the caseor no, all _I_ know is, that on changing the honoured name ofPlanetree--the first Earl had been boot-black to the conquering Cromwellin Ireland--for the base-born patronymic Dasher, all her troubles began. Her noble relatives cut her dead in the first instance, as Dasher, aspiring though he was, aspired a trifle too high. The connection wasnever acknowledged; and his papa-in-law, utterly ignoring his entity, never gave him the honour of an invitation to Ballybrogue Castle, theancestral seat of the Planetrees in Tipperary. 

This was not the worst of it, either. Dasher, forgetting thatsimplicity of his forefathers which had promoted his fortunes, learnt onhis marriage to launch out into unheard-of extravagances, spending hishardly-gained substance in riotous living. He kept open house in townand country, getting laughed at, en parenthese, by the toadies whospunged upon him; failed; got into "the Gazette;" and?--died of a brokenheart. Poor Dasher!

On the death of her other half--it is problematical which half he was, whether better or worse--Lady Dasher found herself left with a couple ofdaughters and a few thousands, which her husband had taken care tosettle on her so as to be beyond the reach of his creditors. Theprovision was ample to have enabled her to live in comfort, if she hadpractised the slightest economy; but, never having learnt that speciesof common sense, called "savoir faire, " which is useful in every-daylife, Lady Dasher soon outran the constable. She then had to appeal toher father, Earl Planetree, who, now that poor Dasher disgraced thefamily escutcheon no longer by living, acknowledged her once more, relieving her necessities; and when he, too, died, he bequeathed her afair income, on which, by dint of hard struggling, she contrived tosupport existence and repine at her bitter lot. 

She was in the habit of telling people--who, between ourselves, werehopelessly ignorant that such a person as the late earl had everbreathed, and cared less, probably, about the fact--that had her poorpapa been yet alive, things would have been "very different with her;"an assertion of questionable accuracy. 

There are some persons in this world who can never by any possibilitytake a rose-coloured view of life. No matter what vivid touches thegreat painter puts in on the canvas of their every-day being, theyalways remain mentally colour-blind, and perceive but one monotonousneutral tint--as they will continue to do until the end, when, perchance, their proper sight may be restored. 

Lady Dasher was one of these. She persisted in taking a despondent viewof everything around her--her past, her future, her position, herprospects; nay, even the circumstances and surroundings of her friendsand few intimates came to be regarded in the same unsatisfactory light. She was unacquainted with the healthy tone of wisdom contained in theold quatrain, --

 "That man, I trow, is doubly blest, Who of the worst can make the best; And he, I'm sure, is doubly curst, Who of the best doth make the worst!"

Morbid and melancholic had been her disposition at the commencement ofthe chapter:--morbid and melancholic she would naturally remain to itsclose. 

With all her morbidity, however, she took a wonderful, albeitlachrymose, interest in the temporal matters of the parish; and wasacquainted with most of the contemporary facts and incidents with whichher neighbours were mixed up, being mostly indebted for her information, as she seldom went out herself, to her daughters Bessie and Seraphine--the latter commonly known amongst audacious young men as "the Seraph, "on account of her petite figure, her blue eyes, and her musical voice, the latter having just a suspicion of Irish brogue and blarney about it. 

They were nice lively girls and much liked, as they were quite acontrast to their mother. Indeed, it was surprising, considering herdisposition and their bringing up, that they were what they were. Hadit not been for them, Lady Dasher's existence would have beenconsiderably more monotonous and dreary than it was; but, thanks totheir assistance, she was kept thoroughly "posted up" in all the sociallife going on in her midst, in which, through her own lache, she wasunable to take part. 

Bessie and Seraphine did not attend parties, although sprightly, takinggirls like themselves would have been welcomed in almost any circle. The fact was, people would have been glad enough to invite them, hadtheir mother not been jealous of any attention paid to her daughtersthat was not extended to herself; and, hospitable as their friends mightbe, it was but reasonable that a monument of grief and picture of woeunutterable should not be earnestly sought after for the centre-piece ofa social gathering. It was owing to the same reason, also, that neitherof the girls had yet got married; for Lady Dasher would certainly haveexpected any matrimonial proposal to have been made to herself in thefirst instance, when, after declining the honour, she could have passedthe handkerchief to her daughters. Besides, the mere dread of havingthe infliction of such a mother-in-law would have sufficed to frightenoff the most ardent wooer or rabid aspirant for connubial felicity. 

Notwithstanding this, the girls went about to some extent in their ownways; and, on their return home, naturally gossiped with their motherover all they had seen and heard abroad. Thus it was that Lady Dasherwas so well-informed in all local matters, and why I thought ofappealing to her aid. But I should have to manage cautiously. Shewould think nothing--she was such a simple-minded body--of detailing allyour inquiries to the very subject of them, in a fit of unguardedconfidence. Cross-examining her was a most diplomatic proceeding. Ifyou went the right way about it, you could get anything out of herwithout committing yourself in the slightest way; whereas, if you set towork wrongly, you might not only be foundered by a provoking reticence, which she could assume at times, but might, also, some day hear thatyour secret intentions and machiavellian conduct were the common talk ofthe parish. 

Lady Dasher, although of a strictly pious turn of mind, did not objectto Sunday callers. Good. I would go there that very afternoon afterlunch, and see how the land lay. 

I kept my resolve, and went. 

Ushered into the well-known little drawing-room of the corner house ofThe Terrace, whose windows had a commanding view of the mainthoroughfare of our suburb, I had ample leisure, before the ladiesappeared, of observing the arrangement of certain fuchsias in a monsterflower-stand that took up half the room, on the growth and excellence ofwhich Lady Dasher prided herself greatly. Praise her fuchsias, and youwere the most excellent of men; pass them by unnoticed, and you might becapable of committing the worst sin in the decalogue. 

Is it not curious, how particular scents of flowers and their appearancewill call up old scenes and circumstances to your memory? To this day, the mere sight of a fuchsia will bring back to my mind Lady Dasher'slittle drawing-room; and I can fancy myself sitting in the old easy-chair by the window, and listening to that morbid lady's chit-chat. 

Presently my lady came in, pale and melancholy, as usual, and with hernormal expression of acutest woe. 

"Dear me, Mr Lorton! how very ill you are looking, to be sure. Isthere not consumption in your family?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Lady Dasher, thank you, " I replied; "but howwell _you_ are looking, if one may judge by appearances. "

"Ah!" she sighed with deep sadness, "appearances, my young friend, arevery deceptive. I am _not_ well--far from it, in fact. I believe, MrLorton, that I am fast hastening to that bourne from whence no travellerever returns. I would not be at all surprised to wake up some morningand find that I was dead!"

"Indeed!" I said, for the fact she hinted at would have been somewhatastonishing to a weak-minded person. I then tried to change theconversation from this sombre subject to one I had more at heart; but itwas very hard to lead her on the track I wished. "We had a goodcongregation to-day, Lady Dasher, I think, " said I; "the church seemedto be quite crammed. "

"Really, now; do you think so? _I_ did not consider it at all a largegathering. When poor dear papa was alive, I've seen twice the numberthere, I am certain. _You_ may say that the falling off is due to thehot weather and people going out of town, but _I_ think it is owing tothe spread of unbelief. We are living in terrible times, Mr Lorton. It seems to me that every one is becoming more atheistic and wickedevery day. I don't know what we shall come to, unless we have anotherdeluge, or something of that sort, to recall us to our senses!"

Fortunately at this juncture, before Lady Dasher, could get into fullswing on her favourite theological hobby-horse--the degeneracy of thepresent age--Bessie and Seraphine entered the room. The conversationthen became a trifle livelier, and we discussed the weather, thefashions, and various items of clerical gossip. 

I discreetly asked if they had seen any new faces in church. But no;neither of them had, it was evident, seen my ladies in half-mourning, about whom I was diffident of inquiring directly. 

Were any fresh people coming to reside in the neighbourhood that theyhad heard of?

"No, " said Lady Dasher, with a melancholy shake of her head. "No; howshould they? It is not very likely that any new residents would come_here_! The place may suit poor people like _me_, but would not takethe fancy of persons having plenty of money to spend, who can select ahouse where they like. Ah! the miseries of poverty, Mr Lorton, and tobe poor but proud! I hope _you_ will never have my bitter experience, I'm sure!"--with another sad shake of her head, and an expression on herface that she was pretty certain that I _would_ one day arrive at thesame hollow estimate of life as herself. "No, " she continued, "no newpeople are at all likely to come here. I saw Mr Shuffler yesterday, and asked if that house which he has to let in The Terrace were yettaken, but he said, `not that he knew of;' he had `heard of nobodycoming'--had I? I assure you he was quite impertinent about it. Hewould not have spoken to me so uncivilly had poor dear papa been alive, I know! But it is always the way with that class of people:--they onlylook upon you in the light of how much you are worth!"

"Oh, ma!" said Bessie Dasher, "I think Mr Shuffler very civil andpolite. He always makes me quite a low bow whenever he sees me. "

"Ah! my dear, " said her mother, "that's because you are young andpretty, as I was once. He never bows to me as he used to do when yourgrandpapa lived. "

After a little more harping on the same string, the conversationdrooped; and, as none of them could give me any further informationtowards assisting my quest, I took my leave of Lady Dasher and herdaughters, in a much less buoyant frame of mind than when I had firstthought of my visit an hour or so previously. 

I had made certain that they would know something of the mysteriousladies in half-mourning; consequently, I was all the more disappointed. However, they had given me one hint; I would ask Shuffler himself, onthe morrow, whether any new residents were expected in the suburb. 

Shuffler was a house-agent who had to do with all the letting andtaking, overhauling and repairing, of most of the habitations in ourneighbourhood. He was a portly, oily personage; one who clipped hisEnglish royally, and walked, through the effects of bunions, I believe--although some mistook it for gout, and gave him the credit of beingafflicted with that painful but aristocratic malady--as if he werecontinuously on pattens, or wore those clumsy wooden sabots which theNormandy peasantry use. He was also one-eyed, like Cyclops, the placeof the missing organ being temporarily filled with a round glass orb, whose nature could be detected at a glance; this seemed to stare at youwith a dull, searching look and take mental and disparaging stock ofyour person, while the sound eye was winking and blinking at you asjovially as you please. 

Shuffler was affable enough to me, as usual, in despite of Lady Dasherhaving such a bad opinion of his manners; but, he could give me noinformation such as I wanted to hear. Everybody, really, appeared to beas cautious as "Non mi recordo" was on Queen Caroline's trial. Nobodyhad heard of anybody coming to our neighbourhood. Nobody had seen anystrange faces about. Nobody knew anything!

It was quite vexatious. 

I haunted the Prebend's Walk. I went to church three times everySunday, but did not meet her. The only thing I had to assure me that itwas not all a dream, and that I had really seen her, was the littlespray of mignonette, which I carried next my heart. 

It was now July. 

Sultry August came and passed; dull September followed suit; drearyOctober ensued, in the natural cycle of the seasons; foggy, suicidalNovember came; and yet, _she_ came not!

I felt almost weary of waiting and looking out and longing, notwithstanding the inward assurance I had, and the fact of my wholenature being imbued with the belief that we should meet again. We_must_ meet. I knew _that_, I felt firmly convinced of it. 

Thus the year wore on. Weeks and months elapsed since our meeting inchurch, which I should never, never forget. 

Dreary, dreary expectation! I lost interest regarding things in which Ihad formerly been interested. The society of people which I hadpreviously coveted became distasteful to me. 

Lady Dasher, you may be sure, I never went nigh; _she_ would havealtogether overwhelmed me. 

As for that insufferable ass, Horner, he was always asking me wheneverwe met, which was much oftener than I cared about, with a provokingsimper and his unmeaning, eye-glass stare and drawling voice--coupledwith a tone of would-be-facetious irony--"Bai-ey Je-ove! I say, oldfellah, seen those ladies in hawf-mawning yet, ah?"

Brute! I could have kicked him; and I wonder now that I didn't!

CHAPTER THREE. 

M'APPARI. 

 "She's coming, my own, my sweet! Had she never so airy a tread, My heart would hear her, and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed!"

It was now November, as I have already said; and a very dull, dismal, desolate November it was--more so, even, than usual. Fogs werefrequent, rain regular, and the sun singular in his appearance. It wasenough to make one feel miserable, without the haunting thoughts thataffected me; so, before the weather became too much for me and turned meinsane, I determined to go abroad for a short time to try what change ofair and scene could do towards relaxing my mind, although nothing couldbanish the remembrance of _her_ from my heart. 

When I came back to England, it was close on Christmas, and Christmas, you must know, was always a busy and stirring time with us in oursuburb, especially so, too, for its younger and prettier parishioners. 

Then the church had to be decorated--a matter not to be trifled with. Commencing about a week or ten days before the festival, these youngladies would gather themselves together in the old school-room, whichwas a detached building, situated a short distance from Saint Canon's. 

Here, the scholars being dismissed for their long holidays, they wouldchange the look of the academic apartment into that of a miniatureCovent Garden market or greengrocer's shop, filling it up with heaps ofevergreens--holly and ivy and yew, ad libitum, to be transformed by theaid of their nimble fingers into all sorts of floral decorations. Garlands were woven, elaborate illuminated texts and scrolls painted, and wondrous crosses of commingled laurel leaves and holly berriescontrived; all of which went so far to change the aspect of the oldchurch, that those well acquainted with it could not help wonderingwithin themselves, if, indeed, it was really so _very_ old and ancientafter all as learned archaeologists said; while new comers, who only sawit in its festal trim, had serious doubts as to whether they were not ina ritualistic edifice--the vicar allowing the girls to have their ownway and import as much natural ornament as they pleased. The flowersand shrubs were God's handiwork, he said, so why should they not be usedin God's service, to do honour to "the Giver of the feast?"

This year was no exception to the general practice. On my going down tothe school-room on the first day that the work of "the decorations"began, which was the very morning after my return from the continent, Ifound things just as they had been in previous years, save that somehalf-a-dozen panes of glass had been smashed in the oriel window at theeastern end of the room, through the incautious manipulation of a bunchof holly by some "green" hand. 

There were the usual number of young ladies, all of whose faces I knewso well, engaged in the pious work; with Horner, Mr Mawley the curate, and one or _two_ other attendant male aides, to minister to theirneeds--such as stripping off leaves for wreath making--and help them toflirt the dull hours away. Dear little Miss Pimpernell, our vicar'smaiden sister and good right hand, presided, also, to preserve order andset an example for industrious souls to follow, just as she had been inthe habit of presiding as far back as I could recollect. 

She was not there merely as a chaperon. Oh no! If Lady Dasher, sittingon an upturned form in a corner, like a very melancholy statue ofPatience, was not sufficient to prevent the prudent proprieties frombeing outraged, there was, also, the "model of all the virtues"present--Miss Spight--a lady of a certain age, who, believing, as thekindly beings of her order do, that there was too large a flow of themilk of human kindness current in the world, deemed it her mission totemper this dispensation by the admixture of as much vitriol and vinegaras in her lay: she succeeded pretty well, too, for that matter, in herpractice and belief. 

Little Miss Pimpernell was quite a different sort of body altogether toMiss Spight. Every one who knew her, or ever saw her kindly face, lovedher and venerated her. 

She was the very impersonification of good-nature, good-will, and goodaction. Did any misfortune chance to befall some one with whom she wasacquainted, or any casual stranger with whom she might be brought incontact, there was none of that "I told you so" spirit of philosophyabout _her_. 

No; she tried to do her best for the sufferer as well as she was able;and would not be contented until she was absolutely satisfied thatmatters had somewhat mended. 

Young and old, rich and poor, alike considered her as one of their bestfriends--as indeed she was--a good Samaritan to whom they might alwaysconfide their griefs and ailments, their sufferings and privations, withthe assurance that they would certainly meet with a kindly sympathy anda word of comfort, in addition to as much practical assistance in theiradversity and physical consolation in their need as "little" MissPimpernell--that was the fond title she was always known by--couldcompass or give. 

The worst of it was, that she was in such general request, that we hadto make up our minds to lose her sometimes. 

Of course it was a selfish consideration, but we missed her and grumbledat her visits and absences sadly; for, when she was away, everythingappeared to go wrong in the parish. Still none, knowing thegratification that her ministrations gave her, would have grudged hertheir indulgence. 

She was never so happy as when she was helping somebody; and, of course, people took advantage of her weakness, and were merciless in their callsupon her time. 

Whenever the most distant cousin or stray relative happened to be ill--or about to move into a new house, or be married, or increase thepopulation in defiance of Malthus, or depart from the pomps and vanitiesof this wicked world--as sure as possible would Miss Pimpernell be sentfor post haste. She had, as a matter of course, to nurse the patient, assist the flitting, accelerate the wedding, welcome the littlestranger, or console the mourners as the case might be. 

We, the inhabitants of the suburb which she blessed with her presence, thought all this a gross infringement of our rights in her possession, although we welcomed the dear old lady all the more gladly when we gother back again amongst us once more. 

As for confidences, I believe she had the skeleton secret of every soulin the place confided to her sacred keeping at some one time or other;and love stories! why, she must have been cram full of them--from theheart-breaking affair of poor little Polly Skittles, the laundress'pretty daughter, up to Baby Blake's last flirtation. 

What her brother would have done without her, it would be impossible totell. She had quite as much to do with the parish as he; and, I'm sure, if little Miss Pimpernell had not kept house for him and minded all histemporal affairs, he would never have known what to eat or drink, orwhat to put on. 

The vicar had lost his wife soon after his marriage, when he was quite ayoung man; but, instead of being bowed down by his affliction, as mighthave been the case with a good many ardent natures like his, heearnestly fought against it, buckling to his work, all the morevigorously perhaps, as one of Christ's ministers. 

Everybody thenceforth was wife and child, brother and sister to him:humanity in general took the place of all family ties. 

He was the purest Christian character I have ever come across, lovable, intelligent, winning and merry, too, at times, in spite of his grief--would that all ministers were like him to uphold the old love and honourof our national Church!

No orator or skilled preacher in the pulpit, he simply led you captiveby his earnestness and evident thorough belief in all that he uttered;so that "those who came to scoff, remained to pray. " No hard, metallicrepetition by rote was his; but the plain, unvarnished story of thegospel which he felt and of whose truth he was assured, animated by abroad spirit of Protestantism that led him to extend a raising hand toevery erring brother, and see religion in other creeds besides his own. 

 "In his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and _led the way_!"

He and his good sister were, in fact, a pair of heart-oddities, whom toknow was to admire with reverential affection. They could not have hadan enemy or slanderer in the world. Even Miss Spight had never a wordto say against either; that alone spoke volumes for them. 

"Oh, Frank, " exclaimed little Miss Pimpernell as I entered the school-room--she always called me by my Christian name, or styled me her "boy, "having known me from childhood--"Oh, Frank! Here you are at last! I amso glad to see you back again, my boy: you have just come in time tohelp us. I was really afraid those nasty Frenchmen had eaten you up, you have been such a long time away!"

"I dare say there's enough left of him, " sneered Mr Mawley the curate. _He_ was the direct opposite of the vicar; and a man whom I cordiallydetested, the feeling, I believe, being mutual. He was consequential, dogmatic, and with all the self-asserting priggishness of young Oxfordfresh upon him. I confess I was pretty much inclined the same waymyself; so, it was but natural that we should disagree: two suns, youknow, cannot shine in the same hemisphere. 

Before I could answer him, Miss Pimpernell hastily interposed. Shehated to hear us arguing and bickering as was generally our way when wemet. "Please bring the measuring tape, Frank, " she said, "you will findit on that bench in the corner; and come and see how long my wreath is. It should be just nineteen feet, but I'm afraid I am a yard short. "

By the time I had done as my old friend requested, the conversationwhich I had interrupted by my advent resumed its course. They weretalking about the future world, and ventilating sundry curious thoughtson the subject. 

"And what do _you_ think heaven will be like?" asked Seraphine Dasher, appealing to me. "Everybody's opinion has been given but yours and MissPimpernell's, and Mr Mawley's; and I'm coming to them presently. "

"I'm sure I can't say, " I answered, "perhaps a combination of choralmusic, running water, I mean the sound of brooks gliding and fountainssplashing, with almond toffee at discretion: that's my idea of earthlyfelicity at least. "

"Oh, fie!" said my interlocutor; while I could hear Miss Spight murmur"What deplorable levity, " as she glowered at me severely and lookedsympathisingly at Mr Mawley. 

"Well, " said I, "I was only joking then; for, really, I've neverseriously thought about the matter. As far as I can believe, however, Ido not imagine heaven is going to be a place where we'll be singinghymns all day. I think we shall be happy there, each in our severalways, as we are on earth, and be in the company of those we love: heavenwould be miserable without that, I think. "

"And what do you say, Miss Pimpernell?" next asked Seraphine. 

"I do not say anything at all, my dear: the subject is beyond me. Ileave it to One who is wiser than us all to tell me in his own goodtime. "

"And you, Mr Mawley?" continued our fair questioner. 

"We should not seek to understand the mysteries of the oracles of God, "said the curate pompously. 

"My dear, I can tell you, " said the vicar, who had slipped in quietly, unknown to us all, "`Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither haveentered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared forthem that love him!'"

"I wonder, sir, " said I, "whether that text, `In My Father's house aremany mansions, ' means that there are different degrees of happiness inthe future world?"

"That passage, " said the vicar, "is one whose interpretation has beenmore disputed than any I know. Some say it has the meaning which youattach to it; while others, with whom I am more inclined to agree, thinkthat it conveys only the promise and assurance that in heaven there willbe found room for us all. You must remember that we in the present dayhave the Bible through the medium of translation; and all translationsare liable to error. Why, if you read the Book of Job, for instance, inthe original Hebrew, without the arbitrary division into verses whichthe translators of the authorised version inserted, you would find it aperfect poem!"

"For my part, " said Mr Mawley, "I do not think we ought to speak aboutreligious matters in this sort of way, and make them subjects forgeneral conversation. "

"I don't agree with you, Mawley, " said the vicar, "the truth is not sobrittle that we should be afraid of handling it; if religion were moreopenly discussed and brought into our daily life, I believe we should beall the better for it. "

"Ah, you are Broad Church!" said the curate. 

"Very well, be it so, " said the vicar good-humouredly; "I'm not ashamedof it, so long as you allow that I'm at least a Christian. "

"What _is_ Broad Church, Mr Mawley?" asked Bessie Dasher, who wassuspected of having tender feelings towards the curate, for shegenerally deferred to his views and opinions. 

"Broad Church, " said Mr Mawley, "holds that every man is at liberty tojudge for himself; and that any Sectarian or Unitarian, or heathen, hasas much chance of heaven as you or I. "

"Positively shocking!" said Miss Spight, in virtuous indignation at anynonconformist being esteemed as worthy of future salvation as herself. 

"Oliver Wendell Holmes, " I said, "gives a truer exposition. He saysthat `the narrow church may be seen in the ship's boats of humanity, inthe long boat, in the jolly boat, in the captain's gig, lying off thepoor old vessel, thanking God that _they_ are safe, and reckoning howsoon the hulk containing the mass of their fellow-creatures will godown. The Broad Church is on board, working hard at the pumps, and veryslow to believe that the ship will be swallowed up with so many poorpeople in it, fastened down under the hatches ever since it floated!'"

"Ah, that is better, " said the vicar. "It is there put very aptly. Ifwe could only be less bigoted, and assimilate our various sectstogether, what a happy church would ours be! We all have the same surefundamental ground of belief, and only differ in details. "

"But, my dear sir, " said the curate, in pious horror, "that is ranklatitudinarianism!"

"Latitudinarianism or not, Mawley, " said the vicar, "it is theChristianity and doctrine that earnest thinkers like Kingsley andMaurice preach and practise. If we could only all act up to it--all actup to it!"

"Then, I suppose, " said Mr Mawley, "that you agree with the writers of_Essays and Reviews_?"

"Suppose nothing, my dear Mawley, " said the vicar, kindly but seriously, "except what you have facts to vouch for. I do not say I agree withthem or not. "

"And do you think the hare chewed the cud, as Colenso says?" asked BabyBlake, with such a serious face that we could not help laughing at her. 

"Proximus ille deo est qui scit ratione tacere!" said the vicar, puttingon his hat and moving towards the door. 

"And what does that mean, brother?" asked Miss Pimpernell. 

"My dear, it is only Dionysius Cato's original Latin for our old Englishproverb, `A silent tongue shows a wise head!'" said the vicar; and hethen went out to attend to his parish duties, promising to look in uponus again, and see how we were getting on before we separated for theday. 

On his departure, our conversation veered round to local chit-chat. 

"Have you heard the news about The Terrace yet, Frank?" asked MissPimpernell. 

"No, " I said. "What is it?"

"Number sixty-five is let at last!"

"Indeed, " said I; "how pleased old Shuffler must be, for the house hashung a long time on his hands. Who are the people that have taken it?"

"A widow lady and her daughter. Their name is Clyde, and they have agood deal of money, I believe, " said Bessie Dasher. 

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" exclaimed Horner. "I say, old fellah, p'waps they ahthose ladies in hawf-mawning, ah?"

"Dear me! this is quite interesting, " said Miss Spight. "Do let me knowwhat the joke is about ladies in half-mourning, Mr Lorton--somethingromantic, I've no doubt. " She was always keen to scent out what mightbe disagreeable to other people, was Miss Spight!

"Oh, it's only Horner's nonsense!" said I. "But what are these Clydeslike?"

"Very nice, indeed!" said Miss Pimpernell. "The mother is extremelywell-bred and ladylike, and the daughter Minnie--such a pretty name, Frank--is quite a little darling. I'm positively in love with her, andI'm sure you will like her. They are very nice people indeed, my boy, and thorough acquisitions to our little society. "

"I only hope so, Miss Pimpernell, " sighed Lady Dasher; "but appearances, you know, are _so_ deceitful sometimes. "

"Ah!" ejaculated Miss Spight, "handsome is as handsome does! We'll seethem by and by in their true colours; new brooms, Lady Dasher, sweepclean. Ah!"

There was a world in that "ah!"

"Well, " said little Miss Pimpernell, in her staunch good-nature, "Ithink it is best to be charitable and take people as we find them. Ihave seen a good deal of the Clydes during the month they have been hereand like them very much. But you will have an opportunity of judgingfor yourself, Frank, as Minnie Clyde promised me to come down to-day andhelp us with the decorations. "

"She's a very nice-looking girl, " said the curate. 

"Do you really think her pretty?" asked Bessie Dasher. One could detecta slight tone of dissatisfaction in her voice, and she spoke with adecided pout. 

"Well, perhaps she's not exactly pretty, " said Mr Mawley, diplomatically; "but nice-looking, at all events--that was the word Iused, Miss Bessie. "

"But she dresses so plainly!" said Lizzie Dangler. 

"I call her quite a dowdthy!" lisped Baby Blake. 

"And I say she's very nice!" said Seraphine Dasher, who had none of thepetty dislike of her sex to praise another girl that might turn out tobe a possible rival. 

"That's right, my dear, " said Miss Pimpernell; "I'm glad, Seraphine, tohear you take the part of the absent; Miss Clyde ought to be here now--she promised me to come soon after luncheon. "

Even as the good old soul spoke, I heard the outer door of the school-room open, and a light footstep along the passage. "There she is now, Ido believe!" whispered Miss Pimpernell to me. 

I could scarcely breathe. I felt that I had at last arrived at thecrisis of my life. It must be _her_, I thought, for my heart palpitatedwith wild pulsations. 

And, as the thought thrilled through me, my lost madonna entered theroom. 

I was not one whit surprised. I had been certain that I should see heragain!

CHAPTER FOUR. 

"HOPE. "

 "The wit, the vivid energy of sense, The truth of nature, which, with Attic point, And kind, well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen, Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. "

Yes, she it was of whom I had thought and dreamt, and built airy castleson imaginative foundations--chateaux en Espagne--that had almostcrumbled into vacancy during those long and weary weeks, and monotonousmonths, of waiting, and watching, and longing!

