here was the doctor's wife, who wished noth- | he proceeded to ask Eric about his pecuniing for herself, who thanked Eric in her ary affairs, and those of his mother. heart, and wished only that her husband night have the good fortune to be able to talk over learned subjects with another man. And were these many forms, were all these events, to be only the passing occurrences of a journey? CHAPTER XIII. AGAIN ALONE WITH THYSELF. "In the morning," the doctor often said, "I am like a washed chimney-sweeper." He rose, summer and winter, at five o'clock, studied uninterruptedly several hours, and answered only the most pressing calls from his patients. Through this practice of study he not only kept up his scientific knowledge, but as he bathed his body in fresh water, so was he also mentally invigorated; let come what would of the day, he had made sure of his portion of science. And that was the reason- we may congratulate ourselves upon knowing this secret that was the reason why the doctor was so wide awake, so ready primed, and so vivacious. He himself designated these morning hours to an old fellow-student as his camel-hours, when he drank himself full, so that he could often refresh himself with a draught in the dry desert. And life, moreover, did not seem to him a desert, for he had something which thrived everywhere, and was all-prevailing, and that was an indestructible cheerfulness, and an equanimity, which he attributed above all to his sound digestion. So was he sitting now; and when he heard Eric, whose room was over his study, getting up, he sent word to him to come soon to breakfast; and in this hour the freshness of the man was yet wholly unimpaired. His wife, who had to be busy, or rather, who made herself busy about household matters, in order not to oblige her husband to enter into any conversation on less learned matters, had soon gone into the garden, in which flourished many scions and seeds of various kinds out of Sonnenkamp's garden. But the doctor conversed with Eric upon no scientific topics. Eric disclosed the whole state of the case; he described how his mother had noble and rich friends, on whom she placed great expectations, but he did not believe in, and to speak honestly, he did not desire, any help of that sort. The doctor asserted in confirmation, that no one would help them substantially and handsomely; he unfolded, as he went along, wholly heretical views upon beneficence; he expatiated upon the nonsense of leaving endowments and legacies in one's will, and on scattering, small donations. He thought it was much handsomer, and more permanently beneficial, to make an individual or a family entirely independent, so that they may thereby be the means of accomplishing greater good. He stated that he had often attempted to bring this about; nothing of this kind was to be effected with Herr Sonnenkamp, who would have nothing further to do with people into whose hat he had cast an alms. The conversation, in this way, having once more turned upon Sonnenkamp, the doctor offered to take upon himself all the external financial arrangements with Sonnenkamp, insisting upon Eric's consent to his doing so. "And do you take no farther trouble about this man," said the doctor, opening an egg. "See, it is all a fair exchange. We devour this egg with the greatest zest, while the hen got her living out of the manure-heap." Eric was happy with this lively, practical man. He expressed his satisfaction that, here in this little town, there were so many noble persons, who could constitute a rich social environment. The doctor contested this, for he considered that the necessity of being thrown upon one another, and the not being able to make a selection, as one can do in a great city, belittled, contracted, and created gossip. One had, indeed, in a great city, no larger circle than was here formed for the direct participation in the various duties of life, but the necessity of contracting marriages within such a limited circle did not permit the existence of a free social community. 66 "On the whole," he said in conclusion, we are no more to each other than a good whist-party." In the breakfast-room there hung portraits of the parents and the grand-parents of the physician, and he took occasion to It was time to think of departing. Eric give some account of his own life. His left the house with a feeling of serene satisgrandfather and father had been boat-men, faction. The doctor drove him to the nearand the doctor had been present at the est railroad station, where he got out and golden wedding of both, and expressed his warmly shook Eric's hand, repeating the hope to celebrate also his own. And after wish that they might be able to live together. he had portrayed his own struggle with life, The train, meanwhile, stopped longer than usual at the little station, waiting the arrival of the train from the lower Rhine which was behind time. A merry crowd of men, young and old, greeted the doctor and seated themselves in the same car with Eric. The doctor told him that they were wine-testers, who were going to a sale which was to take place to-day at the wine-count's cellar. He called Eric's attention specially to a jovial-looking man, the gauger, the finest judge of wine in the district. The doctor, laughed heartily when Eric said to him, that he had also gone about the whole district testing wines, that is, the spiritual wine of character. 