mortally sick, "I fear, madam, that you are
seriously indisposed."  Whereupon,  "Stuff and
nonsense!" cried out Mrs. Hipkins Hawes,
and died.

Hipkins Hawes himself did not take any
active part in the private theatricals, save
paying good round sums for the expenses
incurred, and enjoying in a most beaming manner
the enjoyments of the children he loved so
well. His principal employment was to sit
at the great French windows overlooking the
lawn, drink old port, and tell funny stories to
young Bearskin, the stock-broker, and to
Captain Chutf, who had been a king's
messenger, had travelled the wide world over,
had a wonderful potato snuff-box, presented
to him by the Emperor Alexander's aide-de-
camp, and was reported to be a gay man. I
never knew anyone seem happier, move
contented, more at peace with the world and
himself than Hipkins Hawes, the retired
coach-builder, then a florid, bald-headed, fair,
round-bellied proprietor, aged fifty. He
would hold the prompt-book during the
rehearsals of his children's plays, and make
tremendous mistakes in his self-imposed task.
He would laugh the loudest at the jokes, and
clap his fat hands, and take the little children
who had played the fairies on his knee and
kiss them. Ah! those were the days of pipe and
labour, of joy and gladness, of cake and wine;
of the mirror before any of the quicksilver
at the back is worn off; of the plated service
before whitening and chamois-leather have
been too often used, and the copper begins to
show. We youngsters were frequent guests
at Yellowknights, partly, perhaps, because
all youth was welcome at that universal
children's friend society; partly because we
were considered to be (I say it without
vanity—woe is me!) a somewhat clever family.
I had a brother who was a great chemist, who
always had particoloured fingers and stained
clothes, who burnt holes in all the blankets
with noxious acids, who once nearly blew the
front of the house out with some subtle
chemical preparation, and who was always trying
experiments upon the cat.*  I had a brother
who had a wonderful genius for drawing ships.
He drew so many of them on the margins of
his spelling-book, that he quite overlooked
the words ending in one or more syllables, or
the book itself, and turned out an egregious
dunce. I had a brother who made electrical
machines out of cardboard and sealing-wax,
models of ships that wouldn't swim, and
wooden clocks that wouldn't go. His famous
and favourite feat, however, was borrowing
sixpence of me, which he never gave back.
I had a sister—she is dead, dear girl!—
who wrote the neatest, prettiest hand that
ever was seen, long, I am sure, before she
could read. I have one of her books now,
"Lines to——, Morning, Psalm CIX."  I
don't know what I was famous for myself,
beyond sore eyes, and an intense love for
private theatricals. This last attachment
made me useful. I was call-boy, under-
prompter, mob (behind the scenes), Sir Jeffery
Hudson in the pie, one of the Children in the
Wood, Prince Arthur, one of Hop-o'-my-
Thumb's brothers, a demon, a fairy, a black
footboy, and the Yellow Dwarf. I wonder
I never turned actor in after life: so
devoted was I to the drama in those early
days.

*What an inestimable boon has the invention of
photography been to heads of families whose younger
branches are addicted to the study of chemistry. You
can't well blow  house up with a camera obscura, iodine,
collodion, and gallic acid, and you may produce a pretty
portrait of somebody.

Our theatre was the great front drawing-
room at Yellowknights, our stage, of course,
the back drawing-room, the folding doors
making the proscenium. The dining-room
was our favourite salle de spectacle; but
Hipkins, our host, fond as he was of private
theatricals, was fonder still of his dinner, and
was not to be cheated out of the enjoyment of
his rare old port by the French windows
looking out upon the lawn. I think Captain
Chuff, Admiral Deadeyes (from the Priory),
old Mr. Puffweazle the retired solicitor, and
others of his port-wine friends, coincided in
this view of matters: it was the more annoying
to us, as the dining-room was garnished
by two massive Corinthian pillars, and
looked exactly like a real stage proscenium.

We did the best with what we had though,
the drawing-rooms, and famously with those.
Crowded audiences we used to have in those
cheerful apartments, deaf old ladies in the
front row, groups of happy children everywhere,
and a grinning background of servants
—to see how Miss Louisa do take her part to
be sure! I need not enter into a minute
criticism of our performances. We played
everything, tragedy, comedy, farce, burlesque,
and opera (all the Miss Haweses played and
sang). I am afraid I was not much of an
actor myself— I was so small and weak; but
not to be egotistical, I imagine that I did once
make something like a sensation as the
physician's head in Za-ze-zi-zo-zu.

I think if I had built coaches enough
(mental or bodily) to be very rich, that I
should like to have a commodious family
mansion, where my sons and daughters could
play their private theatricals out. I am sure
I would not grudge them the use of the
dining-room, but would build a commodious
summer-house on the lawn, where I could
sip my old port wine.

THE PRESENT.

Do not crouch to-day, and worship
The old Past, whose life is fled.
Hush your voice to tender reverence;
Crown'd he lies, but cold and dead:
For the Present reigns our monarch,
With an added weight of hours,
Honour her, for she is mighty!
Honour her, for she is ours!