She entered; and the dull, disordered school-room, with its leaf-strewnfloor all covered with broken branches and naked boughs of chopped-upevergreens, its mass of piled forms, its lumbering desks and hassocks, its broken windows, its down-hanging maps of colossal continents, seemedchanged all at once, in a moment, as if by the touch of some magic wand, into an enchanted palace. 

The fairy princess had at last appeared, the sleeping beauty beenawakened; and all was altered. 

The semi-transparent sprig of mistletoe, which Seraphine Dasher hadmischievously suspended over the doorway, looked like a chaplet ofpearls; the pointed stems of yew became frosted in silver; thevariegated holly was transformed into branches of malachite, ornamentedwith a network of gold, its bright red berries glowing with a ruddyreflection as of interspersed rubies; while, above all, the glorioussunshine, streaming in through the shattered panes of the oriel at theeastern end, cast floods of quickening, mellow light, to the remotestcorners of the room, making the floating atoms of dust turn to waves ofpowdery amber, and enriching every object it touched with its luminousrays. Even the very representations of Europe, Asia, and Africa, on thewalls, lost their typographical characteristics, and shone out to me inthe guise of tapestried chronicles, ancient as those of Bayeux, describing deeds of gallant chivalry--so my fancy pictured--and love, and knight-errantry, painted over with oriental arabesques in crimsongilding, the cunning handiwork of the potent sun-god. Her coming ineffected all this to my mind. 

What a darling she looked, sitting there, with a pretty little scarletand white sontag, of soft wool knitting, crossed over her bosom andclasped round her dainty, dainty waist; her busy fingers industriouslyweaving broad ivy garlands for the church columns, and her sweet, calmface bent earnestly over her task--the surrounding foliage, scatteredhere, there, and everywhere, bringing out her well-formed figure inrelief, just like a picture in some rustic portrait frame! Micat interomnes, as Virgil sang of "the young Marcellus, " his hero: she "glistenedout before them all. "

Of course she was introduced to me. 

"Mr Lorton--Miss Minnie Clyde. " Now, at last, I had met her and knewher name! What a pretty name she had, too, as little Miss Pimpernellhad said! Just in keeping with its owner. 

As my name was pronounced, she raised her beautiful grey eyes from thegarland in her lap; and I could perceive, from a sudden gleam ofintelligence which shot through them for an instant, that I was at oncerecognised:--from my face, I'm sure, she must have noticed that _she_had not been forgotten. 

I was in heaven; I would not have relinquished my position, kneeling ather feet and stripping off ivy leaves for her use, no, not for adukedom!

Our conversation became again imperceptibly of a higher tone. Hers waslight, sparkling, brilliant; and one could see that she possessed a fundof native drollery within herself, despite her demure looks and downcasteyes. She had a sweet, low voice, "that most excellent thing in woman;"while her light, silvery laughter rippled forth ever and anon, like achime of well-tuned bells, enchaining me as would chords of Offenbach'schampagne music. 

In comparison with her, Lizzie Dangler's prosy platitudes, which somedeemed wit--Horner, par exemple--sank into nothingness, and Baby Blake, one of the "gushing" order of girlhood, appeared as a stick, or, rather, a too pliant sapling--her inane "yes's" and lisping "no's" having anopportunity of being "weighed in the balance, " and consequently, in myopinion, "found wanting. " All were mediocre beside her. Perhaps I wasprejudiced; but, now, the remarks of the other girls seemed to mesingularly silly. 

From light badinage, we got talking of literature. Some one, Mr Mawleythe curate, I think, drew a parallel between Douglas Jerrold andThackeray, describing both, in his blunt, dogmatic way, as cynics. 

To this I immediately demurred. In the first place, because Mawley wasso antipathetical to me, that I dearly loved to combat his assertions;and, secondly, on account of his disparaging my beau ideal of all thatis grand and good in a writer and in man. 

"You make a great mistake, " I said, "for Thackeray is a satirist pur etsimple. Jerrold was a cynic, if you please, although he had a wonderfulamount of kindly feeling even in his bitterest moods--indeed I wouldrather prefer calling him a one-sided advocate of the poor against therich, than apply to him your opprobrious term. "

"Well, cynic or satirist, I should like to know what great differencelies between the two?" the curate retorted, glad of an argument, andwishing, as usual, to display his critical acumen by demolishing me. 

"I will tell you with pleasure, " said I, not a bit "put out, " accordingto his evident wish and expectation, "and I will use the plainestlanguage in my exposition, so that you may be able to understand me! Acynic, I take it, is one who talks or writes bitterly, in thegratification of a malicious temperament, merely for the sake ofinflicting pain on the object of his attack, just as a bad-dispositionedboy will stick pins in a donkey, or persecute a frog, for the sheer sakeof seeing it wince: a satirist, on the contrary, is a philosopher whoridicules traits of character, customs and mannerisms, with theintention of remedying existing evils, abolishing abuses, and reformingsociety--in the same way as a surgeon performs an operation to remove aninjured limb, inflicting temporary pain on his patient, with theprospect of ultimate good resulting from it. I have never seen thisdefinition given anywhere; consequently, as it is but my own privateopinion, you need only take it for what it is worth. "

"Thank you, Mr Lorton, " said _somebody_, giving me a gratefullyintelligent look from a pair of deep, thinking grey eyes. 

"Oh, indeed! so that's your opinion, Lorton?" put in Mr Mawley, asantagonistic as ever. "So that's your opinion, is it? I _will_ do asyou say, and take it for what it is worth--that is, keep my own still!You may be very sharp and clever, and all that sort of thing, my dearfellow; but I don't see the difference between the two that you have solucidly pointed out. Satire and cynicism are co-equal terms to my mind:your argument won't persuade me, Lorton, although I must say that youare absolutely brilliant to-day. You should really start a school ofModern Literature, my dear fellow, and set up as a professor of thesame!"

"Please get my scissors, Frank, " said Miss Pimpernell, trying to stopour wordy warfare. I got them; but I had my return blow at the curateall the same. 

"I suppose you'd be one of my first pupils, Mr Mawley, " I said. "Ithink I could coach you up a little!"

He was going to crush me with some of his sledge-hammer declamation, being thoroughly roused, when Bessie Dasher averted the storm, byentering the arena and changing the conversation to a broader footing. 

"How I dote on Thackeray!" she exclaimed with all her naturalimpulsiveness. "What a dear, delicious creature Becky Sharp is; andthat funny old baronet, Sir Pitt something or other, too! When I firsttook up _Vanity Fair_ I could not let it out of my hands until Ifinished it. "

"That's more than I can say, " said the curate. "I don't like Thackeray. He cuts up every one and everything. Is not that a cynic for you?"

"Not everybody, " said Min--I cannot call her anything else now--comingto my assistance, "not everybody, Mr Mawley. I think Thackeray, withall his satire and kindly laughter in his sleeve at persons that oughtto be laughed down, has yet given us some of the most pathetic touchesof human nature existing in English literature. There's the old colonelin _The Newcomes_, for instance. That little bit about his teaching histiny grandson to say his prayers, before he put him into bed in his poorchamber in the Charter House, to which he was reduced, would make anyone cry. And Henry Esmond, and Warrington, and Laura--where would youfind more nobly-drawn characters than those?" and she stopped, out ofbreath with her defence of one of the greatest writers we have ever had, indignant, with such a pretty indignation, at his merits beingquestioned for a moment. 

"Of course I must bow to your decision, Miss Clyde, " said the curate, with one of those stock ceremonial bows that stood him in such goodstead amongst the female community of the parish. He was a cunningfellow, Mawley. Knew which way his interest lay; and never went againstthe ladies if he could help it. "But, " he continued, "if we talk ofpathos, there's `the great master of fiction, ' Dickens; who can come upto him?"

"Ah, yes! Mr Mawley, "--chorused the majority of the girls--"we quiteagree with you: there's nobody like Dickens!"

It is a strange thing how perverse the divine sex is, in preferringconfectionery to solid food; and superficial writers, to those who divebeneath the surface of society and expose its rottenness--like as theyesteem Tupper's weak-minded version of Solomon's Proverbs beyond thebest poetry that ever was written!

I wasn't going to be beaten by the curate, however, prattled he never sowisely with the cunning of the serpent-charmer. "I grant you, " said I, "that Dickens appeals oftener to our susceptible sympathies; but he is_unreal_ in comparison with Thackeray. The one was a far more correctstudent of human nature than the other. Dickens selectedexceptionalities and invested them with attributes which we never seepossessed by their prototypes whom we may meet in the world. He givesus either caricature, or pictures of men and women seen through a rose-coloured medium: Thackeray, on the other hand, shows you life _as itis_. He takes you behind the scenes and lets you perceive for yourselfhow the `dummies' and machinery are managed, how rough the distemperpainting, all beauty from the front of `the house, ' looks on nearerinspection, how the `lifts' work, and the `flats' are pushed on; besidesdisclosing all the secrets connected with masks and `properties. ' He isnot content in merely allowing you to witness the piece from before thecurtain, in the full glory of that distance from the place of actionwhich lends enchantment to the view, and with all the deceptiveconcomitants of music and limelights and Bengal fire! To adopt anotherillustration, I should say that Dickens was the John Leech of fictionalliterature, Thackeray its Hogarth. Even Jerrold, I think, in his mostbitter, cynical moods, was truer to life and nature than Dickens. Didyou ever read the former's _Story of a Feather_, by the way?"

"No, " answered Mawley, testily, "I can't say I ever did; and I don'tthink it likely I ever will. "

"Well, I dare say you are quite right, Frank, " said the kindly voice ofmy usual ally little Miss Pimpernell, interposing just at the righttime--as she always did, indeed--to throw oil on the troubled waters. "But, still, I like Dickens the best. Do you know, children, " she wenton, looking round, as we all sat watching her dear old wrinkled facebeaming cheerily on us through her spectacles, "do you know, children, I've no doubt you'll laugh at me for telling you, but, when I first read`David Copperfield'--and I was an old woman then--I cried my eyes outover the account of the death of poor Dora's little dog Gyp. Dearlittle fellow! Don't you recollect how he crawled out of his tinyChinese pagoda house, and licked his master's hand and died? I thinkit's the most affecting thing in fiction I ever read in my life. "

"And I, too, dear Miss Pimpernell, " said Min, in her soft, low voice, which had a slight tremor as she spoke, and there was a misty look inher clear grey eyes--silent witnesses of the emotion that stirred herheart. "I shed more tears over poor Gyp than I can bear to think ofnow--except when I cried over little Tiny Tim, in the `Christmas Carol, 'where, you remember, the spirit told Uncle Scrooge that the cripple boywould die. That affected me equally, I believe; and I could not read itdry-eyed now. "

"Nor I, " lisped Baby Blake, following suit, in order to keep up herreputation for sentimentality; "I would thob my eyth out!"

"See, " quoted the curate, grandiloquently, "how `one touch of naturemakes the whole world kin!'"

"For my part, " exclaimed Miss Spight, who had taken no share in ourconversation since we had dropped personalities, "I don't see the use ofpeople crying over the fabulous woes of a lot of fictitious persons thatnever existed, when there is such an amount of real grief and miserygoing on in the world. "

"That is not brought home to us, " said Min, courageously; "but thetroubles and trials of the people in fiction are; and I believe thatevery kind thought which a writer makes throb through our hearts, betterenables us to pity the sorrows of actual persons. "

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" exclaimed Horner, twisting his eye-glass round andmaking an observation for the first time--the discussion before had beenapparently beyond his depth, --"Bai-ey Je-ove! Ju-ust what I was gaw-ingto say! Bai-ey Je-ove, yaas! But Miss Spight is much above humanemawtion, you know, and all that sawt of thing, you know-ah!"

"Besides, " continued Min, not taking any notice of our friend's originalremark I was glad to see, "one does not always cry over novels. I'msure I've laughed more than I've wept over Dickens, and other authors. "

"Ah!" said Lady Dasher, with a melancholy shake of her head, "life istoo serious for merry-making! It is better to mourn than to rejoice, asI've often heard my poor dear papa say when he was alive. "

"Nonsense, ma!" pertly said her daughter Seraphine; "you can't believethat. I'm sure I'd rather laugh than cry, any day. And so would you, too, ma, in spite of your seriousness!"

"Your mamma is quite right in some respects, my dear, " said little MissPimpernell. "We should not be always thinking of nothing but merry-making. Don't you recollect those lines of my favourite Herrick?--

 "`Time flies away fast! The while we never remember, How soon our life here Grows old with the year, That dies in December. '"

"Yes, I do, you cross old thing!" said the seraph, shaking her goldenlocks and laughing saucily; "and I remember also that your `favouriteHerrick' says something else about one's `gathering rose-buds whilst onemay. '"

"You naughty girl!" said Miss Pimpernell, trying to look angry and frownat her; but the attempt was such a palpable pretence that we all laughedat her as much as the delinquent. 

"And what is your favourite style of poetry, Miss Clyde?" asked thecurate, taking advantage of the introduction of Herrick to change thesubject. 

And then there followed a chorus of discussion: Miss Spight declared sheadored Wordsworth: Mr Mawley tried to show off his superiority, and Iattempted to put him down; I believe I was jealous lest Min should agreewith him. 

"Now, Frank, " exclaimed Miss Pimpernell, "I will not have any moresparring between you and Mr Mawley, for I'm sure you've argued enough. It is `the merry Christmas-time, ' you know; and we ought all to be atpeace, and gay and happy, too! What do you say, girls?"

"But what shall we do to be merry?" asked Bessie Dasher. 

"Ah! my dear, " groaned her mother; "it is not right to be foolishly`merry, ' as you call it. This season of the year is a very sad one, andwe ought to be thinking, as my poor dear papa used to say, of what ourSaviour did for us and the other world! We have now arrived at the endof another year, and it is very sad, very sad!"

"What!" exclaimed Min, "wrong to be merry at Christmas? The vicar saidin his sermon last Sunday, that our hearts ought to expand with joy atthis time; and that we should try, not only to be glad and happy inourselves, but also to make others glad and happy, too. It appears tome, " and her face flushed with excitement as she spoke, "a veryerroneous idea of religion that would only associate it with gloom andsadness. The same Creator endowed us with the faculty to laugh as wellas cry; and we must take poor comfort in him if we cannot be glad in hiscompany, to which the Christmas season always brings us nearer and intomore intimate connection, as it were. "

"Bravo, my little champion!" said the vicar, who had again stolen inunperceived by us all. "That is the spirit of true Christianity. Youhave preached a more practical sermon than I, my dear. " Then, seeingher confusion at being thus singled out and her embarrassment at having, as she thought, been too forward in speaking out impulsively on the spurof the moment, the vicar created a diversion. "And now, young ladies, "he said, "as we are going to be merry, what shall we play at?"

"Oh, puss in the corner!" cried Seraphine Dasher. "That will bedelightful!"

"With all my heart; puss in the corner be it, " said the vicar, who couldbe a boy again on fitting occasions, and play with the best of us. "Come, Mawley, " he added, "come and exert yourself; and help to pullthese forms out of the way, " setting to work vigorously at the sametime, himself. 

In another minute or two we were in the middle of a wild romp, whereinlittle Miss Pimpernell and the vicar were the most active participants--they showing themselves to be quite as active as the younger hands;while Miss Spight and Lady Dasher were the only idle spectators. Min atfirst did not join in, as she was not accustomed to the ways of us oldhabitues, but she presently participated, being soon as gay and noisy asany. What fun we had in blindfolding Horner, and manoeuvring so that heshould rush into the arms of Miss Spight! What a shout of laughterthere was when he exclaimed, clasping her the while, "Bai-ey Je-ove!Yaas, I've cawght you at lawst!"

The look of pious horror which settled on the face of the elderly maidenwas a study. 

Thus our working day ended; and it became time to separate and go home. I had the further happiness of seeing Min to her door, both of us livingin the same direction. 

It was the same on the morrow, and on the morrow after that, for a wholeweek. 

Of course, we did not talk "Shakspeare and the musical glasses" always. Our discourse was generally composed of much lighter elements, especially when Mr Mawley and I did not come in contact--argument beingthen, naturally, as a dead letter. Our conversation during thesepeaceful interregnums mainly consisted in friendly banter, parish news, and gossip. Scandal Miss Pimpernell never permitted; indeed, no onewould have had the heart to say an ill-natured thing of anybody else inher presence. 

Day after day Min and I were closely associated together, learning toknow more of one another than we might have acquired in years ofordinary society intercourse; day after day, I would watch her daintyfigure, and study her beautiful face, and gaze into the fathomlessdepths of her honest grey eyes, my love towards her increasing by suchrapid strides, that, at length, I almost worshipped the very ground onwhich she trod. 

And so the week wore by, until Christmas Eve arrived. Then our task wasfinished, and we decorated Saint Canon's old church with all the wreathsand garlands, the crosses and illuminations, on which we had been sobusy in the school-room; making it look quite modern in its festalpreparation for the ensuing day, when the result of our handiwork wouldbe displayed to the admiration, we hoped, of the congregation at large. 

On parting with Min late in the evening at her door--for our work at thechurch had occupied us longer than usual--I thought it the happiestChristmas Eve I had ever passed; and, as I went to bed that night, Iwondered, dreamily, if the morning's sun would rise for another as happya day, while I prayed to God that He would shape my life in accordancewith the fervent desire of my heart. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

"JOY. "

 "Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of self that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight!"

It was a regular joyous, jolly, old-fashioned Christmas morning: bright, sparkling, exhilarating. 

Just sufficient snow had fallen during the night to give that semblanceof winter to the house-tops and hedge-rows, with a faint white powderingof the roadway and pavement, which adds so much to the quondam season offamily gatherings, merrymakings, and plum-pudding; and this, King Frosthad hardened by his patent adamantine process, so that it might notcause any inconvenience to foot passengers or lose its virgin freshness;while, at the same time, he decked and bedizened each separate twig andbranch of the poor, leafless, skeleton trees with rare festal jewels andear-drops of glittering icicles; besides weaving fantastic devices ofgoblin castles and airy, feathery foliage on the window panes, fairyarmies in martial array and delicate gnome-tracery--transforming theirappearance from that of ordinary glass into brilliantly-embroideredflakes of transparent, lucent crystal. Ah me! Jack Frost is a cunningenchanter: his will is all-powerful, his taste wondrous. 

The clanging church bells were merrily ringing in "the day of gladtidings, " as our good vicar styled it, when I jumped out of bed andlooked out to see what the weather was like. It was exactly as I couldhave wished--if I had had any choice in the matter--Christmas all over!

A little robin acquaintance, who never omitted his daily call at mywindow-ledge for his matutinal crumbs, was stretching his tiny crimsonthroat to its fullest extent, with quivering heart-notes of choral song, from a solitary poplar-tree in the adjacent garden on which my room out-looked, making the still air re-echo with his melody; my old retriever, Catch, a good dog and true, was pawing and scratching at the door to beadmitted, in his customary way, and sniffing a cordial welcome, as hewondered and grumbled, in the most intelligible doggy language, at mybeing so late in taking him out for his preprandial walk--when it wassuch a fine morning, too! I heard the maid wishing me a cheery "MerryChristmas, sir!" as she left my hot water; so, it is not to be wonderedthat, after I had had the moral courage to plunge into my cold tub, dressing afterwards in a subsequent glow, I became infected with thebuoyant spirit of all these social surroundings; and felt as light-hearted and "seasonable" as Santa Claus and his wintry comrades, thechurch bells, little robin redbreast, dog Catch, and Bridget the maid, could either inspire or expect. 

Dog Catch and I sallied forth for our walk--I, cheerful, and drinking inhealthy draughts of the fresh, frosty aether; he with great red tonguelolling out, as he trotted along in front of me, coming back everysecond step and looking up into my face with a broad grin on his jawsand a roguish glance in his brown eyes--I suppose at some funny caninejoke or other, which he could not permit me to share--or else, dartingbackwards and forwards, gleefully barking and making sundry feints anddashes at me; or, prancing up in his elephantine bounds, with feloniousintentions regarding my walking stick, which he considered he had a muchbetter right to carry than myself. 

We had lots of meetings and greetings when strolling along. 

First, there was the gardener's dog at the corner, an old chum ofCatch's, who passed the time of day to us with a cheerful bow-wow;although I was surprised to see that he had not "a posy tied to histail, " according to the orthodox adage of typical smartness. Then therewas the milkman's dog, a gaunt retriever like mine, but of a very baddisposition, and a surly brute withal. He and Catch were deadly foes, as is frequently the case with dogs of the same breed; so, of course, they could never meet without quarrelling: on this occasion theyexchanged ferocious challenges, and parted with signs and symptoms ofunmitigated contempt on both sides, expressed by growls and barks, tailrisings, and mane upliftings. 

Further on, we encountered Mrs O'Flannagan, an Irish lady, who kept thefruit stall at the corner by the cross roads. She was dressed, asneatly as a new pin, in an "illigant" Connemara cloak, which seemed tobe donned for the first time, besides a bran new bonnet; and, thanks to"elbow grease, " her peachy, soap-scrubbed cheeks shone again. She wasreturning from early chapel, whither she had gone to mass andconfession; and where I trust she had received absolution for her littlepeccadilloes. I've no doubt she _did_ get absolution, for she told methat Father Macmanus was "a raal gintleman. "

Then Catch chased a roving cat until it got within the neighbouringshelter of its domiciliary railings, whence it me-ai-ouwed to him, through all the vowels of pussy's vocabulary, a Christmas compliment--with, probably, a curse tacked on to the tail of it, or that "phoo!phoo! phiz!" meant nothing. But the feline expletives were all thrownaway; for Catch was only "full of fun and with nobody to play with him, "like Peter Mooney's goose, and had only chased pussy in the naturalexuberance of his spirits, having no "hard feelings" towards her, or anydesire, I know, to injure her soft tabby fur. 

We next came across old Shuffler, the house-agent, waddling along, withhis sound eye rolling buoyantly on its axis, while the artificial orbglared steadily forward in a fixed, glassy stare. 

"Bootiful weether!" said he, cordially, to me, touching hishat--"bootiful weether, sir!"

"It _is_ a fine day, " I responded. "A merry Christmas to you, MrShuffler. "

"Same to you, sir, and many on 'em, " he replied, courteously. 

"Thank you, Shuffler, " I said, satisfied with the colloquy, "but I mustnow say good day!"

"Good day, and a 'appy noo year to you, " answered he, passing on hisway. Really, everybody appeared to be very civil and good natured to-day; and everything joyous and rose-coloured! Was it owing to thebright morning, or to the fact of its being Christmas, or to the sweetfeelings I had lying hidden in my heart anent my darling?

I cannot tell: can you?

After a time Catch and I reached the river. It was not now rolling by, a muddy, silent, whilom sluggish, whilom busy stream. It was quitetransformed in its appearance and resembled more some frozen arcticstream than the old Thames which I knew so well. Far as the eye couldreach, it was covered with sheets of broken ice, again congealedtogether and piled up with snow--so many little bergs, that had beenborn at Great Marlow and Hampton, and other spots above the locks;gradually increasing in size and bulk as they span round and swept by onthe current, until they should reach the bridges below. Then, theywould, perhaps, be formed into one great icefield, stretching from bankto bank, whereon a grand bullock-roasting festival might be held, or afancy fair instituted, as happened in the reign of James, the king, "ofever pious memory:" that is, if my chronology be right and my memory notat fault, as may very possibly be the case. 

Doggy did not mind the ice a bit, however. He plunged in, time aftertime, to fetch out my in-thrown stick, with a frisky bound; emergingafter the performance with ice-pendants to his glossy, silken ears andcoat smartly curled, as if he had just paid a visit to Truefitt's, andbeen manipulated by the dexterous hands of one of the assistants at thatcelebrated establishment, armed with the crinal tongs and anybody's bestmacassar. 

By-and-by we returned; and whom should I then meet on my way home but, positively, my eye-glass acquaintance of Downing Street. Fancy hisbeing out before nine o'clock in the morning! It was an unparalleledoccurrence. 

"Hullo, Horner!" I sang out, "'morning, old fellow. Compliments of theseason!"

"Bai-ey Je-ove! Lorton, how you stawtled me--'do!"

"You don't mean to say, " I asked, on getting closer to him, "that you'veactually taken to early rising?"

"No, 'pon honah, I asshaw you, my deah fellah, no!" he replied, quiteexcitedly. "No, I asshaw you, no, " he repeated. 

"Well, then, what on earth makes you come out at this early unearthlyhour?" I said. 

"Oh--ah! you see--ah, my deah fellah, " he answered, "it was all thoseconfawnded little bahds and the bells kicking up such a raow; that, 'ponhonah, I couldn't sleep and so I came out. I asshaw you it was allthose bweastwy little bahds and the bells!"

"At all events, I must congratulate you on your reformation, " I said. 

"Yaas? But it was all those bweastwy little bahds and the bells, youknow; and it's only once a ye-ah you know, Lorton, " he added. 

"So you will never do so again till next time--is that what you mean, Horner?" I asked. 

"Yaas! But, bai-ey Je-ove, I say, Lorton, my deah fellah, were theClydes those ladies in hawf-mawning, eh?" said he, smiling feebly in hisusual suave manner. He thought he had got hold of a grand joke at myexpense. 

However, I was not in the least angry with him. I felt too happy tohave lost my temper with any one, especially Horner, whom I generallyregarded as a poor creature to be tolerated rather than blamed. 

"Did you ever hear, Horner, " said I, "how Peabody made his firstfortune?"

"No, 'pon honah, I asshaw you, no. "

"Well, then, I'll tell you, Horner, " said I. "It was by minding his ownbusiness, my dear fellow. "

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" he ejaculated, adding, after a pause, "Weally, Lorton, you dawn't mean it?"

"I suppose, " I continued, "that you are also just as ignorant again howMr Peabody made his second and greater fortune, eh?"

"Yaas, " he drawled out. 

"Ah, " said I, "he got _that_ by letting other people's business alone!"

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" said Horner, quite staggered at this second blow. "Vewy amusing anecdote, indeed! Thank you, Lorton. Much obwiged, andall that sawt of thing, for the in-fawmation. Yaas, bai-ey Je-ove! Andso I'll say good day. Good day, Lorton; good day to you!" and hestarted off, with a quick step, in the very opposite direction to thatwhich he had been previously going. I went on homeward, with Catchfollowing obediently at my heels. 

Which way did we go?

Can you not guess, or must I have to tell you?

How very obtuse some persons are!

Why, by The Terrace, of course. Was it not there that Min lived; andmight I not chance to get a glance from her love-speaking, soft greyeyes? Only one glance--and I would be amply repaid!

I passed by her house. Yes, there she was at the window, attending toher flowers and carefully shielding a much-prized little maidenhair fernwith a bell glass from the rays of the sun, which beamed as thoughPhoebus had mistaken the season and thought it a summer day. 

She saw me as I sauntered by, recognising me with a little nod and smileand a sudden heightening of colour; and came to the door. Of course Iwent up the steps and spoke to her. _You_ would have proceeded on yourway with a passing bow? Oh, yes!

"Good morning, Mr Lorton, " she said. "How very early you are out to besure! I thought gentlemen were always lazy, but you're an exception tothe rule, it seems;" and her soft grey eyes sparkled. 

"Well, I don't know that, Miss Clyde, " I said. "I suppose I'm just aslazy as the rest. I only came out to give my old doggy a walk and adip, as I generally do every morning before breakfast. If it were notfor him, I do not believe I would get up sooner than anybody else; buthe's such a pertinacious fellow that he won't be denied his walk, alwaysrousing me up at eight o'clock `sharp. ' Would you believe it, he bringsmy boots up to my door, and it is a trick he taught himself!"

"Dear old doggy, " she said, stooping down and patting his head. "What anice sagacious fellow you are! Come here, sir, and give me your paw!Now, shake hands. Doggy, do you like me?" Catch could tell a friend atonce; so looking up, he licked her hand, expressing, as intelligently aspossible, that he was pleased to make her acquaintance. "How I lovedogs!" she ejaculated, rising up again. 

