A NEW WORLD.

However kind and true by nature, a man who has risen to, can never quite understand the feeling, of one who has fallen from higher fortunes; the seeming trifles which can elate, or depress, are but trifles to the former; nor can any amount of sincere friendship ever reveal to him the saddening effect which some insignificant occurrence, he would scarcely perceive, produces on the other; he cannot dream with what terrible and intense conviction, the sudden consciousness of total change, flashes on the mind that had happily half-forgotten it, at some accident of daily life, to him, nothing, in itself, a mere "contretemps," which, in brighter days would have only raised a smile, but which is now too sure an indication of the current; straw though it be.

And Winter, with all his real, steady affection, for Kate, felt half angry with her for the obstinacy with which she adhered to her intention of travelling by the first class in the railway. He could not comprehend, what she could so well feel, that the moral effect produced on her grandfather, by a long journey in a conveyance, which would, every moment, bring the utter change of his fortunes and position, so forcibly before him, would far more than counterbalance the few pounds saved.

"But," reiterated Winter, "the colonel is well and remarkably strong for his age, he would not find the journey in the least fatiguing by the second class; and, my dear girl, I want to impress on you the necessity of conforming, at once, to the changes Heaven has been pleased to send you. Procrastination is always bad, but in the present case peculiarly injurious."

"Yes, Mr. Winter, I know all that, and as to the fatigue, that is not what I think of; but imagine how wretched grandfather would feel—no, you cannot imagine—but would it be worth while, for the sake of the difference, to let him receive so bad an impression of his new position at the very outset, and so rudely. He will have enough to suffer. Let him have an easy start; in short this is one of the very few points on which I cannot accept of your guidance; and all I will add is, I hope you will, though unconvinced, acquiesce in my decision, and not mention this controversy to grandpapa."

"'Pon my word, Miss Vernon, you put me down, right royally," said he, laughing, and yet surprised at the air of quiet firmness with which she announced her determination.

"My own, dear, kind master! Ah, when shall I have an argument with you again? But you will write to me often, and sometimes come to London."

"I will, I will indeed. Ah, Kate, I did not know how much you had twined yourself round this tough old heart of mine, till I found I was to lose my bright pupil. You had better make over Cormac to me, till you have a house of your own?"

"Oh, no, no, we should be incomplete without my dear old dog! Besides, I promised him he should join us as soon as possible."

"Promised the dog; and you look as grave as a judge."

"Yes, I said to him yesterday, 'I am not going to leave you long behind, dear Cormac,' and he looked up at me with his honest eyes, as though he trusted me so implicitly; I could not deceive him."

"Kate, you have too much imagination for the battle of life, get rid of some of it, I advise you."

"Get rid of it! And shall I pursue my way more successfully, if I clip the wings that might sometimes help to waft me over rough places."

"You are incorrigible! You see your fancy is going to cheat you out of nearly five pounds in this railroad business. I wish you would be advised by me; and, indeed, strictly speaking, it is your duty to conform as soon as possible to circumstances."

"My strict duty! Oh, Mr. Winter, I abjure strictness, it is a thing of mathematical precision, gone, vanished with the old dispensation; which, providing rules for all and every thing, left no room for those exquisite shades and tints without which, life, as well as pictures, would have neither truth nor beauty. I never like to think how much or how little I ought to do; there is one maxim on this point, that supplies to me the absence of every other. 'Freely ye have received, freely give,' Why should I pain another, to fulfil to the letter, an unimportant duty? But, I have settled that point."

"Well, well, you are right in intention at all events, and now I must say good morning, what are you going to do?"

"Why, I have finished my preparations; and as grandpapa is going with you about the luggage, I intend hearing the evening service in the Cathedral; vespers, (I like the name, popish though it be) for the last time. Ah, Maestro mio, to-morrow."

"Don't talk of it, but I'll tell Mrs. Winter she may expect you in an hour. Au revoir."

