He talked in metre, for the metre came;

Not like the coach of Chrononhotonthologus

Which came not when 'twas summoned, for the metre
Came without calling. Therein was the difference;
And judgment's shewn in shewing differences,

As wit in shewing likenesses.

Miss Phœbe, how do you like my speaking in blank verse?" "Oh, excellent, excellent!" cried she, laughing. "Pray do it again."

""Tis gone!" said Huntley waving his hand, "the spirit has passed."

"But do tell us more about these charades, Mr. Huntley," said Rosina. "Cannot you describe one to us?"

"Not I fear, so as to give you any idea of their spirit. But I will just sketch you an outline. Imagine us all to be sitting here in darkness, as spectators, while those foldingdoors shut out half a dozen actors from our view. Well; the door opens; we see an extemporaneous shop-counter, with a tradesman behind it setting out his wares, consisting of cutlery. In comes a very dandified customer. Ah!hum-ha!—my fine feller-what did you mean by impertinently furnishing me with-a-hum-ha!-a perfectly useless commodity? A parfactly useless commodity, sar, I don't understand what you mean. Come, come, Mr. arazor-stropper, if-a-you make any difficulty in taking back your bad goods and restoring me my money, I shall-atake the disagreeable trouble of ejecting you and your manufactures into the street''Sar! let me tell you, sar, I won't put up with no such language, sar, from no man, neither will I return your money, nor permit you to haul me over my counter. Why, what, what, what, what (stuttering with rage,) do you mean by this impertinence? Sar, 'tis you sar, that are impartinent.'- Your razors are totally without edge, they are good for nothing'-'Sar, you mistake, they answer the purpose they were made for parfactly well. Why, you old Jew! you won't tell me that to my face, will you? What are razors made for, if not to cut?'Sar, they are made to sell.' On this a scuffle ensues and the scene closes. Can you guess the syllable ?"

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"Jew, razor."

"No no. Well, in the next scene, we have a lady sitting down to dine without her husband, for whom she has vainly waited, and at the same time a couple of poor cousins drop in, who are not above taking rather mean methods of procur

ing an invitation to dinner. Mrs. Smith, the lady of the house, has a cutlet for herself, as she cannot touch her husband's favourite dish of mackarel, of which her cousins profess themselves immoderately fond. They apply themselves to the fish, but their appetites which a moment before had appeared very keen, are now visibly damped. Cousin Peter calls for a bone-plate, and watching his opportunity, places it on his knees beneath the table-cloth. He and his wife exchange wry faces. The conversation proceeds with a good deal of humour and equivoque, when the hostess is called from the table by a lamentable accident in the nursery -possibly one of her children has fallen into the fire or out of the window. No sooner has she hastily quitted the apartment than cousin Peter and his wife begin their lamentations—' My dear, did you ever taste such mackarel.'-Taste, my love. The smell has been enough for me—it is in what our worthy friend Pat Brady would call the highest state of petrefaction. Then how did you manage to ask for a second helping?'-Peter produces the plate from between his knees, they laugh, and the scene closes as he proceeds to throw its contents out of the window. Cannot you guess now ?"

"No."

"I think your brother has guessed. Well, now for the finale. Enter Mrs. Germaine to her dear friend Lady Mary, who is always willing to perform good-natured actions when they give her no manner of inconvenience. My dear Lady Mary, I am come to beg a little favour.'-'Oh, dearest Mrs. Germaine, pray name it; I am always so happy'Why, my dear creature, it is merely this. I have a family of country cousins come to spend a week with me, and as I wish to make their time pass pleasantly, I shall be excessively obliged to you if you will lend us your opera-box tonight. Why really, my dear Mrs. Germaine, I should be delighted to do so, but it happens that to-night it will be particularly inconvenient,-for-I have a new hat which I have set my heart on wearing,-and-I expect to see Colonel Jonquil, who will bring me information about the sweet little French poodle he promised to buy for me, so that really,you see, my dear creature, how I am situated.' 'Well, dear Lady Mary, I own I am disappointed, as you have so often said your box was at my service, however, perhaps on Saturday Saturday, oh, certainly-though, now I recollect, there is a new opera coming out on that night, and you

F*

know I am so passionately fond of music! But I will keep a place for you! Thank you, but I cannot leave my cousins.'- Well then, any evening after this week.'-'I am much obliged to your ladyship, but my guests leave me on Monday. How very annoying! Well, I'm sure I am amazingly provoked at being unable to oblige you, but you see it is so completely out of my power.' 'Oh, pray make no excuse. Any thing else. Yes, yes, I understand your ladyship.' Or any other time.' Certainly, certainly, I feel your kindness. The disappointment is of no conse quence.'-(Aside, as she goes out. I shall know, in future, how to value the good-nature of Lady Mary.')"

·

"Oh, Mr. Huntley! I have guessed! It is sel-fish, is not it ?"

"Undoubtedly."

"How excellent! how entertaining! Do let us ask Lady Worral's consent to a charade. Lady Worral, will you grant us a favour?”

