And there stood Frederick, whose being's end and aim was to make the happiness of Ellen; there he stood, between these two agitated beings, without a care for the present, without a doubt for the future, unconsciously acting the part of Calista, 'Spectatress of the mischiefs he had made.'

Once more be it said, certainly we are strange creatures. "Do you think, my love, that these servants are aware that we expect no one else?" said the master of the house, after having two or three times opened a crack of the door, which led into the dining-room, and discovered nothing more exhilarating than a broad expanse of table-cloth.

Elizabeth only answered by a nod, and a look which said plainly, "don't be fussy."

Another minute and a half elapsed. 66 It wants but ten minutes to six," he said in a chafed tone; but no sympathy followed; as usual, all the people in the room were thinking of what interested themselves most, and in none of their minds did dinner happen to be the first object.

This was more than Mr. Dalrymple could bear. He gave a violent pull to the bell; thereby irritating the cook, and hindering the butler, who was in the very act of bringing up the soup, which now, in pure spite, he left below, while he came, with an unconscious air to ask what was wanted.

At last, Mr. Dalrymple, looking round with a face into which he meant to throw an air of open hospitality, was able to congratulate his guests upon being fairly seated at dinner, and to beg them to eat as fast and talk as little as they could, or they should be late. The last injunction was utterly thrown away.

She

Miss Rivers, as if determined to puzzle Ellen, now threw off her reserve, and appeared the gayest of the gay. laughed with Edward, appealed to Elizabeth, addressed Frederick with all the ease of an old acquaintance, and at last petrified Ellen, by charging her with reserve, and a determination not to make her acquaintance. This was too much; Ellen had made all the advances in the first instance, and had been resolutely repelled. Without being very vain she could not but think that her society was likely to prove a greater advantage to Miss Rivers, than Miss Rivers's to her. She could scarcely submit to this affectation of equality; it chilled her more completely than ever. However, conversation went on brilliantly; the niece performed to perfection the part that Edward had assigned to the aunt; she helped off Elizabeth's dinner amazingly,

CHAPTER X.

How curious is the contemplation of the human mind in all its strange varieties; its loftiness and its meannesses; the shades and grades which separate the base from the noble, the fool from the sage.-ANON.

EVERY thing turned out as could be wished. The Dalrymples arrived full five minutes before the overture began. Lady Hamilton was already there; and, as Charles had calculated they might very well be supposed to belong to her party. He was congratulating himself upon his own excellent management, when his attention was attracted to the next box on the other side, by what is emphatically called a nudge, from a very well-pointed elbow, followed up by a cheerful exclamation of "Well, this is luck! here we all are, a set of friends got together. I always say that a public box is worth forty private ones; it does give one a chance of seeing somebody. Captain Glanville," continued Eliza Beaumont, "you do not see who you have got for neighbors;" and, to Mr. Dalrymple's infinite horror, she stretched her arm across him to shake hands with Edward. The corners of his mouth worked peevishly, when he turned round and discovered one unbroken expanse of Beaumonts. He agreed with Elizabeth in thinking them a forward presuming family-very difficult to keep at a distance; but Miss Eliza Beaumont's present behavior surpassed any thing he had believed possible. It was exceedingly distressing that they should be settled next to him.

In the back row sat Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, with Charles between them; in the next were Maria, Eliza, and Anne; and in front, with heads curled like mops, and bright pink sashes, were ranged four chubby pets, the sweepings of the nursery, to whose existence, except upon harlequin farce-nights, Maria did not intend to give publicity for the next ten years. As it was, she quite agreed with Eliza, that it would be pleasanter to stay at home, than to go in that tiresome way, without the possibility of having any body with them worth speaking to.

She had once or twice suggested that it would be advisable to take but two children at a time. But Mr. Beaumont upon this point was unpersuadable. When he went to the expense of a play-box, it was that his whole family might be amused, He thought it a respectable thing to see a large family-party at

the play. When he was a child himself, his father used to take all his children every year to Astley's and Covent Garden. It was a good ancient custom, which he should not drop-it was a part of the old regime; and he did not think the better of Richard for refusing to be of their party; it betrayed something of the foolish finery of a very young man.

As it was inevitable, Maria and Eliza submitted with becoming resignation to this waste of time. That anybody ever went to the play, for the mere purpose of seeing the play, had never entered their imaginations.

"Well done, Miss Eliza," said Charles, in a schoolboy's whisper, which is seldom strictly confidential; "you're a quick hand at finding out friends, before friends find out you.Don't claw the poor fellow into our box; he seems well enough pleased where he is."

"Not so loud, my dear boy, for mercy's sake. These little jokes are better kept for home."

This maternal admonition so far quieted Charles, that he contented himself for the next quarter of an hour by sticking out his tongue, shrugging up his shoulders, and imitating the restless motion of Eliza's head; in which little innocent antics he was encouraged by Maria, who was thoroughly exasperated at having two sisters between her and the scene of interest. A diversion was, however, at hand. An exclamation of Anne's called her attention to a private box, on the other side of the house. It was occupied by John Harrison, in the character of chaperon, and his two sisters. Her eyes were scarcely directed towards it, when the door opened, and a young man entered. John instantly rose, and seemed to be pressing him to take his place in front-a thing John was not likely to do, unless there were good reasons for it.