Kate strolled slowly through the churchyard, and mounted the steps; stood for some minutes gazing at the well-known scene from the city wall, thinking, "how and when shall I see it again! What awaits me in the new world into which I am about to plunge!" Then turning to the right, she followed the rather tortuous way, formed by the time worn ramparts, until she reached the narrow alley which led to the cathedral. The entrance to the cloisters at this spot, was a low vaulted passage, which communicated, in ancient times, with the servants' offices, and formed an angle with a lofty chapel, now used as an ante-room; and here Kate again paused, as if to take the scene into her memory. To the Chapter house, opposite the end opening on the cloisters, was a beautiful window, showing through its lace-like and still perfect tracery, the soft, green grass which clothed the quadrangle formed by the cloisters, and a thorn tree grew close against its mullions, and even thrust its branches, so delicately green, with the first fresh and unspeakable tints of spring, through their many openings; contrasting its fair youth, with the solemn grey and massive stones around it. A bright gleam of sunshine, which fell slanting, it up one half the chapel, through which Kate advanced, leaving the other in shadow. The unbroken stillness, the air of deep repose, which pervaded the old pile, gave something of its own calm to her feelings, which had been a little ruffled by the thousand anticipations her argument with Winter had called up. The hour of evening prayer was not yet arrived, and she stood for a while gazing at the exquisite effects of light and shade, till the perfect silence woke up her fancy, and she smiled to think, that it would scarce surprise her, to see a plumed and helmetted shadow fall on the stream of sunshine, which bathed the pavement with a flood of gold, and even were the shadow followed by a substantial mailed form, with knightly spurs, and cross-hilted sword, it would seem but natural, here.

The distant sound of the organ warned her that the service was about to begin, and she was soon kneeling in the quiet nook she usually occupied.

The next morning they left A——.

"The last journey I made by rail-road was with you to Carrington," said Kate to Winter.

She was looking a little pale, and a certain anxious nervousness made her tremble in every limb; but she kept up very cheerfully.

They were standing on the platform at the railway station, waiting for the train, which, starting from some newer and more important place, only gave a few hurried, breathless moments to poor old anti-locomotive A——.

The Colonel was looking a shade more elegant even than usual, in a large cloak, which hung gracefully round his tall, erect form. There was their luggage all ticketed and piled up, all of home that could be packed into trunks; and Kate felt singularly desolate at the idea of being thus, for the first time, without any sanctuary, however humble, to which, as to an ark, she might retreat, when the fountains of the great deep, of sorrow or of disappointment, were broken up; and Mrs. Winter was there with a well-packed basket of sandwiches, and wine and water; but poor Gilpin had been so unwell since his imprudent visit to the Priory, that he had been obliged to leave the Winters to do the parting honours, alone, to their valued friends. Nor can we omit to mention Mrs. O'Toole, who, in a black silk bonnet, snowy cap, and substantial cloth cloak, albeit it was early June, looked the very model of a respectable old family-servant; over one arm hung Miss Vernon's shawl, and, in her left hand, she carried a blue band-box, containing divers and sundry articles thrust into it, at the last moment, and secured by a red silk handkerchief.

"Yes," returned Winter, in reply to Kate's observation, "we were a merry trio; but we little anticipated the adventure you contrived to get up."

"It was all very curious," said Kate, with a sigh, as her thoughts flew back to that pleasant evening, and its still pleasanter dÉnouÉment.

A shrill, piercing whistle! The porters stood, not to their arms, but to their trunks.

"Up-train coming," said one of them, warningly, to our little party.

"Now then, don't be in a hurry, Colonel—get the tickets all right," said Winter; and the huge, hissing, relentless monster of an engine, rushed panting by the platform. "Do you get in and settle yourselves, Colonel; Mrs. O'Toole and I will see to the luggage."

The Colonel obeyed; but Kate stood by the carriage door. Winter soon bustled back, and in more than usually husky tones, observed—

"All right—there goes the bell."

"Dearest Mrs. Winter," cried Kate, clasping that worthy little woman in her arms; "good bye;" and the tears she had long, with difficulty, restrained, poured down her cheeks; then turning to the kind, rough artist, she, somewhat to his surprise, bestowed an equally affectionate embrace on him, with such childlike simplicity and sincere feeling, that he was inexpressibly touched. "My kind love to Mr. Gilpin; and, I need hardly say, take care of Cormac."

"God bless you, dear Kate," from both the Winters, and she was hurried into the carriage, where nurse was already seated. A jerk back, and then forward, and they were swept away from the kind faces that looked so eagerly after them.

As long as the neighbouring scenery presented any familiar features, Kate looked mournfully and wistfully through the window; but soon, too soon, they were flying beyond the limits of her longest walks; and when the distant height, crowned by Mowbray Castle, longest visible, because the highest point in the surrounding country, disappeared, she dismissed her regrets, turned resolutely from the contemplation of past happiness, and determined to let no selfish grief, no personal consideration whatever intervene between her heart and its great task. Comforting and supporting her grandfather.

"And you feel quite well, quite comfortable, dear grandfather."

"Yes, love. Why, this is as good as any private carriage; you know I am quite a novice in rail-road travelling. How do you like it, Nelly?"

"Faith, an' it's an illigant coach intirely; but, Miss Kate, jewel, did iver ye see anything so fast as the hedges do be runnin'?"

"Yes," laughed the Colonel, "London will be down here presently!"

