ward Devon, is at present in town, and spends some hours daily at his elegant residence in Grosvenor-square.'

This was repeated, and repeated again, until our "gypsy" hero became the very by-word of ridicule, and the proverb of preposterous absurdity. No one ever asked whether it was he who so advertised himself, nor was it from any such reflection that the sentiment of damning ridicule against the lofty and poetical Devon arose. It was a vague feeling, but not to be withstood. Many a man has been forced to quit a kingdom because a jest has hailed too strongly in it upon his devoted head; exile has been as often the effect of social ridicule as of moral proscription.

Many a woman would take pride in sharing with her husband the splendid storms of a hating populace of men, but no woman but would shun participating in the squalid storm of a gibing populace of boys. Love can delight in the solemn opposition which seems to lend additional importance to its chosen object; but love is not proof against the profane and depreciating touch of derision. Hate dignifies, even while it strikes its victim; ridicule tears away the ideal veil of romance, and desecrates, dishonours, and debases what it scorns to annihilate, and does not even condescend to maim.

Ah Gypsy Devon, what a fall was there! And where was Wimbledon all this time? On his lounger, his indolent, perpetual lounger, sneering with Voltaire.

One day Edward Devon escorted Mr. Ormsby and his daughter, who was accompanied by Julia Bankenwell to a certain fashionable shop, and as they were coming out again, Devon was in the act of declaiming some high-flown brilliancy to Miss Ormsby, who was on his arm, when one of those anonymous advertising men shouted out his trite and perfectly true, yet cruel and killing nota bene. Let us not describe that torturing scene, the prestige of our hero's career was over; his life's life, the vague halo of romance that had hovered round him, was among the things that had been.

Let us pass it over-that piteous ordeal of a gentleman's degradation! It will be sufficient to record that he who had hitherto been called Gypsy Devon, with a sort of mysterious admiration, was now termed "Advertising Ned." Would Mr. Ormsby suffer his daughter (even were she so inclined) to make a public show and exhibition of her fair name, by allowing the papers to couple it among the matrimonial on dits with that of " Advertising Ned?" Not for worlds! and poor Devon must in future, among those families which still endured his visits, brook the cutting charity of a pitying and a patronising smile.

To have an escort of hooting boys in rags, attending her equipage, whenever it appeared, is a contingency under which no woman would agree to marry, even a Gypsy Devon; and to be protected by the public authorities from such a degradation is not much better than to bear it. Devon, too, as we before remarked, really loved Miss Ormsby! It now appeared in one of the fashionable papers, under the head of "chit-chat and varieties," that Miss Oy, the heiress, was about to be led to the hymenial altar, by Mr. D——, better known as "Advertising Ned," to whom she was ardently attached, and in favour of whom she had scornfully rejected Mr. W-n, of an ancient family and large estate in Yorkshire."

Mr. Ormsby and his daughter were of course shown this paper, by some "d-d good-natured friend." What was to be done? Wimbledon was warm and instant in his suit, and had never been refused: what would be the triumphant course of conduct to pursue? What the wisest, the most congenial, to a cold, formal, and aristocratic family? To send some flimsy and undignified denial to the newspaper, or by a silent scornful act do justice to both Wimbledon and themselves, and cancel the ignominious rumour at once and for ever; and Wimbledon was at their elbow besides, strengthening every favourable impression, laughing away every doubt, and charming them into an appreciation of every gay and every grave advantage that hung around his suit, and Devon, his rival, was morally no more.

The conclusion of the game then for our heiress seemed now very likely to be, that the advertiser, the paragraphist, and the admirer of Voltaire, would carry it completely against the gifted, and (with all his faults) the high-minded platonist.

"I have made a long and, I fear, a troublesome visit, Miss Bankenwell," said Mr. Devon, taking up his hat, "but you and your family are the only persons who can look on certain ridiculous contingencies that have lately befallen me, in the contemptous light which they deserve, and this, perhaps, makes me abuse your generous regard."

"No, indeed, Mr. Devon," replied Miss Bankenwell; and I sincerely hope you are not yet going to bid me good-bye; there is a matter which I had wished to speak to you about; it concerns Miss Ormsby. I am the most intimate of all her friends, and if-if you thought,that is,-wished to send her-any verbal token of your affection, you would make me happy by employing me. I am sure she likes you."

See what it is to make a friend of a woman! Devon suddenly checked himself and put down his hat again. His eyes sparkled.

