coming, or make any change in our plans, unless Lady Vernon should think differently. Your cousin Maximilla Medwyn will arrive early on Monday, and you will find her quite an old inhabitant by the time you reach Carsbrook in the evening. I will write to Maximilla to-day and tell her not to put off coming, and that I have written to you to rely upon her being at Carsbrook early on Monday. Pray write to me here by return, when you have ascertained what Lady Vernon decides.

So the note ended.

Maud was dismayed. Was this one of those slips between the cup and the lip, by which the nectar of life is spilled and lost? With an augury of ill, she repaired with the note to Lady Vernon.

"What is this, Maud ?" inquired Lady Vernon, as Maud held Lady Mardykes's letter towards her.

Maud told her, and asked her to read it, and waited in trepidation till she had done so.

"I see no reason why you should not go on Monday, just as if nothing had happened. That will do."

She nodded, and Maud, immensely relieved, went to her room, and wrote her note to Lady Mardykes accordingly.

"So now," thought she, we have reached Saturday evening; and if nothing happens between this and Monday, I shall be at Carsbrook on Monday night."

So that day passed in hope, Sunday dawned, and the sweet bell in Roydon tower sent its tremulous notes in spreading ripples far over fields, and chimneys, and lordly trees.

In church, Maud observed that Ethel Tintern was looking far from well. She reproached herself for not having driven over to the Grange to see her.

This Sunday the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was administered in Roydon Church, and among those who knelt round the cushioned steps of the communion-table, was Lady Vernon. Miss Tintern and Mrs. Tintern also were there, and Maud Vernon, who, once a month, from the time of her confirmation, had, according to the rule of Roydon Hall, been a regular attendant.

Lady Vernon has risen pale and stately, and is again in the great Vernon pew, kneeling in solitary supplication, while the murmured words of the great commemoration are heard faintly along the aisle, and reverent footfalls pass slowly up and down.

And now it is ended; the church seems darkened as she rises. It is overcast by a thunder-cloud. By the side-door they step out. Lady Vernon's handsome face does not look as if the light of peace was upon it. In the livid shadow of the sky, the grass upon the graves is changed to the sable tint of the yew. The grey churchtower and hoary tombstones are darkened to the hue of lead.

Mr. Foljambe joins them; Mrs. and Miss Tintern are standing by Lady Vernon and Maud. Mrs. Tintern is talking rather eagerly to Lady Vernon, who seems just then to have troubled thoughts of her own to employ her. She is talking about a particular tombstone; Lady Vernon does not want to look at it, but does not care to decline, as Mrs. Tintern is bent on it; and Mr. Foljambe only too anxious to act as guide.

They walk round the buttress at the corner of the old church, and they find themselves before the tombstone of the late vicar, Mr. Howard. It stands perpendicularly; the inscription is cut deep in the stone; and there is no decoration about it but the clustering roses, which straggle wide and high, and are now shedding their honours on the green mound.

As they walked toward this point, very slowly, over the churchyard grass, Ethel Tintern seized the opportunity to say a word or two to Maud.

"You go to Carsbrook to-morrow, don't you ?"

"Yes," said Maud, "and I have been blaming myself for not having been to the Grange to see you; but I really could not help it-twice the carriage was at the door, and twice mamma put it off."

"A great many things have happened since I saw you-I dare not try to tell you now," she said, scarcely above a whisper. "It would not do; if we were alone, of course

"Can you tell me, Ethel, whether the carriage is here?" said Mrs. Tintern, looking over her shoulder at her daughter.

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Oh, yes-I saw it-it is waiting at the church-porch."

And she continued to Maud, when her mother had resumed her talk with Lady Vernon and Mr. Foljambe :

"I have made up my mind, nearly, to take a decisive step. I daren't tell you; I daren't now, you understand why," she glanced at the group close before them; "but I think I will write to you at Carsbrook, if I do what I am thinking of, that

is, what I am urged to, under a pressure that is almost cruel; a terrible pressure. Hush!"