"Do you!" said I. "Ah, Miss Clyde! `Love me, love my dog. '"

"What nonsense, Mr Lorton!" she said, with a warm blush tinting hercheek. "But, I declare you haven't wished me the compliments of theseason yet. How very ungallant you are! I will set you an example--amerry Christmas, Mr Lorton!"

"A thousand to you, Miss Clyde; and each happier than the last!" Isaid. 

"Oh dear, dear!" she exclaimed in mimic dismay; "I am sure I would notcare about having so many as that! Fancy a thousand Christmases--why, what an old, old woman I should be then!"

"And a very nice old woman, too, " said I. 

"Merci pour le compliment, Monsieur, " she replied, making me anelaborate curtsey and laughing merrily. "And what have you got there?"she asked, pointing to a little bunch of violets that I was extractingfrom my overcoat pocket, and which I had procured for her when Catch methis friend the gardener's dog. 

"I got them for you, Miss Clyde, " said I, somewhat bashfully; "and--and--"

"Oh, _thank_ you, Mr Lorton, " she said, quite pleased. "I love violetsmore than any other flower. You could not have given me a nicerpresent. I was only wishing for some just now. But, I hear mammacoming down stairs; so, as I've not made the tea yet, I must go in--good-bye!"

"Good-bye, " I echoed, clasping her tiny hand in mine. "Good-bye, andmany good wishes for the day, _my darling_!" I courageously added thelast two words, lowering my voice over them, as she gently closed thedoor. 

She was not offended, if she _had_ heard the term of endearment I used, for she gave me another nice little bow and smile from the window. Still I think she _did_ hear me. I fancied I saw a conscious look inthe dancing grey eyes, a blush yet lingering on her damask cheek. 

I went home with joy in my heart--joy which fed upon itself andincreased each moment. Don't you remember what Herder says? Let butthe heart once awake, and wave follows wave of newborn feelings--

 "So bald sich das Herz ergiesst, Stromt Welle auf Welle!"

I only know that I was as happy as possible, and astonished everybody bythe breakfast I ate. 

You fancy, perhaps, that I wasn't really in love, or I wouldn't probablyhave been hungry? Nonsense! Let me tell you that happy lovers arealways hungry, and have great appetites. It is only your poor, miserable, disappointed suitors, who are in a state of suspense, that goabout with a hang-dog look and cannot eat. I firmly believe thatShakespeare intended to convey the idea that Valentine was mad, or hewould never have put into his mouth such ridiculous words as those, thathe could "break his fast, dine, sup, and sleep, upon the very naked nameof love!" If that gentleman of Verona had been sane knowing how hispassion was reciprocated and that his lady loved him in return, he wouldhave had just as good an appetite as I had that morning; when, joyous asa bird, I was as hungry as a hunter. 

As for dog Catch, you should have seen how he galloped into his oatmealporridge after his walk--how the oatmeal porridge galloped into himwould, however, be a more correct form of expression. You should haveonly seen him, that's all!

Next came church; and, of all occasions when church-going strikes evenan uninterested spectator, generally lacking in religious zeal, withfeelings of unwonted emotion, commend me to Christmas day. Then, toparaphrase the well-known lines of the poet, those in the habit of beingregularly present at worship "went the more;" while those go now "whonever went before. " People make a practice of visiting church on thatday who seldom, if ever, attend a religious service at any other time, taking the year all through. It is like the wedding feast to which thelame, the halt, and the blind were invited. Every one goes then; everyclass and clan is represented. 

Saint Canon's was a sight. Its garland-twined oaken columns, itswreath-hung galleries, its scroll-work in the chancel--where "Unto us ason is born, " and the message of glad tidings, which the shepherds ofBethlehem first heard when they "watched their flocks by night, " and sawthe star in the east, two thousand years ago, shone forth in blazonmentsof red and purple and gold--all reminded the congregation of thefestival they had assembled to commemorate; the day of peace and good-will to all, that had dawned for them once more, as I trust it will dawnagain and again for us yet on many more future anniversaries. Theplace, too, was crammed, contrary to Lady Dasher's fears concerning thespread of unbelief and the degeneracy of the present age. Everybody wasthere that could go at all, for it was a year in which we had to bespecially mindful of mercies vouchsafed to us. Even old Shuffler, whohad not been seen inside a place of public worship before within thememory of man, was not an absentee. 

I was not thinking of him, however, nor of the display which thedecorations made, nor of the congregation--indeed, I hardly attended tothe service. All my thoughts were centred on Min. 

A madonna-like face, a pair of honest, steadfast, speaking, grey eyeswere ever before me; although I could not actually see her, except whenwe stood up during the service, according to the ordinances of therubric, as she sat a long way off. Notwithstanding my usual attachmenttowards them, I felt inclined to quarrel with the high pews that hid herfrom my sight; and, I'm afraid, despised Bishop Burnet for hisinnovation. The vicar, they told me afterwards, preached a simple, beautiful sermon, that struck home to the hearts of every one present;but I heard none of it. My sermon was in my heart, and bore for itstext one little word of four letters. O Min, Min! you had a good dealto answer for. 

 "Long was the good man's sermon, Yet it seemed not so to me; For he spoke of Ruth the beautiful, And still I thought of thee. 

 "Long was the prayer he uttered, Yet it seemed not so to me; For in my heart I prayed with him, And still I thought of thee!"

After service, of course everybody met everybody else, each of their ownrespective little world, at the church door, exchanging those goodwishes and seasonable greetings proper to the day. 

There was a grand throng without the porch. Horner was there. It wouldhave been nothing at all without him and his eye-glass. He did notappear to bear me any hard feelings, I was glad to see, for myunkindness of the morning. He nodded affably, and said "'do!" to me, inhis usual way, as if he had not met me before. 

Min and her mother did not linger as did the other parishioners; so, Ihad only an opportunity of a passing bow, without that other tenderlittle hand-clasp which I had hoped for. But she looked at me, and thatwas something. 

Lady Dasher, however, stopped for a minute or two; so did her daughters. 

"Beautiful weather for Christmas, Lady Dasher, " hazarded I. Sheevidently did not agree with me, for she looked about her mournfully, with a down-drawn visage, just as if we were all attending a funeral, ofwhich she was the chief mourner. 

"Really, Mr Lorton, do you think so?" came her answer at length. "Don't you find it very cold?"

"Dear me, ma! why you said last Christmas that it was too warm!" saidher daughter Bessie. 

"Ah! Mr Lorton, " continued her mother, not noticing her remark, "wenever have those good, old-fashioned Christmases that we had when mypoor dear papa was alive!"

"No, I suppose not, " I answered; "people say that it is because of thevast American forests being gradually cut down, admitting freer currentsof air all over the world; while others put the change down to theinfluence of the Gulf Stream. Still, I dare say, it will all come rightagain at some time or other. "

"Ah, Mr Lorton, " said Lady Dasher, "I'm afraid it will _never_ comeright again. You are too sanguine, like all young people. "

"Oh, `never' is a long day, " I said; "we should all be hopeful andmerry, I think, at least on this one day in the year. "

"I could never be merry again, Mr Lorton, " she said, with a prodigioussigh, which seemed to come from the depths of her heart, "since poordear papa died;" and she then passed on mournfully homewards, withBessie and Seraphine in her wake. Their cheerful faces, as they noddedback and smiled at Horner and myself, contrasted strongly with theirmother's lugubrious visage. I wonder if anybody ever saw her laugh?I've got my doubts about it. 

Then came out Miss Pimpernell, her kind old face beaming with smiles asshe bowed here and there, and gave a cordial greeting to us youngfellows, who still stood around the church porch. She did not forgetme, you may be certain. "God bless you, Frank, my boy!" she said, inher affectionate, purring way; dismissing me home with a light heart toeat the traditionary roast turkey and plum-pudding, at peace with allmankind, and in love with all womankind for her sake. 

What a happy, happy day it had been!

That night I passed and repassed Min's house a dozen times at least, only that I might see her shadow on the blinds, weaving luxuriouscastles in Spain the while. I would be a great general, a distinguishedorator, a famous statesman, a celebrated author! I would do some grand, heroic action. I desired to be "somebody, " something, only great andglorious! And yet, as One above is my judge, I had not one selfishcraving, not a single purely-personal thought in connection with thesemad wishes. It was but for _her_ sake that I longed for honour and fameand advancement. Only for her, only for her!

CHAPTER SIX. 

"ECSTASY!"

 "... From thy rose-red lips my name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life!"

Some few days after Christmas, little Miss Pimpernell gave a smallevening party for the especial delectation of those who had someritoriously assisted in the decoration of the church. 

Of course, it was not at all like the "barty" the celebrated HansBreitman "giv'd" to his friends for the imbibition of "lager beer" adlibitum; but still, one may feel inclined to exclaim, in the exquisitebroken words of that worthy, "Where am dat barty now?" For, time hasworked its usual changes; and all of us have long since been divided, separated, scattered, and dispersed to the four winds of heaven, so tospeak, to the severance of old ties, and all kindred associations. 

I had not had the slightest inkling that the "little affair" was aboutto "come off" beforehand. I had met Miss Pimpernell out the verymorning of the day on which it took place; yet--sly old lady that shewas--she hardly gave me a hint of her social intent. 

She certainly said that she had a little surprise in store for me; butwhen I pressed her to learn what that "something" was, she preserved aprovoking reticence, declining to enlighten me any further. "No, Frank, " she said in her cheery way, "it is of no use your trying to coaxme with your `dear Miss Pimpernell, ' or think to flatter me intodivulging my news by false compliments paid to my shabby old bonnet!No, you shall hear it all in good time, so don't be impatient. I won'ttell you another word now, my boy, there!" she added finally, trottingoff on her parochial rounds and leaving me in suspense until theevening, to exercise my imagination regarding her contemplated"surprise. "

Then, however, I was let into the secret; and the party was all the morepleasurable from coming quite unexpectedly. I always like doing thingson the spur of the moment, without premeditation. If you look out foranything long beforehand, it is apt to pall on the palate when itarrives within your reach. "Unlooked-for blessings" are generally twiceas grateful as those which you are led to expect--so, at least, I havefound them. 

On my return home from a walk in the evening, I found a little note ofinvitation awaiting me, in which Miss Pimpernell requested me to comeround to the vicarage precisely at eight, "dressed all in my best, " likethe impassioned lover of "Sally in our Alley, " as she "expected a fewfriends. " She added in a postscript, underlined with one of hercharacteristic dashes, that _Miss Clyde_ would be there, if that wouldbe any further inducement for me. 

Oh Miss Pimpernell, you machiavellian old lady! I would not havethought you could have practised such great dissimulation. Would Min'spresence be any further inducement to me! Wouldn't it? Oh, dear no, certainly not!

In ten minutes' time I was dressed en regle and at the vicarage. 

It was quite a nice little party. Not one too many, and not a singlediscordant element. Old ladies and gentlemen seemed to have beenrigidly tabooed, with the exception, naturally, of our host and hostess, the vicar and his sister; for Lady Dasher, owing to some fortunateconjuncture of circumstances, was unable to come: Miss Spight was busyat home, entertaining an elderly relative who had suddenly thrownherself on her hospitality; while Mr Mawley was at Oxford enjoying theseason with sundry dogmatic Fellows of his own calibre. Minus thesecharmers, our gathering was pretty much what it had been down in the oldschool-room at the decorations. There were the Dasher girls, two youngcollegians from Cambridge--ex-pupils of the vicar--to entertain Bessieand Seraphine, Lizzie Dangler, Horner with his inseparable eye-glass andfaultless toilet, Baby Blake for _his_ entertainment--Miss Pimpernellwas a wise caterer--Min, and myself. 

Our hostess had so planned that we should all pair off, each lady havingher cavalier, as she said, in the good old-fashioned way. She plannedvery ably, as we had one of the pleasantest evenings imaginable, withoutany stiffness or formality or being forced to make a toil of enjoyment, in the customary manner of most fashionable reunions: we were not"fashionable, " thank goodness. But we had "a good time" of it, as youngAmerica says, all the same. 

What did we do?

Well, then, there were none of those abominable "round games, " which, unless they descend to vulgar romping, are the dreariest attempts atconviviality possible to conceive; none of those dreadful and much-to-be-avoided exactions and remissions of "forfeits, " that plunge everybodyinto embarrassing situations, and destroy, instead of creating, sociability; none of those stock--so-called--"drawing-roomentertainments;" in fact, which always result in hopeless boredom. But, we had a little music and part-singing: a little lively, general chit-chat, in which all could join and each take a share: a few anecdoteswell told--a complete success, to be brief, in making us all feelperfectly natural and at ease, for we were allowed to do and say exactlywhat we pleased in moderation. 

Each of us was made to feel that his or her absence would have detractedfrom the happiness of the rest; and _that_ is the true art of treatingone's guests--an art which both the vicar and Miss Pimpernell hadapparently studied to perfection, although it really proceeded fromtheir natural good-heartedness. 

But, amongst our company I had almost forgotten to enumerate the name ofMonsieur Parole d'Honneur, one of the nicest of French emigres and adear friend of the vicar's; one known to most of us, also, for manyyears. 

Perhaps you may chance to remember the noise that the great Barnardextradition case made in the newspapers--and, indeed, all over Englandtoo, for that matter--in the year 1859?

You don't? Why, it nearly led to a war between France and Britain! Didyou never hear how the fiercely-moustachioed Gallic colonels swaggeredabout the Boulogne cafes, loud in their denunciations of perfidiousAlbion, while smoking their endless cigarettes and sipping theirpoisonous absinthe; and how, but for the staunch fidelity of the ill-fated Emperor Napoleon--since deserted by his quondam ally--and thejaunty pluck of our then gallant premier, brave "old Pam"--whose loss wehave had ample reason, oftentimes of late, to deplore--there might havebeen a sudden rupture of that "entente cordiale" between the twonations, which was cemented in the Crimea, and expired but a couple ofyears ago under the besieged walls of Paris?

Ah! that was a time when the whilom "Cupid's" boast, "Civis Anglicanussum, " was not an empty claim, as it is in these days of poverty-stricken"retrenchments, " and senile forfeitures of all that made England greatand grand through five hundred years of history!

But the Barnard case--you must have heard of that, surely? It was justabout the period when the wonderful volunteer fever commenced to ragewith such intense earnestness over here; and when our "valuableauxiliary forces"--as amateur military critics in the House are so fondof repeating--were first instituted, in the fear of a second invasion ofthis sacred realm of liberty. We did not then place much reliance onthe "streak of silver sea, " when in the direct face of danger, as agreat "statesman" would have us do now that it no longer confronts us!Ha, at last you recollect, eh? I need not prompt your memory anyfurther. 

Bien. It was at this period that Monsieur Parole d'Honneur was advisedin high official circles that it would be for the benefit of his healthif he quitted French soil for awhile. He had been known to have oncebeen intimately associated with Mazzini, and that gentleman was supposedto be implicated in the Orsini affair--when an attempt was made againstNapoleon's life in the Place d'Opera; so, as Parole d'Honneur hadlikewise been heard to speak rather unguardedly at a political club ofpatriots to which he belonged, the prefectorial mind "putting that andthat together, " very reasonably presumed that our friend must have someconnection with the bomb conspirators. The consequences were, thatParole d'Honneur was told to quit Paris instantly, and leave Franceitself within four-and-twenty hours, --although he was innocent of theslightest knowledge concerning the plot. 

However, there was no help for it. Prefects are not in the habit ofdiscussing their suspicions with suspected persons; and thus he had tobid adieu to his country in a hurry. He thereupon shook off its dustfrom his papier-mache-soled boots, coming to England, in the manner ofhis compatriots, to earn his livelihood as a teacher of languages. 

Having the highest recommendations, he easily obtained as muchemployment as he wanted, and devoted himself to giving conversationallectures to a circle of collegiate establishments lying in differentparts of London, which he visited bi-weekly, or so, in turn. Amongstthese was one in our suburb; hence, first an acquaintance and then alasting friendship sprung up between him and the vicar, both taking toeach other immensely through their large-hearted philosophy; thus, too, I also got acquainted with one of the brightest, cheeriest, kindestGauls of many that I have had the happiness of knowing. 

At the time of which I write, Parole d'Honneur was a very happy emigre, despite his enforced exile in the land of fogs. Indeed, he was an exileno longer in the strict sense of the word, as he had received permissionto go back to France whenever he pleased; a permission of which he hadalready availed himself, having paid a visit, in company with me, toParis, the previous month, at the time when I had been so miserable anddespondent about not meeting Min again. However, he had become so fondof England and things English, from his long enforced residence here, that he avowed his determination of living and dying amongst us--thatis, unless his country and "the cause" should have need of his services. 

On the evening of Miss Pimpernell's little party, this patrioticgentleman, in the presence of ladies, whom he reverenced with a knight-errant's devotion and homage, was the life of our circle. He carried anaroma of fun and light-heartedness about him that was simply contagious. He sang Beranger's ditties with a verve and elan that brought backbonny Paris and student days to those of us who were acquainted withthem. One moment he played exquisite bits from Mozart on his violin, tothe accompaniment of the vicar's violoncello, that were most entrancing;the next, scraped away at some provoking tarantella that almost set thewhole of us dancing, in defiance of the proprieties generally observedat the vicarage. 

We were asking each other riddles and conundrums. Monsieur Parolesuddenly bethought him of one. "Ah, ha!" he said, "I heard one goodreedel ze ozer day. A leetle mees at one of my academies told it me. Young ladies, why is ze old gentlemans, le diable, zat is--"

"O-oh! Monsieur Parole!" ejaculated Miss Pimpernell. 

"Your pardon, Mees Peemple, " said Monsieur Parole--he never could giveher the additional syllable to her name--"Your pardon, Mees Peemple; butwe wiz call hims somesing else. Why is--ah, ha! I have got hims. Whyis Lucifers like, when riding sur un souris, on a mouse, like the verysame tings? You gives him up? Ah, ha! I t'ought you would never guesshim!" he continued, on our professing our ignorance of the solution. "Because he is synonime!--vat you calls sin-on-a-mouse! Ha, ha, ha!"and he burst into a chuckle of his merry laughter. 

This reminded Horner of one. "Bai-ey Je-ove!" he said, after a longpause. "I--ah, came akwass a vewy good one the othah day--ah. A blindbeggah had a bwoth-ah, and the bwoth-ah died; now, what welation was--ah, the blind beggah to the--ah, dead beggah?"

"His sister, of course, " said Bessie Dasher, promptly. 

"Weally, " said Horner, who usually put on most of his _w_ and _r_ ishairs when in the presence of ladies in evening costume: in the day hesometimes spoke more plainly. "Weally, how clevah you ah! I asshawyou, I didn't gwess it for neawy a week--ah!"

"I can quite believe _that_!" said Seraphine, wickedly. 

"Did you ever hear any of Praed's charades?" I asked Min. 

"No, " she said. "Do you recollect some?"

"Ah, " put in the vicar, "Praed was a clever fellow; and a true poet, too. "

"Indeed?" said Min. "I have heard his name, but I've never seenanything that he wrote. Do you recollect any of his charades, MrLorton?" she asked again, turning to me. 

"I think I remember one, " I said, repeating those three spirited verseswhich are well-known, beginning "Come from my First, ay, come!"

"How beautiful the lines are!" said Min; "but it seems a pity that theyshould be thrown away on a mere charade. "

"That was exactly Praed's way, " said the vicar. "I remember well, whenI was a young man at college, what a stir his name made, and what greatthings were predicted of him, that he never lived to realise. "

"He died young, did he not?" asked Min. 

"Yes, " said the vicar, "in his thirty-second year. If he had lived, hewould probably have been one of the foremost men in England to-day. "

"`Whom the gods love, die young, '" quoted I grandiloquently, likeMawley. 

"True, " said the vicar. "There is more philosophy in that, than in mostof those old Pagan beliefs: there is a glimmering of Christianity aboutthe saying. "

"I wonder, " said Miss Pimpernell, "whether there is any connectionbetween it and the text, `Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth'?"

"I can't say, my dear, " said the vicar, "if you are right in thisinstance; but there is often a great similarity between different partsof the Bible and the utterances of profane writers. "

"Have you ever noticed, sir, " said Min, "how David says in the Psalmsthat `all the foundations of the world are out of course;' whileShakespeare makes Hamlet observe that `the world is out of joint'?"

"Yes, " said the vicar, "and there are many other parallels that could bedrawn from Shakespeare. He was frequently indebted to the inspiredvolume for his reflections; whether wittingly or unknowingly, I cannotsay. "

"I think, " said I, "that Douglas Jerrold's celebrated bon mot aboutAustralia must be put down to the same source. He said, if youremember, speaking of the prolific nature of the soil of the newcontinent, `Tickle her with a hoe, and she will laugh with a harvest;'and in the Psalms we have the verse, `The valleys also shall stand sothick with corn, that they shall laugh and sing. '"

"It is debatable, " said the vicar, "whether we should ascribe thesestriking resemblances to unconscious plagiarism or to similarity ofthought. "

"We will have to agree with Solomon, " said I, "that there is nothing newunder the sun!"

"True enough, Frank, " said the vicar. "From the explorations at Ninevehand at Pompeii, we have already learnt that the ancients well knew ofwhat we in our pride long ascribed to modern inquiry and research. "

Miss Pimpernell here calling upon her brother and Monsieur Parole forsome more of their concerted music, they sat down to a sonata ofBeethoven. The remainder of us broke up into little coteries; Min and Ihaving a long quiet talk, under cover of the deep tones of the vicar'svioloncello, in a corner by the piano, where we entrenched ourselves forsome time undisturbed. 

What did we say?

I'm sure I can't tell you. Probably we talked about the weather and thecrops; the prospects of the coming season; the expected new tenor at theopera, who was said to rival Orpheus and put Mario into the shade; or, peradventure, we discussed political economy, grumbling over the highprice of meat and the general expenses of housekeeping! But, please putyourself in our place, and you will be able, I have no doubt, to imagineall we could possibly have found to chat about, much better, probably, than I can describe it. I will merely say for your guidance, withoutentering into details, that it was happiness, rapture to me, to be onlybeside her--will that enlighten you at all?

Later on, came supper. 

After that we had some part-singing of good old glees, like "The Choughand Crow, " "Here in cool Grot, " and the ever-beautiful "Dawn of Day. "We then separated, after the pleasantest of evenings, when it was closeon midnight:--Miss Pimpernell's party had been emphatically a socialsuccess. 

Of course I walked home with Min. I had been so much with her of late, that I somehow or other began to look upon her as my own property; andwas jealous of the interference of anyone else. You should have seenhow I glared at Horner when he suggested, good-naturedly enough, thatMin should go round, by the way that the Dasher girls and the otherswent, under his escort! How overjoyed I was when she politely declinedthe offer, saying that, as her mamma was sitting up for her, she musthurry home by the shortest way!

She looked like a little fairy, tripping along beside me through thefresh-looking frozen snow, her dark dress and scarlet petticoat showingout in strong relief against the glittering white of the roadway. Themoon was shining brightly, so that it was as light as day; and I couldsee her face distinctly as she looked up into mine every now and then toanswer some remark. Her honest, lustrous, grey eyes sparkled with fun, while a little ripple of silvery laughter came occasionally from therosebud-parted coral lips! We chatted merrily, exchanging notestouching the enjoyments of the evening. 

We gradually approached her door. I was telling her that, instead ofmere days, I seemed to have known her for years and could not affect totreat her as a stranger. 

She said that she looked upon me almost as an old friend already. 

I asked her if she would let me abandon the formal appellation of "MissClyde, " and call her "Min?"

She said, "Yes. "

I asked her then, ere the door opened, on wishing her "good-bye, " with alingering hand-clasp, whether she would not call me by my Christianname, too?

She gently whispered, "Frank"--so softly, so faintly, that the night-wind, sighing by, could not catch the accents and bear the sound toalien ears; but _I_ heard it, and my heart throbbed in a delirioustempest of happiness; I lost my senses almost: my head swam in awhirlwind of tumultuous joy: I was intoxicated with ecstasy!

"Good-night, Frank!" I heard her dear, sweet voice whispering, likestrains of music in my heart, as I went homewards. I seemed to feel herwarm violet breath still on my cheek. I could fancy I yet gazed intothe star-depths of her soul-speaking, deep, grey eyes. 

"Good-night, Frank!" The words sang in my ears all night, and I sleptin fairyland. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

DOUBT. 

 "Thro' light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change. "

I had not yet had an opportunity of being introduced to Min's mother. 

'Pon my word, you exclaim, this looks very serious!

I beg to differ from you. We had been brought together legitimatelyenough, down at the church-decoration-gathering in the school-room: wehad been regularly introduced by no less a clerical authority thanlittle Miss Pimpernell, the vicar's sister: we had then and thereassociated under the safest chaperonage--good heavens! would not MissSpight's jealous green eyes, that were certain to pick out the tiniestblot in her fellow man or woman, and Lady Dasher's stately, albeitmelancholy presence, satisfy you? Thus, the "convenances, " that horridAnglo-French pseudonym, of the still more horrible bugbear "society, "had no cause to consider themselves neglected and find an excuse fortaking umbrage. From this point, our acquaintanceship naturally andgradually ripened. We got intimate: it was our fate, I suppose--whatmore or less would you have expected?

Besides, although, mind you, I do not consider myself in any way boundto allay your curiosity and satisfy your compunctious scruples, youshould remember that all of us young parishioners of Saint Canon's--Horner, Baby Blake, Lizzie Dangler and the rest--had known each otheralmost from the distant days of childhood; and, consequently, were inthe habit of _tutoyer_-ing one another, using our respective "given"names in familiar conversation. The habit may be a bad one, it is true, but you cannot prevent it sometimes. There is no practice so capable ofimitation as that of calling one another by the Christian name. It isjust like that of the monkeys all cleaning their teeth along the banksof the Amazon with pieces of stick, because they saw Professor Agassizsetting them an example one fine morning, when engaged on his toilet incompany with a tooth-brush. You can't help yourself: you must bow tothe custom and follow suit. 

In this instance, there was Miss Pimpernell, always addressing _her_ as"Min, " and _me_ as "Frank. " The Dasher girls and others soon learnt todo the same. What more likely than that we ourselves should fall into asimilar friendly system? It was only reasonable; and a result whicheven a less alert person than yourself would have looked for. At allevents, neither of us meant any harm by it; and I am willing to "take myaffidavit" to that effect any day you please to name, in any Court ofJustice you may appoint. 

Notwithstanding the intimate footing that now existed between Min andmyself, the fact of my non-acquaintance with her mother, annoyed meextremely. You need not flatter yourself, however. It was not in theleast on account of any conscientious qualms, like yours. 

I wished to know her personally from a totally different motive; andyet, in spite of all attempts and stratagems on my part, I never couldget a chance of meeting her when I was in the company of some kindfriend to act as go-between and soothe the exigencies of introduction;although, when alone I would encounter her frequently. This was veryvexing--especially so after a while; and I'll tell you how it was. 

As the days flew by, and the new year, born in a moment, grew with giantstrides in that hasty growth common to all new years--they have a habitof shooting ahead the first few months of their existence, as if theydesired to "force the pace, " and make all the "running" they can--myfacilities for intercourse with Min became "small by degrees andbeautifully less. " There you have the cause of my annoyance at once. 

I could see her at the window, certainly. I also frequently passed hermother and herself in the street, or on The Terrace, or along thePrebend's Walk, when I was taking an airing abroad with dog Catch at myheels; yet, I don't know how it was, but I invariably chanced to be onthe opposite side of the street, or road, or terrace, whenever I thuspassed them. I never failed to receive the timid little bow and smilefrom Min, with a rosy heightening of her complexion the while--to whichI had now got so accustomed that, should I have been debarred from theirreceipt, I would have considered myself very hardly used and felt amorbid inclination to go mad and drown myself. But, Min's bow washardly sufficient to introduce me to her mother, even if people could beintroduced from opposite sides of roads. Thus it was that I remained astranger to Mrs Clyde, and did not have a chance of meeting herdaughter and talking to her, as I might have done if I could but havevisited her at home. 

