CROOKED USAGE; OR,

The Count lives with us-and we live

"I think differently, mamma. upon money that is got dishonestly."

There might have been a period in Mrs. Drakeford's life when her colour would have changed at hearing words like these, but no sudden flush now disturbed the serenity of her features, and she answered quietly: "Who, may I ask, has helped you to this grand discovery ?" "That's of no consequence," returned Esther, "provided it's true!" "And how do you know it's true ?"

"I can depend on my information. Besides, I have seen quite enough to satisfy myself since the Count came here. If making dupes of every one that comes into the house were not sufficient, they must be sought for everywhere out of it. You try to look as if did not understand me, but you know, mamma, that the things I allude to are disreputable, and if you do not share in all that's done, at any rate you encourage it."

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If Mrs. Drakeford could no longer blush, she was still able to put on an air of injured innocence.

"You astonish me, Esther," she said. "Language like this to a parent, whose only thought is the happiness of her child!"

Whether Mrs. Drakeford wept behind the handkerchief which she raised to her face, or whether she performed that manœuvre for the sole purpose of recueillement, is a secret known only to herself. If intended to move Esther, it failed of its object, for she remained silent.

"Ungrateful gurl !" said Mrs. Drakeford, finding that she must speak again, and attempting a sob-" after all I have done for you!" But Esther was not to be turned from her purpose.

"That, mamma, is not the question. I am speaking of the conduct of the Count and Mr. Drakeford

"Esther!" interrupted Mrs. Drakeford, with all the dignity of melodrama, "you forget yourself! Have you no respect for the ties of sanguinity?"

"I know what you mean, mamma," replied Esther, scarcely able to repress a smile, "but as there is no relationship between me and Mr. Drakeford, I don't feel bound to acknowledge them."

"No relationship! He is your stepfather!"

"That is to say, your husband!"

"Quite enough that, I fancy, to make him your stepfather."

"Quite, if you were really my mother! But though I have always called you 'mamma,' I know it is not the fact. I can remember, though you may not give me credit for doing so, when I went by a different name from yours; I can remember when I saw you for the first time at the boarding-school where I was brought up

"I don't care what you remember," interrupted Mrs. Drakeford; "you are my offspring, Esty, and I trust you will behave as such."

But Esther was not to be checked by this bold assertion. With glowing countenance and rapid utterance she said:

"It is of no use your attempting to stop me, for I have made up my mind, and I will speak!"

There was such fixed determination in Esther's manner, and the evidence of her loftier spirit was so plain, that Mrs. Drakeford felt compelled to submit, and throwing herself back in her chair, she crossed her hands

and listened, while Esther went on, partly addressing Mrs. Drakeford, partly communing with herself as she conjured up her recollections.

"I remember," she said, "every word that was spoken the first time you and I ever met! You know I was then nine years old, but I can remember long before that-though some earlier things are indistinct to me, and some very vivid. For instance, I fancy my father's face and figure, and his putting me on his horse before him once, when he came home from a ride, and going fast round a ring before a house where a lady stood smiling at me from a balcony. I see that lady's face, too, in my dreams, and I know that she was my real mother."

Mrs. Drakeford's face wore an expression of contemptuous pity, but it did not deter Esther from proceeding.

"Now, I will tell you why I am sure of this, and prove to you that my impressions of mere infancy are not effaced. Before the school you took me from was kept by Miss Grimes, an old lady had it, and I am sure that I was brought by my father to her, and not to them. The old lady was very tall and curiously dressed-she cried over me and often kissed me, which Miss Grimes never did. I used to wear a black frock, and when I cried I was petted. The old lady said my father was the handsomest man she ever saw, and would talk about him and me to an old French gentleman with grey hair, who was very fond of me, too, and called me 'miladi;' and they both said my father would fetch me soon, and I should have a large fortune."

Mrs. Drakeford broke into a scornful laugh, but she repressed it, and composed herself again to listen.

"After that time the French lady and her old friend seemed to disappear-but how they did so has faded from my memory. My recollection turns then to Miss Grimes, who, in the midst of much confusion, appeared to come and take possession of the school. How she treated others I do not know, but she never attached me to her by any marks of kindness on the contrary, I remember always to have associated her with something disagreeable."

