commenced. Quarter-day passes on, and
seems less out of humour than had been
feared.

But dissipation has been doing its evil
mission in another house, and the stupitied
drunkard is staring gloomily at the bare
walls of the dwelling in which he has been,
with difficulty, suffered to remain since the
"distress," soon after last Quarter-day. Pale
half-starved children, whose limbs are as scanty
as their clothing, are seated on the floor, and
looking—with a piteous anxiety, and with a
dread which they can scarcely understand—
at the worn-out form of a mother, stretched
on the ground, in one of the last stages of
consumption. The parish doctor has just
directed removal to the Hospital; the hopeless
drunkard and the destitute children will
seek the streets or the workhouse; and
Quarter-day quits the scene of misery.

Easter and Lady-day, Midsummer and
plum-pudding Christmas, must not be
forgotten among Quarter-days. Easter, with its
dreams of lamb and peas, with its revival of
old games and fun, which even Christmas
cannot make its exclusive property; Easter,
with all its pleasant suggestions of warmer
weather, budding trees and hedges, cooling
salads, and burlesques crammed full of puns
and hits at everything and everybody,—
Easter is not less an anxious time than its
goose-eating fellow Quarter. "Winter is a
heavy time, and papas and mamas are giving
inward thanks that coal bills will now begin
to be reduced; and are, at the same time,
ominously thinking of the muslins and
shot-silks, for which the pretty mouths of Ellen,
Emma, and Emily are watering. George is at
Oxford. He is a clever youth, but somehow
or other, Oxford men spend more money than
papa did when he was at Saint Howard's;
and when George was last in town, he spent
very little time at home, and talked of nothing
but the Regatta. Then there are other
anxieties; the house in Baker Street is
expensive; and the farmers on the Dingle Dangle
property are very backward; and the house
in Burford Street has been to let for half-a-year
and more; and some tenants are bothering
about repairs; and Mrs. Curzon Wires
would take the large house, but will not pay
for the fixtures; so that, although people
without property are in trouble about
Quarter-day, Quarter-day punishes even the
well-to-do people, and makes human beings
pay for what they enjoy, as well as for what
they do not.

Dr. Stilton, rector of two livings, and holder
of three sinecures, is rather anxious also.
Easter-offerings are things of deep interest:
but the people in Walcot-upon-Dunstead do
not seem to feel much interest in paying
them, although the vicar absolutely preached
a sermon there not more than seven months
ago, while the seventy pounds a year curate
attends quietly to his pupils, the young Stiltons,:
and never troubles the inhabitants about
book-clubs, ragged schools, or improvements in the
condition of the poor. However, the Dumbie-dykes
tithes are prolific, and the Easter sermon
of Doctor Stilton, at Saint Mildew's, Rotten
Row, exhibits a contentment which even
Quarter-day does not unruffle.

Great are the anxieties of the Reverend
Keelson Timber. He has several boys
leaving, and vacancies and the columns of
the "Times," are taking an anxious
juxta-position in his mind. Mrs. Timber is in a
chaos of darned stockings, towels, silver forks,
spoons, and butchers' bills; so is her eldest
daughter, who, moreover, has other anxieties.
She is to marry the Reverend Grave Pumice,
who has taken to reading the very books
which sent poor Mr. Mildfellow over to Rome.
Why could he not have spent the holidays at
home, without making that ridiculous tour
through Italy, in company with the Reverend
Epitaph Bronze, who is always kicking up a
dust about candlesticks, eagle reading-desks,
and the Bishop of Bullington?

But the boys themselves—what genuine
exultation gladdens the heart of young
Bob Thornton, who has walked off with
the two best prizes, and who is thinking of
double firsts, pulling sticks, and the "drag,"
all at once! He has beaten every boy at everything,
and is all hope and restlessness. Yet,
we should not wonder if his pale, quiet,
companion, Harry Lisle, who only stands second,
will not prove the safer and sounder of the two,
three or four years hence.

Perhaps there are a few unhappy boys, who
have never known a parent's face, and who
are to stay at school during the vacation.
Guardians may pay liberally for their comfort,
but the school-room, with its blank walls and
its now empty "lockers," is a poor equivalent
for the cheerful home, the happy faces, and the
hearty holiday fun, which awaits their going
home. They are a dull half-dozen, and their
dull condition makes them find a sort of
cheerfulness of their own growth. The large
play-ground and the dull school-room are all their
own for a long six weeks, and they form a
small republic of solitudinarians; while their
more fortunate companions depart, one by one,
to revel in expected theatres, parties, or trips
to the sea-side.

Nor is Quarter-day without its interest at
the Young Ladies' "Seminary," or
"Establishment." One schoolmistress is in pain,
at the doubtful French accent of Miss.
Georgina Clavering, and dreads its effect on
her West Indian connections. Miss Georgina
is thinking of something much more
agreeable; to wit, her forthcoming nuptials.
Less brilliant are the prospects of Clara
Mabelle, the "articled" pupil. Alas! even
young ladies can be persecutors; and poor
Clara feels her qualified position and doubtful
duties. But she is a favourite, despite her
humble apprenticeship. She has nursed one
in sickness; has been the faithful, silent
confidante of another's pretty distresses; and has