ladies rose to leave the room, the gentlemen returned to their seats. With the clue which Miss Smokey had given me, it was not difficult to discover that Mr. Bolter found it his interest to love his country and her customs, for, as soon as he had shifted his place to occupy that which "The Dispenser" had just vacated, he superadded the metier of the winemerchant to the hospitality of the host. He was reminded, he observed, addressing himself to Colonel Bagwell, he was reminded--but à propos of what he did not say--that he had just received some splendid Bordeaux direct from his own grower, of which he could let him have a piece at a ridiculously low price, considering the quality, which was superb-and when the colonel had at once agreed to take the offered piece, and as much more as he liked-he turned to apologise for "the little transaction."

"I have such a wretched memory," he said, "that if I had'nt mentioned this fact at once, I should have forgotten it altogether, and then I never could have forgiven myself, for I had promised my friend, here, the refusal of that very wine-and a promise with me, Mr. Wells, is a fetter of adamant. And now, sir, as wine is on the tapis, which description of wine would you like on the table? Are you a Château-Margaux or a Laffitte man? You shall decide for yourself when you are settled down, but to-day, you understand, you are my guest, and Château-Margaux, or Laffitte, one or the other, it must be."

I begged him not to think of it on my account, as I drank more water than wine, but his proposition received such strenuous support from the majority of the inmates, the Reverend Spankwell Slug vociferating for Chambertin into the bargain, and Colonel Berkeley Bagwell backing him, that the necessary orders were given to Antoine, and a brisk circulation of the bottle speedily ensued. The conversation that accompanied it was of an elevated order; in its relation, I mean, to the persons spoken of. I have often noticed that our countrymen abroad are always on the most familiar terms with the highest personages they find them so very accessible. The gentlemen at the Château de Schaerbeck were very much favoured in this respect. They scarcely knew any one-that is to say, intimately-under the rank of a Grand Duke or Prime Minister; and when they alluded to them, it was always plain "Nassau," or "Baden," "Saxe-Weimar," or "Gundelfingen." Colonel Berkeley Bagwell was pre-eminent for his distinguished acquaintance, to such an extent that I wondered how he ever found an opportunity of dining or sleeping out of a royal residence ; indeed, as he said, "If he hadn't been devilish firm, he couldn't have called himself his own master at any moment while he was on the Continent." I rather fancied, however, from what Miss Smokey had hinted, that he might have found himself in just the same predicament in his native country, if he had not adopted the paying his flying visits to England incognito. Add to this lofty talk, a good deal about couriers and carriages in the remotest parts of Europe, wonderful sporting reminiscences, bonnes fortunes that never happened, successes at play that couldn't have occurred no slight amount of local scandal, and the general character of the conversation may be easily imagined. If this was to be taken as a sample of the "intellectual enjoyments" of the Château de Schaerbeck, it offered few temptations to induce me to make a halt there; but perchance the softer attractions of the ladies might make all the difference. I determined to try that issue.

It promised rather better, for as I ascended the staircase strains of music greeted my ears from the drawing-room, where I found Miss Stride and Count Colibri-who had disappeared with the ladies-warbling a duet together at the piano with great satisfaction-at least to themselves. There were more notes in preparation, for a harp stood in one corner of the room-the favourite instrument of the Heiress of Brymbo, whose "skill in fingering," Mrs. Bolter remarked to me, was "something exquisite." An opportunity to exhibit was quickly afforded her, and while the Chaplain, Mr. Flaw, Mrs. Mizzleweather, and the Hon. Mrs. Vermeil sat down to a rubber, the Cambrian syren fell foul of the chords, to the tune of "Hob ŷ Derry Dando," which is believed-in Wales-to be the air that Adam sang to Eve when they first met in Paradise. Nothing could exceed the rapture of the listeners when this melody was brought to a close; but whether they really admired it, or were glad it was over, I could not quite determine. Colonel Berkeley Bagwell, however, who was a little flustered, I thought, by the Chambertin, was loud in his applause, and paid the little Welsh heiress so many compliments that Lady South actually changed colour-the most difficult thing, according to Miss Smokey, for her to do-and the rival heroes, Major McCurragh and Captain Cushion, began to look exceedingly grim. But Mr. Bolter, who was a peacemaker from habit, as well as policy, interposed with a dose of flattery even stronger than that administered by the colonel, and as the highest bidder was always the most welcome to Miss Pryce Jenkyns-married or single, it mattered not-the aillades which had shone on the descendant of the conqueror, now beamed on the cheerful visage of Mr. Bolter, and the colonel, tiring probably of the impromptu demonstration, withdrew to a chaise longue to renew his flirtation with Lady South.

