Nevertheless, her life was not easy, for Mrs. Ascott was very difficult to manage. She resisted angrily all the personal sacrifices entailed by impending motherhood, and its terrors and forebodings used to come over her poor weak woman that she was! -in a way that required all Elizabeth's reasonings to counteract, and all her self-control to hide the presentiment of evil, not unnatural under the circumstances.

Yet sometimes poor Mrs. Ascott would take fits of pathetic happiness; when she busied herself eagerly over the preparations for the new-comer; would make Elizabeth take out, over and over again, the little clothes, and examine them with childish delight. Sometimes she would gossip for hours over the blessing that was sent to her so late in life-half-regretting that it had come so late; that she should be almost an old woman before her little son or daughter was grown up.

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Still, I may live to see it, you know: to have a pretty girl to take on my arm into a ball-room, or a big fellow to send to college: the Leafs always went to college in old times. He shall be Henry Leaf Ascott, that I am determined on; and if it's a girl, perhaps I may call her Johanna. My sister would like it; wouldn't she?"

For more and more, in the strange softening of her nature, did Selina go back to the old ties.

"I am not older than my mother was when Hilary was born.

was because of trouble.

Square from Saturday to Monday, the only time when Hilary could be spared. "For we don't know what may happen," said she to him, rather seriously.

And though he answered, "Oh, nonsense!" and desired her to get such ridiculous fancies out of her head, still he consented, and himself wrote to Miss Leaf, giving the formal invitation.

The three sisters spent a happy time together, and Hilary made some highly appreciated family jokes about the handsome Christmas box that Selina was going to be so kind as to give them, and the small probability that she would have much enjoyment of the Christmas dinner to which Mr. Ascott, in the superabundance of his good feeling, had invited his sisters-in-law. The baby, blessed innocent! seemed to have softened down all things-as babies often do.

Altogether, it was with great cheerfulness, affectionateness, and hope that they took leave of Selina: she, with unwonted consideration, insisting that the carriage should convey them all the way to Richmond.

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And," she said, "perhaps some of these days my son, if he is a son, may have the pleasure of escorting his aunts home. I shall certainly call him Henry Leaf,' and bring him up to be in every way a credit to our family.

And Elizabeth answered as she best could. She too, out of sympathy or instinct, was becoming wondrous wise.

But I am aware all this will be thought very uninteresting, except by women and mothers. Let me hasten on.

She had not seen him now for fourteen days, and though his letters were very nice and exceedingly clever, still she craved for a look at his face, a grasp of his hand, perhaps even a kiss, long and close and tender, such as he would sometimes insist upon giving her, in spite of all policemen. His love for her, demonstrative as was his nature, had become to this still, quiet girl inexpressibly sweet, far sweeter than she knew.

His love for her, though fitful and fanciful, was yet so warm and real, that it had become a necessity of her life. As he always told her-especially after he had had one of his little quarrels with her-hers was to him.

"Poor Tom, I wonder how he gets on without me! Well, it wont be for long."

And she wished she could have let him know she was out here, that they might have a chat for just ten minutes.

Unconsciously she walked towards their usual trysting-place, a large overhanging plane-tree on the Keppel Street corner of the square.

Surely, surely, that could not be Tom! Quite impossible, for he was not alone. Two people, a young man and a young woman, stood at the tryst, absorbed in conversation: evidently sweethearts, for he had one arm round her, and he kissed her, unresisted, several times.

Elizabeth gazed, fascinated, almost doubting the evidence of her own senses. For the young man's figure was so excessively like Tom's. At length with the sort of feeling that makes one go steadily up to a shadow by the roadside, some ugly spectre that we feel sure, if we stare it out, will prove to be a mere imagination, she walked deliberately up to and past these "sweethearts."

They did not see her; they were far too much occupied with one another: but she saw them, and saw at once that it was Tom, Tom's own self, and with him her fellow-servant, Esther.

People may write volumes on jealousy, and volumes will still remain to be written. It is, next to remorse for guilt, the sharpest, sorest, most maddening torment that human nature can endure.

We may sit and gaze from the boxes at our Othellos and Biancas; we may laugh at the silly heart-burnings between Cousin Kate and Cousin Lucy in the ball-room, or the squabbles of Mary and Sally in the kitchen over the gardener's lad; but there the thing remains. A man cannot make THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. 948

The complaint comes in different forms sometimes it is a case of slow poisoning, or of ordeal by red-hot irons, which, though not fatal, undermines the whole character, and burns ineffaceable scars into the soul. And people take it in various ways; some fiercely, stung by a sense of wounded selflove; others haughtily:

"Pride's a safe robe, I'll wear it: but no rags." Others, again, humble, self-distrustful natures, whose only pride came through love, have nothing left them except rags. In a moment, all their thin robes of happiness are torn off; they stand shivering, naked, and helpless, before the blasts of the bitter world.

