or eight-and-thirty had preserved the eyes
and forehead of a girl of sixteen. Childless
women sometimes do keep to the end that
pretty, almost infantile candour of the eyes;
and it was poor Harty's only sorrow, that at
Herne Court no little feet were to be heard
pattering overhead, and no little voices filled
the house with that sweet tumult so unlike and
so much better than any other music in the
whole world. She had a host of men friends of
all ages, all more or less devoted to her, and
she had but to hold up her little finger to
ensure a willing companion at any time. Her
chief ally, however, upon most of these occasions,
was a cousin of hers— Edward Saville by
name: he had lost both his parents, and was
master of a very good fortune: but he lived
more like a poor man than a rich one; had no
expensive tastes, and not a particle of ostentation.
He was now twenty-nine years of age,
and his cousin and fast friend, Harty Brande,
thought it high time that he should have done
with wandering and idling, and that he should
marry, and keep house, and settle down, like
other folks. Two days after despatching her
letter to 61, Pall-Mall, she saw an irresistible
musical announcement in the newspaper, and
Edward Saville received the following:

Dear Edward,— Such an advertisement in
to-day's Times! Joachim, Hallé, and Piatti all
together! Take places for Monday week; I am
coming; and if you like eating horrible food, I
can undertake to promise it you at my lodgings.
But no, don't do that, dear— the dinners there
are too nasty for anything, and though you
wouldn't mind it, I should for you; so just
leave the tickets for me, and we will give each
other rendezvous at eight o'clock at the St.
James's Hall.

I have made the acquaintance of a new young
lady; the family has only lately come into
the neighbourhood; we called when first they
arrived, and, yesterday, mother and daughter
returned our visit. I spare you the description
of the mother; the daughter is tall, and fair,
and large, and very yearning; and her name is
Regina Thompson: she's four-and-thirty (I'm
afraid you'd think that rather old?), but though
she is altogether too ripe for a "little darling,"
you might perhaps make a sort of gigantic pet of
her? I believe I would like to see you married
to your great- grandmother rather than not
married at all. You have lived in Germany till
you have become nothing but a dreamer. It
has been the ruin of you!

Your affectionate Cousin,

HARTY BRANDE.

P.S. I have had a lovely bullfinch given to
me, and have hung him up between my linnet
and lark. The bully is young and timid, and
only every now and then hazards a few mellow
little chuckles down in the very bottom of his
throat, and this he only ventures upon in an
occasional pause, when the linnet and lark have
been answering each other by the hour together;
but the linnet, who responds to every chirrup of
the lark, the instant poor bully attempts to
open his mouth, lapses into rigid silence, sticks
his stupid little grey head down into his stupid
little grey shoulders, and makes himself an
odious object of disgust and discontent. So
vulgar of him! And so like the world, isn't it?
I have seen two fine folks ignore a helpless
nobody in conversation just in the same way,
letting all his observations drop, exactly as if
they had not been, and carefully addressing
each other only, to his entire exclusion. I'm
glad I don't live in a great town! Be sure you
take the seats in time, so as to get good ones
near the orchestra.

Mr. Saville secured the places as he was bid;
and on the following Monday deposited Mrs.
Brande's ticket, according to her order, at a
small private hotel in St. James's-place, where
she was in the habit of putting up upon these
expeditions. He was surprised to find at the
house that they had had no warning of her
advent, and were not expecting her; he desired
them, however, to keep everything prepared for
her arrival, and at a few minutes before eight
o'clock, he went to St. James's Hall, in the full
anticipation of finding her already there, or, at
all events, of seeing her appear shortly after
himself. The places were the last side-seats at
the end of the room, close to the orchestra. Mrs.
Brande was not yet come, and her chair was
vacant; he took possession of the one next to it,
and looked about him. It was a very full attendance,
and even the platform upon which the
artists were to perform was crowded to suffocation
by a less elegant, though not less enthusiastic,
portion of the auditory. The concert
had not begun, and he looked up and down the
long lines of faces, in search of something
pretty with which to beguile the time until
either the musicians or Harty Brande should
appear. Whole families there were of short
people, with knobby heads and little curls,
who followed the performance attentively in
large music-books, which they had brought
with them— waning virgins with Roman noses
and large loose-looking teeth, wearing upon
their heads edifices fatally fanciful, composed
of aged flowers, tumbled ribbons, limp strips
of black velvet, and rows of white beads,
that hung on, or rather dangled off, the few
straggling dark hairs still clinging feebly to the
sides of divisions up which you fancied you
might have driven a coach and four. Here and
there you caught a glimpse of a fresh little girl,
with blooming checks and a turn-up nose, whose
healthy, honest, little face looked almost like
that of an angel by contrast with the dingy
multitude by which it was surrounded.

A noise of steps on the wooden staircase that
leads to the platform, a burst of applause from
the public, and Joachim and three other gentlemen
in black were sitting ready to begin the
concert. Mr. Saville, who was looking at them
through his glass, felt a rustle by his side, and
became aware that three or four places on the
front bench, which, up to the present moment,