who left the precincts of the stage. He
made no attempt to join Magdalen in the supper-
room—but he was ready in the hall, with her
cloak, when the carriages were called and the
party broke up.

"Oh, Frank!" she said, looking round at him,
as he put the cloak on her shoulders, " I am so
sorry it's all over! Come, to-morrow morning,
and let's talk about it by ourselves."

"In the shrubbery at ten?" asked Frank, in a
whisper.

She drew up the hood of her cloak, and nodded
to him gaily. Miss Garth, standing near, noticed
the looks that passed between them, though the
disturbance made by the parting guests prevented
her from hearing the words. There was
a soft, underlying tenderness in Magdalen's
assumed gaiety of manner—there was a sudden
thoughtfulness in her face, a confidential readiness
in her hand, as she took Frank's arm
and went out to the carriage. What did it
mean? Had her passing interest in him, as her
stage-pupil, treacherously sown the seeds of any
deeper interest in him, as a man? Had the idle
theatrical scheme, now that it was all over, graver
results to answer for than a mischievous waste
of time?

The lines on Miss Garth's face deepened and
hardened: she stood lost among the fluttering
crowd around her. Norah's warning words,
addressed to Mrs. Vanstone in the garden,
recurred to her memory—and now, for the first
time, the idea dawned on her that Norah had
seen consequences in their true light.

HOW CLUBS TREAT LADIES IN
RUSSIA.

For some reason or other—perhaps not very
difficult to find out, if this were the time and
place to look for it—clubs are coming into
fashion very much, just now, in Russia. In the
Russian town where the writer lives, though a
provincial city, there are four, all in thriving
circumstances.Two of the four have been formed
within the last few months, and more are talked
of. Indeed, hotel-keepers and speculators find
them a very profitable enterprise. Party spirit
unfortunately runs rather too high in these
clubs, and public opinion, long and sternly
repressed during the late reign, having grown
feverish and restless in its reaction, finds rather
too ready a vent there. Clubs also, being
comparatively a recent adoption as popular institutions
for the middle classes in Russia, are not
conducted on quite the right principle. They
are made a vehicle for venting political animosity
and private grudges. Black-balling has
degenerated into a science, and is looked upon as
good sport among us. No matter who may be
proposed, we black-ball him for our amusement.
Consequence is, of course, a row. Aggrieved
party, who has been waiting outside the door,
to rush in immediately after his election, jumps
into his wheelbarrow (Russian droschky), and
goes bumping away, to shout out his wrongs
all over the town, and find out who is his
enemy. Enemy being found out, is waylaid
and talked to in a very shrill voice, within one
inch of his beard, until he surrenders at discretion.
All parties then embrace. The candidate
is put up again and elected, there being usually
no cause whatever why he should not have been
elected at first, except a desire on the part of
our community that his perplexity and astonishment
at his rejection should afford pleasurable
excitement. But we are really a kind and good-
humoured race. We never seriously mean to
injure anybody, but we must have our talk about
everybody. This is our peculiarity. We consider
it our right and privilege as enlightened
citizens, and we could not think of foregoing it
on any account whatever. It is not practically
a very vicious sentiment; for where other people
would come to blows in such discussions, we
come to kisses; and so many bottles of
champagne are drunk in the making up of our
quarrels, that I sometimes suspect they must
be fomented by energetic emissaries of wine-
merchants. An original-minded man in that
line of business could hardly have devised a
scheme at once more shrewd and more benevolent
for furthering his own interests and furnishing
the general public with a never-failing
enjoyment. The only wonder to me, a simple
man, is where the money comes from to buy the
champagne. But persons who affect to know
this country well, assert that the state of society
among us is very much like what it was in
England at the time of Tom Jones.

A gallant youth, with a slim figure and jingling
spurs, is likely enough to have other
resources besides his pay as a lieutenant in a
cavalry regiment. Some of those smart young
merchants who are so impressively civil to that
haughty official, might explain to you, if they
would, how it is that with a salary of nothing a
year he contrives to live so jollily. And then
we all breathe in such a delightful atmosphere
of debts and borrowing! Everybody is in debt
to everybody, and nobody pays anybody. We are
ingenuous laughing debtors—not solemn gloomy
debtors, as in Britain. We consider debts a
capital joke. We make merry over them. We
are Counts Fathom and Captains Borrowell.
For instance, one of us was in debt to a tavern-
keeper. Tavern-keeper did not look upon the
debt in the same cheerful manner as debtor.
There was a difference of opinion between them
on the subject, until the debtor undertook to
enlighten tavern-keeper as to the manner in which
we deal with such things. Fact was, Creditor,
taking a melancholy view of debts in general
and of this debt in particular, determined to
have his money, and became quite unbearable
and absurd. Debtor was an aide-de-camp on
the staff of a very great man indeed. Creditor
resolved to call on the very great man
indeed, and angrily told Debtor he would do
so. Debtor smilingly expressed a hope that
he would keep his word, and determined to be
in attendance at the time. Creditor indignantly