"Let us hear it first," said her Ladyship, without looking up from her cards.

"Mr. Huntley has a charming amusement to propose. It is something like a play-"

"And where is he to find actors, scenery, and dresses ?" "Mr. Huntley! do you hear?"

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Oh, your ladyship's furniture and wardrobe will be amply sufficient for the two latter, and as for the actors, I doubt not some of the present company will lend their assistance, with your ladyship's permission.'

"My ladyship will permit no such thing," replied Lady Worral bluntly. "A fine thing, indeed, for my dresses and furniture to be pulled about by a set of racketty young people, and for unmarried young ladies and clergymen to act stageplays! No, no; the Miss Darevilles' acting in the Fair Penitent and She Stoops to Conquer thirty years ago, gave me a sickening of private theatricals. Miss Rosina will favour us with a song, I dare say."

I am terribly hoarse," said Rosina.

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"Then your voice would never do for the stage," observed Lady Worrak Come, come, open the harpsichord; and if you won't play, perhaps Phoebe Holland will."

Miss Phœbe only required a little pressing from Matthew and Mr. Huntley to consent, and she favoured them with a ballad which though it had been ground for six months on the London hand-organs, had not yet lost its novelty in Summerfield. She maintained her seat at the instrument till

Huntley began to repent his original proposal for music. Rosina made some amends by singing Come unto these yellow sands,' in a young, rich voice that might have suited Ariel; and Mr. Good joined Huntley in supplying the chorus. In another half-hour the whole party were returning through the park.

At the park-gates, the Goods and Hollands wished their companions good night. Mr. Russell and Mr. Huntley, who had walked beside Mrs. Wellford and Hannah, proposed seeing them home; and Matthew, who led the way with Rosina, soon left the more leisurely pedestrians behind.

"What a pleasant evening this has been !" said Rosina. "Famous!" said Matthew, "I only wish Sam Good had been with us."

"I am sure I wish no such thing," said Rosina.

"Sam is a good fellow," replied Matthew," though, I allow, not equal to this Mr. Huntley. And yet we might have been as merry, if instead of him, we had had Sam." Oh, Matthew! how can you think so!"

"You are all for new faces, Rosina-I am more steady to old ones. What do we know of this fine rattling gentleman? There is a something about him, certainly, which I feel I want a kind of ease, off-handedness, lightness, brilliancy, what French people call je ne sçai quoi-and yet I can't recollect any thing he said which was particularly clevernothing equal to that bon-mot of Sam's

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Oh, Matthew, do not give me any of Sam's bon-mots tonight."

"Very well-you are punishing yourself, for the bon-mot was a very good one. Here we are. How brightly the moon shines! What an immense time they are coming down the lane! Well, good night; you know I am impatient to return to The Last of the Mohicans.'"

CHAPTER X.

DRAWING LESSONS GRATIS.

MR. Huntley was indefatigable in the practice of his art. He rose with the lark, and, sketch-book in hand, roamed daily

6

in search of the picturesque, till scarcely a tree or tenement, cottage or cottager, but had found a place in his portfolio. The rural housewives were pleased with the clever young gentleman who praised the beauty of their children, asked leave to copy their old tables and chairs, and shewed them the views he had already taken of the church and the vicarage. They were proud that he should think it worth his while to copy anything of theirs into his book, and remarked to one another that whereas they had heard say, that painters got great sums of money from gentlefolks for drawing their pictures, this young painter was another guess sort of body, for he gave half-pence and sixpences to folks for letting their likenesses be taken. Huntley viewed with complacence the heads of John Giles, and Joe Barton, and Mary Smith, of which he had thus been enabled to make studies; but there was a darling wish of his soul yet unsatisfied-every time he saw Hannah Wellford, he was more and more struck with her Madonna-like loveliness; and his desire to paint her portrait was increased rather than diminished by the improbability of obtaining her consent. He often tried to sketch the outline of her placid features from memory, and as often gave up the attempt in despair.

Huntley frequently spent his evenings at the vicarage; and the knowledge that Mr. Russell was 'l'ami intime' at the White Cottage would have induced him to have requested his intercession, had not a certain indescribable feeling persuaded him that Mr. Russell would be the worst person in the world to entrust with such an office. 'I shall remain here a little longer, however, for the chance," thought Huntley; and his two or three days at the White Hart accordingly lengthened into two or three weeks.

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One morning, soon after the party at Lady Worral's, Huntley called at the White Cottage, ostensibly to ask Rosina for his little book, if she had no longer any need of it. The two young ladies and their mother were seated at a table covered with work and drawing materials; and Rosina, at his earnest entreaty, was prevailed on to shew him the sketch which she had corrected according to his directions. Huntley was surprised and pleased at the intelligence with which she had acted on his hints; he spoke to her with real interest and enthusiasm of his art; not as if he were dressing his thoughts to please the idle fancy of a mere common-place young lady, but as if he felt he was addressing himself to one who could appreciate sense and genius. Not only Rosina,