66 Strange how you make an application of everything!" laughed the physician. "Count Wolfsgarten, Pranken, Bella, Sonnenkamp, the huntsman, Sevenpiper, Musselina, Weidmann, Fräulein Perini, the Major, the priest, I, and Roland - a fine specimen-catalogue of wines. Look out that you do not stagger as you come out of the wine-cellar." The doctor suddenly turned round, and cried: glimpse of Roland, just as he disappeared behind a little hill. Eric heard nothing of the lively talk, often interrupted by loud laughter, which the wine-party kept up; he had much in the past and future to think over, and he was glad when the party left the car at the next station, and he remained alone. He felt some repentance, and some doubt whether he had not acted wrongly and unwisely in not concluding an arrangement with Sonnenkamp, but he soon took courage again and cast his regret behind him. We are rapidly rolled along by the power of steam. And in spirit? How far are we masters of our destiny? At several stations, school-boys,__with their satchels on their backs, entered Eric's car. He learned, in answer to his questions, that they lived with their parents in country-houses and distant villages, but went every day to school in the city, returning home in the evening. Eric thought long on the new race of youths which is growing up; taking their places in the noisy railway-train in the early morning, "You may yet induce me to put some- then assembling for instruction, and going thing in print. I am verily of the opinion, home again over the railroad; these boys that though there must be some consumers must and will learn to guard, in the restwho are not producers, there are no grad-lessness and tumult of the new age, their uated German heads that don't want, at own inner life, which is, indeed, quite difsome time or other, to write a book; perhaps that helps them to study. And when you come again, you will, perhaps, bring me to the point of writing my history of sleep." The train from the lower Rhine whistled; and the doctor, grasping Eric's hand again, said with emotion, "We are friends! take notice, that if either one of us is to be no longer the other's friend, he pledges himself to give a week's notice. And now farewell." The last word was cut off, for the locomotive whistled, and Eric set out towards home. He was sitting with downcast eyes when he heard some one in the car say, "There's young Sonnenkamp on horseback!" Eric looked out, and caught one more ferent from ours. And then he looked farther on into a future, when the alarming growth of the great cities shall cease, and men shall again live outside of them, where the green fields, the rushing streams, and the blue sky shall be daily before their eyes, and yet it shall be granted them to make their own the elements of culture, and all which is now supplied by the union of men in large towns. Then again will country air force its way into the soul. At the time when Eric and the doctor were setting out, the justice's wife sat with her husband and her daughter over their morning coffee. The conversation turned on the evening walk with Eric, and the lady repeated his frank apologies. "Very good, very good," said the justice. "He is polite and clever, but it's well that he has gone; he's a dangerous man." WE have before us a new edition of the Girls' | croquet. We think that, girls' book as it is, it Own Book, by L. M. Child, without any pub- ought to have more about games that are also lisher's name. It has been enlarged and reno- exercise. Apart from this consideration, it seems vated, and contains the latest inventions down to complete. Spectator. Theatre ETC. CHAPTER I. THE large looking-glass adorning one end of the green-room of Covent Garden (not the present building, you must understand, nor the one before it, but the one before that; for we are dealing with events that happened in the last century)reflected the face and figure of a very pretty woman. Indeed, about the good looks of Mrs. Dorothy Fanshawe there could be no kind of question. All the town over she was highly esteemed as a beauty and a toast, besides being accounted one of the most accomplished comedians of her time. She stood before the glass, conning, as it were, her personal graces and advantages. She wore male attirea suit of white satin, trimmed with silver-lace. The bills announced a representation of the comedy of The Recruiting Officer, and Mrs. Fanshawe was, of course, to be the Silvia of the night: Silvia being one of her most admired impersonations. Were her patches properly affixed? She went close to see. Yes; the black specks were firm in their places upon a face, it must be said, terribly loaded with white and red paint. But then paint was the vogue. The actress, perhaps, wore little more than did the ladies among her audience. Fashion demanded that lavish laying-on of brilliant colour. Certainly it was not needed in Mrs. Fanshawe's case to mask wrinkles or to give a sort of mimicry of youthful hues, for the lady was still quite young. Favourite as she was with the playgoers, and famous in a certain line of characters, her career upon the stage had not been of many years' duration. icate, jewelled fingers, which closed round a diamond-decked snuff-box; and at her side sparkled the silver hilt of a court-sword. A very winsome, graceful creature altogether; with flashing hazel eyes, and