haps you'd let bygones be bygones, and not | stronger in Rosa's bosom, she availed herself,

like any other irrational, irresponsible creature, of such means of revenging herself and annoying her keepers as occurred to her. 'Nobody ever took no care of me," sobbed Rosa. "I never had no father or mother. Oh, I wish I was dead! I wish I was dead!

66

make no difference? That wasn't all, Mr. Wentworth," he continued, eagerly, as the curate gave an impatient nod, and turned to go on. "I've heard as this villain is rich, sir, by means of robbing of his own flesh and blood;-but it aint for me to trust to what folks says, after the experience I've had, and—and nobody wouldn't care!" These utternever can forgive myself for being led away," said Elsworthy; "it's well known in Carlingford"—

"For Heaven's sake, come to the point and be done with it," said the curate. "What is it you want me to do?"

“Sir,” said Elsworthy, solemnly, "you're a real gentleman, and you don't bear no malice for what was a mistake-and you aint one to turn your back on an unfortunate family —and, Mr. Wentworth, sir, you aint a-going to stand by and see me and mine wronged, as have always wished you well. If we can't get justice of him, we can get damages! "cried Elsworthy. He aint to be let off as if he'd done no harm-and seeing as it was along of you "—

66

ances, it may be imagined, went to the very heart of the errand-boys, who were collected in a circle, plotting how to release Rosa, when Elsworthy, mortified and furious, came back from his unsuccessful assault on the curate. They scattered like a covey of little birds before the angry man, who tossed their papers at them, and then strode up the echoing stairs. "If you don't hold your d-d tongue," said Elsworthy, knocking furiously at Rosa's door, I'll turn you to the door this instant, I will, by -." Nobody in Carlingford had ever before heard an oath issue from the respectable lips of the clerk of St. Roque's. When he went down into the shop again, the outcries sank into frightened moans. Not much wonder that the entire "Hold your tongue, sir!" cried the cu- neighborhood became as indignant with Elsrate. "I have nothing to do with it. Keep worthy as it ever had been with the Perpetual out of my way, or at least learn to restrain your Curate. The husband and wife took up their tongue. No more—not a word more,” said positions in the shop after this, as far apart the young man, indignantly. He went off as was possible from each other, both resentwith such a sweep and wind of anger and ing in silent fury the wrong which the world annoyance, that the slower and older com-in general had done them. If Mrs. Elsworthy plainant had no chance to follow him. Els- had dared, she would have exhausted her worthy accordingly went off to the shop where passion in abuse of everybody,—of the curate his errand-boys were waiting for the news- for not being guilty, of her husband for suppapers, and where Rosa lay up-stairs, weep- posing him to be so, and, to be sure, of Rosa ing, in a dark room, where her enraged aunt herself, who was the cause of all. But Elshad shut her up, Mrs. Elsworthy had shut worthy was dangerous, not to be approached up the poor little pretty wretch, who might or spoken to. He went out about noon to have been penitent under better guidance, see John Brown, and discuss with him the but who by this time had lost what sense of question of damages; but the occurrences shame and wrong her childish conscience was which took place in his absence are not to be capable of in the stronger present sense of mixed up with the present narrative, which injury and resentment and longing to escape; concerns Mr. Frank Wentworth's visit to but the angry aunt, though she could turn Lucy Wodehouse, and has nothing to do with the key on poor Rosa's unfortunate little ignoble hates or loves. person, could not shut in the piteous sobs which now and then sounded through and through the house, and which converted all the errand-boys without exception into indignant partisans of Rosa, and even moved the heart of Peter Hayles, who could hear them at the back window where he was making up Dr. Marjoribanks's prescriptions. As the sense of injury waxed stronger and

The curate went rapidly on to the green door, which once more looked like a gate of paradise. He did not know in the least what he was going to do or say; he was only conscious of a state of exaltation, a condition of mind which might precede great happiness or great misery, but had nothing in it of the common state of affairs in which people ask each other" How do you do?”

Notwithstanding, the fact is, that when looked for something better than gratitude. Lucy entered that dear familiar drawing- Not for any consequences, however much room, where every feature and individual they might be to be avoided, could she be expression of every piece of furniture was as shabby enough to refrain from due acknowlwell known to him as if they had been so edgment of devotion so great. Therefore, many human faces, it was only "How do while the Perpetual Curate was doing all he you do?" that the curate found himself able could to remind himself of his condition, and to say. The two shook hands as demurely to persuade himself that it would be utterly as if Lucy had indeed been, according to the wrong and mean of him to speak, Lucy looked deceptive representation of yesterday, as old up at him,-looked him in the face, with her as Aunt Dora; and then she seated herself blue eyes shining dewy and sweet through in her favorite chair, and tried to begin a tears of gratitude and a kind of generous adlittle conversation about things in general. miration; for, like every other woman, she Even in these three days, nature and youth felt herself exalted and filled with a delicious had done something for Lucy. She had pride in seeing that the man of her unconslept and rested, and the unforeseen misfor-scious choice had proved himself the best. tune which had come in to distract her grief, The curate walked to the window, very had roused all the natural strength that was in her. As she was a little nervous about this interview, not knowing what it might end in, Lucy thought it her duty to be as composed and self-commanding as possible, and in order to avoid all dangerous and exciting subjects, began to talk of Wharfside.