There is little ever to relate of a journey by rail—at least, at the time of which we write, when excursion trains and concussions were not quite such every-day events as in 1851-2. Little occurred to vary the even tenor of their course. Speed was slackened, bells rung, and incomprehensible names bawled out at the due number of stations. One or two companions were added to, and diminished from their number, with whom the Colonel entered, urbanely, into conversation, and, about two o'clock, offered them refreshment, from Mrs. Winter's well-stored basket, which was thankfully accepted by his fellow-travellers, who set him down, in their private opinions, as some condescending nobleman of philanthropic habits, and enjoyed his sandwiches and sherry with redoubled goÛt. Could they have known, he was a broken gentleman, and an Irish one to boot, how soon "urbane condescension" would have changed, to pushing forwardness, and the gracious offer of a sandwich, to some deep design of getting up an acquaintance, with ulterior objects possibly still more dreadful.

At length, the closer ranks of houses and increasing hubbub of hissing engines, and departing trains, warned them, they were fast approaching the great metropolis.

The quiet and ease of their journey was at an end, the moment they stepped from the retirement of the carriage into the bustling confusion of the platform, beyond which a line of cabs were drawn up, the length of which positively appalled Kate, as indicative of the immense crowd amongst whom they would have to struggle for their luggage. The additional difficulty of darkness was superadded to those already arising from crowd and hurry; for they had not left A—— until considerably past noon.

"Och, Holy Virgin! how are we iver to get the thrunks in sich a scrimmige!" ejaculated Mrs. O'Toole.

"We must look for the van they put them in at A——," said Kate, who was trembling with nervous anxiety, and depressed, at feeling how unfitted she was for so bustling a scene.

"Jest don't be walkin off wid the masther's portmanty," said Mrs. O'Toole, laying a vigorous grasp on the arm of a railway porter.

"Is this here yer's?"

"Yes, an' so is the black wan, an' the wan wid the leather cover in the van, &c."

And soon the civil and expeditious porters had placed all their luggage in a goodly pile.

"Now," said the Colonel, "for the transit to Bayswater."

"Cab, sir?"

"Yes, two."

The Colonel and Kate led the way with their light parcels, and nurse followed with an overflowing cargo.

It is a strange sensation, that of whirling through unknown streets by gas light. The complete ignorance of where you are going, the seemingly miraculous facility with which you are whisked round innumerable turnings, the flaring gas-light before the meaner shops, and short intervals of gloomy, respectable quarters.

Kate felt all this strongly, and sat gazing at the busy crowded streets, holding her grandfather's hand, and scarcely breathing. It seemed as though she had never felt the changes that had occurred in their lot before, and wearied by the journey, and the busy days that preceded it, she experienced that dread fluttering sensation, half fear, half excitement that made her long, oh, how intensely, for some familiar face to welcome them, some strong calm friend into whose arms she might throw herself, and feel safe.

But, "fate forbid such things to be," and a curtseying landlady received them in all the glories of an "afternoon toilette," with an elaborate front, cunningly secured with three rows of narrow black velvet round the head, and a profusion of cherry-colored ribbons in her cap.

"Here, Hester, carry up the carpet bags; Mr. Langley was here to-day ma'am, and said we might hexpect you about height o'clock, but it's near nine now; what would you please to take? I'll have candles lighted in a moment."

And she ushered them into a small parlour, furnished with a most obdurate looking horse-hair sofa, six horse hair chairs, ranged round the walls, an impracticable arm chair, and a small round table, covered with a bright red cloth; a diminutive looking glass over the mantel-piece, on which were displayed a few cheap ornaments, and a chiffonnier of mock rose-wood, with warped doors, completed the inventory.

"Tea, I think, Kate, will be the most acceptable refreshment. If you will be so good as to let us have some tea, Mrs. Mrs. ——."

The Colonel paused.

"Crooks," said the amiable lady.

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Crooks."

"Certainly, sir," and she retired, as the servant entered, with two tall candles, unsteadily thrust into very short candlesticks.

It is unnecessary to describe the wretchedness of such an arrival, the total derangement of all established comforts, and London lodging-house tea and milk! and the professional rapidity, with which the servant clatters down the plates, and deals out the knives, the ill-cleaned Britannia metal tea-pot, the pale, market looking butter, all, all so unlike home.

Nurse, who had taken Miss Vernon's sac de nuit, to her room, now came to the rescue.