I never was able to have a word with her now, never could hear herdarling voice repeat my name in those soft accents I loved so well. Itwas very hard--very hard, indeed! You see, I had ample reasons, beyondthe requirements of mere social etiquette, for wishing to know MrsClyde. 

Our suburb, you must know, was an extremely quiet place--"remote, unfriended, solitary, slow. "

Although everybody knew everybody, who happened to be anybody at all, there was not much of current sociability and party giving. We were notsociable. On the contrary, we were a very humdrum lot; rising early andgoing to town to our business and daily toil--such of us as had any sortof business to attend to--and coming back at a fixed regular hour. Wewere in the habit of having our respective dinners and teas, and, mayhap, suppers, at certain appointed times and seasons--also dulyregulated--and subsequently going to bed, to recruit for the sameroutine on the morrow, without any excitements, or renovation anddestruction of tissue worth speaking of. 

A "tea-party" was quite a sensation in the parish of Saint Canon's--equivalent to one of the queen's garden fetes. Beyond school treats andworking parties, to which latter only the clergy and Lady Dorcases wereadmitted, and the anniversary of Christmas, when we sometimes _did_indulge a little in wholesome but subdued gaiety, we went on from year'sbeginning to year's end without balls, or dinners, or dances, or any ofthose resources which fashionable people have for killing time andkeeping up acquaintanceship. 

We were not "high-toned" people; quite the reverse, in fact, as, Ibelieve, I have previously described. We only "dropped in" of anevening to see friends, and spend a quiet hour or two over bezique andmusic. On these occasions, a carpet cotillon or quadrille has beensometimes indulged in; but it was the exception and not the rule. Wewere generally satisfied with much milder pastime; our visits rarelyexceeding the interval between tea and "supper" time, when we partook ofa friendly, though seedy, abernethy and glass of wine or beer; and thenwent home virtuously to bed. 

Our society being thus constituted, it became a matter almost ofimpossibility to meet any one particular person frequently, exceptingout in the street, unless you had the entree of their house. Hence, Inever could chat with Min, as I had done at the decorations; and, naturally, I felt very much aggrieved thereanent. 

What made it additionally provoking to me was, that Horner had contrivedto get introduced to Mrs Clyde almost as soon as she had settled in theplace, before I had returned from Paris; and there was Mr Mawley thecurate, too, exercising the privilege of his cloth by continuallyfrequenting her house. He drove me to desperation by going in and out, apparently just as the fancy suited him, as if he were a tame cat aboutthe place. 

His conduct was perfectly odious--that is, to any right-thinking person. 

Curates and cousins are, I consider, two of the greatest obstacles to aninnocent layman's intimacy with the diviner portion of creation; and, inthese days of reform and disestablishment, of hereditary and otherconservative grievances, something ought to be done to abolish thepersons in question, or at least handicap them so that other deservingyoung men might have a fair chance in the race for beauty's smile andHymen's chain. They have an enormous advantage, at present, overoutside men-folk. Girls like to have a sort of good-natured lap-dogabout them, to play with occasionally and run their errands, "do this"and "that" for the asking--like Cornelius the centurion's obedientservant--and make himself generally useful, without looking for anyulterior reward on account of services rendered. You see, cousins andcurates are regarded as "harmless"--"detrimentals with the chill off, "so to speak. His scrap of relationship throws a glimmer of possessionaround the one, endowing with inherent right every act of his ministry;while his "cloth" invests the other with a halo of sanctity and Platonicfreedom that disarms gossip of the usual clothes-peg whereon it hangsits scandal. "Cousin Tom"--by-the-way, did you ever read MackworthPraed's lines on the same theme?--is allowed opportunities for, andlatitude in, flirtation, which poor Corydon, not a cousin never soremote, may sigh in vain for; and, who would be so despicable as toimpute secular motives to the Reverend Hobplush's tender ministrationstowards those sweet young "sisters, " who dote on his sucking sermons andwork him carpet slippers and text-markers without limit? Certainly, notI. 

I do not mean to say, however, that curates and cousins have it alltheir own way always. There's a sweet little cupid who "sits up aloft, "like Jack's guardian angel, to watch o'er the loves of poor laymen. Still, it is very galling, to one of an ardent temperament especially, to mark the anxious solicitude with which "Cousin Tom" may hang over thedivine creature--whom you can only look upon from afar as some distantstar--without attracting any observations anent his "attentions. " Theconfounded airs of possession he gives himself, while you arelanguishing "out in the cold, " in the expressive vernacular, arefrightful to contemplate. As for curate Hobplush, he may drop inwhenever he pleases, being treated like one of the family circle; whileyou, miserable creature, can only call at stated intervals, alwaysdreading the horrid possibility of out-staying your welcome, andreceiving the metaphorical "cold shoulder"--though love may prompt youto the sacrifice. 

Such was my position now. 

There was Mr Mawley visiting at Mrs Clyde's house some half-a-dozentimes a week, for all I knew to the contrary--and of course I imaginedthe worst--and having endless chances and opportunities of conversingwith my darling, in the morning, at noontide, and at night; while poor, wretched _I_ had to content myself with a passing bow and smile when wechanced to meet abroad, or I should happen to see her dainty figure atthe window as I promenaded past her house. 

You say I ought to have considered myself lucky to get even that slightmodicum of notice?

But I did _not_ so consider myself. I was not by any means contented. Where did you ever find a lover worth his salt who was?

To tell the truth, I was horribly jealous of Mawley. He was not at alla bad-looking fellow; and, with all his dogmatic tone and love ofargument, had a wonderfully taking way with ladies. Besides, hisconnection with the Church gave him a considerable pull over me--girlsare so impressionable, as a rule, with regard to nice young curates, that they generally have the pick of the parish! Really, all thingsconsidered, I'm very much afraid that I had not that kind Christianfeeling and charity in my heart towards Mawley that the vicar hadenjoined in his Christmas sermon. I did not regard the curate even withthat reverence which his Oxford waistcoat should have inspired. Ibelieve that at that particular time I looked upon him with somewhat ofthe same feeling with which the homicidal Cain regarded his brother Abelabout the sacrificing business. 

Then, there was Horner, too, who was generally looked upon as an"eligible" person, having a respectable position of his own in additionto considerable expectations from his rich uncle, as I told you before. I could see that Mrs Clyde encouraged him. He was always going there, and frequently walking out with them also. I saw him, and it made myheart bitter. One evening, I met him in full costume, with an opera-glass slung round his shoulders, just before he reached their door. Hetold me that Mrs Clyde had asked him to accompany her daughter andherself to Covent Garden and share their box. They would have waited aconsiderable time, I thought, before they would have been invited toshare _his_! I watched them drive off, and I went home mad. It wasgetting too grievous for mortal to bear. 

The house felt suffocating to me that evening. I could not stop in. Idetermined to go and call on my old friend Miss Pimpernell, and see whatshe could do to cheer me up. 

"My dear boy, " she said, as I entered the parlour, where she sat darningthe vicar's socks by the light of a moderator lamp, which stood on alittle table close beside her. "My dear boy, what is the matter withyou? You look quite haggard, and like a wild man from the woods! Haveyou had your tea yet? I can ring for some in a moment. "

"No, pray don't, thank you, " I answered. "Miss Pimpernell, " Icontinued, in a determined voice, "I have had tea enough to-night tolast me for a twelvemonth! I can't bear this any longer. You mustintroduce me to Mrs Clyde. I have never been able as yet to make heracquaintance, and I want to go to her house as Horner does, and thatfellow Mawley. "

"Hush, my dear boy!" she said, in her soothing way, as if she werestroking me down the back like she stroked her tabby Tom--one of themousiest and most petted of cats. "You should not speak so of aclergyman, my dear Frank. Think what the vicar would say if he heardyou!"

"Oh, never mind Mr Mawley, " I said, somewhat petulantly; "I want toknow Mrs Clyde. "

"Ah! that's what's the matter, is it, Frank? Then why did you not cometo old Sally before?"

"Well, Miss Pimpernell, " I replied, "I never thought of you until to-night. "

"Never thought of me! You _are_ ungallant, Master Frank! But think ofme next time, my dear boy, whenever you find yourself in a difficulty;and if Sally Pimpernell can help you out of it, she will, you maydepend!"

"Oh, thank you, dear Miss Pimpernell! And when will you introduce me toMrs Clyde?" I asked, thinking it best to "strike the iron" whilst itwas "hot. "

"Come round to-morrow afternoon, Frank, " she replied. "She is going tobe here by appointment, to see me about some charity in which she isinterested; and I'll try and manage it for you then. "

"I'll be here, Miss Pimpernell, without fail, " I said. "I can never besufficiently obliged to you, if you do it. "

"All right, my boy, " she said. "I'm sure I shall be very glad to helpyou in such a trifling matter. But I do not want any of your softspeeches, Frank! Keep them for somebody else who will appreciate thembetter;" and she laughed her cheery, merry laugh, wishing me good-nightand sending me home much easier in my mind and happier than I had beenfor many days past. 

On the following afternoon I was introduced, as my old friend hadpromised; and you may be certain that I tried to make myself asagreeable as I could be to Min's mother. I think I succeeded, too; for, when I took my leave early, in order to allow Miss Pimpernell and hervisitor an opportunity of discussing the best way of relieving theparish poor, Mrs Clyde gave me an invitation. 

"Mr Lorton, " said she, "I should be glad if you would come round andsee us on Wednesday evening--I think you know our address? My daughteris going to have a few friends in for a little music; and we shall bothbe happy if you will join us. Miss Pimpernell tells me you are verymusical. "

"With great pleasure, " I answered, in society's stock phraseology. Withthe "greatest" pleasure, I might have said, as I could almost havejumped for joy. Just fancy! all that I had longed for was accorded in amoment. My good fairy must undoubtedly have been hovering about thevicarage premises that day; and I strongly suspect my good fairy in thisinstance, as was the case also in many other circumstances of my life, being none other than my very unfairylike old friend, little MissPimpernell, the vicar's kind-hearted sister. 

Did I not look forward to Wednesday evening? Did I not, when the timefor me to dress at last came round after an excruciatingly longinterval, bestow the most elaborate and unheard-of pains on my toilet, almost rivalling Horner's generally unimpeachable "get up"? Did I notproceed in the utmost joy and gladness towards the habitation of mydarling?

I should rather think I did!

And yet, when I crossed the threshold of Miss Clyde's house, I wasseized with a sudden vague impression of uneasiness. I felt a, to me, singular sensation of nervousness, shyness, "mauvais honte"--just as ifa cold key had been put down my back--for which I was at a loss toaccount. Those who know me say that bashfulness is one of the least ofmy virtues; and, I do not think that I am constitutionally timid--so whythis feeling? Was it not a foreboding of evil? I believe it was, foreverything went wrong with me that night, instead of my having a surfeitof pleasure, as I had sanguinely expected. 

"Hope told a flattering tale. " My good fairy deceived me. Myunpropitious star was again in the ascendant. 

In fact, my bad genius reigned supreme, in spite of such counteractinginfluences as my being at last admitted to Min's home and permitted towatch her gliding movements about the room, hear her liquid voice, catchthe bright looks from her glancing grey eyes, speak to her, smile withher, adore her. 

Yes, in spite of all this, my bad influence reigned supreme; and, I'mafraid, something wrong must have been done at my baptism to disgust mybetter genii. 

In the first place, I arrived too soon, which was a calamity in itself. There is always pardon for one who goes late to an evening party--nay, it often enhances his reputation. Absolution may even be extended tothe calculating individual who ravenously times his arrival by thesupper hour; but, for a simple-minded person, unaccustomed to the usagesof polite society, to believe in the invariability of fixed appointmentsand, taking an invitation au pied de la lettre, make his appearance afull hour before any other guest would dare to "turn up, " from the fearof being thought unfashionable, is simply monstrous! His behaviour isperfectly inexcusable; and, as a punishment, he should in future becompelled for a certain time to dine at our Saxon forefathers' earlyhour, and go to bed at the sound of the curfew bell instituted by theirNorman conquerors--that is how I would teach him manners!

I committed this grievous fault on the present occasion. I had been soanxious to get there in good time and not miss a minute of Min'scharming company, that, like our friend Paddy who ate his breakfast overnight in order to save time in the morning, I overdid it, arriving theretoo early. I saw this at once from Mrs Clyde's face when I wasannounced, the unhappy premier of all the coming guests. 

Perhaps it was only my fancy, as I'm extremely sensitive on such points, for she received me courteously enough, pressing the welcoming cup ofcoffee and hospitable muffin in an adjoining ante-room on my notice;but, I thought I could perceive, below the veneer of social civility, asort of "how-tiresome-of-you-to-come-before-anybody-else" look in hereyes, which made me extremely small in my own estimation. 

It was a horrible interval waiting for the other guests to come andsupport me. I made a vow there and then that I would never againpresent myself wherever I might be invited out until a full hour beyondthe specified time--and I've generally kept it, too!

Min did not treat me cavalierly, however, notwithstanding that I hadarrived in advance of expectation. _She_ was all kindness and grace, endeavouring to make the "mauvais quart d'heure" of my solitaryguesthood pass away as little uncomfortably to me as possible. 

She asked me to come and see her flowers in the bay window of thedrawing-room, which she had fitted up as a tiny conservatory; while hermother sat down to the piano and played dreamy music in a desultoryfashion. I like dreamy music, although it always makes me melancholy--indeed, all music affects me the same way, in spite of my not being byany means what you would call a sad person. On the contrary, I amsupposed to be one of the most light-hearted fellows imaginable, and, certainly, laugh more than I ever cry. However, mirth and sadness arecloser allies than people generally suspect. All emotion proceeds, moreor less, from hysteria. 

While Mrs Clyde was playing, Min and I got talking. She thanked me forcoming early; and upbraided the absent guests for thinking itfashionable to come later than bidden. 

We discussed the rival merits of a scarlet japonica and a doublefuchsia, giving the palm of merit to the former, though the latter hadsome wondrous lobes; and I was also asked my opinion whether herfavourite maidenhair fern would survive a sudden and unaccountableblight which had fallen upon it a few days before. 

She then showed me the identical violets I had given her that Christmasmorning, now so long passed by: she had tipped the stalks with sealingwax and preserved them in cotton wool, so that they looked as fresh aswhen first gathered. 

"There!" she said, with an air of triumph. "There, Mr Lorton! I havekept them ever since. "

"Mr Lorton!" I repeated, "who is he? I don't know him. "

"Well, `Frank, ' then--will that please you better, you tiresome thing?"

"You know you promised, " I said, apologetically. 

"Did I?" she asked, with charming naivete. 

"Why, have you forgotten that night already?" I said, in a melancholytone. 

"Don't be so lugubrious, " she said. "You have to amuse me. You mustn'tremember all my promises. "

"Are they so unsubstantial?" I asked. 

"No, they're not, sir!" she said, stamping her foot in affected anger. "But what do you say to my keeping your violets so long, Frank?"

"What do I say?" I repeated after her, looking my delight into hereyes; when, a frantic chord, struck deep down in the bass by Mrs Clyde, marking the finish of some piece of Wagner's, recalled us both to every-day life. 

As nobody else had yet arrived, Min challenged me to a game of chess. 

I allowed her to win the first game easily. 

She pouted, saying that she supposed I thought it below my dignity toput forth my best energies in playing against a lady!

Thereupon, I _did_ exert myself; but, she was just as provokinglydissatisfied. 

I took her queen. She protested it was unfair. 

I offered to restore it to her; she would not have it at any price;--shewished me to play the game, she said, just as if I were playing with aman. 

I checkmated her. She got up in a pet, saying that chess was a nasty, stupid, tiresome thing, and that she would not play it any longer. 

O, the contrariness of feminine nature!

Other people now began to drop in; and it was _my_ turn to get put out. 

I heard it was Min's birthday, which I had not known before. I saw thatthey remembered it; while, I, had not brought her even a paltry flower!

Everybody was wishing her "many happy returns of the day. " I had notdone so; neither had I any opportunity of atoning for my neglect, as shewas too busy receiving the new comers; but, indeed, I would have beentoo proud to excuse myself after witnessing Mr Mawley's "effusion. "

He seemed to me to be guilty of unpardonable effrontery in holding Min'shand such an unconscionably long time in his, when presenting amiserable shop-bouquet; and, as for the lackadaisical airs of thatinsufferable donkey, Horner--I can find no words adequate wherewith toexpress what I thought; he was positively sickening!

I did not have another chance of speaking to Min either; that is, unlessI chose to bawl what I had to say across a crowded room; and, I needhardly say, I did not exactly care about that!

She appeared to me to be very inconsistent, too. 

She seemed really much more interested in Mawley's conversation than _I_thought any reasonable person could be; while _he_ was grinning andcarrying on at a rate, which, if I had been Mrs Clyde, I would not haveallowed for a moment. 

O, the equilibriant temperament of the "superior" sex!

Min teased me yet further. 

She sang every song that Mawley and Horner asked her for, playing theaccompaniments for the latter when he favoured the company with his ideaof ballad vocalisation. 

Horner thought he possessed a fine tenor voice: I didn't think so, especially on this evening!

But, no matter what these two asked her to do, she did. If _I_, however, requested any particular song, she said she did not believe shecould manage it; her voice could not compass it; she had lent it out;or, she hadn't got it!

Was it not enough to provoke one? Wouldn't you have been affected byit?

In addition to Horner and Mawley, there was also an odious cousin ofhers, called "Jack, " or "Tom, " or "Ned, " or some other abominablyfamiliar abbreviation, who hung over the piano stool, and said "Min, dothis, " and "Min, do that, " in a way that drove me to frenzy. 

I hate cousins! I don't see the necessity for them. I'm sure peoplecan get along very well without their existence. I would do away withthem to-morrow by act of Parliament, if I only had the power. 

When everybody else who had a voice at all had exercised their vocalpowers, Mrs Clyde at last asked me to sing. 

Instead of declining, as I would have done at any other time, on accountof her slight, I bowed my acquiescence and went to the piano. 

To tell you the truth, I was glad of the opportunity afforded me forcarrying out a petty piece of revenge against Min, of which I hadsuddenly bethought me. 

I had composed a little song, you must know, that I believed highlyapplicable to her at the moment, although when I had written it she wasno more in my mind than Adam or Eve, or both!

I sang it, looking into her face the while, as she stood by theinstrument; and these were the words. I gave them expression enough, you may be sure. 

 "My lady's eyes are soft and blue, deep-changing as the iris hue; _But, eyes deceive Hearts `worn on sleeve, ' And make us oft their power rue_!

 "Her little mouth--a `sunny south'--wafts perfumed kisses to the wind; _But, winds blow cold, And kiss of old, A trait'rous symbol was, I find_!

 "For pearly teeth and rosebud lips, whose honied wealth the zephyr sips, _But bait the lair Where fickle fair, Like Scylla, wreck men's stately ships_--

 "And witching eyes and plaintive sighs, and looks of love and tender words-- Love's tricking arts - _Are poison'd darts, More awesome far than pendant swords_!"

"Thank you, " said Mrs Clyde; "it is very pretty. Your own, I suppose?"

"Yes, " I said. I did not feel disposed to be more communicative. 

"What do you call it?" asked Min, carelessly. 

"`Per Contra, '" I answered. "Don't you think it a suitable title?"

"Yes, _I understand_" she said. "Thank you, _Mr Lorton_!"

She spoke, with marked emphasis. 

A little time afterwards, when I was sitting moodily in a corner, with abook before me which I was supposed to be looking at, but whose baretitle escapes my recollection, Min came to my side; and, she beganoverhauling some volumes of music that were piled up in a heap on thefloor. 

"Mr Lorton, " she said, hesitatingly. 

That "Mr Lorton" set my teeth on edge. 

I made no reply. 

"Frank!"

"Yes, " I said, testily. 

I felt very angry with her for her attentions to Horner and Mawley, and, as I thought, neglect of me; so, I wished to let her know it. 

"Frank, " she repeated, "didn't you mean that song at me?"

"Yes, I did, " I replied, very grumpily. 

"Foolish fellow!" she said; "what a very bad opinion you must have ofme, although I did not know my eyes were blue before! You said theother night they were grey, " and she smiled bewitchingly. But, Iwouldn't be coaxed into good humour. 

"Ce m'est egal, " I answered coldly, "whatever they are. "

"You are very cross!" she said pettishly; "I will go and talk to MrMawley, until you get into a better mood, sir, and are more amiable. "

"I'm sure, " said I, loftily, "that I would not be the means of deprivingyou of his valuable and entertaining society. "

Min laughed provokingly. "At all events, " she said, "he is not crosswith me about nothing; and _some_ people might learn better manners fromhim, Mr Lorton!"

"Pray do not let me detain you from such a charming companion, MissClyde, " I said, with distant politeness. 

"Even poor Mr Horner can be agreeable and amusing, and _you_ won't eventry to be. I will go to him, " she continued, still striving to get meto be more sociable; but I was obstinate and ill-tempered. 

An angel would not have pacified me. How could I have been so rude toher?

I was a brute. 

"Ah, " I exclaimed, "_his_ conversation is truly intellectual!"

She was quite vexed now. 

"You are very unkind, " she said. "You speak ill-naturedly of everybody, and are cross with me on my birthday! I won't speak to you, Frank, again this evening; there, see if I do!" and she turned away from mewith a tremble in her voice, and an indignant look in the, now, flashing, grey eyes. 

She kept her promise. 

Much as I tried, when my ill-temper had subsided, to get speech withher, I was not allowed a word. Even when leaving the house, I onlyreceived a bow. She would not shake hands, to show that I was forgiven. 

I had stopped to the very last in order to sit out Horner. _He_ wouldnot budge first, and _I_ would not budge first; so now we started offtogether, our homeward routes being identical. 

You may imagine that I felt very amicably disposed towards him. I wasripe for a quarrel, or at least a separation; and Horner soon gave me anopening. 

He began to praise Min's looks and voice, and the manner in which shehad sung the songs _he_ had asked her for, including the one _he_ hadgiven her that evening. 

Really, the cool impudence of Horner was something astounding! Whatright had he to criticise her? He spoke just as if she belonged to him, I assure you!

This was too much, after what I had already gone through. 

"Which way are you going?" I asked him suddenly. 

"Gaw-ing?" he said, in a surprised tone. "Why, stwaight on, of cawse--stwaight on!"

"Then, I'm going round _here_!" I said, wheeling off abruptly at aright angle from the road we had been pursuing, and going out of my wayin order to get rid of him. 

Flesh and blood could no longer stand his unmeaning, yet gibingplatitudes. 

"Bai-ey Je-ove!" he exclaimed. "But, stawp, my deah fellah. Lorton, Iasshaw you I only meant to say--ah--that Miss Clyde sang my songs mostdivinely--ah--and that she's--ah--a vewy nice gahl--ah!"

Confound him!

What business had he to say or think anything of the sort?

I could faintly hear his voice exclaim "Bai-ey Je-ove!" in the distance, after some seconds' interval, during which we had become widelyseparated. 

I was as thoroughly out of temper as I could possibly be. 

I was angry with everybody in the world, Min not excepted, and with theworld itself; but, at myself, more than all. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

ONLY ABOUT A LITTLE BIRD. 

 Oh! let them ne'er, with artificial note, To please a tyrant, strain their little bill; But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where they will!

I was ten times angrier with myself when I got home. 

What a fool I had been--what an idiot--to have thrown away my chances asI had done! I had wished for "the roc's egg" to complete my happiness;and I had obtained it with a vengeance. 

My roc's egg had been the "open sesame" to Mrs Clyde's castle. I hadsighed for it, striven for it, gained it at last; and, a fine mess I hadmade of it, all things considered!

What must she think me?

An ill-bred, untutored, unlicked cub, most probably!

I did not let myself off easily, I promise you. My conscience gave itto me well, and I could find no satisfactory terms in which I couldexpress my opinion of my own surly behaviour. 

I think if some people only knew the bitter pangs that social culpritsafterwards experience within themselves for their slips and slidings bythe way, they would be less harsh in their judgments and unsparing intheir condemnation than they usually are. Sending him to Coventry is apoor punishment in comparison with the offender's own remorse. He findsthe "labor et opus redintegrare gradum" hard enough, without thatRhadamanthus, "society, " making the ascent slippery for him!

As I recalled the incidents of the evening, I could not help allowing tomy conscience that Mr Mawley the curate, whom I disliked, had shownhimself a gentleman, where I had only acted like a snob; while Horner, aman whom I, in my conceit, had looked down upon and affected to despiseas an empty-headed fop and nonentity, was a prince beside me!

They had but played their respective social parts, and accepted thegifts that the gods provided; while I--dunder-headed dolt that I was--had conducted myself worse than a budding school-boy who had but justdonned swallow-tails, and made his first entry into society!

Jealousy had been the cause of it all, of course; but, although I havealways held, and will continue to believe, that the presence of that"green-eyed monster, " as the passion is euphuistically termed, isinseparable from all cases of real, thorough, heart-felt, engrossinglove--still, jealousy is no excuse for ill-manners. "Noblesse oblige"always. There is no half-way medium; no middle course to take. 

Then, fancy my being such a brute as to quarrel with Min, merely becauseshe could not avoid being courteous to her guests! The fact of theirbeing personally obnoxious to me, did not affect the scale one way orthe other; she could not help _that_. I doubt whether she even knew it. 

I was unable to forgive myself, and wondered if she would excuse myconduct, and speak to me again; although, I really deserved socialextinction. 

But, I surely could not belie her angel nature, I thought? When shecame to know all I had suffered that evening, and the miserable self-upbraidings I had since endured, she would pity me, and forgive me, forgetting all that had occurred "as a dream when one awaketh?" I wassure she would; and I gained renewed courage from the impression. 

I now bethought me how I should next present myself before her. Inaccordance with the usages of conventionality, it would be right for meto make an early call at Mrs Clyde's, in recognition of her lateassembly; and, unless I should chance to meet Min out alone, I wouldhave no chance of making my apology before then, while, even on thatoccasion, the presence of her mother might prevent my speaking to her asopenly as I wished. What should I do?

I determined, under the circumstances, and from the fact of our beingsuch old friends--she had said so herself, had she not?--that I wouldmake her a little peace-offering, in the shape of a present of some sortor other. 

This did not occur to me with the idea of propitiating her as anoffended goddess, sacrifices being out of date in the existing era--except those to Moloch! No, such a thought never occurred to me for amoment. 

Min was not the class of girl whose pardon or good-will could bepurchased, as is frequently the case, perhaps, with others of her sex!

What suggested the scheme to me was, my not having made her any birthdaygift, as her other friends, without exception, had done. It is "nevertoo late to mend;" so, why should I not take her a little present now, to show her that she lived in my heart and had not been intentionallyforgotten? If she accepted my offering, good. I should then be certainthat she extenuated my gaucherie at her party, whether I got speech withher or no. Yes, that would be the proper course for me to pursue. Would you not have thought so in a like contingency?

The present being decided on, what should I get for her? Flowers, photographs, books, music, and all those delicate nothings, which peoplegenerally tender as souvenirs for other people's acceptance, she had inabundance. 

None of these would do at all. I wanted her to have some special, out-of-the-way something from me, which would always call the giver beforeher mind whenever she saw it. You may think my wish a selfish one, perhaps, but we generally like to be remembered by those we love. Ithink so, at least; and, I do not believe I am a very exceptionalindividual. 

What should my gift be? It would not be proper for me to offer, nor wasit likely that her mother would allow her to accept, anything veryvaluable, or of intrinsic worth: such as a watch, which I first thoughtof. Besides, she had a watch already--one that kept time, unlike mostladies' "time-keepers"--and a particularly pretty one it was, too; so, that was out of the question at once. Jewellery would be just asinadmissible. What on earth should my present consist of?

Why, a bird, of course! How stupid I was growing, to be sure! I reallyhad become quite dull. A bird would be the very thing of all others tosuit her, so I need not worry my brains any longer. She had plenty offlowers in her bay window conservatory, besides a tiny crystal fountain, that leaped and sparkled to the astounding altitude of some eighteeninches, and which, on festive occasions, ran Florida-water or Eau-de-Cologne. In addition to these, she required, to my mind, a bird tocomplete the effect of the whole. A bird she, accordingly, should have. 