well-defined, arching, mobile brows; a deftly-shaped nose, with a certain pleasant pertness about its outline; and a superb array of glistening white teeth. The mouth was a trifle large, perhaps still, the cherry-red lips were perfect in form; and if they were apt to part rather widely now and then, did they not in such-wise make the better display of the pearly treasures within? Who could find fault with that witching, liberal smile? And then the rounded slimness of her figure, the light firmness of her step, her elastic play of limb, and the graceful ease and freedom of her every movement, were all seen to advantage in the costume appropriate to the character she represented. She personated manliness with a skill and a vigour that yet were distinguished by a due manifestation of feminine elegance. No wonder she was something more than admired by pit, boxes, and gallery she was loved. It was a sort of fashion of the day to entertain a tender regard for pretty Mrs. Fanshawe. Her whole audience were ever at her feetbasking in the radiance of her beauty, enthralled by the magic of her glance, spellbound by the music of her voice. "I shall do, I think," she said, with a bright little laugh, as she turned lightly on her heel and left the looking-glass. the "My dear, you knew that before the glass could tell it you." The speaker was Mrs. Medlicott-Mother Medlicott," she was often familiarly called by her play-fellows. She was the "old woman; Nurse in Romeo and Juliet; the Lady Bountiful, the Mrs. Amlet, the Mrs. Heidelberg, of the company. A portly, goodnatured soul, with a fiery-red face, and a hearty, sturdy manner. There was no part for her in the comedy; but she was ready dressed in a saffron-coloured tabinet sacque to appear as Mrs. Termagant, in the farce of The Upholsterer, which was to conclude the performance of the evening. 66 She stepped back from the glass a few feet, and with her head coquettishly tossed on one side, considered critically the general effect of her appearance. No; there was nothing to find fault with. All was as it should be. Her profuse auburn hair - its colour hidden under a thick coating of powder was full dressed, and gathered at the back into a "rose-bag;" there were silver buttons, as large as halferowns, upon her coat-front, cuffs and pockets; embroidered clocks upon her silk stockings; and wide silver buckles upon her shoes; her little Nivernois three-cornered laced hat, with a "blaze" in front of it, was tucked jauntily Why, what's the matter, mother?" under her left arm; there were deep ruffles "I played Silvia, my dear, years ago. round her wrists, half hiding the white, del-You wouldn't think it, would you? And I It isn't the young folks that need to be so often looking in the glass," said Mrs. Medlicott, "unless they like-as why shouldn't they?to be seeing something pretty there. It's the old ones that have to care for their looks, and make the best of them, lest we should shock the side boxes by letting 'em know how old we really are. Heigho!" 66 fancy I did something with the part, though | strange going on here." She pressed her I wasn't the pretty creature you are, Dolly. hand upon her bosom. "I feel as if there I'm not so vain I can't own that. I didn't was a clock inside my heart — a clock that think then I should ever be playing old had gone all wrong, that was all out of women. But who thinks when they're order, that couldn't tick regularly, that had young what they'll come to be doing when not been wound up properly, that was given they're old? Will you ever be playing Mrs. to striking at all the hours at once, hours Termagant, do you think, Dolly? Shall and half-hours and quarters, chiming anyyou ever be cast for the old women? Youth how a clock that had gone mad, in fact. and good looks won't stay with us for ever; Isn't that a wild notion? Gadzooks, how I've frightened you!" And Mrs. Fanshawe gave way to a fit of rather hysterical laughter, which was musical too, only the notes seemed touched by a flighty, uncertain hand. and then What's "What's happened, mother? put you out? You're cross with me." No, my dear. A little low; that's all." 66 Why, mother, I've seen you as merry as the youngest of us." "I'm not a croaker generally, Dolly. I can laugh myself, and make others laugh, as you know; and I'll do it a while longer, please God. But to-night, I don't know how, I'm dumpish and doleful. There's something I don't quite understand. You're not the same Dolly to me. You're bright and merry, and madcap, as you say; and yet, my dear, if you only knew it, there's something strange about your look at times; it almost frightens me. "You think 66 66 I'm better now. But-" She hesitated for a moment, and then went on. Suppose this were to be my last appearance ? 