"Ah, don't be breakin yer heart sthrivin to make tay, an' the wather not half biled. There," smelling the tea which Kate had put out, and setting it down with a look of disgust. "Athen, 'tis little iv ye kem from Chayney, any how. Sure I put a dust iv the rale sort into me ban-box the last thing, an it's well them villains at that moiderin Station, didn't lose it an' me box' an all, have a taste iv buthered toast, here, me good girl, just bile up that kittle, an when it's bilin mad, run up wid it; stay, I'll go down meself."

And Mrs. O'Toole prepared them a very refreshing cup of tea, which they insisted on her sharing; and largely did she contribute to enliven their first repast in the mighty metropolis, by her shrewd, caustic remarks on the various little events of their journey.

"Sure it's so quiet, we might think ourselves in the Priory," she said, after a pause. "Another bit of toast, Miss Kate, ye'r white wid the journey, and the scrimmage, alanah."

"Yes," replied the Colonel, "it is singularly quiet here."

"But listen to that distant, continuous roar," said Kate, "what is it?" she asked of the girl, who was removing the tea things.

"Plase ma'am it's the 'busses."

They were located in one of the numerous "Albert Groves," or "Victoria Terraces," which congregate near, and diverge from the main Bayswater Road.

After some more desultory conversation, the little party retired to the rest they so much needed. Kate and nurse first carefully arranging the Colonel's room; but long after she had laid her head on the hard and diminutive lodging-house pillow, Kate's busy fancy kept sleep aloof—the fact that she was actually in London, was almost incredible, that the dreaded parting with the Winters, and the Priory—the terrible exchange of all the sweet sanctities of home, for the uncertainties and insecurity of lodgings—that all this so long anticipated, was absolutely accomplished; and that from this time forward, a new world of action—of reality—of sober, stern existence, lay before her. Such thoughts as these were potent enemies to sleep. Then her last visit to the great city, and its gaieties, and studies presented themselves; and Lady Desmond's probable return—followed by a natural chain of associations; and finally, the Priory, with its pretty garden; and the neighbouring woods, in all their glories of autumn—as they looked the day she found Fred Egerton seated with her grandfather, rose before her mind's eye; and all the pleasant incidents of that happy time, unrolled themselves before her—clearly at first, but, at length strangely mingled with memories of Dungar, and older days still. Once or twice she strove to reunite the broken chain of thought; but slowly they all faded, and the hours of a short summer's night sped on their way; and gradually her spirit woke from the first, deep sleep that fell upon it; and wearied by the heaviness that had of late weighed it down, fled joyously to the scenes of its early childhood; and summoned to its side, the friends it loved—until a flood of morning sunshine pouring into her room, woke her; and her eyes fell upon the broad comely countenance of Mrs. O'Toole.

"Athen, the blessin' iv Christ on ye, jewel; sure the angels was whisperin' to ye in Heaven—ye wor smilin' so swate in your sleep."

"Oh, nurse, why did you awake me? so soon I mean."

"Soon," ejaculated Mrs. O'Toole, "sure it's nine o'clock, so it is, an' you that was always up at seven—"

"Nine! is it possible? But, nurse, are morning dreams always true?"

"Sure, I told ye so a hundred times, an' ye always laughed at me, was it dreamin' ye wor, alanah?"

"Yes; of Dungar, and of such strange—but go, dear nurse—I will ring soon for you. Have you seen grandpapa this morning? How did you sleep yourself?"

"He's not rung his bell yet; an' I was as snug as any duchess."

To Kate's infinite delight, morning displayed a garden, some ten feet square, in front of their new abode, sufficient to satisfy the elastic conscience of the builder, in calling the row of houses, in which it was situated, "Victoria Gardens." True, it was not in that perfection of keeping, so grateful to eyes susceptible of the beautiful; but still the green of a few ragged lilacs, and laburnums, with the perfume of a mignionette bed, was most refreshing; and so much better than anything she had ventured to hope for—that she felt inexpressibly cheered.

The Colonel too, had slept well—at least, till daylight, when he had been rather disturbed by the screams of a parrot, a great pet, Mrs. O'Toole informed them, of their landlady. Breakfast over, and the Times, secured for her grandfather, Kate was soon immersed in a long, confidential letter to Winter and his wife.

Their late breakfast had encroached, more than she thought, upon the morning, and she felt surprise when the landlady announced Mr. Langley; and Winter's old friend entered. He was a long, pale man, with lightish hair, and whey coloured whiskers; his manners, cold and shy, impressed Kate with an uneasy feeling, that it would be impossible to set him at ease.

"Very much obliged by your early visit," said the Colonel, rising, with his usual suave cordiality. "We have to thank you for procuring for us, such comfortable apartments—my granddaughter, Miss Vernon."