Maria knew at once, as well as if she had been told, that the stranger must have taken the box himself, and invited the Harrisons to join him; and of course he had a right to the best place in his own box. He declined it, however, and seated himself behind Kate; and after that, nothing but the back of Kate's head was to be seen; while John and Julia leaned forward; as if they felt that they must be dependent upon one another for amusement. Maria could no longer doubt this was confirmation, indeed, of Eliza's surmisesthere, too surely, sate Kate and Kate's lover.

The alarm was instantly given to the rest of the family.Who-what could he be? What on earth could possess him to fall in love with Kate? He must fancy that she had money?

Maria was quite sure that it would never end in a marriage. She was only vexed that John and Julia should be fancying that they were puzzled by what was going on. Anne thought him good-looking. The others could not conceive what he meant they could not abide his bushy hair-he decidedly looked vulgar and underbred.

"If we could catch anything half as good, bushy head and all, to fall in love with one of us," said Charles, "we would not let him go again in a hurry."

"Hush, my boy," interrupted his mother, "you must not be rude to your sisters. I own I do feel a little vexed that my old friend, Mrs. Harrison, should have been so very close with me. I make it a rule never to appear curious; but I did ask her this morning, whether either of the girls had anything going on? and she answered, that as long as they were amused, she never troubled her head about anything else: which was very deceitful; for you may be sure that she has been cooking up this with all her might. And now, I recollect, I pressed her to take a play-box to-night, and she said that Mr. Harrison would not think it worth while; and good reason too, when she lets her daughters go about with their brother, and their brother's friend. However, I shall be heartily glad if anything happen to please her. She may have more troubles than we know of. There was that boy, who went to sea. I suspect there was some awkward mystery about him. She looked very blank upon it, poor woman!" And Mrs. Beaumont, as a good Christian should, sighed heavily over the woes of fat, prosperous Mrs. Harrison.

Certainly, if all the woes that Mrs. Beaumont fancied and prophesied for her, ever came to pass, Mrs. Harrison would not be fat and prosperous long. Sometimes she feared that Mr. Harrison's fortune was hurt by his speculations; or John, she was credibly informed, had taken to play at Crockford's; or Julia's high temper was sad worry; or their radical connections were doing the credit of the family no good. It was not to be wondered at that Mrs. Harrison should-feel. Still, as she served, it was better to appear to know nothing of what was intended to be concealed-and she was not curious -so she only asked every disagreeable question she could think of, every time they met.

The curtain was now drawn up, and Mrs. Yates discovered in the character of Victorine.

"We must all be silent now, and try to find out the plot," Mr. Dalrymple said peremptorily to Eliza, after having di

rected three or four very sour looks into the interior of the box--which, in the first fervor of the Harrison turmoil, had been utterly thrown away.

66

Oh, to be sure," said Eliza.

"Captain Glanville, would

you, just for one moment, lend me your bill?”

Edward, who was delighted at his brother-in-law's discomfiture, immediately handed it to her; at the same time begging that any remark she might have to make, she would forward through her next neighbor.

The inhabitants of London are not a play-going population. Many are too busy-more are too idle-some cannot bear to eat their dinners early-others detest being kept from their beds so late-the grave will not countenance anything pronounced so wicked-the gay will not sacrifice their hours to any thing that lasts so long-the rich can afford more costly amusements-the poor cannot afford to amuse themselves at all—and each and all want something new.

Moreover, in the present age, the comedies of real life are so broad, the tragedies so deep, crimes are so startling, and immorality so little disguised, that we read and hear daily of ridicules, of griefs, of guilt, which surpass all that can be brought before us on the stage. So the idle and the trifling go about panting for something that will give them fresh sensations. Heaven help them!-they would be grateful to be made to feel pain, rather than to go on not feeling any thing. Victorine really was original, and for three whole hours of mortal life it raised emotions, enough to satisfy the most fastidious. Never was there a brighter picture than the first scene displayed, of innocent love and humble happiness. But Victorine was beautiful and fair, and the temptations which cross the path of such were crowding thick upon her. Conscious of the integrity of her feelings, in the pride and gaiety of her heart, she awakens the jealousy of her lover, and allows him to part from her in sorrow and in anger. Alone, she is startled at the ambitious thoughts which are gaining possession of her mind. She grieves for the pain she has wantonly inflicted, and before she retires to her homely bed, kneels and prays that the daughter may be blessed and strengthened, for the sake of that virtuous mother, whose pride she had been in life, and comforter in death.

The scene is changed, and, surrounded by every luxury that wealth can give, Victorine is discovered in her splendid, guilty home. Then follows her meeting with him, who, loving and beloved, was yet forsaken-his sad, yet proud dis