I had often heard her say that she loved birds dearly. Not wildsongsters, however, who sing best in their native freedom of the skies, like the spotted-breasted, circle-carolling lark, the thicket-hauntingblackbird, and the sweet-throated thrush. --It would have afforded her nopleasure to prison up one of these in a cage. But, a little fledglingthat had never known what it was to roam at its own sweet will, and who, when offered the liberty of the air, would hardly care to "takeadvantage of the situation;" _that_ would be the bird which she wouldlike to have, I was certain. 

I knew just such an one. I had him, in fact. He was "Dicky Chips:"--the funniest, quaintest, most intelligent, and most amusing littlebullfinch you ever clapped eyes on. 

I resolved that Dicky Chips should be Min's property from henceforth. 

Whenever she watched him going through his varied pantomimic role, andheard his well-turned, whistling notes--he had a rare ear for music--shewould think of _him_ who gave him to her, although he might then be faraway. I decided the point at once before going to bed. Dicky Chipsshould, like Caliban, have a new master, or rather mistress; and be anew man, or rather bird, to adopt Mr Toots' peculiar ellipto-synthetical style of speaking. Where do you think I got hold of him?Do you know a travelling naturalist who goes about London during thesummer months--and all over the country, too, for that matter, as I'vemet him north of Tweed, and down also at the Land's End, in Cornwall?

He has birds for sale, and he sells them only at that period. 

Where he hides himself when winter, dark and drear, approaches, I'm sureI cannot tell; but I've never seen him _then_ perambulating the streets. He may possibly, at that season, join company with Jamrack--thatcuriosity of the animal world; or, he may hibernate in the Seven Dials, as most feather-fanciers do; or, he may retire to his private mansion inBelgrave Square; or, again, he may, peradventure, go abroad "to increasehis store, " in the fashion of Norval's father, the "frugal swain" whofattened his flocks on the Grampian Hills--though, I prefer South Downmutton, myself!

The bird-seller may do either and all of these things in the wintermonths; but, I only know his summer habitude:--then he is always to beobserved going about the streets with birds for sale. 

Do I mean the gentleman who wheels about a costermonger's table-cart, whereon he makes a number of unfortunate canaries pull about tinycarriages, with yokes, shaped like those of the Roman chariots, and firecannons, and appear as if they liked it; while a decrepit white mouseruns up a cane flag-staff, supporting himself finally, and veryuncomfortably, on the top?

No; I do not mean anything of the sort. The person I refer to is quitea different character. 

He is generally to be seen driving in a large, full-bodied gipsy waggon, or covered-in break, with open sides and a tarpaulin roof, in which hehas, carefully stowed away, tiers upon tiers of cages, that containalmost every description of English and foreign birds; not excluding, also, sundry small pet animals--monkeys, squirrels, and toy dogs, towit. 

He invariably accommodates two horribly-ugly, black-faced pugs, underneath the driving seat of his vehicle; and you may generally hearhis approach, when distant more than a mile, through the chirping, andsqueaking, and squalling, of his motley cargo. 

Canaries are there by the hundred, packed up separately in those squarelittle wooden boxes, each fitted with a small, red, goblet-shapedpitcher and seed-rack, in which they are imported from Germany; parrots, macaws, cockatoos, and lories; larks, thrushes, blackbirds; starlings, magpies, and such like--down to the common hedge-sparrow and poor littleJenny wren. 

There, now! I have pointed out the distinguishing characteristics ofthe itinerant bird-fancier; and, should you never have seen him before, you will be able at once to recognise him in case of your possiblyencountering him in the future. 

Well, one day, meeting this gentleman "drumming around" our suburb, Ihad the curiosity to stop and inspect his live freight. In doing so Ilighted upon Dicky Chips, as I subsequently christened him: a sturdylittle bullfinch, who looked somewhat out of place, and lonesome, amongst his screaming companions from foreign lands. I purchased himfor a trifle, and have never since regretted the bargain, for, he was adear, bright little fellow; so tractable, too, and intelligent, that Iwas able to educate him to a pitch of excellence, which, I believe, nobullfinch in England ever reached, before or since. 

When invited properly, he would dance a hornpipe, whistling his ownmusic in sharp staccato notes, as from a piccolo. He could likewise"present arms" with a little straw musket which I had provided for him;besides feigning to be dead, and allowing you to take him up by thelegs, his head hanging down, apparently lifeless, the while, withoutstirring--although he would sometimes, if you kept him too long in thisposition, open one of his beady black eyes, and seem to give you a slywink, as if to say, "A joke is a joke, certainly; but you may, perhaps, carry it too far!" I could not enumerate half his accomplishments inthis line; and, as for whistling operatic tunes--the most difficultones, with unlimited roulades, were his especial choice--"Bai-ey Je-ove!" as Horner would say, you should only have heard him. 

As I allowed him to go in and out of his cage at pleasure, he roamed thegarden according to his own sweet will, whenever and wherever hepleased, without reservation; and he, I may add, seldom abused theprivilege. Some time after I had given him to Min, he actually foundhis way back one morning to our house again. I shall never forget thecircumstance: you should have witnessed his delight at seeing the oldplace and his old friends again! He flirted, he danced, he rolled inparoxysms of joy on the little table by the window, whereon he had beenaccustomed to go through his performances:--he chirped, he whistled; infact, he behaved just like a mad bird. 

But he did not desert his mistress, mind you. I think he even gotfonder of her than he had even been of me. Still, often afterdiscovering that he could thus vary the monotony of his existence bypaying a visit to his old domicile--which only lay a short distance fromhis new quarters--he would come round; and, after spending an hour ortwo with me, when he would conscientiously insist on going through theentire round of his accomplishments without any invitation on my part, as if to show that he yet retained his early instructions well in mind, he would return to Min's house, and the no less warm affection thatawaited him there. 

This was the little present that I intended for a birthday gift to mydarling: one that I valued beyond gold. The very next afternoon Icarried him round to her in my coat-pocket--he having a tiny cage thatjust fitted into it comfortably "to a _t_. "

Fortunately, I found Min alone in the drawing-room, when I was usheredin. She was sitting on the sofa reading, and, although she rose up onmy entrance, she only bowed, looking distant, and somewhat embarrassed. 

This did not look well for my chances of forgiveness, and for gettingher to accept Dicky Chips, did it?

I went up to her impulsively. 

"Min!" I exclaimed, "can you, will you, excuse and forgive me foracting so rudely last night? I cannot forgive myself; and I shall bemiserable till you pardon me!"

She looked down gravely a minute. 

"What made you so naughty, sir?" she asked at length, looking up againwith a dancing light in the clear grey eyes, and a smile on her prettylittle mouth. 

"I thought that you did not want me, Min; and I wished myself away, whenI saw you speaking to every one else that came, as if you did not careto speak to me. I was very unhappy, and--"

"Oh, Frank!" she said; "unhappy!"

"Yes, " I said, "I was never more so in my life. I believed youpreferred speaking to Mr Mawley and Horner, to talking to me, and Ithought it very unkind of you. "

"Well, do not think so again, sir, " she said, with such a prettyaffectation of sternness, and laughing one of her light, silvery laughs. 

"And you did not wish me away?" I asked, anxiously. 

"Of course not, " she answered. "Why should I have done so? You wouldnot have been invited, sir, if your noble presence had not been wishedfor, Master Frank. "

"And you didn't care so much for Mawley after all?" I continued, rendered bolder by her changed manner. 

"You must not ask too many questions, sir!" she said. "This just showshow very unreasonable you were! How could I have neglected everybodyelse to speak to you, only, all the evening; what would they havethought, sir? what would mamma have said? Besides, you were not veryentertaining, Master Frank; you were very cross, sir; you know youwere!"

"But you forgive me now, Min, don't you?" I implored. 

"Yes, " she said, "if you promise never to be cross with me again. "

"What, cross with _you_?" I exclaimed. 

"You were, though, last night, " she said, with a little toss of herwell-shaped head. 

I thought the time had now arrived for making my little peace-offering;and yet, I felt as shy and nervous about it as did poor "Young John, "the gaoler's son of the Marshalsea, when he went to call on LittleDorrit's father in the grand Bond Street hotel, and drew his humblepresent of a bundle of cigars from his coat-pocket. 

"Min, " I said, "you have heard me speak of a clever little bird I had--Dicky Chips?"

"Oh, yes, " she said. "You mean the nice little fellow you taught to doso many funny things? Nothing has happened to him, I hope, Frank? Ishould be so very sorry, " she added, sympathisingly, "for I know you arevery fond of him. "

"No, " said I hesitatingly; "nothing has happened to him, exactly; thatis, Min, I have brought him over for you; and, unless you accept him, Ishall think you are still angry with me, and have not forgiven me. "

I thereupon pulled the little chap, cage and all, out of my pocket, andpresented him to her. 

"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed, in her sweet, earnest accents, with a ringof emotion in them. "He's such a little pet of yours; and you have hadhim so long! I would not take him from you for the world!"

"Then, " said I, just as earnestly, "you have not forgiven me. Oh, Min!when you promised to do so!" And I took up my hat as if to go away. 

We argued the point; but, the end of the matter was, that Dicky Chipswas made over to his new mistress, with all his goods, chattels, andappurtenances. A happy bird he might consider himself henceforth, Iknew. He would be idolised--a very nice situation, indeed, for abullfinch!

By-and-by I got closer to Min, as we were standing up, talking togetherand making Dicky go through a few of his tricks on the drawing-roomtable. 

"Min, " said I, softly, bending over her and looking down into herhonest, truth-telling grey eyes--"my darling!"

But, at that precise moment, the door opened; and, in walked Mrs Clyde. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

BREAKERS AHEAD!

 Oh, I see thee, old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart. "They were dangerous guides the feelings--she herself was not exempt-- Truly she herself had suffer'd"--perish in thy self-contempt!

Mrs Clyde's appearance coming so suddenly upon the scene, acted as anapplication of the cold douche to all the loving ardour with which I wasaddressing Min. It completely spoiled the tableau; checking my eagerimpetuosity in a moment, and causing me to remain, tongue-tied, in astate of almost hopeless embarrassment. 

Picture the unexpected presentment of the statue of "The Commander"before Don Giovanni, and his horror at hearing words proceed from marblelips! You will, then, be able to form some faint idea of my feelings, when my pleasant position was thus interrupted by Min's mother. I wasaltogether "nonplussed, " to use a vulgar but expressive word. 

Had she not come in so opportunely--or inopportunely, as _you_ maythink--I don't know what I might not have said. 

You see, I was close to my darling, bending down over her and lookinginto her beautiful face. I was fathoming the depths of her soul-lighted, lustrous grey eyes; and, contiguity is sometimes apt in suchcircumstances, I am told, to hurry one into the rashness of desperation, bringing matters to a crisis. However, Mrs Clyde's entrance stoppedall this. I was brought up all at once, "with a round turn, " like ahorse in full gallop pulled back on his haunches; or, "all standing, " asa boat with her head to the wind--whichever simile you may best prefer. 

A shower-bath is a very excellent thing in its way, when taken at theproper time and under certain conditions; but those two requirementsmust be carefully considered beforehand, for the human frame is a fabricof very delicate organisation. Any violent change, or hastyinterference with the regular and legitimate working of its functions, may throw the whole machine out of gear, just as the sudden quickeningof an engine's motions will, probably, cause it to break down or turn itoff the line; while, on the other hand, a wholesome tonic, or fillip, judiciously administered when occasion seems to demand it, like ourshower-bath, may often better enable it to discharge its duties and goall the more smoothly and easily--as a tiny touch of the oil-can willaffect the movements of man's mammoth mechanical contrivances, that areso typical of himself. 

There are some people, I am aware, who object to the institution intoto, arguing that it hurts the system with its unexpected shock, doingmore harm than good. There are others who believe in nothing butshocks, and similar methods of treatment out of the common run; andthese "go in" for shower-baths, "a discretion"--though, withoutdiscretion, would, perhaps, be a truer description. You may not beinformed, also, that the "institution" is frequently used in lunaticasylums and penal establishments as an instrument of torture andcorrection, being known to operate most efficaciously on obstreperousand hardened criminals, when all other means of coercion have failed. 

As it is with the shower-bath physically considered, so it is in regardto the moral douche, to bring my apparent digression to a pointedapplication. Properly taken, it nerves up the cerebral tissues;experienced unawares, at right angles to previous paths of thought andpreparation, it reduces the patient to a temporary state of mental comaand bewilderment--as exemplified in my case on the present unhappyoccasion. 

I never felt so completely "flabbergasted, " as sailors say, in my life, as when Min's mother came into the room that afternoon, just at themoment when I was meditating a master-stroke against the fortress of mydarling's heart. 

I trembled in my boots. 

I wished the earth to open and swallow me up!

Mrs Clyde was a thorough woman of the world. Judging her out of herown circle of limited diameter, you would imagine her to be cool, unimpassioned, cold-blooded, narrow-minded; but, she could be, at thesame time, bigoted enough in regard to all that concerned herself, hersocial surroundings and her belongings--an advocate, as warm asDemosthenes, as logical as Cicero:--a partisan amongst partisans. Warmand impulsive, where fervour and a display of seemingly-generousenthusiasm would effect the object she had in view, that of compassingher ends, she could also be as frigid as an icicle, when it likewise sosuited her purpose. "Respectability" and "position" were her gods:--the"world"--_her_ world!--her microcosm. 

Where persons and things agreed with these, being sympathetic to theirrules and regulations, they naturally belonged to "the house beautiful"of her creed, for they _must_ be good:--where they ran counter to suchstandards of merit, which were upheld by laws as unvarying andunchangeable as those of the Medes and Persians, and administered by ajudge as stern as Draco--they were, they _must_ be evil; and were, therefore, cast out into the outer darkness that existed beyond hersacred Lares and Penates. 

Good Heavens! how can pigmy people, atoms in the vast eternity of time, thus narrow the great universe in which they are permitted to exist;dwarfing it down, to the limit of their jaundiced vision, by theapplication of their miserable measuring tape of "fashionable" feet and"class" inches! How can they abase grand humanity to the level of theirsocial organon, affecting to control it with their arbitraryabsolutisms, their mammon deification, their mimic infallibility! Whatcreeping, crawling, wretched insects we all are, taken collectively;and, of all of us, the blindest, the most insignificant, and most grub-like, are, so-called men and women "of the world!"

Cold, heartless, in a general sense, and worldly as Mrs Clyde was, Icould easily have excused it in her and tried to like her, for, was shenot the mother of my darling, whom with all her faults she loved verydearly--her affection being judiciously tempered by those considerationsparamount in the clique to which she belonged? But, Mrs Clyde did notlike _me_. She spurned every effort I essayed to make her my friend. 

I saw this the first evening I passed in her house; and the impression Ithen received never wore off. 

Just as you can tell at sight whether certain persons attract or repelyou, through some unknown, nameless influence that you are unable tofathom; so, in like degree, can you decide--that is, if you possess anaturally sensitive mind--whether they are drawn towards yourself orremain antipathetical. I know that _I_ can tell without asking them, ifpeople whom I see for the first time are likely to fancy me or not; and, at all events, I had some inward monition which warned me that MrsClyde, contrary to my earnest wish that she should regard me in afriendly light, was not one of those amiable beings who would "cotton tome, " as the inhabitants of New England express the sentiment in theirpointed vernacular. 

Perhaps you think me a very egotistical person, thus to dwell upon myown ideas and feelings?

You must recollect, however, that I'm telling you this story myself, astory in which I am both actively and intimately interested; and how, unless I speak of my own self, are you going to learn anything about me?I have nobody to describe me, so I _must_ be what you call"egotistical. "

Yes, Mrs Clyde did not like me. 

I do not mean to say, remember, that she was impolite, or grim, orwanting in courtesy. 

The reverse was the case, as she was one of the smoothest, suavestpersons you ever met. 

But, there is an exquisitely refined way in which a woman of the worldcan make you understand that your presence is "de trop" and your societydistasteful, without saying a single word that might be construed intoan offence against good breeding. 

Mrs Clyde was a thorough mistress of this art. 

Her searching eye could appraise at a glance a man's mental calibre or alady's toilette. It seemed to pierce you through and through, exploringyour inmost thoughts, and enlightening her as to what her course ofprocedure should be in regard to you, before she had spoken a word, oryou either. 

So _I_ believed at any rate; for, to tell the honest truth, I washorribly afraid of Min's mother. I always felt on tenter hooks in herpresence, from the very first date of our acquaintanceship. 

On coming into the room where Min and I were regarding Dicky Chip'sperformances with loving eyes, and I completely "translated" by variouscombinating influences, Mrs Clyde appeared to take in the situation inan instant--"an eyewink, " as a minute portion of time is happilyrendered in the Teutonic tongue. Certainly, she grasped everything at aglance--even the contingency that might have possibly occurred, for, myembarrassment was not lost upon her. I saw an anxious expression hoveracross her face for a second, to be quickly replaced by her ordinarysociety look of calm, studied suavity. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, in well-feigned astonishment at my presence--"MrLorton, how d'ye do!"

"How do you do, Mrs Clyde?" said I, straightening myself up, and thenbending in feeble attempt at a bow. 

She said nothing further for the moment, thinking it best to leave theburden of the conversation on me, so as to better promote my ease ofmanner and general welfare, in a "company" light. She was dexterous infence, was Mrs Clyde. 

"Ah!" said I at length after an uncomfortable pause, "that was adelightful evening we had last night!" It was a polite falsehood; butthen, one must say something when in "society" be it never so senselessand silly!

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself, " she answered, although she knew wellenough that I had done no such thing. 

"Oh, mamma!" said Min, coming to the rescue, "see what a dear littlebird Mr Lorton has brought me! It is really so clever that it canalmost do anything. Dicky, dicky, cheep!" she chirped to my youngrepresentative, who sat in the centre of the table, perched on aphotographic album and with his head cocked on one side. He was staringvery inquisitively at Mrs Clyde. He evidently regarded her as anenemy; for, the feathers on his crest got ruffled. 

"Indeed!" said her mother, in freezing accents--down to the temperatureof the best Wenham Lake ice!--"I'm sure Mr Lorton is very good! Still, you know, Minnie, " she continued, "that I do not like you receivingpresents in this way. "

"But it is only a little bird, Mrs Clyde!" I said, at last nerved upto the speaking-point. I thought she would have told me then and thereto take it back; and I awaited, in fear and trembling, what she wouldsay next. 

"And he's such a little darling, mamma!" interposed Min impulsively. 

Mrs Clyde could not help smiling. 

"That may be quite true, my dear, " she said; "but, as you know, and asMr Lorton is probably also aware--although he is very young to have asyet mixed much in the world"--_cut number two_!--"it is not quitecorrect for young ladies to receive presents, however trifling, fromgentlemen who are, comparatively, strangers to them, and to whom theyhave been but barely introduced!"--_cut three_!

"Oh, mamma!" said Min, in an agony of maidenly shame. She coloured upto the eyes--at the dread of having done something she ought not to havedone. 

Her exclamation armed me to the teeth. I would have stood up in defenceof my darling against a hundred mammas, all cased in society's bestsatire-proof steel. I determined to "carry the war into Egypt, " andopened fire accordingly. 

"Pardon me, Mrs Clyde, " said I, quite as frigidly as herself--"but thefault, if error there be on either side, lies on my shoulders. I amsure I meant no harm. I only brought the little bird as a remembranceof your daughter's birthday, having forgotten to present it yesterday, when her other friends made _their_ offerings. "

My speech, however, produced no impression; she quickly parried my weakthrust, returning me tierce en carte. 

"But they were all _old_ friends, Mr Lorton:--_that_ made it quite adifferent thing, " she said, very coldly, although with the sweetestexpression. I daresay Jael smiled very pleasantly when she drove thatnail into Sisera's temple!

I thought I perceived a slight loophole for attack. "I believe, " saidI, "that both Mr Horner and Mr Mawley were only introduced to MissClyde a short time previously to myself. "

Bless you, I was a child in her practised hands! Fancy my making such ablunder as to show her where the shoe pinched me!

"I think, Mr Lorton, " she replied, "that _I_ am the best judge as towhom I consider my daughter's friends. Mr Mawley is a clergyman of theparish, and Mr Horner the nephew of a gentleman whom I have known foryears!"--Ah! she _did_ know about Horner's expectations, then; I thoughtshe did!--"But, " she continued, in a slightly less frigid tone, probablyon account of seeing Min's agitation, and from the belief that she hadput me down sufficiently--"But, Mr Lorton, I do not wish to appearunkind; and, as you never thought of all this, most likely, my daughtermay keep the bird you kindly brought her, if she likes. "

"Oh, thank you, mamma, " said Min, caressing Dicky Chips, who thereuponburst into a paean of melody, in which the opening bars of the "SilverTrumpets" march and "Green grow the Rushes, O" were mixed upharmoniously, in splendid confusion. Knowing little bullfinch that hewas! He succeeded, as peradventure he intended, in at once turning theconversation into a fresh channel, where Min's constraint and myembarrassment were soon dispelled. 

Mrs Clyde had not been a bit put out during the entire interview. 

She was now, as she had been all along, as cool and collected, as suaveand serene, as possible. In this respect she somewhat resembled Horner, her promising young friend--nothing could put her out--although _her_mental equilibrium resulted from habit and training; while Horner's, inmy opinion, was entirely owing to his natural apathy and inherentdulness of disposition. 

Shortly after hostilities had terminated between us, and a trucedeclared, Mrs Clyde said that she hoped that I would kindly excuseherself and Min, as they had to prepare to go out to make several calls. 

Thus politely dismissed, I accordingly took my leave. But, not beforethe astute lady of the world had contrived to impress me with theconsideration that Mrs Clyde moved in a very different circle to thatof Mr Lorton; and, that, if I had the assurance and audacity to aspireto the hand of "her daughter, " I need not nurse the sweet belief that_she_ would lend a favourable ear to my suit. I must, in that case, beprepared to wage a war a outrance, in which there would be no quarterallowed, on _one_ side at least. 

You must not think that I make these remarks with any bitter feelingsnow in my heart towards Min's mother. I only desire to tell my storytruthfully; and, I may say at once that she failed in our after struggletogether. I really believe that she meant honestly to do the best shecould for her daughter, as "the best" was held by the articles of hersocial creed; and that she manoeuvred so that her "lines" should "fallin pleasant places. " Yet, those good thoughts, and best wishes, andwise plans of worldly people, effect incalculable mischief and miseryand unhappiness in life. 

Many a sorely-tried heart has been broken by their influence--many a manand woman ruined for life and for eternity, through their means! And, although I mean no harm towards Mrs Clyde now, as I have alreadystated, however much I may have been opposed to her once--for the battlehas been fought lang syne, and the game played out to its end--still, Ican never forget that she _was_ my enemy!

CHAPTER TEN. 

"A FOOL'S PARADISE. "

 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And the same flower that blooms to-day, To-morrow may be dying!

Rost nubila Phoebus; "after clouds, comes sunshine. "

I did not allow the coldness of Min's mother to dwell long in my mind. 

What, if Mrs Clyde did not appear to like me? Could I alter theobliquity of her mental vision by brooding over it, and worrying myselfinto a fit of misanthropy? Would it not be better for me to allowmatters to run their appointed course, in accordance with the inexorablelaw of events, and not to anticipate those evils with which the futuremight be pregnant? The followers of Mahomet are wise men in theirgeneration. They take everything that happens to them with thephilosophy of their faith. Kismet! It is their fate, may Allah bepraised! they say. 

I was perfectly satisfied to accommodate myself to circumstances; andgathered flowers, according to wise old Herrick's advice, to my heart'scontent. I did not seek to inquire about the future:--why should I?

Time flew by on golden pinions, and I was as happy as the day was long. Winter made way for spring, spring gave place to summer. The halcyonhours sped brighter and brighter for me, from the time of violets--whennature's sweetest nurslings modestly blossomed beneath the hedge-rows. 

Then came "the month of roses, " as the Persians appropriately style thatduodecimal portion of the year. It was a happier time still; for, Iloved Min, and I thought that Min loved me. 

The very seasons seemed to draw me nearer to her. 

In the spring the violets' scented breath recalled her whenever Iinhaled their fragrance; while, the nightingale's amorous trills--we hadnightingales to visit us in our suburb, closely situated as it was toLondon--appeared to me to embody the impassioned words that Tennysonputs in the mouth of his love-wooing sea maiden--

 "We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words; O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten, With pleasure and love and jubilee!"

And, in the early summer, when smiling June came in with her flowerytrain, making a garden of the whole earth, the twining roses, of crimsonand white and red, were all emblematic of my darling. They were love-gages of her own sweet self; for, was she not my rose, my violet, thatbudded and blossomed in purple and pink alone for me--the idol of myheart, my fancy's queen?

With all these fond imaginings, however, I did not see much of her. 

I had very few opportunities for unfettered intercourse. I believe Icould number on the fingers of one hand all the special little tete-a-tete conversations that Min and I ever had together. This was not owingto any fault of mine, you may be sure; but was, entirely, the result of"circumstances, " over which neither of us had "any control. "

"Society" was the cause of it all. Had her mother been never sowilling, and the fates never so kindly lent their most propitious aid tomy suit, it is quite probable that we might not have had the chance ofassociating much more together than we did; nor would our interviewshave happened oftener, I think. 

You see people of the upper and middle-classes have far less facilityafforded them, than is common in lower social grades, for intimateacquaintance; and really know very little, in the long run, of those ofwhom they may become enamoured and subsequently marry, prior to thetying of the nuptial noose. 

Laura and Augustus, may, it is true, meet each other out frequently, inthe houses of their mutual friends at parties, and at various gatheringsof one sort and another; but what means have they of learning anythingtrustworthy respecting the inner self of their respective enchanter orenchantress?

Do you think they can manage thus to summarise their several points andmerits, during the pauses of the Trois Temps, or while nailing "a rover"at croquet, or, mayhap, when promenading at the Botanical?

I doubt it much. 

Professor Owen, it is said, will, if you submit to his notice a coupleof inches of the bone of any bird, beast, fish, or reptile, at oncedescribe to you the characteristics of the animal to which it belonged;its habits, and everything connected with it; besides telling you whenand where it lived and died, and whether it existed at the pre-Adamiteperiod or not--and that, too, without your giving him the least previousinformation touching the osseous substance about which you asked hisopinion. 

But, granting that the most gigantic theory might be built up on someslighter practical evidence, I would defy anyone--even thatphilosophising German who evolved a camel from the depths of his innermoral consciousness--to determine the capabilities of any young lady forthe future onerous duties of wife and mother, and mistress of ahousehold, merely from hearing her say what coloured ice she would haveafter the heated dance; or, from her statements that the evening was"flat" or "nice, " the season "dull" or "busy, " and the heroine of thelast new novel "delightful, " while the villain was correspondingly"odious. "

He couldn't do it. 

The commonplace conversation of every-day society is no criterion forcharacter. 

With Jemima, the maid-of-all-work, and Bob, the baker's assistant, her"young man, " it is quite a different thing. They have no trammelsplaced in the way of their free association; and, I would venture toassert, know more of one another in one month of company-keeping thanAugustus and Laura will achieve in the course of any number of seasonsof fashionable intercourse. A "Sunday out" beats a croquet partyhollow, in its opportunities for intimacy--as may readily be believed. 

It is, really, curious this ignorance common in middle-class husbandsand wives, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, respecting their severalattributes and characteristics before they became connected by marriage, and time makes them better acquainted--very curious, indeed!

An American essayist, writing on this point, says--"When your mothercame and told her mother that she was _engaged_, and your grandmothertold your grandfather, how much did they know of the intimate nature ofthe young gentleman to whom she had pledged her existence? I will notbe so hard as to ask how much your respected mamma knew at that time ofthe intimate nature of your respected papa, though, if we should comparea young girl's _man-as-she-thinks-him_ with a forty-summered matron's_man-as-she-finds-him_, I have my doubts as to whether the second wouldbe a fac-simile of the first. " And yet, young men and women ofrespectable standing "over the way, " are allowed far greater latitudefor intercommunication than our own; so much so, that I must say, Iwould not like our budding misses to go the lengths of the Americangirl, who receives her own company when she pleases, without anyprevious permission, and can go abroad to places of public amusement, or, indeed, anywhere she likes, without a chaperon. 