The last word and a look were evoked by her observing, for her eye was upon them although she spoke to Maud, that the three elder people of the party had suddenly slackened their pace, and came to a standstill by the vicar's grave.

They had gone to the other side. Mr. Foljambe was leading the discussion; he was advising, I believe, some change in the arrangements of the vicar's grave, which he had persuaded Mrs. Tintern to admire; and which I'm afraid he would not have troubled his head about, had he not fancied they would have been received with special favour by Lady Vernon.

Maud and Miss Tintern were standing at this side of the gentle mound that covered the good man's bones, and neither thinking of the conversation that was proceeding at the other side.

On a sudden, with a malignant look, Lady Vernon's cold, sweet voice recalled Maud, with the words,

"Don't tread upon that grave, dear." Maud withdrew her foot quickly. "No foot looks pretty on a grave," she continued with the same look, and a momentary shudder.

"I don't think my foot was actually upon the grave, though it looked so to you," Maud pleaded, a little disconcerted. Many people have a feeling about treading on a grave. I think it so horrible an indignity to mortality-I was going to say. I hope, Mr. Foljambe, that you, who are obliged, pretty often, to walk among them, feel that peculiar recoil; but I need hardly ask-you are so humane."

Uttered in cold, gentle tones, this was irritating to spirited Maud Vernon. "But I do assure you, mamma," she said, with a heightened colour, my foot was not upon it. I am quite certain."

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There, there, there, there, dear," said Lady Vernon, "I shan't mention it any more. Pray don't allow yourself to be excited, Maud; that kind of thing can't be good for any one.

Maud's fine eyes and beautiful colour were brighter. But Lady Vernon went on talking fluently, in very low tones, to old Mr. Foljambe, and she turned as they walked away, and said to Mrs. Tintern, gently, "I scarcely like to ask poor dear Maud to do or to omit anything. She becomes so miserably excited."

Maud, I dare say, had a word of com

plaint to utter in Miss Tintern's ear as they returned to take leave, and get into their carriages at the church-door.

In a dark and sour mood Lady Vernon bid old Mr. Foljambe good-bye.

"What bores people are! To think of those two stupid persons taking me there to hear all that odious nonsense."

Lady Vernon did not come to luncheon, and hardly eat anything at dinner. She was by no means well that Sunday evening.

Doctor Malkin came and departed, the sun set, and Maud was glad, as her maid dropped the extinguisher on her candle, that the day was over, and that she would sleep next night at Carsbrook.

AMATEURS AT MOPETOWN.

A YEAR is supposed to have elapsed, as they say in the play-bills of melodramas, since my last visit to "this favoured locality," as it is called in its own journal. Duty once more brought me to the Dolphin, where I found that the Mendelssohn Jacksons had long since cast the dust off their shoes, and fled the place. But the Rooms flourished and looked as bright and spick and span as ever.

As I passed they seemed to be "up" again; all the boards were out, reclining against the pillars in very dégagé fashion, with a sort of lazy, hand-in-pocket style. They were covered over with small bills, headed "Grand Amateur Theatricals," and the performance was for that very night. I at once secured a ticket.

The landlord of the Dolphin was quite excited, and scarcely able to attend upon

me.

"He had two of the gentlemen up-stairs, Mr. Killick and Captain Tooley. The town was full of the others who had come in; more were arriving that night. It was for a fine charity," continued the host of the Dolphin; "the rearin' of an Alexandra wing, I'm told."

I repeated the words after him in wonder. What odd objects they had in Mopetown! On referring to the bill I saw that the acting was for the erection of "an Alexandra wing" to a consumptive hospital in the neighbourhood, though what description of "wing" that was I was at a loss to discover. At all events it did not much matter, as I had reasonable suspicion that anything connected with Mopetown Rooms was not likely to bring in much funds, no matter how benevolent the pur

pose. But it seems that there was a dramatic detachment of a foot regiment quartered a few miles off, which counted in its ranks the Killick and Tooley before mentioned, with "Little Dodd," as he was called, and, above all, the Honourable Mrs. Badminton, the colonel's wife. She, indeed, was with the head-quarters of the regiment at Manchester, but she had been engaged, or had engaged herself, "special."

