"Well," she thought, "there is moonlight
enough to undress by."

She went to draw back one of the curtains.
But in the act she started back with a little
scream. There was a tall figure over the way
watching the house.

The moon shone from her side of the street full
on him, and in that instant her quick eye
recognised Mr. Hardie.

"Well!" said she aloud, and with an
indescribable inflexion; and hid herself swiftly in
impenetrable gloom.

But, after a while, Eve's daughter must have
a peep. She stole with infinite caution to one
side of the curtain, and made an aperture just
big enough for one bright eye. Yes, there he
was, motionless. "I'll tell mamma," said she
to him, malignantly, as if the sound could reach
him.

Unconscious of the direful threat, he did not
budge.

She was unaffectedly puzzled at this
phenomenon; and, not being the least vain, fell to
wondering whether he played the nightly sentinel
opposite every lady's window, who exchanged
civilities with him. "Because, if he does, he is
a fool," said she, promptly. But on reflection,
she felt sure he did nothing of the kind, habitually,
for he had too high an opinion of himself; she
had noted that trait in him at a very early stage.
She satisfied herself, by cautious examination,
that he did not know her room. He was making
a temple of the whole lodging. " How ridiculous
of him!" Yet he appeared to be happy over it;
there was an exalted look in his moonlit face;
she seemed now first to see his soul there. She
studied his countenance like an inscription, and
deciphered each rapt expression that crossed it;
and stored them in her memory.

Twice she left her ambuscade, to go to bed:
and twice Curiosity, or Something, drew her back.
At last having looked, peered, and peeped till
her feet were cold, and her face the reverse, she
informed herself that the foolish Thing had tired
her out.

"Good night, Mr. Policeman," said she,
pretending to bawl to him. " And, O, do rain! As
hard as ever you can." With this benevolent
aspiration, a little too violent to be sincere, she
laid her cheek on her pillow doughtily.

But her sentinel, when out of sight, had more
power to disturb her. She lay and wondered
whether he was still there, and what it all meant,
and what ever mamma would say; and which of
the two, she or he, was the head culprit in this
strange performance, to which Earth, she
conceived, had seen no parallel; and, above all,
what he would do next. Her pulse galloped,
and her sleep was broken; and she came down in
the morning a little pale. Mrs. Dodd saw it at
once, with the quick maternal eye; and moralised:
"It is curious: youth is so fond of pleasure;
yet pleasure seldom agrees with youth; this
little excitement has done your mother good,
who is no longer young: but it has been too much
for you. I shall be glad to have you back to
our quiet home."

Ah! Will that home be as tranquil now?

PARIS UNDER A FRENCH MICROSCOPE.

AFTER M. PELLETAN'S vigorous sketches of
social and domestic Paris,* it is only natural
that the same gentleman should look a little
further, into their moral consequences.
Something serious must come of a rule of etiquette—
established nobody knows how—which compels
a woman of distinction to change her costume
four times a day, and forbids her to present the
same dress twice at an evening party. Full details
of the picture, and what happens afterwards,
are boldly traced by the Provincial in Paris.
The rebuke is administered by a native teacher,
who shows his own compatriots what a life
they are leading. We enter his company once
again, and reproduce, in English, some more of
what he tells us.

A little while ago, Parisians acknowledged
the superiority of intellect; at present, all they
seem to care for is, to enjoy life, and to glitter
in the sunshine. A man of the world may have
been to school in his childhood; because, at that
age, he makes too much noise to be permitted
to dwell under the paternal roof. At the
university, he may have picked up a little education—
a little Latin, Greek, and French; a little
history and geography, hastily crammed, to pass
his bachelor's examination. The baccalaureat
once obtained, he would consider it unworthy of
himself to continue his intellectual development.
A little old man of twenty, very dry, very
starched, very wrinkled in mind, very sceptical
of every belief of the age, closely buttoned
against all aspiration, he holds that the son of
a rich father has fulfilled his obligations to God
and man when he has chosen a good tailor,
rides a good horse, dines at the Café Anglais,
and sups—Heaven knows where, in the Bréda
quarter.

He would accept, perhaps, a diplomatic situation,
because it allows him to travel at the
government expense, and, after a certain time,
procures him the right to carry all the colours of
the rainbow at his button-hole. He even goes
so far as to solicit the first vacant place of third
attaché, having good reason to believe that an
influential lady will support his application.
But, while awaiting his nomination, he devours
a portion of his patrimony. To re-establish the
equilibrium, he will marry the first heiress who
falls in his way; whether maid or widow, known
or unknown, is of not the slightest consequence.
He will continue his edifying suppers as usual;
but he will accompany his wife to mass, and will
gallantly carry madame's missal. To the old
debt, he will annually add a new one; and will
afterwards assert his profound respect for Family
and Property. For, that is the motto inscribed
on his banner.

* See page 7 of the present volume.