"I have not heard anything for three or four days about the poor woman at No. 10. I meant to have gone to see her to-day; but somehow one gets so selfish when when one's mind is full of affairs of one's own."

Yes," said the curate, "and speaking of that, I wanted to tell you how much comfort your letter had been to me. My head, too, has been very full of affairs of my own. I thought at one time that my friends were forsaking me. It was very good of you to write as you did.”

66

66

much as Mr. Proctor had done, in the tumult and confusion of his heart, and came back again with what he had to say written clear on his face, without any possibility of mistake. "I must speak," said the young man ; "I have no right to speak, I know; if I had attained the height of self-sacrifice and selfdenial, I might, I would be silent; but it is impossible now." He came to a break just then, looking at her to see what encouragement he had to go on; but as Lucy did nothing but listen and grow pale, he had to take his own way. What I have to say is not anything new," said the curate, laboring a little in his voice, as was inevitable when affairs had come to such a crisis, "if I were not in the cruelest position possible to a man. I have only an empty love to lay at your feet; I tell it to you only because I am obliged,-because, after all, love is worth telling, even if it comes to nothing. I am not going to appeal to your generosity," continued the young man, kneeling down at the table, not by way of kneeling to Lucy, but by way of bringing himself on a evel with her, wheres he sat with her head bent down on her low chair, "or to ask you to bind yourself to a man who has nothing in the world but love to of fer you; but after what has been for years, after all the hours I have spent here, I cannot-part-I cannot let you go-without a word "—

Upon which there followed another little pause. Indeed, the goodness was all on your side," said Lucy, faltering. "If I had ever dreamt how much you were doing for us! but it all came upon me so suddenly. It is impossible ever to express in words onehalf of the gratitude we owe you," she said, with restrained enthusiasm. She looked up at him as she spoke with a little glow of natural fervor, which brought the color to her cheek and the moisture to her eyes. She was not of the disposition to give either thanks or confidence by halves; and even the slight not unpleasant sense of danger which gave And here he stopped short. He had not piquancy to this interview, made her reso- asked anything; so that Lucy, even had she lute to express herself fully. She would not been able, had nothing to answer; and as suffer herself to stint her gratitude because for the young lover himself, he seemed to have of the sweet suspicion which would not be come to the limit of his eloquence. He kept quite silenced, that possibly Mr. Wentworth | waiting for a moment, gazing at her in breath

Then he rose in an indescribable tumult of disappointment and mortification, unable to conclude that all was over, unable to keep silence, yet not knowing what to say.

"I have been obliged to close all the doors of advancement upon myself," said the curate, with a little bitterness; "I don't know if you understand me. At this moment I have to deny myself the dearest privilege of existence. Don't mistake me, Lucy," he said, after another pause, coming back to her with humility, “I don't venture to say that you would have accepted anything I had to offer; but this I mean,-that to have a home for you now,—to have a life for you ready to be laid at your feet, whether you would have had it or not;—what right have I to speak of such delights?" cried the young man. "It does not matter to you; and as for me, I have patience, patience to console myself

with"

less expectation of a response for which his new rectory, nor the no income of the Perown words had left no room. petual Curacy of St. Roque's, had the smallest place in the thoughts of either of these perfectly inconsiderate young people. For half an hour they were an emperor and empress seated upon two thrones, to which all the world was subject; and when at the end of that time they began to remember the world, it was but to laugh at it in their infinite youthful superiority. Then it became apparent that to remain in Carlingford, to work at "the district,' to carry out all the ancient intentions of well-doing which had been the first bond between them, was, after all, the life of lives;—which was the state of mind they had both arrived at when Miss Wodehouse, who thought they had been too long together under the circumstances, and could not help wondering what Mr. Wentworth could be saying, came into the room, rather flurried in her own person. She thought Lucy must have been telling the curate about Mr. Proctor and his hopes, and was, to tell the truth, a little curious how Mr. Wentworth would take it, and a littlethe very least-ashamed of encountering his critical looks. The condition of mind into which Miss Wodehouse was thrown when she perceived the real state of affairs would be difficult to describe. She was very glad and very sorry, and utterly puzzled how they were to live; and underneath all these varying emotions was a sudden, half-ludicrous, half-humiliating sense of being cast into the shade which made Mr. Proctor's fiancée laugh and made her cry, and brought her down altogether off the temporary pedestal upon which she had stepped, not without a little feminine satisfaction. When a woman is going to be married, especially if that marriage falls later than usual, it is natural that she should expect, for that time at least, to be the first and most prominent figure in her little circle. But, alas! what chance could there be for a mild, dove-colored bride of forty beside a creature of half her age, endued with all the natural bloom and natural interest of youth?

