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what confused me: Who is this Thornmead?", can you put faith in what he says? Foolish I he said; "and by what right did he interfere?" have been, free of hand, and somewhat too fond "By what right? Heavens! Vincent, are you of vingt-'un; but once you are mine, what serious in asking such a question? By the right attraction can take me from my Isabella's a man has to defend a helpless and oppressed society?" woman; but indeed, old Mr. Quaintly was quite as much my defender."

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Quaintly! that is the fellow that acts at the theatres. Isabella, how could you mix yourself with such people?"

"Mr. Quaintly," I answered, "is, I believe, an actor; but I have always heard he is a very earnest and good man."

Nonsense, my love. Your ideas have been warped by such society; indeed, your father was very right to bring you away. Better have borne Laura's waspishness a hundred fold, than have done as you did. Indeed, my dear, you were very very wrong. By-the-bye," he became feverishly anxious to turn the subject"do you know, she and I are no longer friends: we meet as strangers?"

"So my father said; but why?”

"Don't you know? Oh! some one of the Regent's clique, who did not want me to be admitted to intimacy with his Royal Highness, told her some infamous falsehoods about me. Unluckily, in a passion, I twitted her about her coquetry with the Prince. Castlebrook, I am sure, ought to have been greatly obliged to me, for it was his business. But my lady chose to be virtuously indignant, and told her husband. There was a regular uproar among the three of us. Castlebrook got annoyed because the Prince, who is tetchy, you know, and capricious, favoured me, and became slightly cool to him. You know how tenacious the Regent is of any allusions to his obesity, and some one told him your father had remarked that he bore a strong resemblance to an Oxfordshire grazier."

"The Prince's society, I am sure, is no good to my father: I wish he had congeed him altogether."

"But for Laura's sake the Regent will not do so." Seeing my surprise visibly painted on my face, he added-"She is really very handsome, you know, and the life of that circle. You would smile to see us at the same party, joining in the fun, yet never speaking to one another."

"How strange! you, who were so bitter against the Prince as a bad husband, should now be so intimate with him! Oh! Vincent, I could not have believed you would have deserted the cause of that poor lady!"

"My dear innocent child! believing Caroline of Wales to be a martyr. Forego such fancies. The Princess by her folly and gaucheries gave up her own cause. No one can be true to those who are untrue to themselves."

Had I known all, I might have applied that aphorism to myself and him; but I was too glad to accept his excuse for an inconsistency which, in one I loved, had shocked me.

"But Vincent, my father is obdurate against our union. He has related sad, sad things about you. Are they, can they be true?"

"My love, is not your father my bitter enemy?

What girl of my age ever refused credence to a lover's voice? At least I did not. I could not with any sincerity say I did credit Mr. Castlebrook, neither did I desire to do so. It was far more agreeable to be persuaded by Vincent's tongue, to be won by Vincent's handsome eyes, to dwell on the rich tones of his voice. Methinks I can now, even, hear Mr. Thomas Moore warbling forth prophetically:

"Ah! there's nothing half so sweet in life

As love's young dream."

A thought came to me suddenly: "But Vincent, do you believe that the Regent will really promote our marriage?"

"Why not? He is gay-very: all the world knows that. But he is very good-natured; and, depend on it, when really convinced of our attachment, he will desist from any further attempts to ingratiate himself.

I was not devoid of observation-more an instinct than a habit, I believe. I could not help the thought that he had forgotten all his previously expressed resentment. I sighed as I reflected that I had often heard men consider such offences as the Regent's as venial. But it struck me at length that I had stayed too long.

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I must go," I said, in a great fright: “they will think I have again left home, and a search will be made. By-the-bye, I had forgotten: how did my father know where I was? Did you tell him also?"

"Impossible," he answered, with a smile. " But possibly the Prince told Laura. Dare I confess it, Isabella? I cannot grieve when the issue affords me so much happiness."

He uttered some fond words about parting, and the time seemed very short when we reached my home. We parted, arranging a future meeting.

I was in a Fool's Paradise that night.

Next morning the little boy had convulsions. Mrs. Purvis had taken advantage of my absence to go out herself: and as she did not return till nearly midnight, the child's medicine had not been regularly administered. I blamed myself for trusting the woman, but gave her next day a sharp rebuke. She received it with the utmost sang froid.