This was Elizabeth's case. After the first instant of stunned bewilderment and despair, she took it all quite naturally, as if it were a thing which she ought all along to have known was sure to happen, and which was no more than she expected and deserved.

She passed the couple, still unobserved by them; and then walked round the other side of the square, deliberately home.

I am not going to make a tragic heroine of this poor servant-girl. Perhaps, people may say, there is nothing tragic about the incident. Merely a plain, quiet, old-fashioned woman, who is so foolish as to like a handsome young swain, and to believe in him, and to be surprised when he deserts her for a pretty girl of eighteen. All quite after the way things go on in the world, especially in the servant-world; and the best she can do is to get over it, or take another sweetheart as quickly as possible. A very common story after all, and more of a farce than a tragedy.

But there are some farces, which, if you look underneath the surface, have a good many of the elements of tragedy.

I shall neither paint Elizabeth tearing her own hair, or Esther's; or going raging about the square in moonlight, in an insane fit of jealousy. She was not given to "fits" under any circumstances, or about anything. All she felt went deep down into her heart, rooted itself, and either blossomed or cankered there.

She might have sat there for an hour or more, her bonnet and shawl still on, without stirring, without crying, altogether cold and hard like a stone, when she fancied she heard her mistress' bell ring, and mechanically rose up and went down-stairs to listen. Nothing was wanted, so she returned to her garret and crept to bed in the dark.

When, soon afterwards, Esther likewise came up to bed, Elizabeth pretended to be asleep. Only once, taking a stealthy glance at the pretty girl who stood combing her hair at the looking-glass, she was conscious of a sick sense of repulsion, a pain like a knife running through her, at sight of the red young lips which Tom had just been kiss

Half an hour after she was roused by the nurse coming to her bedside. Mrs. Ascott was very ill, and was calling for Elizabeth. Soon the whole establishment was in confusion, and in the sharp struggle between birth and death, Elizabeth had no time to think of anything but her mistress.

Contrary to every expectation, all ended speedily and happily; and before he went off to the city next day, the master of the house, who in the midst of his anxiety and felicity, had managed to secure a good night's sleep and a good breakfast, had the pleasure of sending off a special messenger to the Times' office with the notification, "The Lady of Peter Ascott, Esq., of a son and heir."

ever.

"The toilettes of the ladies were richer than Hair-powder seems to be coming into vogue again, for many of the ladies used it on this occasion."

Very probably. The admirable revival of hoops should naturally be followed by a return to hair-powder. The sequacious gregariousness with which the French ladies follow their leader, and the English ladies them, is, though a gooselike, a gratifying attestation of their attachment to the Crinoline Dynasty. Venus forbid that the Empress of the French should wear rings in her nose; but if she were to adopt such ornaments, her example would doubtless be followed by our wives and daugh ters.-Punch.

THE NAGGLETONS ON THEIR TOUR.

Mrs. Naggleton. Of course you've left the keys behind.

Mr. Naggleton. Why of course? Because you always do? It happens that I haven't, for here they are. What else may be left behind I can't say.

Mrs. N. No, you took care to have business to go out about when you might have helped me in packing.

Mr. N. Yes, for the last time I made the offer, you sent me packing myself. Ha! ha!

Mrs. N. You intend that for some kind of joke, I suppose. It would be a very good thing if people didn't attempt what they don't understand. But because Wyndham Wareham says clever things, all the "Flips " club must try to imitate him, which is very pitiable.

Mr. N. I thought, my dear, that having (ironically) so many accomplishments, you could afford not to set up for a judge of wit. Mrs. N. I know real wit when I hear it, and I know that it is very unlike the ridiculous and vulgar banter that passes for it at the Flips," at least if I may judge by the specimens you bring home, though to be sure you may spoil them in bringing; likely enough, considering the state in which you come home.

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Mr. N. There are so many counts to that indictment, my dear, that I will plead to the last only, and say that you never saw me the worse for what I had taken at the little social meeting that always excites your spite.

Mrs. N. I didn't say you were the worse. On the contrary, if you come home rather foolish, you are good-natured, and not much inclined to talk.

Mr. N. Your amiability, my dear, is an encouragement to me to persevere in pressing these little holidays upon you. A cheerful companion more than repays any trouble or expense she may occasion.

Mrs. N. I understand your manly and generous meaning, Mr. Naggleton. But I am neither vexed nor surprised. I require

you, is so essentially commercial that it would make one smile, but that the children are in daily danger of imbibing such lessons.