Poor Lucy, though she was on the verge of tears, which nothing but the most passionate self-restraint could have kept in, could not help a passing sensation of amusement at these words. "Not too much of that either," she said, softly, with a tremulous smile. "But Patience carries the lilies of the saints," said Lucy, with a touch of the sweet asceticism which had once been so charming to the young Anglican. It brought him back like a spell to the common ground on which they used to meet; it brought him back also to his former position on his knee, which was embarrassing to Lucy, though she had not the heart to draw back, nor even to withdraw her hand, which somehow happened to be in Mr. Wentworth's way.

“I am but a man," said the young lover. “I would rather have the roses of life; but, Lucy, I am only a Perpetual Curate," he continued, with her hands in his. Her answer was made in the most heartless and indifferent words. She let two big dropswhich fell like hail, though they were warmer than any summer rain-drop out of her eyes, and she said, with lips that had some difficulty in enunciating that heartless sentiment, "I don't see that it matters to me

Which was true enough, though it did not sound encouraging; and it is dreadful to confess, that for a little while after, neither Skelmersdale, nor Wentworth, nor Mr. Proctor's

Miss Wodehouse could not quite make out her own feelings on the subject. "Don't you think if you had waited a little it would have been wiser?" she said, in her timid way; and then kissed her young sister, and said, "I am so glad, my darling-I am sure dear papa would have been pleased," with a

sob which brought back to Lucy the grief a distinct sensation of disgust, even in the from which she had for the moment escaped. moment of his triumph-which is one inUnder all the circumstances, however, it may stance of the perennial inequality between well be supposed that it was rather hard upon the two halves of mankind. He had to brace Mr. Wentworth to recollect that he had en- himself up to the encounter of all his people, gaged to return to luncheon with the squire, while she had to meet nothing less delightful and to prepare himself, after this momentous than her own dreams. This was how matters morning's work, to face all the complications came to an issue in respect of Frank Wentof the family, where still Skelmersdale and worth's personal happiness. His worldly afWentworth were hanging in the balance, and | fairs were all astray as yet, and he had not where the minds of his kith and kin were al- the most distant indication of any gleam of ready too full of excitement to leave much light dawning upon the horizon which could room for another event. He went away re-reconcile his duty and honor with good forluctantly enough-out of the momentary para- tune and the delights of life. Meanwhile dise where his perpetual curacy was a mat- other discussions were going on in Carlingter of utter indifference, if not a tender ford, of vital importance to the two young pleasantry, which rather increased than di- people who had made up their minds to cast minished the happiness of the moment-into themselves upon Providence. And among the ordinary daylight world, where it was a the various conversations which were being very serious matter, and where what the young carried on about the same moment in respect couple would have to live upon became the to Mr. Wentworth,-whose affairs, as was real question to be considered. Mr. Went-natural, were extensively canvassed in Grange worth met Wodehouse as he went out, which Lane, as well as in other less exclusive quardid not mend matters. The vagabond was ters,—it would be wrong too mit a remarkable loitering about in the garden, attended by consultation which took place in the rectory, one of Elsworthy's errand-boys, with whom where Mrs. Morgan sat in the midst of the he was in earnest conversation, and stopped great bouquets of the drawing-room carpet, in his talk to give a sulky nod and " Good- making up her first matrimonial difficulty. morning," to which the curate had no desire It would be difficult to explain what influence to respond more warmly than was necessary. the drawing-room carpet in the rectory had Lucy was thinking of nothing but himself, on the fortunes of the Perpetual Curate; but and perhaps a little of the "great work" at when Mr. Wentworth's friends come to hear Wharfside, which her father's illness and the entire outs and ins of the business, it will death had interrupted; but Mr. Wentworth, be seen that it was not for nothing that Mr. who was only a man, remembered that Tom Proctor covered the floor of that pretty apartWodehouse would be his brother-in-law with ment with roses and lilies half a yard long.

,,

MR. HOTTEN of Piccadilly is about to publish a dictionary of colloquial expressions, giving, where possible, their origin, with instances of their use, which has been in course of preparation for some time by the compiler of the small "Dictionary of Modern Slang,' published in 1859. The new book is entitled "The Slang Dictionary; or, the Vulgar Words, Street Phrases, and Fast' Expressions of High and Low Society;" and it will contain, it is said, several thousand words and phrases in daily use, but which are not contained in our English dictionaries.

A LIBERAL CONTRIBUTOR.-A gentleman waited on Douglas Jerrold to ask his aid in behalf of a mutual friend in distress. It was not the first time such an appeal had been made to him for the same person. On this occasion, therefore, the agent was received in any other but a complying humor. Well," said Jerrold, "how much does owe this time?" "Why, just a four and two noughts will, I think," replied the petitioner, "put him straight." then, put me down for one of the noughts," said Jerrold.

66

"Well,