Still, there is a medium in all things; and, without verging to theextreme of our Transatlantic cousins, our conventionalities might be sotempered by the introduction of a little genuine human nature, as toadmit of a trifling freer intercourse between our youth and youngmaidenhood of the upper classes. 

Goethe, you may remember, makes Werther, whose "sorrows" fascinated ageneration in the days of our great grandmothers, fall in love withCharlotte, entirely through seeing her cutting bread and butter--nothingmore or less!

A very unromantic situation for fostering the growth of the tenderpassion, you say?

Ah! but the literary lion of Weimar meant a good deal more in hisdescription than lies on the outer surface. He wished to teach afrivolous school that true affection will ripen better under the genialinfluences of domestic duties and home surroundings, than the maskedworld believes. 

A girl's chances of marriage, the usual end and aim of feminineexistence, are not increased in a direct ratio with the number of herball dresses!

Let your eligible suitors but see those young ladies who may wish tochange their maiden state of single blessedness, _at home_, where theyare engaged living their simple lives out in the ordinary avocations ofthe family circle; and not only abroad, in the whirligig of society, where they have no opportunities for displaying their _real_ natures. 

Enterprising mammas might then find that their daughters would get morereadily "off their hands, " at a less expense than they now incur bypursuing Coelebs through all the turnings and windings of Vanity Fair. 

Besides, they would have the additional assurance, that they would bebetter mated to those who prefer studying them under the domesticregime, than if they were hawked about to parties and concerts withoutend, to be angled for by the butterflies of fashion, who can only existin the atmosphere of a ballroom and would die of nil admirari-ism if outof sight of Coote's baton!

Your man really worth marrying, in the true sense of the word and notspeaking of the value of his rent-roll, likes to know something more ofhis future wife-that-is-to-be, beyond what he is able to pick up frommeeting her in society. Think, how many of her most engaging charms hemust remain ignorant of; and then, what on earth can he know of herdisposition?

The most hot-tempered young lady in the world will manage to control heranger, and tutor herself to smile sweetly, when her awkward, albeitrich, partner tears off her train during his elephantine gambols in thegallop. She may even say, with the most unaffected affectation ofperfect candour that "really it doesn't matter at all, " laughing at themishap; but I should just like you to hear what she exclaims when herobnoxious little brother, Master Tommy, playfully dabbles his raspberry-jam'd fingers over her violet silk dress, or converts her new DollyVarden hat into a temporary entomological museum!

Observation in the family would enable Coelebs to mark these littleepisodes more closely, judging for himself the temper and tact of theidol of his fancy; while, at the same time, he might discover manyadmirable little traits of kindness and charity and grace, which canonly be seen to advantage when displayed naturally in the home circle. 

The moral is obvious. 

Depend upon it, if there were a little more of this freedom ofintercourse between our girls and young men, we would have aconsiderably less number of sour, disappointed virgins in our annualcensus; and, less vice and dissipation on the part of hot-brainedyouths, who, frequently, only give way to "fast life, " through feeling avoid in their daily routine of existence that stereotyped fashion isunable to fill. Besides, it would be a perfect godsend to thousands ofunhappy bachelors, who sigh for the realities of domesticity amidst theartificiality and rottenness of London society. 

Some good-natured Mayfair dame, I believe, introduced the "Kettledrum"for the especial saving of poor young men who did not know what to dowith their afternoons in our arid Belgravian desert. But, a little moreis wanted besides five-o'clock tea; and, until it is granted, we willcontinue to have matrimonial infelicity, marriages "of convenience, "and, no marriages at all!

Now, I think, I have dilated enough upon the great question matrimonial. I will not apologise for my digression, because I've only said what Ihave long wished and intended to say about it on the first convenientopportunity. However, as I have at last succeeded in making a cleanbreast of the matter, I will revert to my original case. 

Owing to the fact of our suburb being unfashionable, and our societyhumdrum, as already explained, I had the pleasure of associating morefully with Min, and seeing more of her domestic character than I mighthave done if we had been both of "the world, " worldly; although, as Ihave also mentioned, I was not able to adore her at home very often, inconsequence of my noticing that her mother did not like me--seeingwhich, of course I did not push my welcome at her house to too fine apoint. 

Don't think that Mrs Clyde was inhospitable. Nothing of the sort. Shegave me a general invitation, on the contrary, to come in whenever Ipleased of an evening "to have a little music;" giving expression at thesame time to the sentiment, that she would be "very happy" to see me. But, after that affair connected with Dicky Chips, I learnt caution. Ithought it better for me to make my approaches warily. Even to have thegratification of gazing on one's heart's darling, it is not comfortable, for a sensitive person, to accept too often the courtesies of a hostess, by whom you are inwardly conscious that you are not welcomed. 

Still, I did see her at home sometimes. 

I used to go there, at first only occasionally; and then, when I foundMrs Clyde did not quite eat me up, in spite of her cold manner, I wentregularly once a fortnight--always making my visit on the same day andat the same hour of the evening; so, that Min learnt to expect me whenthe evening came round, and told me that she would have recognised mymodest knock at the door, out of a hundred others. 

Sometimes she and her mother and myself were all alone; but, morefrequently, other casual visitors would drop in, too, like me. 

I liked the former evenings the best, however, as I had her all tomyself, comparatively speaking. 

I could then watch her varying moods more attentively--the tendersolicitude and earnest affection she evinced for her mother:--thepiquant coquetry with which she treated me. 

She had such dear little, characteristic ways about her--ways that werequite peculiar to herself. 

I got to know them all. 

When she was specially interested in anything that one was saying, shewould lean forwards, with a deep, reflective look in her clear greyeyes, in rapt attention, resting her little dimpled chin on her benthand:--when she disagreed with something you said, she would make such apretty quaint moue, tossing her head defiantly, and raise her curvingeyebrows in astonishment that you should dare to differ from her. 

She seldom laughed--I hate to hear girls continually giggling andguffawing at the merest nothings so long as they proceed from male lips!

When Min laughed, her laughter was just like the rippling of silverymusic and of the most catching, contagious nature. She generally onlysmiled, at even the most humorous incidents; and her smile was thesweetest I ever saw in anyone. It lit up her whole face with merriment, giving the grey eyes the most bewitching expression, and bringing intoprominent notice a tiny, dear little dimple in her chin, which you mightnot have previously observed. 

Her smile it was that completed my captivation, that first time that Isaw her in church and lost my heart in a moment:--her smile was ever andalways her greatest charm. 

Of course I remember all her little darling ways and coquetries. 

Love is a great master of the art of mnemonics, and might be quoted byMr Stokes as one of the greatest "aids to memory" that is known. 

Trifling trivialities, by others passed by unobserved, are graphicallyjotted down with indelible ink in his cordal note-book--

 "For indeed I know Of no more subtle master under heaven, Than is the maiden passion for a maid. "

When no other people came in, Min would always, on the evening of myvisit, make a rule of turning out her workbox, and arranging itscontents over again--"in order, " as she told me, although I had thoughtit the picture of neatness and tidiness in its original state. 

She was in the habit on these occasions of restoring to her mothersundry little articles which she confessed to having purloined duringthe week. I recollect how there used to be a regular little joke at herexpense on the subject of kleptomania. 

How well I remember that little workbox, and its arrangements! I couldtell you, now, every item of its varied contents, --the perfumed sachet, the ugly little pincushion which she had had since dollhood, the littlescraps from her favourite poets, which she had copied out and kept inthis sacred repository, never revealing them save to sympathising eyes. How angry she was with me once, for not thinking, with her, thatLongfellow's "Psalm of Life" was the "nicest" thing ever written:--whata long time it was afterwards before she would again allow me to inspecther secret treasures and pet things, as she had previously permitted meto do!

This all used to go on while her mother was playing; and then, when theworkbox was arranged in apple-pie order, Min herself would go to thepiano and sing my favourite ballads, I listening to her from theopposite corner of the room, for she hated having her music turned overby any one. 

In addition to these rare opportunities of studying my darling andfeeding my love for her, I used to see her at church every Sunday. 

From her window, also, when dog Catch and I took our walks abroad, Ioften had a bright smile from "somebody, " who happened always to betending her cherished plants just at the moment when I passed by. 

Sometimes, too, I met her at Miss Pimpernell's, or out walking:--thus, in a short time, I learnt to know all her little plans and wishes, andher sentiments about everything. 

Her likes and dislikes were my own. It was a strange coincidence, thatif Min should express some opinion one day, I found, when we next met, that I seemed to have involuntarily come round to her view; while, if Ilet fall any casual remark, Min was certain, on some future occasion, torepeat it as if it were her own. 

I suppose the coincidence was owing to our mental "rapport, " as theFrench express it. 

The only drawback to my happiness, was Mr Mawley, whom I disliked nowmore than ever. 

Although he had all the rest of the week in which to pay his devoirs, having carte blanche from Mrs Clyde to run in and out of her housewhenever he so pleased--he took it into his head to drop in regularly onthe very evening that I had selected and thought especially mine. Ibelieve he only did it to spite me, being of a most aggravatingtemperament!

When he was there, too, he was constantly endeavouring to make me appearridiculous. 

As certainly as I said anything, or advanced an opinion, he, ascertainly, contradicted me, taking the opposite side of the question. This, of course, made me angry and unamiable. He was so obstinatelyobtuse, too, that he would not take a hint. He must have seen that hiscompany was not wanted, by me at least, and that I did not desire anyconversation with him. I've no doubt of his doing it on purpose!

He prided himself on his eminently practical mind, being incapable ofseeing romance even in the works of nature and nature's God; and he wascontinually cutting jokes at my "sentimentality, " as he was pleased tostyle my more poetical views of life and its surroundings. 

Whenever I gave him the chance, he was safe to slide in some of hisvulgar bathos after any heroic sentiment or personal opinion I may haveuttered. This, naturally, would rouse my temper, never very pacific;and made me so cross, that I was often on the verge of quarrelling withMin on his account!

The worst of it was, also, that he was always so confoundedly cool andcollected, that he generally came out of these encounters in thecharacter of an injured martyr or inoffensive person, who had to bearthe unprovoked assaults of my bearish brusquerie--making me, as a matterof course, appear in a very unfavourable light. 

I remember, one day in particular, when he was so exceedingly irritatingto me, that he goaded me on into addressing him quite rudely. 

Min was very much distressed at my behaviour, remonstrating with me forit; and this did not of course make me feel more kindly-disposed towardsthe curate, who had now become my perfect antipathy. 

We had been down to the church--Miss Pimpernell, the Dasher girls, Min, and myself, --to hear the organist make trial of a new stop which hadbeen lately added to his instrument. Listening to the small sacredconcert that thereupon ensued, we had remained until quite late in theevening; and, on our way home through the churchyard, as we loiteredalong, looking at the graves, and trying to decipher by the slowlywaning light the half illegible inscriptions on the headstones, we cameacross Mr Mawley. 

Min and I were walking in front, talking seriously and reflectively, asbefitted the time and place. 

We were moralising how--

 "Side by side The poor man and the son of pride Lie calm and still. "

"I wonder, " said Min, "whether it is true that the dust of the departeddead blossoms out again in flowers and trees, replenishing the earth?Just fancy, how many illustrious persons even have died since thebeginning of the world! Why, in England alone we could number ourheroes by thousands; and it is nice to think that they may stillflourish perhaps in these old oak trees above us!"

"Ah, " said I, "don't you recollect those lines about England;--

 "`Beneath each swinging forest bough, Some arm as stout in death reposes-- From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow, Her valour's life-blood runs in roses; Nay, let our brothers of the West Write, smiling, in their florid pages, One half her soil has walked the rest, In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages!'"

"What!" exclaimed Mr Mawley, who had come up close behind us before weperceived him, and at once pushed into the conversation. "`One half oursoil has walked the rest, ' Lorton? That's a palpable absurdity! We'lltake England to be three hundred miles long and two hundred broad, on anaverage; and, allowing a uniform depth of twelve feet throughout forcultivable soil, that calculation will give us some--let me see, threehundred by two hundred, multiplied by seventeen hundred and sixty tobring it into yards, and then by three to reduce it to feet, when wemultiply it again by twelve to get the solidity--that gives us nearlyfour billions cubic feet of soil, one-half of which would be twobillions. Fancy, Lorton, two thousand millions cubic feet of heroes, eh! But, you havn't told us what amount of dust and ashes you wouldapportion to each separate hero--" he thus proceeded, with his causticwit, seeing that Bessie Dasher and her sister were both laughing; andeven Min was smiling, at his absurdities. "Strange, perhaps OliverCromwell is now a mangel wurzel, and poor King Charles the First anapple tree! Depend upon it, Lorton, that is the origin of what iscalled the King Pippin!"

He made me "as mad as a hatter, " with his "chaff" at my favouritequotation. 

I was almost boiling over with rage. 

I restrained myself, however, at the moment, and answered him in, forme, comparatively mild terms. 

"Mr Mawley, " said I, "you have no more imagination than a turnip-top!You must possess the taste of a Goth or Vandal, to turn such noble linesinto your low ridicule!"

He did not mind my retort a bit, however. He seemed to think it beneathhis notice; for, he only said "Thank you, Lorton!" and dropped backbehind us again with Bessie Dasher, while Seraphine joined company withlittle Miss Pimpernell--Min and I being still together in front. 

By-and-by our talk was resumed in the same strain from which thecurate's interpellation had diverted it. I had just spoken of Gay thefabulist. I told her of his sad history:--how it was shown in thebitter epitaph which he had composed for his own tomb--

 "Life's a jest, and all things show it; I _thought_ so once, and now I _know_ it!"

From this we drifted on to Gray's Elegy, through the near similarity ofthe two poets' names. 

"I think, " said Min, "that that unadded verse of his which is alwaysleft out of the published poem, is nicer than any of the regular ones;for it touches on two of my favourites, the violet and the dear littlerobin redbreast!"

"You mean, I suppose, " said I, "the one commencing--

 "`There, scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year--'"

"Yes, " said Min, continuing it in her low, sweet voice--

 "`By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; The redbreast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground. '"

"You like violets, then?" I asked. "I think you told me you did, though, before. "

"Yes, " she said impulsively, "I love them, I love them, I love them!"

"Ah!" thought I to myself, determining that she should never fromhenceforth be without an ample supply of violets, if I could help it, "Ah, I wish you would love _me_!" But, I did not give utterance to thethought, contenting myself with keeping up the conversation respectingthe Elegy. "It is generally considered, " said I aloud, "that the bestverse of Gray's is that in which he says--

 "`Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood!'"

"Hullo, Lorton!" shouted out Mr Mawley again close at my back, when Ihad believed him to be some distance off. "Hullo, Lorton! Don't youget into heroics, my boy. Does not the `noble bard' make the Prince ofDenmark say, that the dust of Alexander the Great might have served tofill the bung of a cask and that--

 "`Imperial Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away!'"

This was too much of a good thing. 

I made up my mind to stand his nonsense no longer. 

"I wish you would mind your own business, " said I, as rudely aspossible, "and keep your ridiculous conversation to yourself; I wantnone of it; I hate to hear fools prating about things they cannotunderstand. "

He got quite red in the face; but he kept his temper admirably. 

"When you are cool again, Lorton, " he said to me, with an expression ofamiability and mingled pity on his face, that made him look to me likeMephistopheles, "you will, I know, be sorry for what you've said; andwhen you learn good manners I will be glad to speak to you again!" and, he walked back to the church, with the air of a person who had beendeeply injured, but who had yet the magnanimity to forgive if he couldnot forget--wishing adieu to our little party, of whom none but Min hadoverheard what I had said, with his usual cordiality, as if nothing hadhappened to disturb him. 

"Oh, Frank!" exclaimed Min, when he had got out of sight and we wereonce more alone, "how could you be so rude and un-courteous--to aclergyman, too! I'm ashamed of you! I am hurt at any friend of mineacting like that!"

"But he was so provoking, " I stammered, trying to excuse myself. Thetone of Min's voice pained me. It was full of grief and reproach: Iknew its every intonation. "He's always worrying me and rubbing againstme the wrong way!"

"That does not matter, Frank, " she replied in the same grave accents, ascoldly as if she was speaking to a stranger--"a gentleman should be agentleman always. I tell you what, "--she continued, turning away as shespoke--"I will never speak to you again, Frank, until you apologise toMr Mawley for the language you have used!"

She then left my side, taking Miss Pimpernell's arm and saying somethingabout having a long chat with her. 

The end of it was that she had her way. 

I had to go back to search for the curate and ask his pardon, like a dogwith its tail between its legs. 

I was certain he would exult over it, and he did. 

He had not the generosity to meet me half-way and accept my apologyfrankly at once. 

He made me humble myself to the full, seizing the opportunity to read mea long homily on Christian forbearance, in which, I fervently believedat the time, he was almost as deficient as myself. 

However, I had the consolation of knowing that my apology was not madeon his account, but entirely for the sake of my darling Min; although, Iconfess, I did not like to see her taking such an interest in him as toask it of me. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

JEALOUSY. 

 Whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain!

Some weeks after our conversation in the churchyard, I met old Shufflerone day waddling along the Terrace in a state of great excitement. 

He told me he was going to an auction, and pressed me to accompany him, that he might have the benefit of my advice and opinion concerningcertain objects of "bigotry and virtue, " as he styled them, which hedesigned purchasing--should he be able to get them knocked down cheap. 

On asking the reason for such an unwonted outlay on his part, he saidthat he was about furnishing a new villa for which he had just found atenant. 

"A fresh tenant!" said I with surprise, a newcomer in our suburb beingalways regarded as a sort of rare bird. "A fresh tenant! Who is he, orshe, or whoever it may be?"

"Well, sir, " said Shuffler, "it's a secret as yet; but I don't mindtelling you, Mr Lorton, as I know you won't let it out--Mr Mawley, theparsun, has took the villa!"

"Mr Mawley!" I exclaimed, with redoubled astonishment. "Why, what onearth does _he_ want a house for?"

"I believe, sir, " said Shuffler, blinking his sound eye furiously thewhile, to give a facetious effect to his words, "he's agoin' to getmarried. So my missus says at least, sir; and she gen'rally knows wot'sagoin' on. Wemmenfolk finds out them things somehow or other!"

"Mawley going to be married!" I repeated. "Nonsense, Shuffler! it isprobably some mistake. You and your wife must have let your brains runwool-gathering, and made the story up between you!"

"No, sir, " he replied, "it's as true as you are a standin' there. We'veno call to tell a lie about the matter, sir, " and he drew himself upwith native dignity. 

"And you have really heard it for a fact, Shuffler?"

"I 'ave so, sir; and I could tell you, too, the party as he is agoin' tojoin!"

"Can you?" I asked. "Who _is_ the favoured she?"

"Well, sir, " said he with a sly wink, screwing up his mouth tightly asif wild horses would not tear the information from him against his will, "that would be tellin'?"

"I know it would, " said I, "but as you have already told me so much, Ithink you might now let me know the lady's name. "

"Mr Lorton, " he answered, "you know I would do anything for you Ihonestly could, for you 'ave been a friend to me many a time, speciallywhen I got into that row with the tax collector, when you be'aved'andsome. But to speak to the rights of the matter, I can't say I_know_ the lady's name wot the parsun is agoin' to marry: I only has mysuspicions like. "

"Well, and whom do you think to be the one?" said I. 

"She don't live far from here!" he said in a stage whisper, dropping hisvoice, and looking round cautiously, as he pointed along the row ofhouses composing "the Terrace, " where our most fashionable parishionersresided--our Belgravia, so to speak. 

"You don't mean one of the Miss Dashers?" I said, thinking of Bessie. 

"Lord, no!" he replied, "it ain't one of `my lady's' young ladies!"

"Then who is it?" I said, getting quite impatient at histergiversation. 

"Oh! she comed here later than them!" he answered, still beating aboutthe bush; "she comed here later than them, " he repeated, nodding hishead knowingly. 

A sudden fear shot through me. "Is it?--no, it cannot be--is it MissClyde?" I asked. 

"Ah!" he grunted, oracularly. "You knows best about that, sir!"

"Well, don't you dare, Shuffler, " I savagely retorted, "to couple thatlady's name with Mr Mawley's!" I was literally boiling over with furyat the very suspicion:--it was the realisation of my worst fears!

"You've no cause to get angry, Mr Lorton, " said he. "I didn't name nonames, sir; tho' you might be further out, as far as that goes! Ididn't know as you was interested in the lady, or I shouldn't 'amentioned it. "

"You're quite wrong--quite wrong altogether, Shuffler. Why, the thing'sabsurd!" I said. 

"Well, you know you axed me, sir; and what could I say?" he saidapologetically. 

"That may be, " I said, less hotly. "But you had better not couplepeople's names together in that way. Why, it's actionable!" I added, knowing the house-agent's mortal dread of anything connected with thelaw. 

"But you won't spread it no further, Mr Lorton?" he said, anxiously, the sound eye looking at me with a beseeching expression. 

"_I_ won't, Shuffler, " I answered; "take care that _you_ don't!"

"I'll take my davy, sir, as how it shan't cross my lips again, " hereplied in a convincing tone. 

"Very well, Shuffler, " I replied, turning away from him. "Only keep tothat, and it will be best for you. Good day!"

"Good day, sir; and you won't come to the auction along o' me?"

"No, " said I. "I can't spare the time to-day. I'll try and come to-morrow, if that will do as well. "

I did not wish to be angry with him; for, after all, I had brought thebitter information he conveyed entirely upon myself. He was onlyrepeating what was, probably, already the gossip of the whole suburb. Besides, he really had mentioned no names:--the allusion to Min, hadbeen as much my suggestion as his; so, I tried to be affable with himbefore we parted. "I'll try and come to-morrow, Shuffler, if that willdo as well, to look at the things you want me, " I said, more cordiallythan I had previously spoken to him. 

"All right, sir, " he replied, all beaming once more, with _the_ eye asjovial as ever. "That'll suit me jest as well, sir; and I'm very muchobleeged, too, I'm sure. "

He, thereupon and then, waddled off on his mission of beating downopposition brokers; while I paced along sadly, thinking about the news Ihad just heard. 

I was going to call on Lady Dasher, who would be able to confirm it, orsettle that it was a mere idle report; consequently, I would not have toremain long in suspense. 

I would soon know the truth, one way or the other. 

Prior, however, to my reaching this haven of rumour, I met little MissPimpernell. She was trotting along, with a basket on her arm, accordingto her usual wont when district visiting. 

"Hi! Frank, " she exclaimed, on seeing me. "What is the matter with younow? Why, my dear boy, you've got a face as long as my arm, and lookthe picture of misery!"

"Oh, I've just heard something that surprised me, " I said. "I've beentold that Mr Mawley is going to get married. "

"Well, that's news to me, " she said. "I haven't heard it before. Butwhat if he _is_ going to be married--are you so sorry on his account, orfor the lady?" she continued, in a bantering tone--she always liked abit of a joke--"I never thought you took such an interest in MrMawley!"

"I'm sure I don't know, " I said. "It has surprised me, that's all. "

"_So_ it has me, Frank, " said she. "Who told you?"

"I don't know whether I ought to tell, Miss Pimpernell, " I replied, hesitatingly. "It was disclosed to me in confidence, and--"

"No matter, no matter, my clear boy, " said the old lady briskly. "Thenyou ought _not_ to tell me. But, at the same time, Frank, I don'tbelieve a word of it! If Mr Mawley had been meditating anything of thesort, _I_ would have been his first confidante! I don't think there's aword of truth in it, Frank, no matter who your informant was. I daresaythe rumour has got about just because he has taken a house, which he canvery well afford, having got tired of living in lodgings; and smallblame to him, say I! He's no more going to get married than _I_ am, Frank; and I do not believe that likely, do you?"

She laughed cheerily, tapping me on the cheek with her glove. 

She was always petting and caressing me; and, I believe, considered me asort of big baby exclusively her own property. 

"But his taking a house looks suspicious, " I said, willing to be moreconvinced. 

"Not a bit of it, " said Miss Pimpernell, sturdily. "Why, if MonsieurParole d'Honneur took a house, would that be any reason for _his_getting married? Ah, I know, Frank, who has put all this nonsense inyour head! It is that gossiping old Shuffler. I'll give him a lecturewhen I next catch him, " and she shook her fist comically in the air, tothe intense wonderment of Miss Spight, who was crossing the road. 

"But, mind, I didn't tell you so, Miss Pimpernell. Don't tell him thatI repeated what he said?"

"Stuff and nonsense, " she said. "Why, he'll tell everybody he meets thenews in confidence, just the same as he did you. I'll give him a goodwigging, I tell you! Mr Mawley is not going to be married in a hurry;and if he is, not to the young person you think, Master Frank. "

"I did not mention anybody, Miss Pimpernell, " I said, in confusion; for, her keen black eyes seemed to penetrate into my very heart, and searchout my secret fears. 

She looked very sagacious. 

"Ah! Frank, you did not _say_ anything; but your looks betrayed you. So _that's_ the reason why the report of the curate's marriage affectedyou so, is it? But you needn't blush, my dear boy! You need not blush!_I_ will not tell tales out of school; so you may set your mind atrest. It is not, however, as you think, Frank. Cheer up; and good-bye, my dear boy. I must be trotting off now, or my poor blind woman willthink I'm never coming to read to her. "

And off she went, leaving me much happier than old Shuffler had done. 

Confound him! What did he mean, with his cock-and-a-bull story?

On reaching Lady Dasher's house, however, the house-agent's rumour was, to my great distress, confirmed; and, that in the most authoritativemanner. 

It must be true then, in spite of Miss Pimpernell's denial!

My lady was in one of her most morbid and melancholy moods, too, whichdid not help to mend matters. 

I praised her fuchsias on entering; but even this homage to herfavourite hobby failed to rouse her. 

She had heard that Mrs Clyde had some of the most beautiful pelargonia;and what were _her_ paltry flowers in comparison?

Alas! she was poor, and could only afford a few miserable fuchsias todecorate her drawing-room--or rather the better to exhibit its poverty!

If her poor, dear papa had been alive, things of course would have beenvery different; and she could have had petunias, or orchids, or any ofthe rarest hot-house flowers she pleased; but, now, she was poor, although proud, and could not afford them like that rich parvenue. 

How, good things always seemed given to those who are above their need!

There was Mrs Clyde getting her only daughter engaged to be marriedalso, she heard; while no suitor came forward for _her_ two poor orphangirls!

Such was the staple of her conversation--enlivening, at any rate. 

"Oh, ma!" exclaimed Bessie Dasher at this juncture; "you should not sayso to Mr Lorton! He'll think you wish him to propose at once!" andboth she and her sister burst out laughing at the idea. 

"So I would, " said I, jokingly, notwithstanding that I felt asmelancholy and little inclined for raillery as their mother, whose wordsseemed to clinch what old Shuffler had said. "So I would, too, if thereweren't a pair of you, and bigamy contrary to law. `How happy could Ibe with either, were t'other dear charmer away. ' But, " I continued, turning to Lady Dasher, with an assumption of easy indifference which Ifound it hard to counterfeit under the searching glances of the two wildIrish girls, her daughters, "is it really true what you said just nowabout Mrs Clyde's daughter, Lady Dasher?"

"Yes, Mr Lorton, " she replied, "to the best of my belief it is; for, Ihave heard, on the most unimpeachable authority, that she is engaged toMr Mawley. He is always going there, you know. "

"But that is no proof, ma, " said Bessie Dasher, who, as I have hintedbefore, was suspected of a slight tenderness towards the curate. "MrMawley is always coming here, too!"

"True, my dear, " said her mother; "still there are comings and comings. You may depend he only goes there so often _for a purpose_! Indeed, Iasked Mrs Clyde whether there was not something in it only yesterday, and she smiled and said nothing; and, if _that_ isn't proof, " sheconcluded, triumphantly, "I don't know _what_ is!"