As soon as Mr. Bolter had set this little matter to rights, he busied himself in arranging a round game for the amusement of the ladies, a proposition to which Miss Smokey acceded with the utmost alacrity, a nibbling desire for half-francs being manifest in the eagerness with which she took upon herself the task of collecting the pool at Vingt-un, a game at which, I heard Mrs. Mizzleweather observe, her "dear friend" was always "so lucky." This group of players was not, however, joined by Count Colibri and Miss Stride: they preferred Bellini's music to the card-table, which made Miss Smokey remark to Mrs. Mizzle weather, in a tone loud enough for every one to hear, when she heard Miss Stride burst forth with Amina's fine aria in the second act of the Sonnambula, that she hoped the illusion of the scena might not lead her to mistake the count's bedchamber for her own.

66

Mrs. Bolter was the only disengaged person of the party; she had thrown out a hint that she should be happy to afford me any information I might like to acquire," but as I had formed my own plans with regard to my future arrangements, I told her I should look on at the round game, and, with a sigh, she submitted, as her countenance said for her, to her fate. That fate consisted in the useful employment of her quick eyes as she circulated through the salon, observing everything that was going on, and occasionally exchanging a significant glance with her frank and cheerful spouse, who welcomed me to the Château de Shaerbeck at least half a dozen times in the course of the evening.

As far as my own opportunity for observation went, there did not

seem a much greater development of the spirit of appropriativeness-so to term it at Mr. Bolter's round game, than is usually apparent where three or four elderly ladies take part in that sort of amusement. For that reason, perhaps, that the majority of the players were upon pretty nearly equal terms and would have found it difficult to overreach each other. The only exceptions were Lady South and Colonel Bagwell; she had willingly acceded to his gallant offer that they should bank together, and as he took all the disbursements upon himself and seemed to care very little how often they were made, provided his whispered tête-à-tête was undisturbed, Miss Smokey and Mrs. Mizzleweather contrived to make rather a good thing out of him. Indeed, even the heiress of Brymbo did not disdain the little pickings that fell to the share she reaped from her very cautiously considered stakes, for I noticed that when the colonel had to pay she always put in her claim to receive "double."

What took place at the whist-table I could only guess at, as I now and then caught an angry tone from Mr. Spankwell Slug, which shaped itself into something that sounded very like an oath, at the "cursed folly"—or some such clerical expression-of his partner Mr. Flaw. When I did get a glimpse of the reverend gentleman's features, I must say I felt grateful in thinking that I was neither his partner nor even one of his parishioners.

As the evening wore on, trays laden with refreshments, amongst which liqueurs and spirits predominated, were brought into the salon and handed round by Antoine, under the superintendence of "The Dispenser," who, to do her justice, appeared desirous of meriting the appellation.

"These little things," said Mr. Bolter, joyously," these little things promote cheerfulness. That is the grand object in life." And a firm believer in this doctrine was Colonel Berkeley Bagwell, whose "cheerfulness" as the hour grew later owed its principal stimulus to frequent glasses of hot Geneva and water.

At length, a turn of the game having favoured Mrs. Mizzleweather at the expense of Miss Smokey, the latter affected a horrified surprise at hearing the pendule strike twelve, and said it was time to leave off, because "it was Sunday morning" and she "always went to the Protestant church in the Place de la Bibliothèque." So the game broke up, and, while the reckoning was being made, I got possession of a chambercandlestick and quietly stole to my lair in the hunting-chamber.

ROSE-THE DEATH MARRIAGE.

BY CYRUS REDDING.

Ir was in November,

The time I well remember,

All alone

By the churchyard stone

I trod on the bending grass that grows
Over the grave of my lovely Rose,

And thought on the silence of death's dark sleep, What a mystery hangs o'er that waveless deep; While a robin trill'd in a tree hard by

His winter song sweetly and mournfully.

