"Do pray, Julia, tell me what book you are just now reading," exclaimed Emma, with such a display of over energy, as though her life depended on the reply.

"Oh! I am about finishing a most delightful work," answered her friend, in no less transport: "Mr. White's Three Years at Constantinople.' A most charming, exquisite book. No work exhibits the manners and habits of the Turk like it. I should have concluded it to-day, but--”

"Dear me! I am so sorry you did not bring it—for your sake."

"For my sake!" interrupted Miss Perceval, pressing the hand of her entertainer, "do not say for my sake, whilst I have so much happiness in being near to you."

Here another Shandean chapter was closed.

Julia was now nervously conscious of that peculiar malaise which is "past surgery," of course augmented by the repeated solici

tations to consider herself at home.

Broken accents now succeeded, like the unmeaning sounds from a disabled barrel organ, till at length Emma, with a kind of convulsive start, which people sometimes exhibit in their sleep, said, "I fear we have nothing here worth your looking at; however, if you like to make the trial,—that is, as you may feel inclined,but, pray just do as you like." Saying which, Miss Standish drew the attention of her friend to that bijouterie, a loo tablethat central attraction of a modern drawing-room, covered with articles of every possible denomination but the useful, with the exception, perhaps, of a certain number of books, placed at a circular equidistance, like the signs on a zodiac, or like the diablerie in the incantation of Der Freischutz, and in this instance invoked, if not to raise a red devil, at least to dispel a blue.

"Are not these views on the Danube exquisite ?" demanded Emma. "Well, just run through that Album first. Oh! these are some silly lines my cousin Charles composed on my birth-day; they're not bad either-and if we had time, I would just like to show you. . . . but it must be past two-dear me! a quarter to one!" continued she, running towards a time-piece-"how strange! this clock-it never stopped before."

"No, dear," said Miss Perceval, drawing forth her watch, "tis right enough."

Poor Emma, who had fancied their pleasure would so far outrun their time, as the Spaniard's game at chess, which outlived the death and burial of three generations of Hidalgoes, began to feel that her spirits which had, at starting, fairly run away with her, must now laboriously be driven.

"What a crowd we had on the 13th at Lady Ellesmere's ball," said she, "there must have been, at least, three hundred persons," which words she had scarcely uttered, when the recollection of

having made pretty nearly the same observation before, challenged the blood into her very forehead.

"Ah! Emma, there is more in Lady Ellesmere's ball than I had fancied, and your looks indicate it too. Are we mutually to confess to-day?"

""Twas my initiation. I never had been at a fancy ball before that evening."

"And were you charmed?”

"I think, had I gone without much premeditation, I should have been; but I had heard so much of this character of entertainment, and promised myself such abundance of gratification, that—”

"You were disappointed," continued the other.

Here the friends again caught each other's gaze, when a kind of bizarre sensation took possession of them, not very unlike that of a child, who is suddenly detected in pilfering a lump of sugar. Here terminated a further Shandean chapter.

"You should, indeed, my dear Julia, have brought your tambour frame."

"I will, another time," answered Miss Percival.

One more chapter.

Again, the struggle de faire les frais de la conversation.

"Do you ever attend Faraday's lectures?" asked Julia, with the vivacity of an actress.

"No: but I do not say I am without a great wish so to do. This is an analytical age, both morally and physically. I should indeed like to hear Faraday eloquent

'O'er crucibles and stills,
Drugs and elixirs.""

"Oh, what an extremely pretty quotation! Where did you find it?"

The weather having cleared a little, Emma, as she was standing at the window, observed Mrs. Standish in the act of stepping into her carriage.

"Mamma is going on her engagement; had I thought of it, we might have accompanied her as far as Howell and James's, and then . . . . dear me-is it too late?"

"Do not think of it on my behalf; you know we promised ourselves this day together."

"Oh, that we did!" exclaimed Emma, with more hypocrisy, perhaps, than she had ever in her life exhibited. "On the whole, it may be fortunate, for I have so much to tell you, that I should hardly have time for it in a drive."

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Quel bonheur !" cried Miss Perceval, as she turned her grateful gaze towards a piano forte, as though an oasis in the desert. "Will you let me run over that Bohemian Polka?”

"Oh! do, do, do," responded her friend, greatly relieved. Why, 'tis locked."

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"Locked! and as I live, mamma has the key with her. How un.... how cruelly un.... but tell me, Julia, Constantinople must be a very interesting city. 1 really long to hear all about it."

"Upon my word I know not how to commence so general a subject," rejoined the lady, laughing, "but I do promise to send you the volume.”

Miss Perceval now began playing with the lace edging of her dress, whilst her fair hostess turned over and over again sundry notes of invitation, which lay scattered on a side table.

"If we have time, Julia," said Miss Standish, "yes,-three o'clock, will suit admirably. ... we will take a turn in the square. We have but to put on our bonnets, you know. I am sure you would like one short turn-just once round the walks," which observation was made so imploringly, that her visitor at once consented.

A few more hard struggles brought them to three o'clock.

Emma now felt tolerably at ease, and the ladies were preparing to equip themselves for the stroll, when Miss Perceval exclaimed,

"Emma, you will be disappointed; it rains again-bless me, what a shower! but come," continued she, observing her companion's ill concealed distress, "we have endless amusement here; for myself, I am happier where I am."