Mr. Langley bowed, and in so doing, upset a ricketty chair, whereupon, he endeavoured to restore it to its former position, and in the struggle, dropped his hat and gloves; at last his composure a little restored, by the graciousness of his new acquaintances, he gathered courage to ask, coldly, after Winter, and still more slightly for his wife, to which the Colonel replied, by giving very copious details, of their friends, and Kate thought he listened with more interest than he ventured to express in words; some general conversation then ensued—their journey, and the old city of A——, were discussed. Mr. Langley glanced once or twice at his hat, which had unfortunately got into an inaccessible corner, and Kate began to fear that this first interview, to which she had looked, as to a mine of information, whereby to form her plans, and guide her future proceedings, would pass away in the vain repetition of polite nothings; while the Colonel, in his high-bred anxiety to entertain his visitor, seemed to forget there was any more serious subject to discuss, beyond the decline of the drama, or the prospects of the ministry.

It was always with extreme reluctance that Kate, ever broached any subject, connected with the realities of their position, in the presence of her grandfather, now that all the necessary changes had been made; and to this natural difficulty, was added the awkwardness of introducing important queries, apropos to nothing. At last, taking advantage of a pause in the Colonel's eloquence, of which Mr. Langley seemed inclined to avail himself, to depart, she plunged boldly, because desperately, into the subject uppermost in her thoughts.

"I am most anxious to lose no time in endeavouring to get pupils. Mr. Winter mentioned to you, I suppose?"

"Yes;" said Langley, turning to her with more of complacency, than his manner had hitherto exhibited, his painter's eye, probably caught by her expressive countenance, and graceful figure. "Yes, he mentioned your intention—and I—that is, I hope you will not disapprove; I told some friends of mine, professors of music, and they wish to hear you play; and then they will be able to judge how far they can forward your views."

"Thank you," cried Kate, glancing nervously at the Colonel, to whose high and usually pale forehead the color rose at this proposed exhibition of his refined, noble, and graceful grandchild; "you are most kind to have anticipated my arrival; but," she added, covering her face playfully with her hands, "I never shall have courage for such an exhibition, such an ordeal!"

"But if they never hear you perform, how can they recommend you?" asked Langley, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I did but jest," replied Kate, "and am ready to do whatever you may recommend."

"Of course, if it is repugnant to Miss Vernon, however friendly and judicious your suggestion, Mr. Langley, I cannot permit her," began the Colonel, in disturbed accents.

"Dearest grandpapa, this matter is between Mr. Langley and myself—you may listen—but are not to interfere. Am I not right, Mr. Langley?"

He bowed, startled into silent admiration, by the extreme beauty of her smile.

"I am silenced," said the Colonel.

"Winter mentioned," resumed Langley, after a moment's pause, "that you were a pupil of Hermann's; I would advise your renewing your acquaintance with him; he is one of the first masters, in the fashionable world, at present."

"I fully intend writing to him to-morrow, and—"

"Why not to-day?" interposed Langley, with increasing warmth. "And merely ask him to appoint an interview—be sure you see him—writing is of little use—besides he has a daughter—I mean two—amiable girls, I am told—indeed I know one of them. Miss Vernon," addressing the Colonel, "can, therefore, call on him with perfect propriety, for he could never otherwise see her, his time is so much occupied."

The Colonel, again reddening to the roots of his hair, made a silent inclination of his head, too much overcome at the idea of Kate's being compelled to call on any man, to be able to infringe upon her injunction.

"Unfortunately," resumed Langley, "I have no one to do the honors of my house; but my sister, who lives close by here, intends to do herself the pleasure of calling on you, Miss Vernon, and hopes to fix some evening, when I can introduce you to some professional friends—but I see you have no piano."

"We shall be most happy to make your sister's acquaintance; my piano is still at A——; but I hope to have it early next week—only I am sure I cannot think where it can stand in this diminutive chamber."

"But it is essential; you so soon lose the facility of execution. Winter tells me, you play well; and he is no mean judge."

"I trust you may be of the same opinion; but the degree of perfection required from musicians appals me!"

"Nothing mediocre goes down now," returned Langley, with an emphasis, not very encouraging. "And as I believe I have paid you a long visit," rising nervously; "my sister would have accompanied me, but one of her little boys is ill. I hope she may soon be released—I mean, be able to call on you. She knows several people about here, all with young families. Ah, good morning, Miss Vernon, good morning, sir."

"I shall take an early opportunity of returning your visit," said the Colonel, accompanying him to the door.

"Pray do; and as Mr. Winter tells me, Miss Vernon is a lover of paintings, perhaps she might like to take a look at my studio?"

"Oh, thank you," cried Kate, who had followed them. "I shall be delighted."

"Good morning, then."