"Miss Bankenwell," said he, "had I only known your too partial willingness to serve me, all my apparent difficulties with Miss Ormsby would have long since vanished."

"Ah! now, Mr. Devon, I am more than repaid for the awkwardness which I naturally experienced in introducing this subject. I knew that your genius, which I have always admired and praised, would nobly rise against this mean opposition, like a good ship, which mounts higher upon the very wave that rolls against it. Do you remember you once told me that (under Providence) you defied all enemies and rivals, and could (you felt certain) extricate yourself (these were your words) from difficulties which it would have puzzled another even to count and appreciate."

"Miss Bankenwell, it was that style of conversation, that boastful and contemptuous arrogance which first instigated the desire and then. suggested the means of lowering my vain pretensions. And yet," added he, with a thoughtful smile, "I think I shall now, by your kind assistance, furnish an exemplification of the truth of my own highflown gasconnade." He then continued absently, and as if musing to himself, "Having married Miss Ormsby, I can avoid this ridiculous persecution by residing for a few years on the continent."

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Then you will marry Miss Ormsby?" exclaimed his companion eagerly.

The reader will be good enough to recollect that, in the round game of cross purposes which we are recording, Miss Bankenwell was

éperdument in love with the Hon. William Hartly, who was, on his part, equally devoted to the beaux yeux no less of Miss Ormsby's casette than of her countenance.

"Yes," replied Devon, "if Mr. Wimbledon has not been formally and publicly accepted."

"Then he has not," replied Julia, with delight; "but how do you propose to bring so well-avowed a lover, so nearly accepted a suitor, into disfavour with his all but destined wife?"

"That I shall easily effect," answered Devon, "by the double means of your kind friendship for me, and his hollow and superficial preference for Miss Ormsby. Could you, who are so intimate with Miss Ormsby, strongly excite her curiosity to know the exact degree of attachment borne to her by each of her still numerous admirers respectively?"

"That is a curiosity," replied Miss Bankenwell," which every lady naturally feels, and which of course could, as you hint, be easily excited and to a feverish degree."

"Then I shall marry Miss Ormsby," said Devon.

"Heaven be praised!" interrupted Julia. "I like each of you best in the world, and should be truly happy to see you united. But what is your plan?"

"It is this," answered Devon: "you must make Miss Ormsby (in order that she may discover who really loves her best, and thus for ever satisfy her curiosity) feign to catch the small-pox. Wimbledon will leave her for ever; but I shall not. Those who love the outside of her face will be then distinguished from those who love her heart and character; and those who would not love her twenty years hence, will be distinguished from those who would love her even then."

"Admirable, Mr. Devon!" ejaculated Julia, with eyes that silently repeated the sentiment.

Devon shortly afterwards warmly pressed the hand of one of the best friends he had on earth, and left her for awhile. And now, George Wimbledon your boat must feel the turn of the tide!

"I protest," said Wimbledon to Miss Ormsby, on his first admittance to see her, after a certain illness by which she had been attacked, and which he had heard say was the small-pox, but which he could not himself ascertain the nature of, as Miss Ormsby wore her veil, "I protest I feel the most ardent love, the sincerest and tenderest affection, the most unlimited preference"-(Miss Ormsby raised her veil)-"for a drive in the park," he confusedly added, and in five minutes he was

gone.

"Dearest Miss Ormsby," said Devon, a quarter of an hour later, "can you doubt that I love" (the veil was raised) "yourself?"

It was not long afterwards that the papers really and truly announced the union of Mr. Devon and Miss Ormsby, and Wimbledon was, by Devon's special desire, invited to the bridal. Did his eyes mock him, where was now the pitted cheek? Was he then outmanoeuvred by a "boy?"

Julia Bankenwell (now Julia Hartly) accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Devon in their continental tour: and thus ends the GAME FOR AN

HEIRESS.

Sept.-VOL. LXIII. NO. CCXLIX.

G

BAJAZET GAG; THE MANAGER IN SEARCH OF A "STAR."

BY DOUGLAS JERROLD.

"Some bright particular star !"—SHAKSPEARE.

CHAP. V.

"Explain, Duckweed," cried Mr. Bajazet Gag. How-by what means?"

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"The dog gone!

Sir," replied the manager's man of business, with a real tremulousness of voice. "I blush for some of our profession. There is no generosity, no chivalry, if I may say it, in some people."

"The dog, Slimely, the dog and the dominoes," insisted the manager. "Come to Hecuba."

