personal interest with which he would have announced visitors to the cook.

'Visitors for Miss Pinch!'

Miss Pinch rose hastily, with such tokens of agitation as plainly declared that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done.

It is a melancholy fact, but it must be related, that Mr. Pinch's sister was not at all ugly. On the contrary, she had a good face, a very mild and prepossessing face. There was

something of her brother, much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and in her look of timid trustfulness; but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror, or anything else predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means what they had come

to see.

'Don't be alarmed, Miss Pinch,' said Mr. Pecksniff, taking her hand condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. I have called to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to your brother, Thomas Pinch. My name—compose yourself, Miss Pinch-is Pecksniff.'

He emphasised these words as though he would have said, 'You see in me, young person, the benefactor of your race the patron of your house; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily from my table; and in right of whom there is a considerable balance in my favour at present standing in the books beyond the sky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without it!'

The poor girl felt it all as if it had been gospel truth. Her brother, writing in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and how much more! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand.

'Oh, very well, Miss Pinch!' thought the sharp pupil,' crying before strangers, as if you didn't like the situation!'

'Thomas is well,' said Mr. Pecksniff, and sends his love and this letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in our profession; but he has the will to do well,

which is the next thing to having the power, and, therefore, we must bear with him. Eh?'

'I know he has the will, sir,' said Tom Pinch's sister, 'and I know how kindly and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each other.'

'Very pleasant-very proper,' murmured Mr. Pecksniff, whose eyes had in the meantime wandered to the pupil. 'And how do you do, my very interesting child?'

'Quite well, I thank you, sir,' replied that frosty innocent.

'A sweet face this, my dears,' said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to his daughters. A charming manner!'

Mrs. Todgers vowed that anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. 'She wanted but a pair of wings, a dear,' said that good woman, 'to be a young syrup,'-meaning, possibly, young sylph, or seraph.

'If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable little friend,' said Mr. Pecksniff, producing one of his professional cards, ' and will say that I and my daughters—' 'And Mrs. Todgers, pa,' said Merry.

'And Mrs. Todgers, of London,' added Mr. Pecksniff; 'that I and my daughters, and Mrs. Todgers, of London, did not intrude upon them, as our object simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my employment; but that I could not leave this very chaste mansion without adding my humble tribute, as an architect, to the correctness and elegance of the owner's taste, and to his just appreciation of that beautiful art to the cultivation of which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion of whose glory and advancement I have sacrificed a-a fortune-I shall be very much obliged to you.'

'Missis's compliments to Miss Pinch,' said the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, and begs to know wot my young lady is a learning of just now.'

'Oh!' said Mr. Pecksniff, 'here is the young man. He will take the card. With my compliments, if you please, young man. My dears, we are interrupting the studies. Let us go.'

Then he said to Miss Pinch-with more condescension and kindness than ever, for it was desirable the footman should

expressly understand that they were not friends of hers, but patrons :

'Good morning.

Good-bye.

God bless you! You may depend upon my continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite at ease, Miss Pinch!'

'Thank you,' said Tom's sister, heartily; 'a thousand times.' 'Not at all,' he retorted, patting her gently on the head. 'Don't mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child,'-to the pupil-'farewell! My dears, are you ready?'

They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing the pupil. But they tore themselves away at length, and sweeping past Miss Pinch, with each a haughty inclination of the head and a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced into the passage.

The young man had rather a long job in showing them out, for Mr. Pecksniff's delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often stopping (particularly when they were near the parlour-door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the hall, a familiar exposition of the whole science of architecture as applied to dwelling-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his eloquence when they reached the garden.

'If you look,' said Mr. Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his head on one side and his eyes half-shut, that he might the better take in the proportions of the exterior: 'If you look, my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof, and observe the airiness of its construction, especially where it sweeps the southern angle of the building, you will feel with me-How do you do, sir? I hope you're well!'

Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a middle-aged gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke, not because the gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but as an appropriate accompaniment to his salutation.

'I have no doubt, my dears,' said Mr. Pecksniff, feigning to point out other beauties with his hand, that that is the proprietor. I should be glad to know him. It might lead to something. Is he looking this way, Charity?'

'He is opening the window, pa !'

'Ha, ha!' cried Mr. Pecksniff, softly. All right!

He has

found I'm professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don't look! With regard to the fluted pillars in the portico, my dears

'Hallo!' cried the gentleman.

Sir, your servant!' said Mr. Pecksniff, taking off his hat; 'I am proud to make your acquaintance.'

'Come off the grass, will you!' roared the gentleman.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Mr. Pecksniff, doubtful of his having heard aright. 'Did you——'

'Come off the grass !' repeated the gentleman, warmly. 'We are unwilling to intrude, sir,' Mr. Pecksniff smilingly began.

'But you are intruding,' returned the other, 'unwarrantably intruding trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don't you? What do you think it's meant for? Open the gate there! Show that party out!'

With that he clapped down the window again, and disappeared.-Charles Dickens.

135. THE FLYING STARS OF 1866.

A beautiful and wonderful sight was presented to the eyes of all those who were on the watch on Tuesday night for the promised marvels in the sky. A frosty air had taken the place of the wet and cloudy atmosphere of the preceding day, and the great dome of Heaven was clear for the mysterious performance. About midnight it began in earnest, and the mind must have been ignorant and careless indeed which was not impressed with that celestial pyrotechny. An almost incessant flight of bright and flashing bodies from east to west, in arcs of faint or vivid splendour, scored the midnight and morning sky till daybreak dawned. Some drew a chord of silver radiance over apparently a vast section of the heavens; some but sparkled into existence, and then directly died again; some were only seen as dim white trails upon the dark background. Here a brilliant nucleus darted along with a tail of silver spangles behind it, which made it seem so like a heavenly rocket, that there was a sense of disappointment when it merely vanished,

instead of bursting with an immense explosion into a girandole of planets or asteroids. Then another ball of white fire without the spangles seemed bent on plunging into the midriff of Orion, or knocking a star clean off the Great Bear's muzzle; while now and again there would be lines without balls at all, and faint distant gleams, and dim things of glory like the ghosts of illuminated clouds. What was strangest, perhaps, about the spectacle, was its silence; one half expected that such a feu de joie among the worlds would be accompanied by distant and rumbling noises, echoes of the hissing speed which ignited the meteors, whispers in rolling thunder of their birth and dissolution. But the hundreds upon hundreds of these scintillating bodies-whatever they be, whencesoever they come, and whithersoever they go-which displayed their lovely vagaries, did it in solemn silence. That lent a peculiar character to the sight, and made it harder to believe, what astronomers tell us, that all the meteors were within our own atmosphere, and owed their appearance to that very fact. Shooting stars are common enough of course, and at certain seasons they occur pretty frequently; but Tuesday night was quite as marvellous as the scientific men predicted. He who was in bed during the display lost a sight to thoughtful eyes worth seeing-a heaven full of winged and silent wanderers, perpetually starting forth, perpetually vanishing. Indeed, we know not whether any simile was more suggested by their silence, their flight chiefly in one direction, and their steady sweep, than that of winged creatures. They looked like no earthly fireworks, but rather resembled silver birds wending their way one after another to some mysterious star-heronry in the firmament—or if not birds, then the forehead-planets of Angels and Archangels, summoned in splendid cohorts to the service of God, and hastening with the lamp of their world lighted to the Divine rendezvous.

Is that too fanciful? Well, at least, we can take shelter in the consideration that nobody, even among the savants, can tell us precisely what relations the meteors bear to the rest of the cosmos. Science has done much, no doubt, to throw light on the mysterious nature of the brilliant strangers; and it would be unpardonable to disparage her achievements after her exact prediction of the display. What a reputation such a knowledge