"This seems promising, dear grandpapa," said Kate, settling back to her writing, with a sunny smile. "I am so glad I saw Mr. Langley, before I closed my letter; he appears friendly, though certainly not brilliant."

"Promising, Kate," cried the Colonel, playing nervously with his glasses, and holding the paper aside in one hand, "promising! It is unutterably repugnant to my feelings to think, that you will have to exhibit your paces, or your performance rather, to secure the suffrages of a set of fiddlers, and to wait upon a fat German, who, I remember, used to seem to abjure water, and wore a ring on his thumb. This Mr. Langley seems to forget what is due to a gentlewoman altogether, or to be totally ignorant of it. And, only that I was afraid of vexing you, my love, I would have told him so. Cold-blooded John Bull!"

"I should indeed have been greatly distressed had you done so," said Kate. "You know, dearest and best, I am only known to him in my new character; and is it not unreasonable to be displeased with him, because he endeavours, according to his judgment, which I believe to be the true one, to forward my views!"

"Instinct might have told him, yours was a peculiar case! to tell you to call on a German music-master!"

"Pooh, grandpapa, as Mr. Winter would say, if you and I were staying at the 'Clarendon,' en route to Paris, you would be the first to encourage me in paying a visit to my old master, why—"

"It is a totally different thing, this old German—"

"True, and it may be prejudice; but, under the circumstances, I would prefer visiting a German to an English music-master. My own, dear grandpapa, we must be content to lose the shadow, if we can secure the substance; and now I must proceed to finish my letter."

Hastily finishing her long, crossed epistle to the Winters, she proceeded to pen a billet to Hermann, recalling herself to his recollection, and expressing a strong desire for an interview with him; this was placed selon les rÈgles in an envelop, when a grand difficulty presented itself—the address—"He used to live in Baker Street, but I forget the number." She rung.

"Would Mrs. Crooks be so good as to let me see a directory?"

"Please 'em, she's not got one."

"How provoking! and it is just post hour!"

"Send that note on chance," suggested the Colonel; "and we can get the right address from Langley, if it fails."

"Good," she replied; and sent both her epistles at once to the post.

The day, notwithstanding the promise of the morning, proved wet; but Langley's long visit, and her long letter, made it pass quickly to Kate. She now put away her writing materials, singing snatches of her favourite songs, to her grandfather's surprise, and looking bright as an embodied gleam of sunshine; the idea of speedy action was cheering beyond measure, to her energetic, earnest spirit; and though it may lower her in the estimation of sentimentalists and evangelicals, she was too young and too light-hearted, not to feel considerable pleasure, at the idea of a soirÉe at Langley's sister's.

"Are ye ready for yer dinner, Miss Kate? an' would the masther mind the girl layin' the cloth?" enquired Mrs. O'Toole, putting in her head.

"Certainly not," replied the Colonel.

"I have not seen you all day, nurse," said Kate, "what have you been doing."

"I wint out to get some chops for yer dinners, an' the thief iv a butcher asks me nine-pince a pound for thim. 'Is it jokin' ye are,' ses I, 'mum,' ses he, as if he was bothered. 'Is it plum cake ye do be feedin' yer sheep on,' ses I, 'to go be afther askin' nine-pince a pound for thim chops,' ses I, wid that he ups and he ses, his mate was the best an' the chapest in the place, an' I'd get nothin' ondher it; an' sure enough I wint to ivery butcher widin' two miles, an' sorra one iv thim ud give the chops for less, an' some asked more; there's London for ye! But it ud break yer heart to see the woman sthrivin' to brile thim on the hanful iv coals in wan corner iv the grate, I wish ye'd spake to her to let me cook for yes, but—" Nurse suddenly paused, and held up her hand to enforce silence, as an approaching jingle announced the coming dinner apparatus.

"Have you dined yourself, dear nurse?" asked Kate.

"Sure I tuck a cup iv tay, an' an egg, sorra sich an egg iver I seen! Ye know it's a fast day, Miss Kate."

Their dinner was soon despatched; the half cold, half raw chops, so different from their simple yet tempting fare at home, offering little to induce its prolongation. After its removal, Kate looked wistfully from the window.

"It does not rain now, grandpapa, would you not like a stroll into Kensington Gardens? I should like so much too, to find out some library, for how shall we get over this evening without music, or work, or books, or chess. Oh, I forgot, nurse has unpacked the chess-board."

"I am not inclined for walking, or chess, either, my love; indeed I am singularly knocked up; I should like a book, however."

"But I am sure a little walk would do you good, dear grandpapa."

"No, my dear, I will take a sleep, and, if you like to go out, nurse can go with you, it will be a pleasure to her too."

