only scare her away. Besides, it prevents your stealing a march upon her, by giving her notice of your approach."

Sir Peter turned from him, and began to practise again, but in a low, murmuring man

ner.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," said the provoking Wamba, twitching hold of the shepherd's full cambric shirt-sleeves, tied with green ribbon.

"Boy, be off, or I shall forget myself, and knock you down."

"Ha, ha! poor shepherd! what, with your crook? why, my wooden sword would shiver it to atoms. No, no; you may say with Florian's shepherd, Pour me défendre je n'ai que ma houlette;' but not C'est bien assez pour combattre un enfant.""

"You may spare me your gibberish; I understand no French."

"Do you understand French leave? Take my advice; depart, change your garb, doff the green ribbons-he who seems forsaken is sure to be so. Look at mighty Jove; come as a wild bull, come in the irresistible form of

all-subduing gold, come as a tyrant, and you will find slaves enough."

"I cannot do that; I cannot change my dress," said the woe-begone shepherd, beginning to feel the force of Wamba's argument.

66

Well, if you cannot change the garb, alter the face, the manner. Be gay, bold, daring: take my advice, and we will, as the poet says, lay the shepherd's crook beside the sceptre.' Ah! I can interpret that glance." (Rebecca swept proudly by at that moment, followed by a train of admirers.) "Now go boldly up, act the wolf, and they will be sheep; act the sheep, they are wolves."

"Alas! I dare not."

“Then I have done with you. Sigh, ogle, whine, kneel, and all in vain ; but, remember, if you wish to be dear, do not make yourself so cheap."

So saying, Wamba hurried off, and entered the ball-room in time to see a procession slowly moving towards the spot where the fair Ro

wena sat.

This procession consisted of Grunter and

the Fitzcribb family. Grunter was dressed in the flowing drapery of an ancient Greek, and made to look as much as possible like the portraits of Herodotus, his wig classically curled and bound by a band, on which was worked, in gold letters, "The Modern Herodotus;" his dashing leg, in pink tights and antique sandals, a scroll, and a stilus in his hand, and a lion's skin hung like a savage chief's across his shoulder (that was a poetical conceit of Mrs. Fitzcribb's), to prove that he felt himself a lion. He leaned on the arm of Mrs. Fitzcribb, who was arrayed as the Historic Muse. Fitzcribb, on his other side, represented Philosophy; but, as the attributes of Philosophy are not to be emblemed forth by ordinary signs, as few are agreed as to what constitutes philosophy, and it was necessary that Grunter should lean at once on History, and something that every one could see was meant for Philosophy, and as, although armed with scales and a telescope, he still seemed a doubtful character, a small transparency, with the word "Philosophy," in

Greek letters, was adroitly fixed on his head. Corinna followed, representing

Poesy, Sappho, Fable," Milton was "Valour," Johnson, "Satire." Poesy carried, on an

antique cushion, "The History of Philosophy, and the Philosophy of History," brilliantly bound a laurel crown lay on the book. Fable, Truth, and Satire, waved small silken flags, on which were embroidered

"Ebenezer Grunter, The Modern Herodotus, The Lion of the Day.”

This absurd exhibition had been planned principally by the inflated Grunter and the blue-stocking Mrs. Fitzcribb. Fitzcribb had endeavoured to put a stop to it, and at first had refused to form part of it; but Grunter, being very earnest, and saying, "It'll do the book a great deal of good, for it will make it known in the world of fashion. As, of course, the Morning Post and Court Journal will describe the fête, do oblige me, dear Fitzcribb; it'll be nothing without you: and that odd twenty-five over the three hundred which

I have to receive from my publisher, for the last order of my work, is at your service; I'll advance it you, if you will oblige me."

Poor Fitzcribb said to himself," Be it so! where so many make themselves fools for nothing, I may as well make myself one for the twenty-five pounds I have earned so well, and for which I am dunned so cruelly." "His poverty consented, not his will;" and for twenty-five pounds Fitzcribb became "Philosophy!"

While stalking along, leading Grunter, who, having laid by his spectacles, stumbled at every step, Fitzcribb thought of his absurd disguise, and the transparency lighting up his folly, a consolatory vision of a long-standing grocer's bill paid, of a new pair of shoes, gloves, and a hat, and of a well-supplied table for some weeks at least, with daily duns dismissed, and "the shock gone from the knocker, and the sting from the door-bell," he felt amply consoled, and said to himself, "Why should I shrink from the gaze of these fools? To their eyes I may seem the most absurd of