past, and the new year was born. Audrey's wedding was to take place within a week, and in the bustle of preparation Lady Laura ceased to scheme for obtaining the consent of that "pig-headed, avaricious, wicked old man," as she persisted in calling Nathaniel Fox.

Her ladyship had been several times to see Mrs. Hanbury. Between Grace and Audrey a mutual liking had sprung up, which was likely to be increased as Geoffrey Dynecourt had decided upon taking a house at Fryston.

All Lady Laura saw and learnt from Grace confirmed her belief that Dorothy was worth the exertions which she considered she was urging her son to make. So she decided that whenever Audrey was fairly off her hands, she would strain every nerve to bring matters to a favourable conclusion.

Captain Verschoyle, on his part, was willing to listen to any scheme likely to give him what was now the one desire and wish of his life; but as week after week rolled on he grew more despondent. He had written to Mr. Egerton saying, that this suspense was so unendurable that he should come down to Darington to consult him. A letter which he received at this time from Lord Morpeth offering him, if he still thought of selling out, a colonial appointment, caused him to resolve upon at once deciding his fate, and he started the next day for King's-heart.

Dorothy did not know that she was to see her lover that day, or she would have fancied that January had suddenly changed to June. As it was, the wintry sun striving to shine gave her no gladness; it could not make the day bright for her. Poor Dorothy! she had spent two weary months. Sometimes hope seemed so bright that nothing could extinguish it, at other times so dim that nothing could rekindle it. Her mother's face had a troubled anxious look, as if she knew that her child had a sorrow which she could not bear for her. And Dorothy's languid movements and forced smiles seemed to add a sharper pang to Nathaniel's heart.

The unusually loud ring of the bell did not, as it used to do, make Dorothy run to the window, nor stand on the footstool or on tiptoe, to see who their visitor might be. Patience wondered who it was, but Dorothy did not care. When Lydia opened the door, it was Charles Verschoyle who stood on the threshold.

little time had elapsed, Captain Verschoyle told his errand, and then he turned to Patience and said

66

Mrs. Fox, you are aware that my greatest wish is to have Dorothy for my wife. I asked her father for his consent, and he refused it because I was a soldier. In deference to his scruples, I offered to give up my profession-still he refused. I have waited for two months hoping he would alter his decision, but he remains obstinate. Yesterday morning my uncle offered me a desirable appointment, and I have come here to know whether I shall accept or refuse it. I have no wish to influence Dorothy to disobey her father, but if she loves me as I love her, she will now consent to be my wife, and I shall accept Lord Morpeth's offer. But if she feels that she cannot disregard her father's wish, and that her love for me is not strong enough to overcome all obstacles, I shall remain in my profession. And as these rumours of disaffection in India will cause many regiments to be sent there, I shall at once apply for foreign service. This suspense has become to me unendurable. I feel it would either kill me or kill my love. Besides, after a certain point I consider that even parental obedience has a limit. We are all agreed that human love is not the growth of human will. Surely hearts, not hands, are meant when it is said, 'What God hath joined together let not man put asunder. Dorothy," he continued, looking beseechingly towards her, "you have heard what I have said, your heart will decide; tell me, which it is to be?"

"I will be thine," she said, putting her hand in his. "Oh mother!" she cried, "remember what thou once told me I ought to feel. I do feel all that, and much more towards him. It is not want of love to thee and father which makes me choose as I do. Thou must forgive me!"

"I do, my child," said Patience. "I shall never blame thee, and I will do my best to soften thy father; but before I can say more on this subject he must be consulted. Charles Verschoyle had better go to Plymouth and speak to thy father, and tell him what thou hast said in my presence. And when he comes home thou must be frank, and give him thy decision, with thy reasons for making it."

Captain Verschoyle carried out this arrangement, and the result was that after a lengthened and stormy interview NaIt was several minutes before either thaniel demanded three days for considerDorothy or he remembered more than ation, during which time Charles Versthat they had met again. After some choyle should hold no communication

with Dorothy; then he would give his

answer.

CHAPTER XLII.

LADY LAURA ACCEPTS THE SITUATION.

a year has elapsed, spring has come round, SINCE Audrey's marriage-day more than and Lady Laura, writing to Lady Spencer, who is spending the winter in Rome,

To this Captain Verschoyle was obliged to consent, although it was just then rather hard upon him, as it was impossible for him to stay in Plymouth and hear it. The day on which Nathaniel's decision was to be given Audrey had fixed for her wed-saysding; a wedding that, notwithstanding all Lady Laura's arguments against it, was to be a very quiet one.