After settling the Colonel to the best of her ability in the impracticable arm-chair; Kate summoned Mrs. O'Toole, who most readily obeyed her call, heartily tired of the society of Mrs. Crooks, for, as she said emphatically, "there's no divarshin in thim English!"

After enquiring their way to the nearest circulating library, Kate and Mrs. O'Toole set out on their exploring expedition. The rain had ceased, and a rich, yellow, evening sun shone out in full lustre.

"How new everything looks here, nurse," said Kate, when they had walked a few minutes in silence, "how different from dear old A——."

"In troth it does, Miss Kate; but thim gardens, as they call thim, is mighty fine, an' did ye iver see sich dawshy little houses, wid balconies afore?"

"Never, indeed, they give me the idea of handsomely ornamented mansions, seen through an inverted telescope, for there is a little of everything about them."

"Athen wan, good, ould, red stone house, like what was in A——, is worth a score iv thim."

The extreme newness of everything, notwithstanding its prettiness and neatness, was displeasing to Kate's eye, accustomed, as it had been, to the mellow tints and picturesque irregularity of A——.

It is remarkable how much more congenial, both to heart and mind, are indefinite and irregular outlines; as if the more perfect finish, was all too cramped, too finite to satisfy the boundless and formless imaginations of man's heart; as Tupper beautifully says,

The library was, without much difficulty, found, and the demure damsel, who there represented the muses, in reply to Kate's enquiries, handed her a catalogue, in which she soon lost herself, as one usually does in the vain attempt to discover favorite authors, widely separated by an inexorable alphabetical arrangement.

"Have you nothing by the authoress of 'The Cup and the Lip?'" asked Kate.

"Yes, ma'am, but it's out; this work is a good deal called for," presenting a volume open at the title page.

Kate glanced at it, 'Zarifa, a Tale of the Passions.'

"No, thank you," said Miss Vernon.

"Just got this in, ma'am; 'Trials and Trifles, by one who has experienced both.'"

"Let me look at it, if you please. Ah, this is rather too sentimental. Have you the 'Knight of Gwynne'?"

"Yes'm."

"Then I will take it; and pray send the 'Times' every morning, to No. — Victoria Gardens, for Colonel Vernon, if you please."

A rather stout gentleman, with longish fair hair, and an umbrella under his arm, who had entered the shop a few minutes before, and stood with two letters in his hand, waiting until the shopwoman was at leisure to attend to him, and in a position that commanded an excellent view of Kate's profile; started at these words.

"Vernon,!" said he, in good English, but with a foreign accent. "Do I speak to my gentle pupil? Ah, you remember."

"Mr. Herman!" she exclaimed, after a moment's hesitation, "how fortunate! how happy I am to have met you; I have just written to you."

"It is most curious," resumed her ci-devant master, shaking her hand warmly and respectfully, "I do not think I ever entered a shop in this neighbourhood before, but I have just come from Madame M——'s establishment, where I, for my sins, give lessons once a-week; and you, have you been long in town? How is the Graffin, your cousin? I suppose with you?"

"No, she is at Florence, I am with grandpapa, close to this. We only arrived in London, yesterday, and I have already written a note to you, though I had forgotten your precise address."

"Oh, the old place, Baker Street, No. 33. And you want lessons again? Well, you did me great credit, and though I have not one moment in the day disengaged, except to snatch a hasty meal, I'll break through my regulations, and give you the evening hour."

"Thank you very much," said Kate, interrupting, with difficulty, the flow of his eloquence, "but I do not want to take lessons; I wrote to ask you to appoint a day and hour, when I might call on you—any hour will suit me—then I will tell you the object of my visit."

"Call upon me!" repeated Hermann, with surprise, "well, well, I am afraid I must not offer to save you that trouble, for I am in such request just at present. Ah, if you would not mind calling so early as twelve o'clock, I generally snatch a hasty lunch, at that hour. If I am not at home when you come, my daughter will endeavour to entertain you until my return, and now I must run away."

"But what day, Mr. Herman?" cried Kate, anxiously.

"Oh, the day after to-morrow, I shall have a little more time; infinitely pleased to have met you, dear lady, and to perceive you have the same appearance of good health as——. Hey! ho!" shouted the good natured musico, rushing breathlessly after an omnibus, into which an active conductor, rapidly crammed him, and he was swept off.

This little adventure quite excited Kate, and although capable of exerting great self-command, her temperament was too finely organised, not to be both nervous and sensitive; so the arm she passed through nurse's was not the steadiest, as they turned to leave the shop.

"Och, what makes ye thrimble so, agra?"