"I am tired of getting no money, miss," she said at last. "If I can get a young woman as can undertake my duties cheaper than I do, perhaps my lady won't have no objection to my going."

"I should think not," I said. "Let me speak to Lady Laura."

"If you please, miss. I couldn't stand my lady's bullying, I know."

I requested that morning an audience of Lady Laura, who received me but stiffly. I represented, however, the folly of keeping a woman against her will, and presently she yielded to my arguments.

"Purvis can go," she said, "as soon as she provides a substitute; but I dare say Mr. Castlebrook can't pay her, I am sure I have no money."

It was quite impossible that I should offer. The very small aniount of money I could call my own I determined not to part with: I simply said I would tell Mr Castlebrook that it was necessary to discharge the woman, and would ask him to settle her demands. The only answer my step-mother vouchsafed to this civil proposal was to shrug her shoulders and take up a book, after which hint I left the apartment.

servants, "I shall not need any further services of the kind. Pray give this to Thomas for his trouble," handing a crown to Mrs. Purvis.

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Certainly, miss he's a superior kind of young man, and being attached hisself," casting her eyes down affectedly

"Oh! I understand. Good morning, Mrs. Purvis : : please to take this riband for yourself; I wish you well."

In the afternoon the nurse came bustling upstairs, and told me the young 'oman had arrived: should she come up? I answered, Certainly; and Mrs. Purvis calling down-stairs "Come up, young woman, if you please," the new nursery maid entered, with downcast eyes and low curtseys. I turned to speak encourag

To obtain money from Mr. Castlebrook, especially for servants' wages, was difficult. The debt due to Mrs. Purvis was ten pounds, I only after a violent scene with my father-ingly, and beheld-Betsy. succeeded in optaining five, aud a promise of the rest in three months. I had, however, all this time, been organising a little scheme of my own to obtain money, and was therefore tempted, rashly I admit, to promise Mrs. Purvis that I would be answerable she should have her money. I had also the task of obtaining from Lady. Laura a written character, which I took care should be somewhat indefinite in its construc

tion, as I myself wrote the form, and merely asked my stepmother to sign it.

"Well, miss, I must say," Mrs. Purvis remarked at our final settlement, "you have behaved quite like a young lady should. I never thought, miss, to have seen the colour of my money in this 'ere house. It was always from my lady-What can you want with money, Purvis! You have good eating and drinking, and clothes to your back.' It's curious now," said the ex-nurse, who, from her breath, had evidently been paying her parting respects to the butler's pantry-"it's curious to see how great folks can talk to little ones. I doesn't mean little in respect to size, because I weighs fourteen stone; and my lady, though stout, don't come anything nigh that. But I say that it is curious to think how 'igh folks believe poor ones don't want nothink but vittals and drink. And don't wear flowers in your cap, Purvis,'" says my lady, with her own 'ead stuck all over a parfik garding. Ah! seem poor and be poor. If I owed as much money as your pa,' miss, I should be thought a deal of; but as I only owe Mrs. Tibbs the dressmaker for my new dress, she has been bothering my life out for the money."

"But, Mrs. Purvis," anxious to put an end to these reflections, "have you obtained a person to fill your place?"

"Certainly, miss: I will send the boy, and she will come this very afternoon. It's a young 'oman out of place living with her mother; but she has the best of characters."

"That will do, then let her be sent for." "And, miss, Thomas footman will deliver any letters you need."

"Thank you, and Thomas also," colouring at the indignity of thus betraying my affairs to

I had not seen the girl since I had resided fetched and returned the washing, but I was with Mr. Benvolere. Her mother, indeed, seldom at home. I cannot tell how the sight of this humble friend rejoiced me: it seemed so strange a chance that she should seek service in my father's house.

"La! Miss Castlebrook, is it you? Well, now, I never knew as this was your papa's house, though I might have known if I hadn't been a fool, only I didn't rightly catch the name as Mrs. Purvis mentioned. And well now, I am glad! We heard, miss, all about poor Mr. Benvolere's a-dying, poor dear old gentleman. Madam told us, and we knew as your papa had been and found you out, and tooked you off all in a jiffy."