"Have you done with these remarkable recollections ?" asked Mrs. Drakeford, sneeringly.

"No," returned Esther. "What is to come is more to the purpose, and relates to you. It is no longer an effort to recal it. The halfboarder, Martha Jones

Mrs. Drakeford bit her lip, and her cheek turned pale, where Art admitted of the change.

her and noted the alteration.

Esther's eye was upon "To that half-boarder, Martha Jones," she repeated, laying stress on the name, "I was in a manner consigned: she was about sixteen, and had the care of me altogether, a kinder act towards me than I believe was intended. Miss Grimes never liked Martha, and Martha cordially hated her. Miss Grimes thought her, or at any rate called her, bad; but Martha was good to me, though her manner was often abrupt and odd. As I grew older she told me strange things about those people, which I could not entirely understand, though they made a painful impression. I was a victim, she said, and my father had been cheated. Then came the day when I first saw you. I was in the garden with Martha, playing behind some lilacs. A carriage stopped at the large iron gates, and

Martha peeped from behind them to see who had arrived. You got out, and went straight up the middle walk to the house. As you passed, Martha said,There she is again!' I asked her who she meant? Her answer was, I know very well;' and then she went on talking to herself. Soon after I was sent for to the parlour. Miss Grimes was there with you. Come here, Esther,' she said; this is your birthday; you are nine years old to-day, and your mamma has come to see you.' She pointed to you, and added: This is your mamma!' I looked at you, and drew back into a corner. You told me to come to you, but I kept away. Miss Grimes scolded me, and said I was a naughty girl, and then she shook me, and I began to cry. She pushed me forward, and you put me on your knee and repeated what Miss Grimes had said, and tried to kiss me. I would not let you at first, but after a little while we made friends, and you told me again that you were my mamma, and gave me a doll which you took out of a large piece of silver paper, and I know I was very much pleased with it, for it was the first I had ever had."

"So far," said Mrs. Drakeford," your memory is very good. Is there any more?"

"You shall hear. When you were gone, I told Martha all that happened. I shall never forget her look when I said so, nor the words she used: Your mamma!' she said, You mean her lady's-maid. She's no more your mamma than mine!""

"Martha Jones is a liar!" eried Mrs. Drakeford, in a fury. "How should she know anything about me?"

"From having seen you often, as she told me: the first time when my papa took me to the old lady who kept the school before Miss Grimes-for she was there then-and you carried me in your arms." "A mother never carries her child, I suppose!" said Mrs. Drakeford, ironically.

"Oh yes," retorted Esther, like a servant, as you did."

"but she does not wait in the passage

Mrs. Drakeford became livid with rage, but she tried to keep her temper, and asked, as coolly as she could: "What else did this wicked wretch say?"

"I might," replied Esther, "have learnt all the truth, as she promised I should, but Martha was suddenly sent away: the other girls said, because she had stolen or made away with some letters, but I think because of what she had said to me; for when Miss Grimes learnt from me what I knew, she threatened to punish me dreadfully if ever I alluded to it in any way or to anybody again."

"Well!" said Mrs. Drakeford, observing that Esther paused, "this is the end of your rigmarole, is it? Now then, hear my story. If I am not your mother-though I defy you to prove the contrary-you can't say I haven't been one to you. Your father deserted you and left you to strangers, who starved and ill-treated you, and into a work'us would you have gone if it hadn't been for me. I paid for your schooling out of my own pocket till you were past fifteen, and when Miss Grimes broke as break she did, being unfortunate in business, as many are→ I took you and had you finished off like a lady; and all the return I get is the very blackest of ingratitude!"

"On the contrary," said Esther, "I have been obedient to you in everything, though witnessing much that I have been ashamed of, but bearing with it for the sake of completing an education by which I hope to get my own living, and repay the expense you have incurred on my account."

"These are fine words," returned Mrs. Drakeford; "but how do you expect to get your living, as you call it, without the help of my friends? You know you're to go on the stage; and who's to get you there, but those like the Count, that has interest with managers. The Count and you was good friends enough a week ago, and now you turn round upon him as if he meant to do you harm instead of good."

"I don't mean to go on the stage," said Esther, resolutely.