"Do I tremble, nurse? I suppose it must be the surprise of meeting Mr. Herman; how fortunate? I accept it as a good omen!"

"Faith, he's mighty like a pear—so big at one end, an' small at the other. Sure he's like the side iv a house round the shoulders, an' his two little feet u'd stand in a tay cup, an' what wide throwsers he has!"

"Do you not remember him when we were at Lady Desmond's three years ago?"

"Och now, was that the Garman that used to be tachin ye the piania?"

Kate nodded.

"Och then, my gracious, but he's grawn very fat."

Miss Vernon was too much engrossed by her own reflections on the probable result of this rencontre, to encourage nurse's garrulity, till the beauty of the magnificent old trees in Kensington, drew her from her thoughts, and she pointed her companion's attention to the long alleys, with their graceful leafy arches, that stretch along each side of the broad walk from the Bayswater entrance.

And deeply did Mrs. O'Toole enjoy the confidential chat in which her idolized nurseling indulged her, especially the perspective of an evening party.

"Sure it's taydious to be always alone with an ould gintleman like the master. God bless him any how, though faith it's himself is the height of good company."

"I never tire of him, nurse."

"No, in coorse not; but, Miss Kate, jewel, ye'll be lavin him some day, with some grand lord, ye'll see at thim parties."

"I do not fancy lords are so very plentiful at the Bayswater soirÉes," replied Kate, laughing at nurse's simplicity.

"A then, ye'll never see wan that's grander or pleasanter, nor the Captin; I niver tuck to any one as I tuck to him; to see the illigant bould step iv him, an the bright face iv him, an' he as tindher hearted as an infant. Och sure, Miss Kate, there's some fairy gift about a rale gentleman! Jist hear wan say, 'how are ye,' an ye feel the better iv it, as if he was in airnest, an plaised to see ye. But wan iv thim squireens! faith it's like rubbin the coat iv a cat the wrong way, to hear wan iv thim sthrivin to spake civil!"

"Very true nurse, there is some mysterious charm about good manner, but it must spring from the heart, and I believe when all are true christians, all will be real gentlemen."

"Athin, is it sarious ye are, Miss Kate?"

After a little more conversation, they returned to the Colonel, whom they found awake, but still reclining with an air of lassitude, in the arm chair. Kate at once, and with much animation, commenced an account of her meeting with Herman, but the indifference with which her grandfather received the intelligence, so important in her estimation, checked her ardour, and seemed to throw her back on herself; it is indeed wonderful the effect which sympathy or no sympathy produces.

The Colonel's coldness did not alter the fact of the lucky rencontre, or of Herman's kindness of manner, and yet it seemed to dissolve her air castles, about numerous pupils, friendly associates, and a happy busy life of useful occupation, not unmingled with amusement, into a chilling mist, as night winds condense the vapours, which have been spread by the sun's heat.

"Well let us have tea my dear, what book did you get?"

"'The Knight of Gwynne,' grandpapa."

"Ah, I suppose that is meant for my old friend, Maurice Fitzgerald, it will remind me forcibly of days I had better forget."

"I hope it will amuse you," said poor Kate, the tears springing to her eyes, at such unwonted depression and contrariety, on her grandfather's part.

Tea over; and the remaining day-light of a summer's evening—which, in town, has anything but a cheering effect—shut out, Miss Vernon lit the candles, and, after a diligent search, unearthed a small and rather delapidated footstool, from beneath the sofa, which she placed under the Colonel's feet, endeavouring, with unwearied sweetness, to cheer him, and draw him from himself, and his position, till, at length, he gave the wished-for command—

"Read some of that book for me, my dear."

"Yes, dearest grandpapa; and as poor nurse is all alone, among strangers, may I ask her to bring in her work, and listen too?"

"Certainly—certainly."

This was quickly done; and Kate's object, to provide amusement for the Colonel, fulfilled, as nurse's shrewd remarks on whatever subject was brought before her, were sure to interest and amuse her indulgent master.

He leaned back his head, and closed his eyes, as if but half inclined to listen; soon, however, the varied modulations of Kate's musical, intellectual voice, and the sound of familiar names, fixed his attention, and transported him, in imagination, to other scenes and other times; and, at length, fully drawn from the contemplation of the present, it was with something of his old brightness of eyes, and lightness of step, that the Colonel retired for the night.

"Well, Nelly, those were pleasant times, and right good fellows. I think Lever has hit off some of them capitally; yet I could give him a few hints, hey? Kate, good night, my love—I will take a walk with you to-morrow."

And Kate laid her head on her pillow, blessing Lever for having effected by his light-hearted, familiar style, what no writer, however profound, or grand, pathetic, or even religious, would in all probability have accomplished.