now she loved him. I was in an agony, and without a word I turned on my heel, and strode out of the room. To put on my hat and coat was the work of a moment; and then, hardly knowing what I was about, I started to walk home to the Chase-three miles off.

I had been at home and in bed half an hour when I heard the sound of carriage wheels, and of the merry party getting out. I slept for an hour or two, then rose, packed all my things, and at daybreak, with the assistance of one of the men servants who providentially was about, got a fly to take all my things down to the Broadbeach station. A note on my dressing-table told my uncle the reason of my going, and adding that I had sustained a fearful disappointment about my class-I meant that my hard-won honours were useless to me without Florence's love to spread a halo of sunlight over them; but my words were ambiguous.

The train was just starting that was going to take me to London en route for anywhere, when the little pony carriage drove up, Florence and my good old uncle inside it.

"Stop him-stop him!" exclaimed the good-natured old gentleman, radiant with smiles.

I turned round in surprise at seeing Florence holding in her hand the white camellia of the preceding evening; and Uncle Guy, with a sly grin, said—

"I know all about it, you young rascal; you made a precious mistake."

I saw that I had, but I couldn't help feeling happy notwithstanding.

"Now, my boy," said Uncle Guy, "you two can walk home by the lanes together, and I will drive the pony carriage by the road."

What a happy walk that was! Florence told me that it was all a mistake about the camellia. "Mr. Dawkins wanted to exchange his for mine; but, you know, I wanted mine for a particular purpose." Then she told me that she had found out that I had been disappointed about my class, but I very soon showed her that she had acted on insufficient evidence; and when we reached home-looking very guilty, but very happy -everything was satisfactorily explained; but luncheon had been waiting some time. Uncle Guy forgave us, and told me I wasn't such a fool, after all; and added that he thought far more of my sense in getting

Florence to promise to be my wife than in getting a first, though that was a great pleasure to him. One thing he stipulated for with Mrs. Betterton was, that he should have a wedding breakfast at his own old Chase, and that he should put "that rascal of a nephew of mine" in a position to marry the lovely Florence. I have the white camellia still; and before very long I shall be going down to Broadbeach again, to claim the fulfilment of the promise which I received with it. Milly is going out to India very shortly with her husband Vinning; but we-Florence and myself-are to live in the old Chase, and take care of our uncle Guy.

J. B. BUCKSTONE.

LIKE many men who as actors hold a

high place in the estimation of the public, Mr. John Baldwin Buckstone left the profession to which he was brought up to become an actor. He was born in a southern suburb of London, in the year 1802, and was originally in the navy; but gave up the chance of serving his country afloat to become an articled clerk in an attorney's office. The law, however, was not a congenial pursuit; and Mr. Buckstone, having a very strong taste for the drama, made his first appearance on any stage at the Theatre Royal, Oakingham, in 1823. At this time he appears to have had a notion of succeeding Garrick as Hamlet, Othello, and Macbeth; but one day, the low comedian being absent, at half an hour's notice he undertook the character of Gabriel, the drunken servant in "The Children in the Wood." His success was so great that he was afterwards induced to pay great attention to such characters. He continued, however, to appear in tragic parts; and for the remainder of the season he played in tragedy and comedy alternately.

Mr. Buckstone's debut in London was made in the same year (1823), at the Surrey Theatre, where he played the part of Peter Smink in Payne's "Armistice." The success of the performance, and the applause that greeted it, clearly foreshadowed the position he would occupy on the London boards in low comedy characters.

His fame reached the Adelphi, and he was offered an engagement there, which he accepted-appearing as Bobby Trot in his own drama of" Luke the Labourer," T. P.

Cooke playing the Sailor, and Terry the Labourer.

Mr. Buckstone's connection with the Adelphi lasted for many years. He used to play there in the winter, and at the Haymarket in the summer. He is the author of a large number of dramas, most of which were very successful at the time they were produced.

But it is as the lessee of the Haymarket that Mr. Buckstone is best known to the present generation of playgoers. Mr. Webster took this theatre in 1837, and Mr. Buckstone went there with him, and, we believe, played there until he became Jessee himself. As all our readers know, he is to be found there still, where every lover of good acting and a good laugh hopes he will long remain. Among his best impersonations, Box in "Box and Cox," Touchstone, Marplot, and Tony Lumpkin may be mentioned; and his most successful dramas are the famous "Green Bushes,” ," "Flowers of the Forest," and the "Rough Diamond." How often his fun and rich drollery have set the house in a roar every playgoer knows. His impersonations are marked by originality of conception; but his strong personality always shines through all, to the delight of all his admirers. On the whole, the modern stage has every reason to be proud of Mr. Buck

stone.

BY RULE OF THUMB.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE DESCENT.

R. LENNARD and his daughter proceeded on their way without one thought to check their enjoyment, and quite unrestrained by the presence of the servant -for Ann had been in the family for many years, having taken her first service as nursery-girl when Mary was a baby, and was quite like one of themselves.

"William should get our letters to-morrow," said Mr. Lennard, in reply to some remark of his daughter's; "and, let me see, is to-day Wednesday? Then he might be down here by Saturday, or perhaps Monday. Unless, indeed, he is out of town-which is very probable; and then, of course, it will be longer before he comes."

Mary had a private opinion of her own. that her first letter would suffice to delay him in London, waiting for more; but kept it

to herself.

"At all events, we shall hear from him soon," continued Mr. Lennard; "for if he has formed any other plans for the autumn, he is sure to write. Hallo, Ann, what is the matter?"