It came about, I understood, in this way: Little Dodd, passing the Rooms one morning, had "voted "-a favourite and polite fiction for carrying any plan of his own into prompt execution-for going in. His exclamation was, "By Jove! we might get up a play here, and astonish the rustics!" The scheme at that moment sprang armed" and complete from his little head. "We'd get down Timmons, with a portable stage and dresses, and 'beat up some of the acting girls in the neighbourhood." As for audience, they'd make the rustics come, and "stick them for seven-and-six apiece for stalls." A brother in arms objected that Mopetown was such a hungry place, that the rustics would find it hard to club the amount for a single stall; but Little Dodd put this aside contemptuously, saying, "they'd make 'em come, and deuced glad they ought to be to be allowed to pay."

In a few days Little Dodd had fixed the plays-Miriam's Crime, I believe, which he would carry through by playing his 'great part," and Poor Pillicoddy, in which he would do the same, by playing his other great part; and he would make this carrying through doubly sure by singing Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines, between both. But these arrangements, it seeras, were rudely set aside by an untoward fatality. Some "stupid ass" wrote to the Honourable Mrs. Badminton, the colonel's lady, that they were getting up plays, such fun, &c., and she had written back most graciously that "she would help them, and come specially." This was a ukase, as it were, against which there was no appealing. The Honourable Mrs. Badminton, in her youth, had been a perfect stroller, acting here, there, and everywhere. There was scarcely an officer in Her Majesty's army who had not acted with Lord Mountfogie's daughter. There were few small provincial theatres in which she had not appeared. It was in this way that she had won the heart of the gallant Badminton, then a simple lieutenant of foot. Betsy Baker was familiar; some, indeed,

Her

now

said they knew it by heart, and certain of the irreverent were in the habit of calling her "Bet." Her daughters were nearly grown up, but in the kindest and most good-natured way she was always glad to give her talents for charity. Little Dodd's face was amusing for its blankness and disgust.

"Did you ever hear such a thing? Here's Bet coming down on us. Better give it all up. She'll take the whole fat, and we'll have her eternal Betsy Baker."

The little man seemed to forget that he had proposed securing all the "fat" for himself; but as for giving up the plan, he well knew that that was not to be thought of. For she commanded the regiment, would stop his leave, order him guards, of course "inspiring" her colonel, and annoy him in other ways.

In a few days she arrived, billeted her self on a visit to a good-natured acquaintance, Mrs. Towler, and took the whole arrangements on herself. Every one knew Pillicoddy by heart. Miriam's Crime was much too heavy. No, far better have a "powder and puff" piece, where they would be all at home, and have little to do. She had brought one down, "And as I hear," added the lady, modestly, they are all dying to see me in Betsy; and as I have it at my fingers' ends, I think it would be the safest thing, you know. Better settle at once, and lose no time."

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This was equivalent to a command. Tooley and Killick were toadies, and concurred heartily, as Little Dodd had to do, with a rueful face.

"You can sing one of those queer buffoonery songs if you like," she said, half contemptuously, "though I always think they are out of place.'

"I knew it," said Little Dodd, later. "Didn't I tell you she'd force her Betsy on us, and her powder and puff' piece? You'll see she has all the fat in that toosome pert waiting-maid in a hoop, who lets fellows in wigs in at the garden-gate. I know the style of thing well."

Here Little Dodd showed surprising instinct and sagacity, unless, indeed, we explain it on the vulgar principle of "setting a thief," &c. Friends might have made the same remark about him, and have guessed, beforehand, that in any pieces he chose would have been found, to a certainty, pert cockneys in pink trousers and blue coats, or free-and-easy servants.

Precisely as he had anticipated, the

Honourable Mrs. Badminton produced a manuscript piece, which, she announced, Mr. St. Lucy, a clever friend of hers, who wrote for the magazines-and there are many clever people who do this, which differs a little from writing in the magazines -had adapted from the French for her. It was entitled, A Midnight Mistake; or, Trianon Revels. And that title figured bravely on the board at the door of the Rooms.