Mr. N. If they imbibe nothing worse than my teaching, Mrs. Naggleton, they will do no harm. I can't say as much if they imbibe what I have seen you giving them at lunch; namely, Burton ale.

Mrs. N. I believe that I am responsible to their medical attendant for their dietary, Mr. Naggleton.

Mr. N. Has your own dietary included a dictionary, swallowed by mistake, my love? Because you are bringing out the long words, uncommon, this morning.

Mrs. N. I can well understand (smiling) that you had no such complaint to make of the first Mrs. Naggleton. I think she spelt coffee with the same letters as cough, did she not, dear?

Mr. N. It's untrue. And whatever she spelt coffee with, m'm, she made it with hot water, which is a precious deal more than I can get her successor to do.

Mrs. N. Her successor should have been a kitchen maid, my dear.

Mr. N. Well, in the matter of tongue and temper, that might have involved no great change in my present happiness, my love.

Mrs. N. Wyndham Wareham must have given you quite a heap of his old sayings, which he has worn threadbare, and can't use any longer. Are they the perquisites of his followers? You come out quite smart in them. What a pity it is you forget them before company, and try nonsense of your own!

Mr. N. Ah, my dear, when we want to wound we shouldn't show that we are in a rage. Calm yourself down to your usual illtemper, and you may be more disagreeable. At present you are a study-and I may add, thanks to sea air, a brown study. [Proud of his victory, he begins to read the paper, elaborately.

Mrs. N. (sadly). If anything should happen to you, Henry, I will try to forget all the insults you have rejoiced to heap upon me. But you will make that duty very, very, very difficult.

Mr. N. Indeed, love? Well, I promise you this. I'll try and postpone it for you as long as I possibly can.

Mrs. N. Yes, it is very well to talk so, but I assure you, Henry, the thought comes to me very often, and prevents my taking notice of many and many a thing which I ought

to resent.

Mr. N. Deuce it does? You resent most things, and grumble at the rest. What was that station we passed?

Mrs. N. The department of the medical profession more especially pursued by my lamented uncle, is one which can afford to disregard the scoffs of vulgarity.

Mr. N. Another burst of dictionary talk. Do you think it proper in a first-class carriage. If you cut your words in proportion to the fares, I should like to travel third.

Mrs. N. I make no doubt that in the third-class carriage you would find companions who would suit you. You might even fancy yourself at the " Flips," humbly listening to Wyndham Wareham.

Mr. N. That's about the tenth time you've

Mrs. N. (accepting the challenge). I really don't know. And pride, which is a nobler thing, I do not suppose you are capable of feeling. I have read that it is much dulled by the instincts of commerce. Certainly Wyndham Wareham, your model, did say that you had reason to be proud of your marriage, but it is not for me to recall such expressions of opinion.

Mr. N. Well, strictly speaking, my dear, it is not, but their rarity shall be your excuse. And Wareham's so good a judge on conjugal matters that he has kept himself single, and means to do so,

Mrs. N. Ah! a joke redolent of spirits and water and tobacco-smoke, and would suit the "Flips" at two in the morning.

Mr. N. Your ridiculous animosity to that harmless meeting is perfectly unaccountable, Mrs. Naggleton.

Mrs. N. Animosity ?-no. But I regret that the children are liable to hear, through servants, who may learn it from tradesmen, that you are in that kind of society. I wish you could pass by another name than your own among such a set.

Mr. N. (furious). Set! By Jove, Mrs. Naggleton, you talk as if you had been born in the purple. that is to say, to suit your understanding, as if your uncle had been a marquis instead of a man—

Mrs. N. He? Nothing. I shouldn't speak to him if we met, for I think him a bad style of man, and though one rather likes anybody who is first in his way, it is really such a very small triumph to be first at the "Flips," that I cannot make a hero out of Wyndham Wareham. Perhaps I should, like you, if I looked at him through a glass of spirits.

Mr. N. I had thoughts of withdrawing from that club, Mrs. Naggleton, but I am now resolved that I will accept the invitation to take the chair at the next monthly meeting.

Mrs. N. Lor, why shouldn't you. I dare say you will not make much of a failure. I know Edward Clarkson took it, and they say did very well, and you know he is the greatest idiot in the world.

Mr. N. (emphatically). No, madam, he is not. That name belongs to a man who did not know when he was well off, but must needs

Guard. Tickets, all tickets ready.

Mr. N. I gave them to you. Why don't you get them out?

Mrs. N. I shall get them out when they're wanted, and not till then.

Mr. N. (angrily). You have no right to delay the whole train by your petulance. Mrs. N. (unmoved). Haven't I? But I shall, if I please.

[And she does please.