He was

"MY DEAR ISABEL, I delayed writing to you until Charles's wedding had taken place, All her ladyship's anger had vanished. knowing the kind interest you take in all that She was well up in the Dynecourt pedi- other piece of news to tell you, nothing less than concerns me and mine. And now I have angree, and after giving some parvenu friend that I am a grandmother; and, do you know? or money-seeking mother a history of their I do not mind it in the least, but am rather long descent from almost royal ancestors, proud of it. she would end by saying, "Of course I "Yes, dear Audrey has a son can say nothing to Audrey, for I made a boy; nurse says he's exactly like me. such a lovely love match myself, and refused the most born at Dyne Court. Mr. Ford asked it as a eligible parties' of that season for her particular favour to him, and I think Geoffrey dear father. Girls can very seldom secure was rather glad, as for more than two hundred everything. One must generally give up the family place. I hope great things from this years the eldest child has always been born at family or money, and I am quite content circumstance, but Geoffrey and Audrey will not with the choice Audrey has made; for, hear it mentioned, and say she went there on after all, money only buys toleration." Happiness gave to Audrey's face a soft-cement their friendship. I think I told you the the understanding that it was only to furt er ness which had been often wanting before, on dit, that Maria Brocklehurst was to marry and when the wedding party returned from Mr. Ford. At first I laughed at the idea of a church Miss Brocklehurst declared that woman of her age, and with such a good forAudrey Dynecourt was better looking tune, dreaming of such a thing. However, I than ever Audrey Verschoyle had been. now begin to have some faith in the story. I Mr. Ford, by his own desire, was present, wrote to her about it, and she replied in her and he and Miss Brocklehurst paid each brusque way, That it would be wiser for peoother so many compliments, and were so ple to attend to their own affairs, and leave time determined to meet again, that Audrey to show whether there is any truth in reports.' whispered she thought she should call him "God-papa."

Captain Verschoyle was in the highest spirits, for Nathaniel's answer had come. He gave way at last, though under great protest. Only on condition that Charles Verschoyle would wait a year for her, and promise not to take her out of England, should Dorothy be his wife.

Lady Laura announced the fact herself to the assembled guests, and asked them to give her their congratulations. "You are my true friends," she said," and know that my one object in life has been my children's welfare. In the choice each has made, they have followed the dictates of their own hearts. And though they may not have secured all those worldly advantages which many consider necessary to enjoyment, I, from experience, can tell them that in marriage love alone insures happiness, and having gained that, come what may, they are possessed of life's true elixir."

"And now for Charles. They were married on the 10th of last mouth. I did not go to the was afraid the journey might be too much fox wedding as the weather was cold, and Charles everything went off extremely well, and Dorothy me. Mrs. Hanbury, the bride's sister, tells me looked lovely. Tell Spencer I made her adopt the loose Grecian knot at the back of the head, and, as he said, it made her perfect. They have taken a pretty place in Essex for a year, wishing to be near Fryston, where Audrey and the Hanburys live. After all, Dorothy had a fortune Her father gave her ten thousand pounds on her wedding morning, so that will make a nice adplans are not quite decided. I think I shall dition to their rather limited income. My own give up this house and take apartments. Now that my children are settled, I intend confining my visiting circle to my relations and especial friends, among whom, my dear Isabel, you and your family stand pre-eminent. I long for your return, that you may see Audrey. She is wonderfully improved-looks so handsome, and is younger than ever. I never saw such devotion as there is between her and Geoffrey, and I am quite certain that Charles and Dorothy will be just such another pair. I need not tell you what comfort I derive from the contemplation of their happiness, nor how thankful I am that I

was enabled to cast aside all my more ambitious | Well, perhaps it is from seeing so much loveprojects for them. After all, my dear Isabel, making, or the result of finding myself a grandthe pleasures of the world - rank, wealth, fame mother. But I certainly feel twenty years - all fail to give us complete happiness unless younger than I did this time last year, and if we have some one to love and to love us. The you and dear Spencer would only make haste older we grow, the more we value a blessing and return to England, and tell me that I am which can sweeten joy and alleviate grief. Now looking so, you would make perfectly happy, I daresay you are laughing at me, and thinking "Your most affectionate, that I am growing romantic in my old days. "LAURA VERSCHOYLE."