Much of the above information I gleaned from stray conversations with Mr. Dodd himself, who was quite willing to enter on the subject of his treatment with any stranger.

"The thing will be a dead failure. I suppose there aren't a dozen places taken; all the rest given away; the hall packed with her friends. I said so from the beginning. Who'd pay to see her ?"

The inference was that crowds would pay to see him.

"But," said I, "the cost of the affair; the hired stage, dresses, &c."

"Lord bless you," he said. "Did you think we'd do that now? I suppose it would be a matter of fifty pounds out of our pockets. No, hang it! I stuck out against that; so did poor Mrs. Towler. The carpenter has knocked the thing up, and the house-painter fellow here has done a couple of scenes. But she stuck us for two guineas apiece for the hire of dresses for her infernal Midnight Mistake."

"Then the Alexandra wing ?" I said. Alexandra humbug!" he said. "The thing won't give them the price of a single stone. But, bless you, the hospital people didn't want an Alexandra or any wing at all. They wouldn't keep it if they got it. They haven't means to keep up what they have. That was all her dodge. She is always playing for Alexandra wings, and never brought a sixpence to one of them. I never saw one anywhere, nor did any one else I believe."

At night I repaired to the Rooms. They were very full indeed, though the audience was rather of a mixed character. A stage and curtain had been run up at the end. A piano was in front, by way of orchestra, and the stalls were tolerably full. I noticed, however, the extraordinary number of soldiers present, attended by their wives

and female friends. The stalls seemed to me to be almost entirely filled with ladies of a regimental aspect-wives, sisters, cousins, &c., of the officers, though I could

citor, ditto surgeon, the head of the postoffice, and a few more notabilities.

Mr. Belman, R.A.M., who had succeeded the Mendelssohn Jackson family, and who, I believe, was on the eve of retiring like the same family, was at the instrument, playing the company in with a valse. The great ones, the distinguished party who were to drive in from Towler, had twelve places reserved for them. They had not arrived yet. Presently, however, they appeared a procession of opera cloaks winding up the aisle to their places, the stewards ushering them. They took their seats, and then the bills were distributed. I give the document at length, as it is characteristic:

THEATRE ROYAL, MOPETOWN. In aid of the erection of an ALEXANDRA WING FOR THE INFIRMARY. This Evening, the Performances will commence with a Prologue, written for the occasion, by

THE HONOURABLE MRS. BADMINTON.

After which will be presented a New Piece, expressly written for, and dedicated to, the Hon. Mrs. Badminton,

ENTITLED,

A MIDNIGHT MISTAKE;

OR,

TRIANON REVELS,

BY HORACE ST. LUCY, ESQ.

Louis XV., Mr. Sparks, -th Regt. Comte de Buzenval, Captain Tooley, -th Regt. Jules de Nerval (a Gascon gentleman) Mr. Killick, -th Regt. Bontemps (Captain of the Guard), Mr. Lily,th Regt. Le Coq (an innkeeper), Mr. Dodd, -th Regt. Marquise de Beaure, Mrs. M'Cullum, and

Rigolette (a waiting-maid), the Hon. Mrs. Badminton. Courtiers, nobles, &c.

SCENE.-The Trianon Gardens.

TIME, 1770.

After which a Comic Song,

CAPTAIN JINKS OF THE HORSE MARINES, BY MR. DODD, —TH REGIMENT (In character).

The whole to conclude with (by desire) BETSY BAKER. Betsy Baker (her original character) the Honourable Mrs. Badminton.

A bell was heard to ring behind, the curtain was drawn aside, and Mr. Killick, a very tall young man, in a powdered wig and sky-blue coat, his lower limbs looking very cool in silk stockings and shoes, came out to speak the prologue. He began very hurriedly:

"Kind friends, we greet you once again,
Let not-our-mimic-stage-be raised-in vain,
Of every cause from east-unto the west,
Sure that of charity's the best.