"Never mind that, Betsy," for Mrs. Purvis was listening to catch all these particulars. "I shall have great pleasure in explaining your duties to you when Mrs. Purvis has gone."

"Oh! as for me, miss, I have only been waiting for the young 'oman to arrive, as a body may say; so now I am a-going. A lady as wants nussing is waiting for me; so I shan't lose no time."

And, to my great satisfaction, Mrs. Purvis, after fussing about a good deal, and talking about keys and the blessed infant, who was in my arms, and though a little fretful yet progressing-took her departure. And Betsy and I were left to unlimited reign over the nursery.

She had been used to children at her last

place, she told me, which was, however, so hard a one, that she gladly left for her present situation. I had the pleasure of seeing that the infant took to her good-natured face immediately. For instinctive physiognomists commend me to babies: they are attracted or repulsed instantly by countenances and features, and they are true to their instincts: a baby knows at a glance if you are fond of children, or if you are a baby pincher, and either springs to your arms, or roars and makes himself purple in the face with angry remonstrances against being consigned to your tender mercies.

CHAP. XI.

I can by no means state that at this period I was progressing, either morally or religiously. The natural impatience and vehemence of my disposition had greatly increased, partly, I think, from the discomfort of my position, and partly because my energies had no bent in employment. I was often in need of money, and the ten pound note I had kept in reserve was gradually diminishing, without any prospect of a probable replenishing. I had received two letters from Madame Theresa, informing me that she was comfortably settled and likely to suit her employer. The kind soul implored me to ask her for money when I found myself in need; but ladies' companions, usually speaking, have not too much of that requisite, and I could not prevail on myself to borrow when I saw so little chance of repaying. I was indeed thankful that this kind and virtuous woman had found a home, and knew where to find her daily bread. But an idea, which had taken possession of me for some tine, was now to be put into practice. Although I was an excellent musician when I went to reside with Benvolere, it was mostly with regard to the practice of the art rather than its more abstruse theories. My dear old master soon pointed out to me the necessity of studying counterpoint, thorough-bass, and the rules of composition. At first this labour was irksome, but I had always a taste for composition, and I soon found so much facility in this, by my newly-acquired skill, that it was quite a recreation to me to compose melodies, to which Benvolere, during my absence from home, amused himself by putting words. I remembered now the little sums which my master himself got by composition-not enough to subsist on, but convenient to supply many recurring wants. I determined to apply to some music publisher, and offer my compositions, and, if successful, I promised myself to be very iudustrious in this particular. I missed the constant use of a piano greatly, I used at first to go in the drawing-room when my step-mother was absent; but when Lady Laura discovered this on returning unexpectedly one day, she afterwards locked the instrument, and I was too proud to ask her for the key.

I had, however, a stock of songs on hand, and I impatiently awaited an opportunity to put my project into execution. Little Marcus's illness prevented it for some time; at last when he was nearly well, I one morning put on my cloak and bat, and, giving the child to Betsey, with strict orders to amuse him while I was gone, I went forth on my venture with a beating heart. I had preserved the address of the publisher for whom Benvolere had often worked, and determined to make my first application to him. When I approached the shop, I perceived, to my great dismay, that it was full of fashionable loungers; but it was then too late to go back, so, pulling my veil more closely over my face, I entered. The person whom I addressed proved

to be only a shopman. When I asked for Mr.

he desired my card. Fortunately I had one about me, and, after a short absence, during which I was exposed to the fire of many eyeglasses, which then it was the fashion to wear suspended round the neck by a broad blue riband, he returned, and civilly desired I would follow him. I was conducted into a spacious room, which was fitted up as a library, having several handsome instruments in it, and a venerable gentleman, seated before a table, rose politely and bowed. I was by that time in so great a tremor that I could hardly speak. Mr. placed a chair for me, and, as briefly as possible, telling him whose pupil I had been, I named my object.

Musical composers in that day were not so plentiful as they are now. Music publishers were glad to procure songs, and very kindly and courteously, this one asked me to play and sing mine--a somewhat nervous proceeding, but which I achieved apparently to his satisfaction, for he expressed himself charmed.

"And now, my dear young lady," he said, although, for my old friend Benvolere's sake, I would willingly have given his favourite pupil encouragement, yet I am happy to be able to accord it to genuine merit. You have candidly said that you require money more than fame. Do you wish your name attached to these compositions?"