Observe under what conditions of life friendship has had the greatest sway, and has been most prominently developed. There are still great friendships among boys at school and young men at college. There have been great friendships in comparatively barbaric times, for barbarism almost ensures a certain continuity of leisure. David and Jonathan had the time to be loving friends. The fabled Nisus and Eury-struction of the Temporal Power, but none the alus did not belong to the nineteenth century. Again, in the Middle Ages, when men had a large amount of steady leisure, there were instances of signal friendship.

From the Cornhill Magazine. SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF A READER.

II.

to some, extent. I was, therefore, left to my books and papers; and it was fortunate for me that I could accept the situation with a philosophy rare at my years. I had already forecast my studies. I had determined to take a course of the Old Dramatists, and I had taken with me four bulky volumes containing the works of Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher. I had made familiar acquaintance with Shakspeare at a very early age; but of his contemporaries I knew little or nothing. And I was as much surprised as I was delighted to discern the wealth of pathos and humour to be found in the dramas before me.

THERE are few educated people, who cannot call very vividly to mind some peculiar circumstances of their past life, which have caused the first perusal of some book or other to be an event ever to be remembered in after years, and perhaps to have some enduring effect on the character or career of the reader. The biographies of almost all eminent men contain some incident illustrative of this; and men not eminent have their own stories to tell scarcely less impressive in their way. Of the first part of the assertion, namely, that the peculiar circumstances, under I began, as do most readers of Beauwhich a book is read, make all the differ- mont and Fletcher, with the Maid's Trageence in the world with respect both to the dy; and the first effect of such a beginstrength and the pleasantness of the im- ning was one of boundless astonishment pression produced, my own recollections at the thought that the verdict of two furnish an instance. I shall never forget centuries should have placed Fletcher as a the delight with which I first read the dramatist so immeasurably behind Shaksdramatic writings of Shakspeare's contem- peare. The national love of Shakspeare is poraries. Very many years have passed a tradition - a religion. It comes to us since, at the commencement of the Indian as an hereditary faith with which personal rainy season, I found myself, convalescent judgment has commonly little or nothing f om a severe fever, in a pleasant garden- to do. We become familiar with his house on the river-side, lent to me by one greatest works, almost in our childhood of my earliest friends. I had been very for have we not seen Othello and Hamlet ill. Some said that I had been studying and Macbeth upon the stage, and realized, over-much, reading and writing more than by the help of machinery and ballet-girls, was good for me; but I believe that the brigadier's claret was more at fault than my poor books. But whatever the cause, the effect was unquestionable. I was reduced to a skeleton, and had got a fortnight's leave to pick up flesh and recover strength on the margin of the river.

the fairy-land of the Midsummer Night's Dream? But we commonly find ourselves face to face with Fletcher in the maturity of our critical powers. We are not nurtured to believe in him- there is nothing which we are bound to accept as a national creed. We have not been familiar

I was never more full of joyous expecta-ized with his genius in early youth. Its tion. I intended to spend my time be- bloom has not been brushed off on the tween riding and reading. I felt the new-boards of the Theatre Royal. It comes born health tingling in my veins; a keen upon us suddenly as a surprise -a later appetite had taken the place of the eternal revelation. Desdemona has been vulgarnausea which had sat upon me whilst I ized by the bolsters, but Aspasia comes was under the influence of calomel and to us, with undimmed radiance, in all the tartar-emetic. The place was charming; first fresh light of the Ideal. The judgthe weather was delightful; cool showers ment, which we then form, is quite right were refreshing the baked earth; the rich and it is quite wrong. There is no deeper foliage was glistening with the rain; and I pathos, no finer poetry, in all Shakspeare's was my own master for a fortnight, with writings than in the story of Aspasia in a promise of another week's leave in re- the Maid's Tragedy. And, if Fletcher had version, if my health should require it. written many such stories- many such dramas-it would not have been a case of "Eclipse first and the _rest nowhere." But the surprise of which I have spoken is followed in time by disappointment. It does not come upon us all at once; for Philaster, which is but little inferior, follows, in the older editions, the Maid's Tragedy.* But there is no other piece