It was with feelings drear,

My heart all sad and sear,
Looking back

On times's printless track,

Recalling the fair indelible trace

Of a lost but long-loved-long-loved face,

When it seem'd my heart a spirit addrest :
"She is gone where all the earth-weary rest.”

Yet nought I saw but the tree hard by,
Where the robin still sang mournfully.

Then a hollow sounding

Of voices self-confounding,
From inner earth

Seem'd to take its birth;

And under my footsteps far beneath
Something appeared to sigh and breathe,

And whisper gently up through the flowers,
"There fleets no time in this world of ours."
Yet nothing I saw save the tree hard by,
And the robin singing mournfully.

Rose, Rose, the slumberless

Are the living, the quick, the fresh.
Thou sleepest well,

For the earthworms tell,

That they revel and batten in orbits where
There were eyes like blue water in summer air,
That envied death amid day's eclipse,

Kisses so sweetly thy marble lips.

While the robin's notes in the tree hard by,
Rung louder but not less mournfully.

Tell me, memory's fairest,

If for my grief thou carest?

Methinks an answer I hear from below:

"Who treads on my bosom, a friend or foe? Oh leave me upon tranquillity's shore,

They who dwell with the dead love never more!"

The robin trill'd his notes from the tree,

And they sounded still-how mournfully!

"Thou once to me wert dear,

But love is silent here;

I am immortal, and thou art free-
Seek a new bride in mortality;

I have married death, I am no more thine,
Take back thy gifts that once were mine;
From my cabinet take them, let them be
Plung'd in the depths of the fathomless sea.'
The robin silent flew from the tree,

Or he would have sung more mournfully.

YOUNG TOM HALL'S HEART-ACHES AND HORSES.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

CHRISTMAS! Christmas! that period to which some look forward with such pleasure, others with such dread. Christmas! that period when our blunt, out-spoken country friends take the conceit out of one by exclamations at one's increasing age and altered looks, and our once obsequious tradesmen no longer" any time that suits you, sir," us, but, on the contrary, will trouble us for that little account on or before." Christmas, we say again, drew on for all the world just as it is doing now, bringing in its train the usual concomitants.

Among other parties interested in the period was our old friend “sivin and four," whose peace of mind had lately been greatly disturbed by the inundation of Lord Lavender's cheques, who kept firing away on the strength of having given Greasy Tom the yeomanry commission, just as if he had a balance to the good in Hall's hands. Day after day old Trueboy came dribbling into the little pen of a sweating-room, now bearing a cheque for a hundred and fifty for a horse, now of ninety for a mare; now for a hundred and twenty for a grand pianoforte, and anon of two hundred and eight for a highly-finished pony-chaise, until the old banker began to dread the result. A cold shiver came over him as the cautious cashier sidled from his post at the counter for the sash-door, outside of which, on a large board in white letters on a black ground, hung the following pithy notice :-"Call on a Business man in Business hours, only on Business. Transact your Business, and go about your Business, in order to give him time to finish his Business."

"Sivin and four's elivin and twenty-nine is forty, and thirty-three is sivinty-three, this 'ill niver do!" exclaimed the old gentleman, as Trueboy, with his scratch-wig all awry, and perturbation on his brow, now came in with one for three hundred and eighty in favour of Sillery and Fizzer, the accommodating wine merchants of

"Sivin and four's elivin, and eighty is ninety-one, and ninety's a 'under'd and eighty-one, the man 'ill break the bank if we let him have his own Sivin and four's elivin, and sixty is sivinty-one, I'll put a spoke in his wheel."

way.

So saying, Hall took a sheet of foolscap paper of the dimensions that he wrote his London letters of advice upon, and beginning at the very top of the page, as if he thought he should have a difficulty in getting in all he had to say, he wrote as follows:

"Hall and Co. present their compliments to Lord Lavender, and beg to call his lordship's attention to his lordship's account, which is considerably out of cash.

"The Bank, Fleecyborough, Dec.

And having given it to Trueboy to copy, who did it with evident satisfaction, old Hall folded it with a very diminutive double, and directing it to the Right Honourable Lord Lavender, sealed it with a large butterpat sort of seal, bearing the ominous, awe-striking words, "Hall and Co.," in good, plain, bold, unmistakeable letters-letters that had struck terror into the mind of many a recipient.