"Oh no. You will understand that my father is a man of good family, and he would consider himself disgraced by his name being made public, especially in respect to art. I must, if you please, be anonymous."

"Then we will say 'By a young lady of rank.' Excuse me, but tradesmen, you know, must have an eye to business; and probably such an announcement, while it veils your identity, will sell your songs."

"How

I readily agreed to this proposition, and a most important question trembled on my lips. I gave it utterance with some hesitation. much, sir, can you give me for these four songs?"

He smiled: for I stammered and coloured over this demand in a most absurd manner.

"Well, you know, we cannot pay young beginners quite so much as known composers. I will offer you as a beginning, thirty pounds for the sole copyright of these four ballads."

Let no young aspiring musician feel his ambition fired as I state this. I am speaking of more than forty years ago. At present, my dear young musical friends, believe me that, if you are young, and unknown in your business, music-publishers will think they do you an immense favour to print your songs, and give you in exchange a few copies. Very few, indeed, can now-a-days make thirty pounds by composing four songs-thirty shillings being a much more probable price when money at all is offered. You have come into the world too late for such speculations. But as for me, my heart bounded with delight. The field of song then

was nearly unworked. Moore's ballads and a few Vauxhall ditties, formed the staple commodities for drawing-room music. I believed I had descried a path to competence, and anonymous profit. I have seldom felt a happier moment than when I saw Mr. filling a cheque. I will not say that among my Alnascharian visions the probability of paying all my father's debts by instalments, did not enter my imagination. A question from my new patron aroused me from various meditations.

"Is your carriage here, Miss Castlebrook." "No-I walked; but if you would allow one of your people to call me a hackney-coach I shall be obliged."

"Willingly."

He rang the bell and gave the order. "Adieu, sir. I am so very grateful for your polite kindness? I may hope for future employment?"

"I shall be always happy to accept whatever you send."

"Thanks: my dear old master would thank you too if he lived."

He shook hands, and I departed in my hackney carriage, directing the driver to call at Coutts's, where I got notes and gold for my thirty-pound cheque, and then I drove home, stopping at the end of the street for fear of inopportune questions.

I recollected now a small piano which was in the library, and next day I summoned courage to ask my father to allow me to have it in the nursery. I was not denied, and although the instrument was very inferior, it was still better than none at all. It helped to pass many weary hours, and I hailed this new possession as a source of profit. I had, indeed, never been so rich in the whole course of my life, but I determined to be very economical. I bought myself a new silk gown, for my mourning was already becoming shabby; and I had been so accustomed to dress handsomely by the fruits of my own exertions—for Benvolere had always made a point of my doing so that I could ill bear, even in the seclusion to which I now seemed destined, to appear in attire unlike a gentlewoman. I had never before attempted to make my own dresses; but, having some taste that way, and finding Betsy a good hand at her needle, for the girl was able-a rare accomplishment among servants in our latter days of progress (?) to do all her own dressmaking and millinery-I, with the aid of patterns, cut out for myself a handsome dress, and she assisted in making it up.

I merrily suggested that we should set up as

Court dressmakers.

"And a very good fortune, miss, you might make at it," said my good-humoured coadjutor in reply, "if so be as you wasn't a lady born. Ah! well, miss, some people comes to sad reverses. Mother knows a lady as onced

kep her carridge, as takes in washing now. We do her mangling. Only she's not a poor sort of washerwoman as takes home the clothes like mother, but she keeps a laundry, she calls it, and makes quite a good living, and employs poor women by the dozen to work for her."

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Anything, Betsy, is better in misfortune than sitting down helpless and idle. I respect that lady. You have called her by her true title. Tell me something more of her."

"Well, miss, I know very little. She ain't very young now, but once she was very beautiful I've heard say, and her husband was a very gay gentleman; and, beautiful as she was, would you believe it, Miss Castlebrook, he runned away with another gentleman's wife, and left her with five sweet children. The other gentleman, whose wife he took, though, shot him in a jewel, miss; and then the creditors came and took every scrap they could find, and she hadn't a penny, nor no friends, for she was a horfan when she wur marrid, and hadn't no money settled on her. Well, miss, she looked about her, and she knew no mortal thing to do; and there was the five poor children. One day a lady, who came to cajole with her”— "Condole, Betsy, you meant to say."