But a sad disappointment was in store for me. I had scarcely arrived, when a severe kick from my horse stretched me helpless on my back. My debility and reduced weight, which forbade all resistance, saved me from severe injury, but for more than a week I could not ride; I could not walk; I could scarcely move without help. But I could read to any, and I could write¦

This is the order of the Folio of 1679, but it is

ley's collection, and the continuation in six volumes, afterwards published, in 1816, by Rodwell and Newton-books through which most readers have made their acquaintance with the works of the minor dramatists of the reigns of Elizabeth and James. I remember that, five-and-thirty or forty years ago, almost every one, on first starting a library, made himself master of a copy of Ellis's Specimens and Dodsley's Old Plays. It is doubtful whether either the one collection or the other is as well known to the general reader of the present day. It needs no particular sagacity satisfactorily to account for this. But, perhaps, we read something less worth reading than the works of these old poets and playwrights. I have now, however, only to do with the latter.

which, as a whole, can be compared with | can scarcely regard the well-known eulothese two noble dramas, and as we read on gium of Charles Lamb as anything extravwe soon fall back again on our old belief agant and overstrained. Next, I think, I in the Titanic isolation of Shakspeare. read Marston, of whose plays I had a little There are snatches of pathos here and old duodecimo edition, which I interleaved; there gleams of marvellous tenderness, and then I made acquaintance with Marbursts of the raciest humour, bits of lowe, Chapman, Heywood, Rowley, Midharmonious verse not to be surpasseddleton, and others, chiefly through Dodsand no words can express the delight with which I came suddenly on all this wealth of imagination and humour, as a goldfinder in Australia or a diamond-hunter in South Africa. I was quite alone; and as I sate by the open window, enjoying the cool air sweeping through the moist leaves, I could cry or laugh at pleasure. If the Maid's Tragedy and Philaster moved me to tears, on one side, King and no King and Duke and no Duke had the same effect upon the other. How I laughed over Bessus and his swordsmen, and the ennobling of Mount-Marine! But in the line of pure comedy Ben Jonson gave me still richer enjoyment. The first perusal of Every Man in his Humour marks an epoch in a man's life. Brainworm and Bobadil and Master Stephen are realities, which, with other Jonsonian creations, score themselves In many of these dramas - tragedies or ineffaceably into the memory. The cos- tragi-comedies, we find the finest, the most tume and the manners are, of course, in ennobling sentiments, the purest, the most some respects out of date. But human poetical language, jostled by the grossest nature is human nature at all times, and immorality and the filthiest double-enthe truth of these pictures is as patent to tendres. The minor dramatists seem to be us now, and the humour is as fresh, after a afraid of committing themselves for a page lapse of more than two centuries. I was or two together to propriety of sentiment not surprised, many years afterwards, to and decency of language. They take delearn that one of the greatest humourists light in disappointing us. No sooner do of the Victorian æra had chosen the part we find ourselves apparently in respectable of Bobadil, in which to demonstrate that company, than the playwright, with evihe could act nearly as well as he could dent remorse, is hurried into a recantation, write; and that other pregnant wits of the and proceeds at once to befoul and deface day had taken part with him in the per- the fair image he has created. A good formance of rare Ben's great satire-in-ac-woman is a rarity in these plays, and the tion.

happiness of domestic life is subjected to From Beaumont and Fletcher and Ben so many chances that it is a wonder if it Jonson there is a natural transition to survives the third act. In this respect, Massinger and Ford, whose writings have more, perhaps, than in all others, Shaksbeen, deservedly, thought worthy of sepa-peare stands apart from his contempora rate collection and annotation. I am in- ries. His women are mostly all good clined to think that Ford's Broken Heart is one of the finest tragedies ever written in any language, at any time. I shall never forget the delight with which I read it for the first time, and, I may say, for the second and the third times. The closing scenes are distinguished by such rare tragic power and consummate pathos, that one

not, therefore, to be assumed that these dramas were the first written. Mr. Dyce, in his edition, places The Woman Hater first, then Thierry and Theodoret-after these Philaster and the Maid's Tragedy.

women. The few exceptions are not of a revolting kind; but in the works of the minor dramatists the women are for the most part as bad as in the sensation novels of the present day; and Shakspeare is to these dramatists very much what Walter Scott is to the sensation writers of this generation.

Take as an illustration, and a mild one, of what I have said above, Middleton's Tragedy of Women beware Women, which contains all the excellencies and all the vices of the second-class dramas of the