"Nothing, sir-only aint we a-going rayther near the edge?"

"It looks like it, certainly; but the driver is responsible, and he is probably just as fond of his life as we are of ours."

"'Deed, yes," corroborated the man, with a grin.

"Yes, sir; but he is used to precipices, which I am not, being born in Lincolnshire. Oh, lor, sir, it du look very awful. Supposing we should go over!"

"Then we should go on falling until we tumbled into that lake, unless the boughs of some of these shrubs caught us; and I own that I should not like to trust to that."

When they had reached the top of this valley they turned to the left, and shortly afterwards entered the pass of Llanberis, down which they went with many a jolt, and a drag on the wheel, but with laughing hearts, and with eyes that admired the grim and barren rocks more than the softer scenery from which they had just emerged.

"I must rub up my geology," said Mr. Lennard. "This neighbourhood is very interesting, I believe, from a scientific point of view."

"Oh, do, papa," said Mary; "and teach me something about it. I have often thought I should like geology, if it were not for the hard names and the classifications. I suppose that men who have learned Latin and read Ovid know all about metamorphic rocks naturally, but it is hard on the girls to bring the classics into everything. It would be delightful, though, to have some of the results pointed out to me on the spot without the trouble of book-work. stance, papa, look at those queer scratches on the rocks by the side of the road: do you know what they are? I have heard of the footprints of horrible monsters being discovered; surely, these cannot be the impression of the claws of some tertiary cat, who was accustomed to run up precipices as tittums does up a wall?”

Now, for in

"Those, my dear?" said Mr. Lennard, assuming a learned air-"oh, no; those must be the marks of glaciers. You know, all this part was ice and snow at one time, just like Switzerland; and no doubt the valley we are in was once filled with a

glacier-perhaps the hotel-keepers wish it was now. But, really, this is very curious and interesting. I never saw the marks so plainly."

"I beg your pardon, sir,” said the driver, turning round; "was the young lady asking what them scratches are? Them's where the irons was druv in when they blasted the rocks to make the road. 'Deed, yes."

"Ah-hum," said Mr. Lennard.

At length they reached Llanberis; and leaving the driver to put the car up at the principal inn, proceeded without pausing to walk up Snowdon. Some ladies shirk fatigue upon ponies, but Mary was not one of these. Light, active, and sound in wind and limb, a hill was an enjoyment to her; and she sprang up like a Southdown, only stopping every now and then to laugh nearly unto tears at her poor, panting, perspiring parent, who was by no means in training, and had not taken so long a walk, let alone the ascent, for the last six months.

"It's all very well for you, you impudent hus--hussey," he gasped, pausing to mop his forehead and "admire the view;" "you have got no weight to speak of to carry. If you had to carry thirteen stone about with you, you would find the difference, and feel pity for the struggles of your poor old father."

At last they got to the top. The sky was cloudless, the air unusually clear and transparent, and the view magnificent. A sea of mountains swelled, billow upon billow, to their feet; numerous lakes, which had collected on the sites of deserted mines, gave a peculiar feature to the scene by their variegated hues, which differed in their shade of green as the water was more or less impregnated with the copper; while in the distance the sea formed a magnificent background to the picture.

"I wish your mamma was here to see it," said Mr. Lennard.

"So do I," echoed Mary. "She never will own that there is any scenery worth looking at out of Switzerland; and this view would convert her, I am certain. What a stupid Ann is!"

Poor Ann's Lincolnshire legs found Snowdon disagree, and she shut up half-way.

When they had gazed their fill, they went into the little hut built at the top, and made a meal off bread and cheese and porter; after which Mr. Lennard smoked a cigar, which, he declared, brought the prospect out with

twofold beauty; and then they descended. Whatever our experience, that operation is always a disappointment; for it is impossible to help feeling that the principal part of your labour is over when you get to the top of a hill, or to avoid considering the descent as a trouble; whereas, a series of jolts must be more trying to the human or any other frame than a steady, laborious drag. And Mr. Lennard discovered that thirteen stone was a considerable trial to the firmness of the loose pieces of rock upon which he came lumping down from a fall, often of two feet at a step. Often did he stumble-sometimes tumble. Mary, too, was rather tired before she got half-way down; and, on the whole, Snap the terrier had decidedly the best of it. Going up had been a great trial to him; but now he made his fifty or a hundred yards in a succession of easy leaps, and then sat down on his tail, wondering why his companions did not descend with equal rapidity.

Hopeless as they began to deem it, they did at last reach the foot of the mountain, and made their way to the hotel, where they found Ann; and the horse having been put to, they started homewards without delay.

Their conversation, if not quite so continuous as it had been in the morningseeing that when we are tired we feel inclined to rest the tongue as well as the legs -was still cheerful and hopeful.

"Well, Mary," said Mr. Lennard, as they reached the Pass of Llanberis, and once more came to the valley which led to their present home, we have been uncommonly lucky to-day. I have been several times up that little hill, and never had so good a view before. Nine times out of ten one just walks into a cloud and out again, and might just as well be on Holborn-hill in a fog. Still, do you think you would like to try your fortune again?"

"Oh, yes, papa, I should like it of all things."

66

Well, I hope your mamma will be quite strong again by the middle of next week; and then, probably, William will be here by then, and we will make up a party."

"Yes, and mamma can have a pony—not but what she can walk better about hills than on level country. She spent all her early life in a hilly part of the country-did she not? Is Cornwall a very pretty part?" "It is; and our village, Bodston, particu larly. I spent my own hobbedyhoyhood