be very indifferently-executed studies of highly-
uninteresting ruralities, proved an inestimable
relief. Never, surely, were the early struggles
of juvenile artist against the difficulties of
perspective and the inexorable laws of gravitation,
received with such cheering encouragement. A
donkey, upon three swollen legs (fourth invisible),
who had parted with his shadow in exchange for
the substance of a thistle as big as his own head,
provoked a world of enthusiastic comment. A
ruined feudal residence, whose toppling towers,
rising far above a seemingly impenetrable wood,
looked like tipsy Titans fighting in a green bog,
restored comparative composure to the
embarrassed group. And, finally, a sea view with a
huge black specimen of naval architecture,
perched on the very apex of a mighty wave
erected expressly for the purpose, placed everybody
completely at ease.

But, as Polly-my-Lamb regained her accustomed
calmness, she became only more and more
deeply impressed with the singular character of
the countenance before her. Again and again
did she turn her eyes, almost angrily, aside. As
often did they infallibly wander back, until every
lineament of that face of surpassing beauty was
rooted in her heart and memory as though
engraven in steel.

But the voice— the voice! From what choice
cabinet in Nature's laboratory where that skilled
craftswoman conceals her rarer gifts, came forth
the sounds which, low and tristful as they were,
dropped upon the ear like a murmur rather
dreamed than heard? Polly-my-Lamb felt her
pulse vibrate like an accordant harpstring, and,
longing to be angry at the liberty thus taken with
her nervous system, sighed unwittingly when the
music ceased, and thought her own voice sounded
raven-like as she strove to answer.

As for my Aunt Serocold, had the guest preserved
anything like reasonable self-possession,
her demeanour must have astonished him not a
little. Had those golden curls and translucent
eyes been exchanged for the hissing snakes and
stony gleam of a Medusa, they could scarcely
have more effectually subdued her. For ten
minutes after his first appearance, she had sat
almost like a grey petrefaction, received with
dull bewildered apathy the youth's respectful
greetings, and, after muttering some half-intelligible
sounds, became once more entranced in
speechless wonder. We who are entrusted with
the key of my aunt's secret soul, perceive one
thought alone assuming positive shape, and
wandering ghost-like through the intellectual mist,
exclaiming, "What upon earth can make this
angel in love with me?"

"And I, zese poor limning have broughten
you, dears madams," went the musical voice in
its pretty foreign-English, " wiz ze fear zat you
would sink me for an impostor."

"Sink you, sir!" murmured my aunt.

"Sink me an impostor, when you saw my
figuris—sketches."

"' Vigorous,' indeed, sir," said Miss Serocold.

"Zat is, my personen, my humans, I cannot
draw a man, far less," he was going to raise his
eyes to the younger lady, but changed his
purpose, and simply bowed to the elder. " But,
ah! An evening red! Here is my best."

And he produced a smudgy landscape, generally
mouse-coloured, but representing the god of day
half suffocated in a mass of red hot vapour,
striking out frantic rays, like feelers, in every
direction, and wearing altogether the appearance
of a gigantic crab, being grilled on a dullish fire.

My aunt fanned herself involuntarily. The
picture was warm enough, but it was nothing to
the gaze of the painter, which dwelt searchingly
upon her.

"I wish he'd look at Polly a little!" thought
my aunt. " So awkward, really!"

To whatever unseen power the amiable lady
appealed, her remonstrance seemed not
ineffectual. Miss Humpage requesting him to
draw near her tea-table, Arthur Haggerdorn
perforce looked towards his inviter. In a second
his transparent face was dyed in blushes, from
brow to chin. With such extreme sensibility
the inexperienced Polly was sorely troubled to
deal. She hardly dared address to him the most
ordinary expressions of courtesy, and fortunate
it was for her that Miss Serocold began at this
moment to exhibit manifest tokens of returning
life, and presently was able to converse with a
collectedness Polly-my-Lamb might envy. What
was still more satisfactory, the latter observed
that, in proportion as Mr. Haggerdorn's attention
was diverted from her friend, so did that lady's
disposition to regain it steadily augment.

But now it was that gentleman's turn to be
distraught and unintelligible. His replies were
made at random, wide of the purpose. He
contradicted my aunt in the flattest, though
sweetest, manner. He laughed at wrong times.
He spilled some cream on the sacred lavender,
and saw it not. All his faculties were gradually
centring in one point;—the consciousness of
being absolutely in the immediate presence of
the little idol whose sweet face had, he fondly
believed, had power to draw back his fleeting
spirit from the very portals of the grave. He
knew perfectly well that he was losing self-
possession, and yielding more and more to an
insane desire to lie down by that footstool on
which one of Polly's little diamond shoe-buckles
was at that moment glistening, to gaze unreproved
upon the bright young face, and listen for the
rare words she dropped like jewels on his ear.

So long as Miss Serocold's remarks obtained
the slightest notice from him to whom they
were addressed, Polly-my-Lamb was comparatively
comfortable; but when it became evident
that the fire of her ally was wholly ineffective,
and that the visitor was becoming more and
more unconscious of every object but herself,
the poor child grew anxious and confused,
blushed, talked nonsense, and, at length, finding
the position intolerable, rose and expressed her
intention of retiring to her room, and committing