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'Well, miss, I'm obliged; but I thought it meant the same thing. Well, con-dole-ses to her, Dear me, I'm in such distress for a washerwoman.'

999

"An odd subject to speak of, to a friend in distress."

in these things to-be-sure. "Yes, miss; wasn't it, now? But there's a fate It wasn't overpolite of the lady-a rale lady-but it was to be. 'An' moreover,' ses she, not only I, but all our neighbourhood is in the same distress-not tear the linen to pieces and riddle your pocketone, far or near, except horrid women, who handkerchers into cullenders.' And with that, the thought came into the head of the poor lady who listened, that she would set up a laundry in that neighbourhood, and she did. Finely she got laughed at, and great folks turned their care for that, so long as she got their washing, away if she met them; but she didn't and she did get it. Some one lent her fifty pounds to start with, and now they do say as she's worth her thousands. All her children work, if she had millions to leave; and, bless are brought up well, only she says they shall all you, miss, she has carts as goes all over London, and rides herself in as neat a gig as you'd wish to see. It was a good thing for mother to get some of her mangling: the cart leaves it

heads

and fetches it."

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Every ship is a romantic object, except that in which we sail; embark, and the romance quits our vessel and hangs on every other sail in the horizon.- 'Tis the trick of Nature thus to degrade to-day."-R. W. EMERSON.

I do not think any one will contradict me for | saying that there are two sides to everything. There are many "wise saws and modern instances" which prove it, if we wanted proof. The familiar and pretty proverb of the "silver lining to every cloud," the less poetical "long lane," which we are told must be long indeed if it has no turning, mean, if they mean anything, that on the other side of the cloud there is light. Why not quote Longfellow ?—

"Behind the cloud is the sun still shining"

--and that, however rough and disagreeable, our "lane" may be, there is a turning somewhere; if we will but walk on, we shall get round the corner-literally to the other side.

Eveyone knows the story of the two knights who were going to fight about the colour of the shield, and would have fought to the death, if someone had not suggested that they should turn the shield and look at the other side. It would be well for many of us if we had always a friend at hand--and we have one if we would but listen to him-to make us pause in time and look at "the other side"; but we shut our eyes and go plunging blindly on until we suddenly find that we have gone to the other side of what? Of Right which is Wrong, of Love which is Hate, of Honour which is Dishonour, of Faith which is Unbelief, of Strength which is Weakness, of Happiness which is Misery, of Life which is Death!

"Ay, there's the rub," as our friend Hamlet says; and, by the way, I have always thought it was rather a vulgar remark for a prince-if we would only keep our eyes open; even with them open we may not always go exactly straight, but at least we should not so often lose our way.

But to talk of right and wrong, love and hate, and the other extremes or opposites I

have mentioned, is to treat the other side from a point of view which shows that side as a thing to be avoided. I began by alluding to it as a thing to be desired, and I wish now to speak of that faculty within us which teaches us to look forward so perseveringly to the turn in the lane, to the break in the cloud, to the inevitable "mend" which we are told must take place when things come to the worst.

But when we have reached the other side, how rarely is it what we expected? The sun has broken through the dark cloud, and yet it is only a watery sun after all, or else it is so fierce and strong that we get a headache and wish for the cloud again. Here we are, at last, coming to the turning in the lane. What happiness! Now the way will be smooth, not a rough stone to hurt our feet, no dust to blind us, no mud to splash our clothes; we shall leave all these behind us in that "horrid lane" upon which we have been travelling so long. Here we are, round the corner: our eyes brighten; it is all easy work now; we see the broad road smooth before us, and yet we are not satisfied! The road is smooth enough, but it wants shade; and if the lane was long and rough, at least there were no steep hills; and so we find that to turn the corner is not every thing.

And now a few examples to illustrate the truth of what I have said.

We (it does not in the least signify who we are or were) had been living for many, many years in the same house; it was a house in a neighbourhood which for many reasons we did not like, and I remember how earnestly we longed for a change, how eagerly we anticipated its coming. And at length it came. I suppose the elders of our family, from having learned a little of the world, were not carried away by enthusiasm, and did not expect to find a new home a perfect paradise; but I fear they did not show as much sense as they should have done, for I

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