And when-and when-——”

curtain behind him. We heard a voice murmuring something, but Mr. Killick could not hear. "And when" he began, stopped again, and gave a smile. We all applauded.

"And when-”

He at last caught the word

"your race of life is o'er, You'll bless the charity that's gone before." Here he paused again, bewildered, bit his glove, smiled again, and finally went on: "To-night, our histrionic host, Brought from pillar and from post, A hundred miles-"

"A hundred miles," repeated Mr. Killick, anxiously, then said, with relief, "Oh, yes," at which we laughed:

A hundred miles has journey'd one, You'll guess I mean fair BADMINTON!" Tremendous applause from the soldiers and their wives, Mr. Killick smiling, and evidently racking his brain for the next line, which we heard given in a hoarse voice behind the curtain: ""Tis yours to give the draymar laws"

"'Tis yours to give the drama laws, And all we ask is your applause." On which Mr. Killick—a broad grin on his features-retired hastily, bowing and nodding. Then the bell rang, and the curtain rose. I have seen Mr. St. Lucy's play, and so has the reader, a good many times -that is to say, a piece where M. le Marquis, and Jules, a lover, a monarch of objectionable tastes, and a lovely girl out of a convent, are all mixed up in some vague transaction. I will not, therefore, enter into Mr. St. Lucy's plot more than by saying that a fête was being given at the Trianon, where the marquise repaired masked, and where the king came masked with De Buzenval, and where "Jool," the Gascon gentleman, came also masked. There was a duel at one time of the night, and at the end a strong body of privates of the regiment came in, holding lights-they were the courtiers, nobles, &c. and all was cleared up. Mr. Killick, as the Gascon gentleman, I must own, quite eclipsed Little Dodd as the comic character. He was always forgetting his part, and then standing with a good-humoured smile till he caught the prompter's words, making us all laugh prodigiously; but when he declared his passion to the marquise, we roared again. "Marie," he said, "you should not treat me so! You know me. From a boy I have thought of you, and of you alone; and I shall die if you still refuse to be mine." This was

so pleasantly said, that we were delighted. "For nights past I have watered my pillow with tears. I cannot sleep; my dreams are disturbed with weary visions; and, oh, Mary!" added Mr. Killick, dropping on one knee, "I love you, and shall not rise till you return my passion." Mr. Killick, looking the picture of health and goodhumour as he remained on his knees, we all laughed heartily; and I could hear the sergeants' wives behind me: "Ain't Mr. Killick funny?"

But the real phenomenon of the piece was how a simple waiting-maid, such as the Honourable Mrs. Badminton was, could have so much to do. She was everywhere. She was not off the stage a moment. She talked all through, and directed everybody, even the king. She told the count what to do, and she told the lovers what to do. A woman wrapped in a cloak and hood overheard the king's nefarious designs; the hood was presently lifted, and we recognised the Honourable Mrs. Badminton. Some one was concealed in a closet, as the wicked De Buzenval was maturing designs of his own on the lovely marquise, and it turned out to be the Honourable Mrs. Badminton. She was behind trees and bushes. She was entirely in the interest of the lovers, and had a very difficult task to carry out. But, at the same time, I must say she had ample opportunity and every facility given to her. One or two inferior parts, I should mention, were played by selected privates, who, justice compels me to say, though their names were not set down in the bill, played with great steadiness and respectability. I could have wished, however, that one had not persisted in addressing his august master as "Buzzingvell," but no one remarked it.

Little Dodd was quite overpowered-as indeed he might be-in such "rot," as he would disrespectfully term Mr. St. Lucy's work. But when he came to Captain Jinks he had his turn. Even his appearance, in enormous weeping whiskers of a brick red, an immense grotesque helmet, jack-boots, and clanking sword, made the sergeants' wives laugh so, he could not begin.

"Ain't Mr. Dodd funny, Jemima? That's Mr. Dodd. Lord, how he do look!”

Between every verse he clanked and strode up and down, and, I must say, as in the case of most comic singers, such pantomime was more diverting than the singing. He was rapturously encored, and substituted the Ratcatcher's Daughter, which met with the same reception.