Emma now felt herself like a vessel suddenly becalmed midway of the great Atlantic, and looked anxiously for the breath of a single word to aid them on their voyage to the hour of six o'clock. She felt it necessary to rally the full force of her spirits-all the volunteers had long ago gone out to service, and her army was now composed but of pressed men; these, however, she drew up in order of battle. And now, by a kind of common plunge, as though rushing on death together, the two companions threw themselves into a stream of Mesmerism, Clairvoyance, General Tom Thumb, her Majesty the Queen, and Tennison's last poem. Inevitably would they have perished in this world of waters, had not one of the humane society, in the shape of a family footman, at this moment entered the room. The attendant announced the card of Captain Barlow.

"My cousin Charles," vociferated Miss Standish in unfeigned disappointment. "Would he not come up? True, we are denied to all our friends to-day-but Charles. . . . dear me! how unlucky!" when the young lady taking the little printed document from the man who waited, read in pencil, "We are off tomorrow for Ireland-fear I shall not see you-will write within three days."

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Emma, I am indeed vexed, distressed," observed Julia, "this disappointment arises entirely on my account."

66

No, no, no," eagerly responded the perplexed lady, "but I should like to have bade him adieu; you would have admired him so much-I am sure you would. Charles is so pleasant, so very agreeable; and I don't think he would have interrupted us much." "Could not your servant overtake him? He cannot be yet out of the street."

“Impossible, dear Julia," responded Emma, mournfully—and the two ladies ran to separate windows.

Five minutes-ten minutes now clapsed in perfect silence, during which our fair friends were wistfully gazing into a wide street, wherein nothing was stirring but a brisk shower.

To make out the time appeared now as vain as looking on the ground for the shooting star, which might just before have been seen in the heavens.

"The ladies now resumed their seats and began to saw away in the monotony of two stone-cutters in opposite boxes.

"Tempus edax rerum." Fain would our two patients have pronounced res edax temporis-but alas! two long hours were to be digested before the promised meal for six o'clock. Emma now starting from the enclosure of the window, opened such a volley of heterogeneous words, which fairly outpattered the rain storm on the verandah. It met with equal response, and the desperate friends talked away in a perfect hurricane. It was

“Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxiliis, cur, quomodo, quando." But according to all meteorological signs, this was too violent to last; and the whirlwind of words was soon over, but without bringing sunshine on their prospect. The plethora had turned to a calenture, and to have lost half an hour, would have been as salutary to the patient, as letting blood in a fever: but the time did arrive when the sisters in affection were called on to make their toilet for the family dinner.

The strife was now suspended; their natural spirits again rose, and the animal barometer was at set fair. The sash, the bandeau, the skirt, the sandal, offered something to talk about; and by halfpast six o'clock, the sworn martyrs met Mrs. Standish in the ground apartment.

Mrs. Standish was a tall, masculine lady, with tremendous eyes, which, like those of the ostrich, might verily hatch eggs by merely looking on them. She had but one virtue in nature, and that the frailty of Sevigné, believing the only excellency in the world was to be found in her daughter. But in denying to all the rest of the world one tittle of respect, she materially dishonoured that maternal partiality which might otherwise have been held blameless.

Mrs. Standish was one of those annulose ladies, all rings, arm

lets, and bracelets. These hung in confusion about her, like a Chinese puzzle, reminding us much of the Tragic Queen, with whom she might have said,

These bonds, I look with loathing on myself."*

"You have passed an agreeable day, my dears," said the lady of the mansion, in a tone which but little harmonized with the sentiment.

"Indeed we have," responded Julia, who began to fancy she would very willingly recall the monotony of the morning, to have been relieved from the shortest span which the evening promised.

.

The ceremony of the dinner table now proceeded. Emma had in great measure recovered her composure-the only one perhaps, at this moment, at ease. Julia felt a kind of awe in the presence of Mrs. Standish, which had but little affinity with respect; and she discovered the character of her hostess more clearly within ten minutes, than her young companion who had scarcely been separated a day from her mother for nineteen years. But this is as it should be. Children rarely attain any influence over the weaknesses of parents, and it is well, therefore, that they do not see them. As to Mrs. Standish herself, it was not likely she should put on the hypocrisy of courtliness towards so girlish a visitor, particularly as she beheld a being beautiful as her own daughter, and one whose amiable qualities offered so much temptation to the indulgence of malice.

"I can assure you, Miss Perceval," said Mrs. Standish, after a few observations respecting her drive, "Emma has made a great sacrifice for you, this morning. Indeed Emma," continued she, turning towards her daughter, "you should have been with me on one particular visit I made to day, but I will tell you more about it at another time."

Mrs.

Julia attempted to say something, but was unable. Standish now directed her attention entirely to her daughter, speaking of a variety of persons who were, of course, utter strangers to her visitor, and mentioning a few family subjects in a half whisper.

"I called to-day to make enquiries respecting poor Mrs. Frazer --she cannot last long."

"What was the account?" asked her daughter.

“Oh, I was hurried, and told Williamson not to wait-but he left cards. There appears no question now in the case of Mr. Harrington-people talk of the insolvency openly."

There was an ancient lawgiver, (Zaleucus), who, to prevent sumptuary follies, enacted, that no woman should be attended by more than one maid, unless overcome by drink-none make expensive excursions, unless for an intrigue-and none to wear golden ornaments, unless to hire themselves to wanton lovers.