and our party represented a conversational
square. The front row was soon augmented
and enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs.
Jamieson. We six occupied the two front
rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was
respected by the groups of shopkeepers who
strayed in from time to time, and huddled
together on the back benches. At least I
conjectured so, from the noise they made, and
the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting
down; but when, in weariness of the obstinate
green curtain, that would not draw up, but
would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen
through holes, as in the old tapestry story,
I would fain have looked round at the merry
chattering people behind me, Miss Pole
clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn,
for "it was not the thing." What "the
thing" was I never could find out, but it
must have been something eminently dull
and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes
right, square front, gazing at the tantalizing
curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, we
were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity
of making any noise in a place of public
amusement. Mrs. Jamieson was the most
fortunate, for she fell asleep. At length the
eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one
side went up before the other, which stuck
fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh
effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen
hand, it flew up, revealing to our sight a
magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume,
seated before a little table, gazing at us (I
should have said with the same eyes that I
had last seen through the hole in the curtain)
with calm and condescending dignity, "like a
being of another sphere." as I heard a sentimental
voice ejaculate behind me.

"That's not Signor Brunoni! " said Miss
Pole decidedly, and so audibly that I am sure
he heard, for he glanced down over his flowing
beard at our party with an air of mute reproach.
"Signor Brunoni had no beard—but perhaps
he'll come soon." So she lulled herself into
patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matey had reconnoitred
through her eye-glass; wiped it,
and looked again. Then she turned round,
and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful
tone:—

"You see, my dear, turbans are worn."

But we had no time for more conversation.
The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call
him, arose and announced himself as Signor
Brunoni.

"I don't believe him! " exclaimed Miss
Pole, in a defiant manner. He looked at her
again, with the same dignified upbraiding in
his countenance. "I don't!" she repeated,
more positively than ever. " Signor Brunoni
had not got that muffy sort of thing about his
chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian
gentleman."

Miss Pole's energetic speeches had the good
effect of wakening up Mrs. Jamieson, who
opened her eyes wide in sign of the deepest
attention, a proceeding which silenced MissPole,
and encouraged the Grand Turk to
proceed, which he did in very broken English—
so broken that there was no cohesion between
the parts of his sentences; a fact which he
himself perceived at last, and so left off
speaking and proceeded to action.

Now we were astonished. How he did his
tricks I could not imagine; no, not even
when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper
and began reading aloud—or at least in a
veiy audible whisper—the separate " receipts"
for the most common of his tricks. If ever I
saw a man frown, and look enraged, I saw the
Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; but, as she
said, what could be expected but unchristian
looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole was
sceptical, and more engrossed with her receipts
and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss
Matey and Mrs. Forrester were mystified and
perplexed to the highest degree. Mrs. Jamieson
kept taking her spectacles off and wiping
them, as if she thought it was something
defective in them which made the legerdemain;
and Lady Glenmire, who had seen
many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very
much struck with the tricks, and would not
at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared
that anybody could do them with a little
practice—and that she would, herself, undertake
to do all he did, with two hours given to
study the Encyclopædia, and make her third
finger flexible.

At last, Miss Matey and Mrs. Forrester
became perfectly awe-struck. They whispered
together. I sat just behind them, so I could
not help hearing what they were saying.
Miss Matey asked Mrs. Forrester, " if she
thought it was quite right to have come to
see such things? She could not help fearing
they were lending encouragement to something
that was not quite—" a little shake
of the head filled up the blank. Mrs. Forrester
replied, that the same thought had crossed
her mind; she, too, was feeling very uncomfortable;
it was so very strange. She was
quite certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief
which was in that loaf just now; and it
had been in her own hand not five minutes
before. She wondered who had furnished the
bread? She was sure it could not be Dabine
because he was the churchwarden. Suddenly,
Miss Matey half turned towards me:

"Will you look, my dear—you are a
stranger in the town, and it won't give rise
to unpleasant reports—will you just look
round and see if the rector is here? If he is,
I think we may conclude that this wonderful
man is sanctioned by the Church, and that
will be a great relief to my mind."

I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry,
dusty rector sitting, surrounded by National
School boys, guarded by troops of his own
sex from any approach of the many Cranford
spinsters. His kind face was all agape with
broad smiles, and the boys around him were
in chinks of laughing. I told Miss Matey
that the Church was smiling approval, which