Bessie remained silent, but her sister said impulsively, "I don'tbelieve it, ma--not what you say, but about Minnie Clyde's engagement. Mr Mawley's going there proves nothing, as Bessie said; and, as forMrs Clyde, I believe she would smile in that graceful way of hers--Ihate fine people!--and say nothing if you told her that her house was onfire! The curate is always gadding about, and Minnie is a pretty girl;so, of course, he likes to go there and see her; but, I know, that shedoes not care twopence for him. "

"Ah, you may say so, my dear; but _I_ know better. She would jump tohave him. All girls like handsome young clergymen, as I know to mycost. Ah, Mr Lorton, " went on Lady Dasher, with a sad expressive shakeof her head, "marriage is a sad lottery, a sad lottery! I once thoughtof marrying into the church, too, when my poor dear papa was alive. Perhaps it would have been a happier lot for me if I had done so! Hewas such a dear, nice clergyman, and looked so well in his canonicals--such a truly evangelical minister! I could listen to his sermons forhours without feeling the slightest fatigue!"

"Thank goodness, then, he wasn't our papa!" exclaimed the saucySeraphine. "I'm certain that _I_ wouldn't have been able to listen tohis sermons so long!"

"Ah, my dear, " groaned her mother at her levity, "always frivolous, Seraphine! I'm afraid you will never marry a pious, holy man, as Iwould wish!"

"Not if I know it, ma!" she retorted, so heartily that both her sisterBessie and I--in spite of my anxiety about Min--could not but join inher catching laughter. "No, " continued the pert and impetuous younglady, "when I enter the holy estate of matrimony I shall choose a gaysoldier laddie. None of your solemn-faced parsons for me! If they wereall like our good old vicar, whom I would take to-morrow if he asked me, it would be quite a different thing; but they are not. They are all toosteady and starch and stiff now-a-days. They look as if butter wouldnot melt in their mouths!"

"Ah, my dear!" said her mother, "you will not think so by-and-by. `Beggars mustn't be choosers. ' You have got nothing but your face foryour fortune, you know, although it would have been very different if mypoor dear papa had been alive!"

"What, my face, ma?" said her dutiful daughter, "I'm sure I hope not!Really, I'm very well satisfied with it;" and, getting up and going tothe mirror, she set about altering the riband in her hair, humming thewhile the old ballad--

 "`My face is my fortune, kind sir, ' she said, `Kind sir, ' she said, `sir, ' she said; `My face is my fortune, kind sir, ' she said. "

I did not like to press any more inquiries with reference to MrMawley's rumoured engagement, thinking they would look too pointed, disclosing my interest in the affair, --however much I was transportedwith the feelings of mingled jealousy, doubt, and uncertainty, that werepreying on my heart; consequently, I now took my leave, all thesuspicions and fears, which Shuffler's news had given rise to, more rifethan ever:--the renewed hope that Miss Pimpernell's cheery address hadinspired me with, completely dispelled. 

I'm afraid my anxiety was only too apparent; for, Seraphine Dasherwhispered to me as I went out, "I don't believe a word of it, there! Itis only one of those absurd `true stories' that ma is always gettinghold of. "

But I wouldn't be comforted. 

It was only likely enough. Mawley was constantly going there, as LadyDasher had said, and Mrs Clyde encouraged him, there could be no doubt;there must be something in it, or these reports would never have gotabout. "There is never any smoke without fire. "

Besides, Min herself did not dislike the curate as I did. 

I could see that plainly for myself the night of that birthday party ather house. His insinuating address and treacherous advances hadprobably succeeded at last in entrapping her affections. 

False, cruel girl that she was, how could she encourage me as she haddone, to nurse delusive hopes which, as she must have known, would onlyend in disappointment! What had been probably sport to her was death tome!

And yet, I _could_ not believe it of her. 

My pure angel-natured Min, with her darling madonna-like face andhonest, trustful grey eyes, to act like this?

No. It could not be. It was impossible. 

Still, the very next day I saw her walking out alone with the curate. 

It must be true, then, I thought; and I ground my teeth in anguish. 

I determined to avoid her, never passing her house as I had beenpreviously accustomed to; and, only bowing coldly when I met her in thestreet. 

At last she spoke to me one day, as I was coming out of the vicarage. 

She was just going to knock at the door; so I encountered her face toface on the step, without a chance of escape. 

She held out her hand to me. 

I took it mechanically, and then let it drop; raising my hat at the sametime, without saying a word. 

She addressed me with heightened colour and a wistful look in the deep, grey eyes. 

"Why are you so angry with me, Frank?" she asked in her sweet, lowvoice, which had a slight tremble in it as she spoke. "What have I doneto offend you? You never stop and speak to me now, never call at ourhouse, and always pass me by with a cold frigid bow! Have I doneanything to offend you, Frank?" she entreated again. "If so, tell me;and I will beg your pardon, for it must have been unintentional on mypart?"

I was foolish, and proud, and conceited. I thought that I would notallow myself to be deceived twice. 

I was bitter and rude. I made a mockery of all the friendly overtureswhich she made so lovingly with all the coy bashfulness of her maidenheart. 

I could have strangled myself afterwards, when I thought it all over!

"I'm not aware, Miss Clyde, " said I, as stiffly as you please--just asif she were a stranger to me, and not the dear Min whom I knew and lovedso well--"I am not aware that there is any necessity for your asking myforgiveness:--if you cannot suggest to yourself the reason for myaltered manner, words on my part would be useless indeed!"

I spoke thus harshly to her, and coldly, when my heart was almostbreaking the while. 

"And is that all you have got to say to me, Frank?" she said, still inthe same dear, tender, entreating voice, and with glistening eyes. 

My sternness was nearly melted; but I continued to hold out and standupon my dignity. 

"I have nothing more to add, Miss Clyde, " I said, with anotherGrandisonian bow. 

"Then, Mr Lorton, " she said, her grey eyes flashing, and her whole dearlittle self roused into a fiery, impulsive little Min--she lookedglorious in her pique!--"then, Mr Lorton, I will not seek to detain youfurther--let me pass, sir!" she added passionately, as, relenting of mybehaviour, I tried to stop her and explain my conduct--"Let me pass, sir! I do not wish to hear another word from you!"

And she walked, as stately as a little queen, into the hall of thevicarage, tossing up her sweet little dimpled chin proudly; while, I?--went back disconsolately home, my heart torn with conflicting emotions. 

Was I right, or wrong?

Perhaps the rumour of her engagement had not the slightest foundation, in fact. 

However, it was too late now to think about that!

All was over. 

We were parted for ever!

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

ON THE RIVER. 

 We left behind the painted buoy That tosses at the harbour mouth; And madly danced our heart with joy, As fast we fleeted to the south. How fresh was every sight and sound On open main, on winding shore! We knew the merry world was round, And we might sail for evermore. 

"Frank, what do you mean by behaving so unkindly to Minnie Clyde?" wasthe opening salutation of little Miss Pimpernell to me, the sameevening, when I called round again at the vicarage, like Telemachus, insearch of consolation. 

I was so utterly miserable and disheartened at the conviction thateverything was over between Min and myself--at the sudden collapse ofall my eager hopes and ardent longings--that I felt I must speak tosomebody and unbosom myself; or else I should go out of my senses. 

"_I_ behave unkindly to Miss Clyde!" I exclaimed, in astonishment ather thus addressing me, before I could get out a word as to why I hadcome to see her--"I--I--I--don't know what you mean, Miss Pimpernell?"

"You know, or ought to know very well, Frank, without my telling you, "she rejoined; and there was a grave tone in her voice, for which I couldnot account. 

However, the dear old lady did not leave me long in doubt. 

She was never in the habit of "beating about the bush;" but always spokeout straight, plump and plain, to the point. 

"Really, my boy, " she continued, "I think there is no excuse for youracting so strangely to the poor little girl, after all your attentionsand long intimacy!"

"But, Miss Pimpernell, " I commenced; however, she quickly interruptedme. 

"`But me no buts, ' Frank Lorton, " she said, with more determination andseverity than she had ever used to me since I had known her. "I'm quiteangry with you. You have disappointed all my expectations, when Ithought I knew your character so well, too! Learn, that there is no oneI despise so much as a male flirt. Oh, Frank! I did not think you hada grain of such little-mindedness in you! I believed you to bestraightforward, and earnest, and true. I'm sadly disappointed in you, my boy; sadly disappointed!" and she shook her head reproachfully. 

It was very hard being attacked in this way, when I had come forconsolation!

I had thought myself to be the injured party, whose wounds would havebeen bound up, and oil and wine inpoured by the good Samaritan to whom Ihad always looked as my staunchest ally; yet, here she was, upbraidingme as a heartless deceiver, a role which I had never played in my life!

I did not know what to make of it. 

What was she driving at?

"I assure you, Miss Pimpernell, " I said with all the earnestness whichthe circumstances really warranted, "that I have not behaved in any way, to my knowledge, of which you might be ashamed for my sake. I came inthis evening to ask your sympathy; and, here, you accuse me like this, without waiting to hear a word I have to say! Miss Pimpernell, you areunjust to me. I will go. "

And I made as if to leave the room in a huff. 

"Stop, Frank, " said the dear little old lady, rising to her feet, andspeaking to me again with something of her old cordial manner--"Youspeak candidly; and I've always known you to tell the truth, so I won'tdoubt you now. Perhaps things have only got into a muddle after all. Let me see if I cannot get to the bottom of it, and set them straightfor you! You will not deny, I suppose, Frank, that up to a short timesince you've been in the habit of paying a good deal of attention toMinnie Clyde?"

"Miss Clyde is nothing to me now!" I said grandly: I did not deceiveher, however, nor turn her from her purpose. 

"Wait a minute, my boy, and hear me out. You won't deny that you havebeen what you call `spoony, ' in your abominable slang, eh, Frank?" sherepeated, with a knowing glance from her beady black eyes. 

"Pay her attention, Miss Pimpernell, " I said impetuously. "Goodheavens! Why, at one time I would have died for her, and let my body becut into little pieces, if it would only have done her any good!"

"Softly, Frank, " responded the old lady. "I don't think that _would_have done her any good, or you either, for that matter! But, why haveyou changed towards her, Frank? I never thought you so false andfickle, my boy. She came in here to see me to-day, looking very excitedand unhappy; and when she had sat down--there, in that very chair youare now sitting in, " continued Miss Pimpernell, emphasising her words bypointing to the corner I occupied, "and I asked her soothingly whatdistressed her, she burst into tears, and sobbed as if her little heartwould break. I declare, my boy, " said the warm-hearted little body, with a husky cough, "I almost cried myself in company. However, I gotit all out of her afterwards. It seems to me, Frank, that you havebehaved very unkindly to her. She thought she had offended you in someway of which she declared that she was perfectly ignorant: she had askedyou, she said, but you would not tell her--treating her as if she were aperfect stranger. She's a sensitive girl, Frank, and you have hurt herfeelings to the quick! Now, what is the reason of this--do you care forher still?"

"Care for her! Miss Pimpernell, " I said. "Why I love her--although Idid not intend telling you yet. "

"As if I didn't know all about that already, " said the old lady, laughing cheerily. "Oh, you lovers, you lovers! You are just for allthe world like a herd of wild ostriches, that stick their heads in thebush, and fancy that they are completely concealed from observation!All of you imagine, that, because you do not take people into yourconfidence, they are as blind as you are! Can't they see all that isgoing on well enough; don't your very looks, much less your actions, betray you? Why, Frank, I knew all about your case weeks ago, my boy!--without any information from you or anybody else! Besides, you know, I_ought_ to have some _little_ experience in such matters by this time;for, every boy and girl in the parish has made me their confidante foryears and years past!" and she laughed again. 

Miss Pimpernell was once more her cheery old self, quite restored to hernormal condition of good humour. 

No one, I believe, ever saw her "put out" for more than five minutesconsecutively at the outside; and very seldom for so long, at that. 

"Ah!" I ejaculated with a deep sigh, "I wish I had told you before. Now, it is too late!"

"Too late!" she rejoined, briskly. "Too late! Nonsense; it's `nevertoo late to mend. '"

"It is in some cases, " I said, as mournfully as Lady Dasher could havespoken; "and this is one of them!"

It was all over, I thought, so, why talk about it any more? What wasdone couldn't be helped!

"Rubbish!" replied Miss Pimpernell; "you've had a tiff with her, andthink you have parted for ever! You see, I know all about it withoutyour telling me. You lovers are ever quarrelling and making up again;though, how you manage it, I can't think. But, Frank, there must alwaysbe two to make a quarrel, and Minnie Clyde does not seem to have beenone to yours. Tell me why you have altered so towards her; and, let ussee whether old Sally cannot mend matters for you. "

She looked at me so kindly that I made a clean breast of all mytroubles. 

"Well, Frank!" she exclaimed, when I had got to the end of my story, "you are a big stupid, in spite of all your cleverness! You are not abit sharper than the rest of your sex:--a woman has twice the insight ofany of you lords of creation! Did I not tell you, not to believe thatabsurd story about Mr Mawley long ago--that it was only a silly tale ofShuffler's, and not worth a moment's credence? But, you wouldn'tbelieve me; and, here you have been knocking your head against a walljust on account of that cock-and-a-bull-story, and nothing else! Ah, you lovers will never learn common sense! If it wasn't for us oldladies, you would get into such fine scrapes that you would never getout of them, I can tell you!"

"And you are sure it is not true, Miss Pimpernell?" I asked, imploringly. 

"Certainly, Frank. Where are your eyes? You are as blind as a mole, myboy. "

"O, Miss Pimpernell!" I exclaimed, in remorse at my hasty conduct, "what shall I do to make my peace once more with her? She will neverspeak to me again, I know, unless you intercede for me, and tell her howthe misunderstanding arose. "

"You have been very foolish, Frank, " said my kind old friend; "but Iwill try what I can do for you. You ought to have known that she didnot care for Mr Mawley--not in the way you mean; and, as for marryinghim, why, the curate himself does not dream of such a thing. I cannotimagine how you could have been so blind!"

"But you _will_ help me, Miss Pimpernell, won't you?" I entreated. 

"Well, my boy, I will tell Minnie what you have just told me about yourdelusion, and say that you are very sorry for having treated her sobadly. "

"And tell her, " I interposed, "that she's dearer to me than ever. "

"I will do nothing of the sort, " hastily replied the old lady. "I amnot going to give Miss Spight another chance of calling me `a wretchedold match-maker, ' as she did once! No, Master Frank, you must do allyour love-making yourself, my boy. I did not tell you that Minnie caresfor you, you know; and, I can't say whether she does, or no. She's onlyvery unhappy at your considering her no longer in the light of a friend, and has said nothing to lead me to imagine anything more than that. Shewould not have spoken to me at all about it, I'm confident, if she hadnot happened to have seen you only a moment before, and had hersensitive little heart wounded by your coldness! Why don't you tell heryourself, Frank, what you wish me to say for you?"

"So I would, Miss Pimpernell, at once, " I replied, "if I only had anopportunity; but I never get a chance of seeing her alone. "

"Why don't you make one, Frank?" said she. "For a young fellow of theday, you are wonderfully bashful and shy, not to be able to tell thegirl of your heart that you love her! I declare, if I had only donewhat they wanted me, I would have proposed for half of the wives of thepresent married men of my acquaintance! When I was a girl, gentlemenseemed to have twice the ardour about them that they have now! You areall, now-a-days, like a pack of boarding-school misses, and have to beas tenderly coaxed on into proposing, as if _you_ were the wooed and notthe wooers. You don't understand what ladies like, " continued the oldlady, who, like most elderly maidens, had a strong spice of the romanticin her composition; "they prefer having their affections taken byassault instead of all this shilly-shallying and faint-heartedness. IfI had had my choice, when I thought, as girls will think, of suchthings, I would have liked my lover to carry me off like those gallantknights did in the good old days that we read of!"

"And had him prosecuted for abduction, " said I, laughing at herenthusiasm. 

"Well, well, Frank, " she said, laughing too, "I don't mean to advise youto go to that extent; yet, you might easily find an opportunity to speakto Minnie Clyde, if you only set your wits to work. There's the schooltreat on Thursday, won't that do for you?"

"Really, " I replied, "I never thought of that, Miss Pimpernell; indeed Ihad made up my mind not to go; and--"

"Why shouldn't you?" said the energetic little old lady, interruptingme. "What better chance could you have, I should like to know--a nicelong day in the country, a picnic excursion, a pleasant party, with lotsof openings for private conversation? Dear me, Frank, you are not halfa lover! If I were a handsome young fellow like you, I would soon cutyou out, my boy! Only be bold and speak out to her. Girls likeboldness. I wouldn't have given twopence for a bashful man when I wasyoung. "

"So I will, Miss Pimpernell, " said I, carried away by her energy andenthusiasm; "I will go to the school treat--that is, if you will onlykindly see _Miss Clyde_ for me"--I was rather diffident of letting MissPimpernell know of the friendly footing we had been on, regardingChristian nomenclature--"beforehand, and get her to forgive me. Youwill, won't you, dear Miss Pimpernell?"

"None of your soft-sawder, Master Frank, " replied the old lady; "I willdo what I can to make your peace, as I promised; but, as to anythingfurther, you must be a man, and speak up for yourself. "

"I will, you may rely, " I said, determined to bring matters to an issueere the week should close. 

Before Thursday came, however, I knew that Miss Pimpernell had kept herword in interceding for me, and that Min had quite forgiven me. 

She was "friends with me once more, " I was assured; for, when I passedher window the next evening, in fear and trembling lest she should stillbe hostile and not recognise me, she bowed and smiled to me in her ownold sweet way, as she used to do before my fit of jealousy and ourconsequent estrangement. 

Oh! how ardently I looked forwards to the approaching school treat. Iwas then resolved to learn whether she loved me or no. "Faint heartnever won fair lady, " as Miss Pimpernell had told me; I would deserveher reproach no longer. 

Thursday arrived at length, and with it the school treat. 

This summer "outing" had been an institution of annual celebration byour vicar long before it became a habit of London clergymen to sendcolumns of appeals to the benevolent in the daily papers to assist thepoor children of their respective congregations towards having "a day'spleasuring in the country. "

Our vicar, however, was not one of those who thus "passed round the hat"to strange laity! No, he made _his_ institution entirely a self-supporting one; and his school-children had the additional pleasure ofknowing, that, they assisted in paying for their treat themselves, earning it in advance, with no thanks to "charity, " or strangers, allthe same. 

For some two months beforehand, the little ones used to deposit a weeklypenny for this special purpose; and, when their contributions werethought to nearly amount to a shilling each, the fund was heldsufficient to carry out the long-looked-for treat--although, of course, the vicar and other kindly-disposed persons would largely help to makethe affair go off with the eclat and dignity suited to the occasion, allof which resulted in its being turned into a general picnic for theparish. 

The anniversary of the fete this year, was celebrated with even grandereffect than any former ones had been, imposing and satisfactory thoughthey were held at the time to be. Richmond Park was the scene of ourfestivities; and, not only had the vicar caused to be provided a coupleof roomy four-horse omnibuses, the leading one of which sported a band, to accommodate the rank and file of the juveniles under the escort ofsuch of their mothers as could spare the time to accompany them; but, those children who had particularly distinguished themselves during theyear for good conduct, were permitted to go in the gondola, in which weoldsters proceeded, to the same destination by water. It was arrangedthat the "'buses" should meet us at Richmond, where both descriptions ofconveyances were to disgorge their motley contents; and, the several andhitherto-severed parties, joining issue, would set about making aspleasant a day of it as could be effected under the circumstances. 

A "gondola" seems at first sight an anachronism on the Thames; still, onmature reflection, there does not appear to be any reason why we shouldnot indulge in this respect equally as well as the inhabitants of much-idealised dirty Venice. 

Whether you agree with me or not, however, I can tell you that there_are_ gondolas to be seen on our great watery highway--heavy barges, with bluff bows and fictitious awnings and problematical cushions, thatmay be had on hire for the asking, at most of the principal boatingplaces along the banks from Chelsea to Chiswick. 

On first starting, one missed the many romantic associations with whichthe name of our floating vehicle was generally connected; yet, suggestive fancy could readily supply their place with kindred ideasculled from our more prosaic surroundings. We had, it is true, nocrimson-sashed, ragged, ballet-costumed gondolier to "ply the measuredoar;" because, in the first instance, we did not row up at all. We werea trifle too wise in our generation to pull up the river in a lumberingbarge under a broiling sun, and fancy we were amusing ourselves! No, wehad a horse and a tow-rope; and, went on our way gaily without exertion!

Just you volunteer, for once, to row an excursion party up toRichmond:--you'll enjoy it, I promise you! It is regular treadmillwork; see, if you won't afterwards think our plan the best, and adoptit, too, or I'm no prophet, that's all!

Our gondolier "was not;" but the mounted jockey who bestrode our towinghorse _was_; and, in lieu of waking the echoes with choice extracts fromTasso in the liquid Venesian or harsh, gritty Tuscan dialect, _he_occasionally beguiled his monotonous jog-trot with a plaintive ballad, in which he rehearsed the charms of a certain "Pretty little Sarah;" orelse, "made the welkin ring"--though what a "welkin" is, I have neveryet been able to discover--with repeated injunctions to his somewhatlazy steed to "gee whup" and "gee wo!"

We had no "Bridge of Sighs, " to pursue the parallel, where the rovingeye might detect "a palace and a prison on either hand;" but, in itsstead, we could gaze at the festooned chains of Hammersmith SuspensionBridge in all its simple beauty, and see the Soapworks and the Mall onthe hither and further shore. Our course led, not through serpentinecanals and past Doges' palaces, gaudy with the lavish adornments oftricky Byzantine architecture; nor could we expect to see "lions" ashistorical as those which ornament the facade of Saint Mark's. However, as we glided up against the tide, in slow but steady progress, bywillowy banks and osiered eyots, our boat yawning in and out andrequiring a stiff weather helm to keep her course, we often caughtglimpses of ivy-wreathed churches, charming villa residences and gothicsummer-houses, peeping out from amidst the river-lining trees--with averdant meadow here and there to break the view, its smoothly-mownsurface sweeping down to the water's edge; while, we knew, also, thatthe stream which bore us on its bosom flowed over stakes and hurdlesthat our indigo-dyed ancestors, the ancient Britons, had planted in itsbed, long before Caesar's conquering legions crossed the channel, orVenice possessed "a local habitation and a name. "

You may say, probably, that all this is a regular rigmarole of nonsense;but, what else would you have?

It was a nice, beautiful, hot summer day, as our gondola glided onRichmondwards. 

We were a merry party, all in all, passing the time with genial andgeneral conversation--and, occasionally, graver talk--as the mood suitedus. The cheerful voices of the children, who were packed as tightly asherrings in a barrel in the bows of our craft, and their happy laughter, chimed in with the wash of the tide as it swept by the sides of ourgallant barque, hurrying down to meet the flood at Gravesend. The larkswere singing madly in the blue sky overhead. Each and all completed theharmony of the scene, affording us enjoyment in turn. 

Disgusted apparently with our merriment and frivolity, Miss Spight, shortly after we started, introduced a polemical discussion. 

"My dear sir, " said she to the vicar, our captain and coxswain in chief, who stately sat in the sternsheets of the gondola, "don't you thinkRomanism is getting very rife in the parish? They are building a newnunnery, I hear, in the main road; and they are going to set about achapel, too, I'm told. "

"That won't hurt us, " said the vicar, sententiously. He dislikedsectarian disputes excessively, and always avoided them if he could. 

"But, don't you think, " persisted Miss Spight, "that we ought to preventthis in some way?"

"I was going to speak to you on the very point to-day, sir, " said MrMawley, before the vicar could answer. "Had we not better have a courseof controversial lectures, each giving one in turn?"

"No, Mawley, " replied the vicar, "since I have had the living, I havenever yet permitted sectarian disputations to have a place in my pulpit;and, never will I do so as long as I live! We were instructed to preachthe Gospel by our Saviour, not to wage war against this or that creed;and the Gospel is one of peace and love. Don't you remember how SaintJohn, when he was upwards of fourscore years, continually taught this byhis constant text, `Little children, love one another?' Let us allowmen to judge us by our works. The labour of Protestantism will not beaccomplished by the pharisaical mode of priding ourselves on our faith, and damning that of every one else! Our mission is to preach the Gospelpure and simple. Too much time, too much money, too much of truereligion is wasted, in our common custom of trying to proselytiseothers! We should look at home first, Mawley. "

"Still, sir, " said the curate, "it is surely our mission to convert theheathen?"

"I do not argue against that, " said the vicar. "God forbid that Ishould! But what I say is, that we are too apt, in seeking for foreignfields, to neglect the duty that lies nearer to us at home. "

"It is a noble work, converting the heathen, though, " said Miss Spight. 

"That's just what I mean, " responded our pastor. "All young minds areimpressed with this romantic view of religion. It appears much noblerto go abroad as a missionary to the burning deserts of Africa, and torun the risk of being eaten up by cannibals, to working in thisbenighted land of ours, which needs conversion just as much as thenegroes and Hindoos! But, there's no romance about visiting dirtyalleys in London!"

"There are the Scripture readers and district visitors, are there not?"said Mr Mawley. 

"True, " replied the vicar, "and I would be the last to disparage theirearnest efforts. What I meant was, that, while we give hundreds ofpounds to foreign missions, pence are grudged for home work! There'sthe Society for the Conversion of the Jews, for instance, to which Ihave sometimes to give up my pulpit. Now, I dare say, it is a verymeritorious society, but how many Jews does it gain over really toChristianity in return for the large sums that its travellingsecretaries collect every year?"

"These travelling secretaries, " said I, "are what the _Saturday Review_would call `spiritual bagmen, ' or `commercial travellers in themissionary line. '"

"And not very far out, either, " said the vicar, smiling. "They are paida salary, at all events, if they do not get a commission, to beg as muchmoney as they can for the society to which they belong; and they dotheir work well, too! They succeed in carrying off an amount of moneyfrom poor parishes, which if laid out in the places where it isgarnered, instead of being devoted to alien expenditure, would do farmore good, and better advance the work of the Gospel than the conversionof a few renegade Jews, whose reclamation is, in the majority of cases, but a farce!"

"But, my dear sir!"--exclaimed Mr Mawley, completely shocked at thisoverturning of all his prejudices. 

"Hear me out, " continued the vicar; "you must not misunderstand me. I'mnot opposed to the principles of missions; but, to their being promotedto the disregard of all other considerations. Saint Paul says that weshould do good to all, and especially to such as are `of the householdof faith. ' Our missionary societies never seem to consider this. Theendless number of charity sermons that we have to preach for their aid, not only extracts too much of what should be spent for the benefit ofour own special communities, but militates against our gettingcontributions to other works of greater utility. Our congregationsbecome so deadened by _these_ repeated onslaughts on their benevolence, that they button up their pockets and respond in only a half-hearted waywhen we claim their assistance for _our own_ poor and parish. Let us, Isay, look at home first, and reclaim the lost, the fallen, the destitutein our streets; let us convert our own `heathen, '--our murderers, ourdrunkards, our wife-beaters, our thieves, our adulterers; and, _then_, let us talk of converting Hindoos and regenerating the Jews! Our duty, Mawley, as I hold my commission, is to preach Christ's gospel in all itstruth and simplicity and love. We do not want to run down this or thatcreed, however reprehensible we may think it. Let us be judged by ourdeeds, and acts, and words. Let us show forth _our_ way of salvation, as we have learnt it: another authority, greater than us, will tell theworld in his own good time which is _the_ faith!"

A short pause ensued, after the vicar had thus spoken; none of us cared, for the moment, to pass on to the empty nothings of every-day talk. 

Seraphine Dasher was the first to break the silence. 

Seeing that Miss Spight had turned to address Monsieur Parole d'Honneur, who sat by her side, the good-natured Frenchman having accompanied us, to "assist at the fete" of his friend, "the good vicaire, " as he said, the wicked little seraph created a diversion. 