"Where, then, do you mean to go to? Into the street to squall ballads, with that wonderful voice of yours? for a wonderful voice it is, when all's said and done!"

"I can teach; and sing at concerts."

"Fiddlestick! Try it, without a proper introduction, and see where you are! Who'd take you on your own recommendation, I should like to know? No, no, my dear, as your bed's made you must lay in it."

Mrs. Drakeford's slip-slop denoted a return of good temper. She was a lady who could bear exposure, and stand any amount of hard words; and the first surprise at Esther's revelation over, she was able to resume the intention with respect to her with which the conversation between them had begun. Her last remark appeared to have told upon Esther, who remained silent and thoughtful, with her head averted. Mrs. Drakeford went and sat beside her.

"You know, Esty," she said, in a coaxing tone, "how good natured I am! Why should you say such cross things to them that does everything they can to make you happy? Never mind the Count; he's only a foreigner, and foreigner's ways, you know, are not ours; but he has a heart of gold, that I know, and would give the very eyes out of his head to please anybody he likes. There, don't be impatient-we won't talk about him. But I have somebody else to speak of-quite a different kind of person-a rich Baronet, Esty-quite the gentleman! He is so fond of music, and longs so to hear you sing-and, what's more, I've promised him he shall. I must keep my word, Esty, and you shall have a new dress to go and see Sir William-for he is not able to come here, having the gout-and we'll kiss and make it up, won't we, my pretty ?" "I never heard of Sir William before," said Esther, reluctantly yielding to Mrs. Drakeford's embrace. "How long have you known him ?"

"Oh, ever so long, dear! But he has only lately come to live in London, which is the reason. He has such a magnificent place in the country, with thousands upon thousands a year, and nobody to leave them to, being, as he says, a lonely old bachelor, on account of an early disappointment, and caring for nothing but music."

"Mr. Drakeford is not acquainted with him?"

"Oh no! Quite out of his line."

"Nor the Count ?"

"Not him neither. As I said—or meant to have-Sir William is an early friend of my own, the generous protector of my infancy, our family

being tenants upon the property ever since the time of Sir William's great-grandfather."

"How came Sir William to hear that I could sing?"

"I told him, of course. I'm too proud of you, Esty, not to praise you to everybody I know; and you deserve it. Lord! with a talent like yours, and the opportunity for displaying of it, you might make your fortune in three years. If I'd such a voice, and was as pretty as you, I know where I'd be to-morrow. H. M. T. would be the letters after my name, as sure as I'm setting here. Come, be a dear, now, and don't go and throw yourself away upon teaching, and concerts, and all that's muffish, when carriages, and di'monds, and money that you might roll in, are to be had for just opening your mouth. Ah, you can laugh! I'm glad of that. Kiss me again, Esty, and don't forget that I dearly, dearly love you!"

In this strain, appealing to Esther's vanity, exciting her imagination, and awakening her tenderness, Mrs. Drakeford continued till she succeeded in carrying her point; and the visit to Sir William was the first thing agreed upon.

MEMS. OF AN UNREPORTED MEETING.

THERE are certain classes in society to whose labours and exertions society seldom does justice, even while entertained or benefited thereby. As we steam our forty-five miles an hour, who ever thinks of the "stoker and poker" by whose agency the locomotive wonder is performed? When we hang entranced on the swell of the pealing organ-note, who bestows a thought on the bellows-blower, without whom the grand instrument were but a dumb "kist o' whistles?" As we digest alternately our breakfast and last night's debate, does any one ever bestow even a passing thought on the hard night-work of the journeyman baker, or pause for a moment to consider that wondrous short-hand power of reporting which contrives to have the beginning of a Gladstonean harangue in type before the long-drawn-out peroration is spoken? It is only the thoughtful who do justice to the unobtrusive labours of stokers, bellows-blowers, bakers, reporters, and all the other sub-ministrants to our enjoyments, advantages, or comforts.

The wonders of "reporting" are stupendous. To stereotype the επεα πτερόεντα of the orator as they fleet forth from his lips is an achievement, but what is it in comparison to reducing a blockhead's blunders to something like sense and reason, picking up his fragments of meaning, setting his dislocated periods, or judiciously abridging the long, monotonous dribble of his balderdash? Wordsworth has a sweet, thought