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Well, sir, I had engaged the dog; had him upon excellent termes giving him a benefit-a clear sixth after our highest charges-had made out an agreement, I may say, of wrought iron, when, as I afterwards discovered, an emissary from Trombone came to the owner of the dog, who after a brief absence from the room, in the most dastardly manner refused to sign the engagement. I saw the blackness of the man's heart at a glance: he had been tempted by higher terms."

"By Trombone! And that man," said Gag, moistening at the eyes, "—that man was my schoolfellow."

"Such conduct is enough to make one fly from the world, lodge in a cave, and live upon water-cresses," was the expressed opinion of Slimely Duckweed.

"It is," averred the manager; "nevertheless, water-cresses must be our last resource. Duckweed, you must get a dog; fortunately curs

are plentiful."

"Yes, sir, but not curs that play at dominoes," was the discouraging response.

"Dominoes! we shall trump dominoes; our dog shall play at chess. At chess, Mr. Duckweed."

"Of course, sir; and yet-yet, Mr. Gag, I—I have a thought," said Slimely, looking darkly.

"Out with it; you've been lucky once with Shiloh-out with the thought."

"It's a desperate one, and yet,"-here Duckweed rose from his chair, and reverently approaching the manager, said in a subdued voice, "you know my enthusiasm for the profession?'”

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Unquestionably."

My devotion to the interests of the establishment-my loyalty to my manager?"

"Not to be doubted," answered Bajazet.

"Then, sir, in a case of such cold-blooded, calculating treachery as that displayed by Trombone, your old schoolfellow-"

"I've often done his Latin for him," said Gag. "I say it seriously; yes, quite seriatim."

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Any means are justifiable to trump him. Therefore, sir, I propose that we get the dog, the very dog he has so infamously filched from us, and play off the lesser beast against the greater. This would be a touch of politics, I think, eh?"

"Doubtless, Slimely," said Gag, musing; "but how-how?"

"Very easily, sir; by borrowing the dog," answered the man of business.

"Borrowing? how is it possible-how ?-pshaw, Duckweed, you're quite an ass.'

"Then, sir, if you must have the word," cried Duckweed, with new ardour, "by stealing him."

The countenance of the manager lighted up, his eyes twinkled, he took new breath with a sense of sudden enjoyment, and then grinning, held forth his hand to his devoted man of business.

"Stealing-stealing's the word," said the assured Duckweed.

"In this case," said the manager, "I'd go for borrowing the dog, only-we should be found out."

By no means, sir; for instance, have you never been compelled to play a wretchedly bad part ?"

I have, in the course of my varied career, had many bad parts given me, Mr. Duckweed, but I flatter myself that I so improved them that not even the author himself would have known a single line of 'em."

"That's exactly what I propose to do with Marc Antony, the domino dog," cried Slimely. "When we have borrowed him, we can so cut his tail and ears, paint his nose, and spot his hide, that his own mother shouldn't know him. I should like to teach Trombone a great moral lesson, and therefore the dog must be stolen."

"I feel the strength of what you say," said the manager, "and yet, my dear Duckweed, the affair must be delicately handled. We are both public men, and must, therefore, though in a public cause, avoid the-the-you know, there's Bow-street; and I know what the d-d reporters would make of the Spotted Dog. Now, if you can take upon yourself the responsibility of stealing, that is, of procuring the

cur-"

"Leave it to me, sir; I know a very clever fellow, who-did you never see Mrs. Duckweed's Cherub ?"

"What! the youngest, that danced at Easter?"

"I mean the spaniel, not bigger than a nursery pincushion-I bought that dog for two-and-sixpence," said Duckweed.

"Stolen, of course," observed the manager.

"That, sir, is in the breast of the seller; all I know is, I gave the two-and-sixpence, and more, had a proper receipt for the money. Well, sir, I have not the least doubt that the dog sc shamefully fobbed from us, may be borrowed by the very party who-"

"I leave the business in your hands entirely. After the run, the dog may, if he likes, return to his master; and, to do the thing handsomely, we can lay out the receipts on a splendid silver collar, eh? A lucky thought, isn't it? Give the dog a piece of plate, eh?"

"Excellent, sir-excellent!" cried Duckweed; "if I mistake not, plate has been given to actors of considerably less merit."

"A piece of plate and a supper," said the manager, warming up with the idea. "I'll get my sporting friend, Lord Yahoo,'to take the chair, and a distinguished member of the Zoological Society to face him. That's settled; all that is now to be done is to get the dog. Stay, there's ink and paper; Duckweed, take up the pen, I must dictate something.'