"Gracious, Miss Spight, " she exclaimed, "how you are flirting!"

The indignation of the austere virgin, and the warmth with which sherepelled this accusation, caused us all so much amusement, that inanother moment or two we were in the full swing again of our ordinarychatter. 

As we passed under Barnes railway bridge, where the tide was rushingthrough the arches with all the pent-up waters of the reach beyond, Min, who had been hitherto apparently distrait, like myself, not havingspoken, observed, that, the sight of a river flowing along always madeher feel reflective and sad. 

"It recalls to my mind, " said she, "those lines of Longfellow's, fromthe _Coplas de Manrique_. 

 "`Our lives are rivers, gliding free, To that unfathom'd boundless sea, The silent grave! Thither all earthly pomp and boast Roll, to be swallowed up and lost In one dark wave. '"

"I prefer, " said I, "Tennyson's _Brook_. Our laureate's description ofa moving river is not so sombre as that of the American poet; and, besides, has more life and action about it. "

"How many different poets have sung the praises of the Thames, " saidMiss Pimpernell. "I suppose more poetry, --good, bad, and indifferent--has been written about it, than for all the other rivers of the worldcombined. "

"You are right, my dear, " said the vicar; "more, by a good deal! TheJordan has been distinguished in Holy Writ especially; Horner hascelebrated the Xanthus and Simois, and Horace the tawny Tiber; therivers of Spain have been painted by Calderon, Lope de Vega and Aldana;the Rhine and its legends sang of by Uhland and Goethe and Schiller--notto speak of the fabled Nile, as it was in the days of Sesostris, whenHerodotus wrote of it; and the Danube, the Po, and the Arno, --all riversof the old world, that have been described by a thousand poets. But, above all these, the Thames has furnished a more frequent theme, and forgreat poets, too! Every aspirant for the immortal bays has tried his'prentice hand on it, from Chaucer, in excelsis, down to the poet Closeat the foot of the Parnassian ladder!

"We were talking of the Thames, " continued the vicar, pouring out aflood of archaeological reminiscences--"The great reason why it is sosuggestive, beyond the great practical fact that it is the silenthighway of the fleets of nations, is, that it is also indissolubly boundup, as well, with by-gone memories of people that have lived and died, to the glory and disgrace of history--of places whose bare names wecherish and love! Every step, almost, along its banks is sacred to somenoble name. `Stat magno nominis umbra' should be its motto. StrawberryHill reminds you of witty, keen-sighted Horace Walpole, and hisgossiping chit-chat concerning wrangling princes, feeble-mindedministers, and all the other imbecilities of the last century. Twickenham brings back to one, bitter-tongued Pope, his distorted bodyand waspish mind. Richmond Hill recalls the Earl of Chatham in hisenforced retirement, his gout, and the memorable theatrical speech hemade on the floor of the House of Lords, at the time of our greatestnational triumph and exertion, that closed his public life. Further upthe stream, we come to old Windsor Castle, to be reminded of bluffBluebeard, bigamous, wicked, king Hal; higher still, we are at Oxford, the nursery of our Church, the `alma mater' of our learning. Lowerdown, at Whitehall stairs, we are face to face again with Roundheads, and regicides, and gunpowder plots; lower still, and we are at theTower, with its cruel tyrannies and beheadings of traitors and patriots;and then, we find ourselves amidst a sea of masts which bear the Englishflag to the uttermost parts of the earth. No wonder our river has beenso poetical:--it has deserved it! But, really, if all the poems thathave been written in its honour could be collected in one volume, what aprodigious tome it would be!--what a medley of versification it wouldpresent!"

"Sure you've forgotten the Shannon entirely, " observed Lady Dasher inher plaintive way. 

She was certainly waking up from her normal melancholic condition; for, before this, she had been seen to smile--a phenomenon never noticed inher before by her oldest acquaintance. 

"You have quite forgotten the Shannon! My poor dear papa, when he wasalive, used to say that it was the finest river in the world. Iremember he had a favourite song about it--I don't know if I quiterecollect it now, but, I'll try. "

"Do, Lady Dasher, do, " said Mr Mawley, who, having been paying greatattention to Bessie the while, wished, I suppose, to ingratiate himselfwith her mother. 

"I must put on the brogue, you know, " said she, looking round with anaffectation of shyness, which was most incongruous on her melancholyvisage; it was just like a death's head trying to grin, I thought tomyself;--and then, she commenced, in a thin, quavering voice, the lay ofthe departed earl, her "poor dear papa. "

 "`O! Limerick is be-yewtifool, as iveryba-ady knows, And round about the city walls the reever Shannon flows; But 'tis not the reever, nor the feesh, that preys upon my mind, Nor, with the town of Limerick have I any fault to find!'"

"Ah! Very nice indeed! Thank you, Lady Dasher, thank you!" said thevicar, when she had got thus far, and succeeded in arresting theprogress of her ladyship's melody; otherwise, she might have gone on thelive-long summer day with the halting ditty, for it consisted, as shesubsequently told us, of no less than five-and-forty verses, all in thesame pleasant strain!

"I don't think, " said I, to change the conversation, "that poetry isnearly as highly regarded in the present day, as it was some forty yearsback or so--if one may judge by the biographies of literary men of thattime. "

"But, it sells more readily, " said Mr Mawley; "not only do freshdebutantes appear, but new editions of the old poets come out daily. "

"That may be, " said I. "But they are not nearly so highly appreciated. I suppose it is because poetry is not so much a rarity now. We have somany mediocre poets, that our taste is more exigent. I dare say, if avery bright, particular star should arise, we would honour him; but wehave no bright particular star; and, thus, we learn to read poetrywithout reflection. Forty years ago, people used to talk over the lastproduction of the muse, and canvas its merits in coffee-rooms all overthe town; now, we only dash through it, as we would take up the last newnovel, or the evening paper, thinking no more about it!"

"When I was younger, " said Miss Spight--she didn't say when she was"young, " mark you--"no young gentlewoman's education would have beenthought complete without a course of the best poets, such as Milton's_Paradise Lost_. "

"Which nine out of ten of the people who speak about it now, neverread, " said I--and, Miss Spight did not reply. 

"What queer people poets are, generally speaking, " said Mr Mawley. 

"Do you think so?" said I. 

"Yes, I do, " he replied. "I would divide poets into three greatclasses, which I would call respectively the enthusiastic school, thewater-cart school, and the horse-going-round-in-the-mill school. "

"O-oh, Mr Mawley!" exclaimed Bessie Dasher, in the unmeaning mannercommon to young ladies, in lieu of saying anything, when they have gotnothing to say: the exclamation expressing either astonishment, horror, alarm, or rebuke, as the case may require. 

"Instance, instance! Name, name!" said I, keeping the curate up to themark. 

"Well, I will give you Horner, and Dante, Goethe, Byron, and, perhaps, Tennyson, from which to take your choice amongst those whom I call theenthusiastic school; Mrs Hemans, and others of her tearful race, in thesecond; and, in the third order, the majority of those who have spoiltgood ink and paper, from Dryden down to Martin F Tupper. "

"What, no exceptions; not even my favourite Longfellow?" asked Min. 

"No, " said Mr Mawley, "not one--although Longfellow belongs more byrights to the water-cart line. The fact is, " continued he, fairlystarted on his hobby, "that Pegasus, the charger of Mount Parnassus, isa most eccentric animal, who can be made to metamorphose himself socompletely according to the skill and ability or weakness of his rider, that even Apollo would not recognise him sometimes! When backed by anintrepid spirit, like the grand heroic poets, Pegasus is the statelywar-horse eager for the fray, and sniffing the battle from afar; orelse, controlled by the nervous reins of genius like that of Shelley andColeridge, he appears as the high-mettled racer, pure-blooded andfinely-trained, who may win some great race, but is unfit for anyordinary work; or, again, when ridden by a Wordsworth, he plods alongwearily, with lack-lustre eyes, dragging a heavy load, such as _TheExcursion_, behind him!"

What the curate might have said further was lost to his hearers. Justat this moment, on turning a bend of the river, the pretty little low-arched bridge that spans it in front of Richmond came in sight; seeingwhich, the children raised such a shout of joy in the bows of thegondola, that our conversation shunted into a fresh channel, while ourteamster, urging his horse by a multitude of "gee wo's, " into a brisktrot, tightened our tow-rope and led us up in fine style to our goal. 

A short distance from the landing-place under the bridge, we found thedetachments that had gone by road, awaiting us. Joining company, weproceeded together to the park, and set about our picnic in the usualharum-scarum fashion, chasing truant children, losing one another, finding one another, making merry over the most dire mishaps, andenjoying the whole thing hugely--elders, juveniles, and all--frombeginning to end. 

The vicar made a perfect boy of himself. With a charming gleefulness, he did the most outrageous things--at which Master Adolphus, aetattwelve, would have turned up his nose, as being much beneath his yearsand dignity. He said he did it only to amuse the children; but, he tooksuch an active part in the games he instituted, that we declared that hejoined in them for his own personal gratification. 

Monsieur Parole d'Honneur, too, who was the gayest of the gay, speciallydistinguished himself for his vaulting powers in a sport which heentitled in his broken English manner "ze leap of ze frog;" and, as forgrave Doctor Batson, whom we all thought so formal and dignified in hisprofessional tether, why, the way in which he "stuck in his twopenny, "as the boys said, and "gave a `back, '" was a caution to the lookers-on!

Then we had a substantial "soldier's tea" in and around a little cottageconveniently-situated close to the park:--there, we boiled our kettles, and brewed great jorums of straw-coloured water, at the sight of which aChinaman would have been filled with horror, impregnated as it was withthe taste of new tin and the flavour of moist brown sugar and milk. Thechildren enjoyed it, however, in conjunction with clothes baskets fullof sliced bread-and-butter, and buns and cake galore:-- so, our mainconsideration was satisfied. 

The whole thing passed off well, the only mishap, throughout the day, arising from Horner having filled Miss Spight's galoshes with hot tea;but, as she did not happen to be wearing them at the time, the accidentwas not of much consequence, although she soundly rated the younggentleman for his awkwardness. 

Everybody, too, was satisfied--the vicar and Miss Pimpernell, at thesuccess of the treat and the pleasure of the school-children; thechurchwardens, that the expenses did not come out of their pockets; LadyDasher, at Mr Mawley's attentions to her daughter, which she reallythought "quite marked;" and the rest of us, more youthful members of theparish gathering, at the general delightfulness of the day's outing--theexcursion by water, the picnic in the park, the gipsying, the freshbreeze, the bright sun, the everything!

I was happy, too, although I had not yet had a chance of speaking to Minprivately--in the boat there were more listeners near than I cared for, and on shore she was too busy entertaining a small crowd of toddlekins, for whose delectation she told deeply-involved fairy stories, and woveunlimited daisy-chains of intricate patterns and simple workmanship. Still, I knew that before night closed, I should have the wished-foropportunity of telling my tale; and, in the meantime, I was quitecontented to sit near her, and hear her sweet voice, and be certain thatshe did not care for Mr Mawley after all!

The day could not pass, however, without the curate and I having ourcustomary spar; and it happened in this wise. 

On our way down to the gondola, after packing up the omnibus contingentof juveniles safely, in company with their mothers and a hecatomb ofemptied baskets, and seeing the party off with a parting cheer from bothsides, Miss Spight amiably suggested that she thought it was going torain; at which, of course, there arose a general outcry. 

"Dear me, " said Miss Pimpernell, "I believe you are right, for, thereare the midges dancing, too! I hope none of you girls will get your newbonnets spoilt! But, you needn't be alarmed, my dears, " she added toreassure us, "it is certain not to come down before morning, if you willtake an old woman's word for it. "

"You may believe Sally, and set your minds at ease, " said the vicar. "She's a rare judge of the weather, and as good as a farmer or sailor inthat respect. "

"Are the midges a sign of rain?" asked Min; "I never heard that before. "

"Yes, my dear, " said Miss Pimpernell, seating herself in the gondola, which we had now reached. "They always dance about twelve hours or sobefore it rains. "

"Are there not some other signs given by animals, also, when there isgoing to be a change in the weather?" asked Bessie Dasher. 

"Yes, " said Mr Mawley, anxious, as usual, to show off his erudition, "cows low, swallows fly near the ground, sheep bleat, and--"

"Asses bray, " said I, with emphasis. 

"So I hear, " said he quickly. The curate was getting sharper than ever. 

"Ah, " said I, "_that_ is only a `tu quoque!'"

"What is that?" asked Bessie Dasher, thinking I was making use of someterm of virulent abuse, I verily believe. 

"Oh!" said Mr Mawley, who was in high feather at having retorted my cutso brilliantly, "it is only a polite way of saying `you're another, ' anexpression which I dare say you have often heard vulgar little boys inthe street make use of. I say, Lorton, " he added, addressing me, "Ithink that's one to me, eh?"

"All right, " said I, "score it up, if you like. "

And, we started down the stream homeward bound. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

"GOOD-NIGHT!"

 Era gia l'ora che volge 'l disio, A' naviganti e 'ntenerisce il cuore, Lo di ch' ban detto a' dolci amici addio, E che lo nuova peregrin d'amore Punge, se ode Squilla di lontano, Che paja 'l giorno pianger che si muore!

 "Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I could say good-night till it be morrow!"

We were sitting side by side, Min and I, leaning over the gunwale of the"gondola" which was rapidly gliding down the river; the stream being inour favour, and our teamster on the towing path keeping his horse up toa brisk trot, that caused us to proceed at a faster rate than we couldhave pulled even a lighter boat. 

It was a lovely summer night, calm and still, with hardly a breath ofwind in the air; although, it was not at all unpleasantly close oroppressive. 

A bright crescent moon was shining, touching up the trees that skirtedthe bank with a flood of silvery-azure light, that brought out each twigand particle of foliage in strong relief, and cast their trunks inshade; while, the surface of the water, unstirred by the slightestripple, gleamed like a mirror of burnished steel, winding in and out, inits serpentine course, between masses of dense shadow--until it was lostto sight in the distance, behind a sudden bend, and a dark projectingclump of willows and undergrowth. 

Our boat seemed to be the only floating thing for miles!

Had it not been for an occasional twinkle from the far-off window ofsome riparian villa, and the "whish" of a startled swan as it swervedaside to allow the boat to sweep by, we might easily have imaginedourselves traversing the bosom of one of those vast, solitary rivers ofthe wilderness across the sea. 

The children were nearly all asleep, tired out with happiness in excess;and, most of us were silent, being awed by the beauty of the eveninginto voiceless admiration. 

A little girl near us, wakeful still, was breaking one of the daisy-chains that Min had woven her at Richmond, and casting the pieces one byone into the current as it hurried along:--the daisy cups sometimeskeeping pace with us, as our tow-rope slackened, and then fallingastern, on our horse trotting ahead once more. 

"Don't you remember, " said I to Min, "those lines of Schiller's _DerJungling am Bache_? They seem appropriate to that little incident, "--Icontinued, pointing to the small toddlekin, who was destroying thedaisy-chain:--

 "`An der Quelle sass der Knabe Blumen wand er sich zum Kranz, Und er sah sie fortgerissen Treiben in den wellen Tanz. Und so fleihen meine Tage, Wie die quelle rastlos hin! Und so bleichet meine Jugend, Wie die Kranze schnell verbluhn!'"

"They are very pretty, " said Min. "Still, do you know, as a rule I donot think German poetry nice. It always sounds so harsh and guttural tome, however tender and sentimental the words may be. "

"That may be true in some respects, " I answered; "but if you hear itwell read, or sung, there is much more pathos and softness about it thanone is able to discern when simply skimming it over to oneself. Some ofGoethe's little ballads, for instance, such as `The Erl King, ' andothers that Walter Scott has translated, are wonderfully beautiful; notto speak of Uhland's poetry, and La Motte Fouque's charming _Undine_, which is as pretty a poem as I have ever read. "

"I confess, " said Min, "that I have not had any general experience ofGerman literature. Indeed, I have quite neglected it since I leftschool; and then I only studied heavy books--such as _The History ofFrederick the Great_, that wearisome _Jungfrau von Orleans_, and othersof Schiller's plays. "

"Ah!" I replied, "that accounts for it, then. The more you readGerman, the more you will like it. I think our schoolmasters andschoolmistresses make a great mistake, generally, in the books theyselect for the instruction and familiarising of their pupils withforeign languages. They appear, really, to choose the driest authorsthey can pick out! If I had anything to do with `teaching the youngidea how to shoot, ' I should adopt a very different plan. "

"Dear me!" she exclaimed, laughing. "I can fancy I see you, a grim oldpedagogue, with a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and a snuff-colouredcoat! What would be your new system, Mr Professor?"

"Well, " said I, "in the first place, I should not dream of putting bookslike Schiller's dramas into their hands, as is the ordinary course, before they were able to translate pretty fluently, gathering the senseof what they read without the aid of a dictionary. I say nothingagainst the masterpieces of the great German classic. I like Schiller, myself. But, what boy or girl can appreciate the poetry of hisdescriptions, and the grandeur of his verse, when every second word theymeet with is a stumbling-block, that has to be sought out diligently inthe lexicon ere they can understand the context? Instead of thisinculcating a love for what they read, it breeds disgust. Even now, Iconfess, I cannot take an interest in _William Tell_, just because he, and his fellow Switzers, of Uri and elsewhere, will always be associatedin my mind with so many lines of translation and repetition that I hadto learn by heart at school. "

"But, what would you give your pupils to study in lieu of such works?"she asked. 

"Vividly interesting stories--novels, if you like--in the language theyhad to learn. Not short pieces, or `elegant extracts;' but, good, longtales of thrilling adventure and well worked-up plots, whose interest, and the desire to know what was coming next, would make them read on andstammer out the sense, until they reached the denouement. And, if itshould be objected that German and French novels are not exactly whatyou would place before young children for study, I would retort, that, the majority of the works of our best authors are now translated intoboth those languages almost as soon as they are published over here; letthem read those! However, you were saying that you did not think Germanpoetry pleasing or euphonious?"

"No, " she said, "I do not; although, it may be owing to what you haveremarked, that school study has given me a distaste for it. Still, youhave now made me wish that I knew more of it. I think I will take it upagain; and, perhaps, Mr Professor, under your tuition, I may learnbetter to like it. "

"I should be only too glad, Min, " I said, "to unfold its beauties toyou; but, I'm the worst teacher in the world, and too impatient ofblunders. Yet, I don't think I could be a very hard master to _you_" Iadded, lowering my voice to a whisper. 

"Couldn't you?" she said. "I don't know about that, Master Frank! Iwell remember a particular evening, and my birthday party; and how acertain gentleman--whom I won't name--behaved then and since. "

"Oh! Haven't you forgiven me yet, Min?" I exclaimed. "I thought--"

"Don't mind about that, " she said, hurriedly. --"Go on with what you weretelling me concerning German; the others will hear you! Do you thinkthe language soft?"

"I can't say exactly that it _is_ as soft as our own, " I proceeded tosay, for the benefit of Miss Spight, who appeared to be listening to ourconversation. --"But, a good many people, who call the Teuton tongueuncouth, seem to forget its close resemblance both in style andexpression, to English. Either language can be rendered in thevernacular of the other, without losing its force or even sound; andthat is more than can be said for French or Italian. Shakspeare, forinstance, in German, is almost equally as telling and forcible asShakspeare in English; while, in French--Bah! you should just hear it as_once_ I heard it, and you would laugh! Indeed, if we are strictlylogical on the point of the euphony of language, the Italian dialect, which we deem so soft and liquid, sounds quite harsh, I'm told, incomparison with the labial syllables that the Polynesian islanders usein the South Seas. "

We then relapsed into silence again, Min still leaning over the side ofthe boat and dipping her fingers in the limpid, silvery water, whichsparkled with gem-like coruscations of light as she stirred it to andfro. 

At Mortlake she splashed a shower of sprinkling pearls over an irateswan pater-familias, who had hurried out from the alders, to see whatbusiness we meant by coming at that time of night so near the domain ofMrs Swan and her cygnet progeny. We were both much amused at thefierce air with which he advanced, as if to eat us all up; and then, hisprecipitate retreat, on getting wetted so unceremoniously. He turnedtail at once; and, propelling himself away with vigorous strokes of hiswebbed sculls, made the water foam from his prow-like curving neck, leaving a broad wake behind him of glistening sheen. 

"What a nice day we have had, " said Min, presently. "All has gone offso well, without a hitch. We have had such a nice talk, too. Why isit, I wonder, " she continued, musingly, "that ordinary conversation isgenerally so empty and silly? Gentlemen appear to believe that ladiesknow nothing but about balls, and dancing, and the weather, and croquet!I do not mean, when we are all talking together, as to-day; but, whenone is alone with them, and not one of a circle of talkers, they neversay anything of any depth and reflection. Perhaps, when I go out, it ismy fate to meet with exceptional partners at parties. But, I declare, they never utter a sensible remark! I suppose they think me verystupid, and not worth the trouble of seriously conversing to. Really, Iimagine that gentlemen believe all girls to belong to an inferior orderof intellect; and fancy that it is necessary for them to descend fromtheir god-like level, in order to talk to them about such senselesstrivialities as they think suited to their age and sex!"

"Perhaps it is not all the fault of the men, " said I. "They areprobably bashful, as most of us are. "

"Bashful?" she replied; "I like that, Master Frank. Why, you are all amost intolerable set of conceited mortals! No, it is not that:--it is, because the `lords of creation' think us beneath the notice of theirsuperior minds. "--And she tossed her little head proudly. 

"Well, then, " I said, "your duty is to draw us out. Many men arediffident of speaking earnestly and showing their feelings, from thefear of being laughed at, or ridiculed, as solemn prigs and book-worms. Ladies should think of this, and encourage us. "

"Yet, some of you, " she replied, undauntedly, "are not so reticent andretiring. There is Mr Mawley, for instance. He always talks to meabout literature and art, and politics, too--although I do not care muchabout _them_--just as if I were a man like himself, and blessed with thesame understanding!"

"Oh, " said I, "the curate is usually fond of hearing himself talk!"

"You need not abuse poor Mr Mawley, " she said, laughing. "`Those wholive in glass houses, ' you know, `should not throw stones!' _You_ are, also, not averse to airing your opinions, Master Frank! But, don't getangry--" she continued, as I slightly withdrew from her side, inmomentary pique at hearing the curate's part taken. --"I like to hear youtalk of such things, Frank, far better than if you only spoke to me ofcommonplace matters, as most gentlemen do, or dosed me with flattery, which I detest!"

"I do not talk so to _everybody_, "--I said, meaningly, coming closer toher again and taking one of her hands captive. --"Do you know why I liketo let you know my deeper thoughts, Min, and learn more of my innernature than others?" I whispered, bending over her. 

"N-o!" she said, faintly, turning away her head. 

"Because, Min--" I said, hesitatingly, almost abashed at my ownrashness--"because, I--I--love you!"

She said nothing in reply; but she bent her head lower, so that I couldnot see her face; and, the little hand I held, trembled in my grasp. 

At this point, too, our conversation was interrupted by the vicar askingBessie Dasher and her sister to start the "Canadian Boat Song, " in whichwe all joined in harmony:--the music, borne far and wide over theexpanse of resonant water, sounding like some fairy chorus of yellow-haired sea-maidens, singing fathoms deep below in ocean caves!

When I was seeing her home, however, after we had all arrived at thevicarage, and separated severally with a cheerful "good-night, " I wasable to prosecute my wooing. 

We were walking along side by side--she declined taking my arm, beingshy, and quite unlike the frank, straightforward Min whom I had beforeknown. I was not downhearted at this change, though:--I really feltshy, and nervous, myself!

As soon as we had got a safe distance from the others, and there was nofear of being overheard in the stillness of the night, I again spoke toher. 

"Min, " I said, "do you remember what I said to you just now when we wereon the river?"

She made no answer; but, quickening her steps, walked on hurriedly, Istill keeping pace by her side. 

"Min, my darling, " I said once more, "I love you dearer than life. Won't you try to like me a little in return? Won't you listen to me?Won't you hear me?"

"O-oh, Frank!" she exclaimed. 

"Ever since I first saw you in church, so many long months ago, Min, Ihave thought of you, dreamt of you, loved you!"--I proceeded, passionately. --"O, my darling! my darling! won't you try and like me alittle; or, have I been deceived in thinking that you could care forme?"

"I _do_ like you, Frank, " she said, softly, laying her little hand on myarm. 

I seized it in transport, and put it within my arm proudly. 

"Sweet!" I said, "_liking_ alone will not do for me! You must learn tolove me, darling, as I love you! Will it be very hard?"

"I don't know, Frank, I can try, " she said, demurely; looking up at mewith her deep, grey eyes, which, now suffused with a tender love-light, had a greater charm for me than ever. 

I felt as if I were walking on air!

After a little pause, during which we both walked on slowly, I too happyto speak, Min squeezed my arm. 

"Do you then love me so _very_ much, Frank?" she said; and, there was awistful look in her eyes, an earnest pathos in her voice, that touchedme to the heart. 

"Love you, Min? I adore you! I dote on you! I worship the very groundyou walk on; and, if you were cruel to me, I think I would die to-morrow!"

"Poor fellow!" she said, pressing closer to my side. 

"O, Min, "--I went on, --"if you only knew the agony I have suffered inthinking that you cared for some one else! I love you so much, that Iam jealous of every word you speak, every glance of your darling eyeswhich is not directed to me. I envied my very dog the other day becauseyou caressed him!"

"What!" she exclaimed, "Jealous of poor Catch! Do you know, Frank, thatmade me ove you first, your fondness for your dog and little DickyChips!"

"You _do_ love me, then? O, Min, my darling!" I exclaimed in ecstasy. 

"I didn't say so, did I?" she said, saucily. "Well, then, " I entreated, "say it now, sweet! Say that you love me, my darling!"

"You are much too exacting, sir!"--she said, drawing herself up with theair of a haughty little Empress. --"I must consider your petition first. "

"But you _do_ love me, darling; so why cannot you say it? Tell me, pet, `Frank, I love you;' and, you'll make me happy for ever!" I pleaded. 

"I _shan't_ be ordered, " she said, with a piquante coquetry which madeher appear all the more winning. --"I'm not going to tell you anything ofthe kind, for I won't be dictated to; but, I'll say `I love you, Frank. 'There! sir, will that please your lordship, although it is not in theexact words you have asked me?"--and she made a pretty little gesture ofaffected disdain. 

"O Min, my love! my pet! my darling!"--said I, rapturously--

I stopped, breathless with emotion. I could not get out a word more!

We had now reached her door, and she said she must go in. I persuadedher, however, to wait a little while longer before she knocked, as Icould not say `Good-night' yet. Parting was too hard, though sweet. So, we talked on in whispers to one another for some minutes--it mayhave been hours, for all I know to the contrary--what might be to youonly a lot of uninteresting talk, but, what was heaven to me!

"Good-night, Frank!" Min said at length. "I really must go in now, ormamma will think me lost. And, O Frank!" she exclaimed in alarm, as thesudden thought struck her--"what _will_ she say when she hears of this!"

"Oh, never mind thinking of that now!" I said. "I will come round to-morrow afternoon, sweet, and ask her whether I may be allowed to hope, and win you for my own dear, darling little wife!"

We were standing close together in the porch, just under the gas-light. I was gazing into her eyes, which seemed to me ever so much brighterthan the light of the lamp above us, or the stars overhead. 

The little ear next me got quite pink. 

She quickly bent down her head in confusion. 

"You mustn't call me names, Frank!" she said. "I won't have it, sir! Iwon't have it! You have no right!"

I clasped her little hand firmly in mine. 

"This belongs to me now, darling, does it not? You _will_ be my owndarling little wife, won't you?" I repeated. 

She said nothing, but, after a moment, she raised her face to mine; and, as I bent down my head, and looked into her very soul, through the deep, honest, trusting, loving, grey eyes, our lips met in one long thrillingkiss. 

It was a foretaste of paradise!

END OF FIRST VOLUME.