66 "Child, what new freak's this? What are you saying?" Mrs. Medlicott rose hurriedly, with a scared look on her face. The sharp voice of the call-boy was heard. "I'm called," said Mrs. Fanshawe. "Read that. A secret, mind!" She drew a letter from her bosom, tossed it to the Don't ask me. I don't know what I elder actress, and hurried on to the stage. think." The roar of applause that greeted her could Mrs. Fanshawe was silent for a few mo-be heard clearly enough in the green-room. ments. Then she went and kissed her old Indeed, the rich, clear, silver tones of the friend. actress were almost audible as she said in "You're right, mother," she said in an the words of her part, "I'm Jack Wilful, altered voice. I feel it myself. There is at your service, sir. I'm related to all the something strange about me. I'm very Wilfuls in Europe, and I'm head of the merry. I've never played better. You family at present. I live where I stand. heard the applause? It will be doubled I've neither house, home, or habitation bewhen I go on presently. I was never so yond this spot of ground. I'm a rake: but light-hearted. Sometimes I think that if II intend to enlist immediately. Lookee, were to give a spring into the air I should gentlemen, he that bids fairest has me." go up, up, up into the clouds, like the new balloon that all the town's talking about, there seems so little to keep me on the earth so long as I don't think - - so long as I don't think! I'm talking like a crazy creature, ain't I? I am a crazy creature. If I had all my senses, I do believe I should be as heavy as lead dull, dejected, miserable. I can't tell you why this is so; it's a puzzle to me. I only know what I feel. I'm not sure I know even that. I can't ex-broken. plain why I feel it. mad, doesn't it? All that sounds very "He means it, then," she said, after she folded it up again. "I hardly knew what | to think, when I saw his grand, handsome, foolish face, his star and blue ribbon, for ever following the poor girl like her shadow. I did him injustice, it seems; and she may wear a countess's coronet, and take rank as a peeress, if she will. Well, why shouldn't she? She's been a credit to us; she won't be such a discredit to them. She's kept her good name as a playersure, it can't be harder work to do what's proper as a peeress. He loves her, I suppose: he must love her, or would he have written this? I wonder if his back ached much as he stooped to write it; for I suppose it's real stooping for an earl to be asking an actress to marry him. Did he only ask it because he knew she wouldn't listen to him unless he spoke through a plain gold ring? But I mustn't be hard on him. Folks have a right to things as cheap as they can get them; and some of us go dirt-cheap, I must own; or it may be they put no higher value on themselves than they're worth. Still, they go at a shameful sort of price. Yet this man's offer is one an honest woman may listen to-nay, may be proud of. And Dolly may be a countess, if she will! Why shouldn't she? I've lived to see Lavvy Fenton a duchess; and Lavvy was but a slut to Dolly. Does she love him? Can she care for him? Fiddlestick! what does that signify? Surely a woman must care or can force herself to care- - for the man who can make her a countess. Her last appearance,' she said the words made me turn goose-flesh all over. But this was what she meant. No wonder the poor soul feels half-crazy; it's enough to turn her brain over and over again. And she'll say 'Yes'? What else can she do? God bless you, Dolly! when you've left us, we shall miss a dear, kind, good little_soul, and the town will lose the prettiest, cleverest little woman on the stage. I say it, Mother Medlicott, that have seen a heap of them come and go, in and out, like sparks in a tinder-box." - · Mrs Fanshawe reëntered breathless. "Did you hear them? They're as mad as I am to-night." She flung her hat on to a chair, and adjusted her ruffles, glancing at herself again in the glass. "You've read the letter?" "God help me!" cried the actress. She burst into tears, and hid her face upon the broad friendly shoulder of Mrs. Medlicott. "Why, Dolly, what does this mean?" "Happy! how can I be happy? What is this man to me, for all his gold, his rank, his title? I can never be happy again." "Hush, hush; don't talk like that!" "He will come for his answer soon. What am I to say to him?" "Say 'yes,' my dear. What other answer can you make?" "No, no. Here I can forget. It isn't the old only, mother, who have to dread looking back, and thinking, and rememberingwho long to forget. Do you think the young have nothing they would banish from their thoughts? Still, here leading this life I can, for a while at any rate, forget. But as his wife, I shall remember always. I shall do nothing else; and I shall go mad, mother-I shall go mad!" "My child, you will love him in timein good time, be sure of it." "Do you think I've no heart, mother? Do you think I have never been loved, and never loved back again with all my soul— as a woman loves but once in her whole life?" 66 'Hush, hush; look up-take heart. We're not alone." The green-room was filling. The act was over, and Plume, Brazen, Sergeant Kite, and the rest came trooping in. You "I tell you, you spoilt my scene, sir. You're not drolling in a booth at Bartlemy fair now; can't you remember that? don't know your words; or you did it on purpose. I gave you your cue over and over again, and you were dead stuck. As I'm a person, I never played with such a jackanapes! There was some squabble going on among the players. "I've to change my dress for the next act," Mrs. Fanshawe whispered. "Don't leave me." CHAPTER III. THE curtain was down, and the carpenters were rearranging the scenes as the two actresses crossed the stage on their way to the tiring-chambers, which were at some distance from the green-room. They stopped for a moment to look through an aperture in the "drop," which permitted a view of the auditory. The house was crowded to excess. The oil-lamps and wax-candles diffused a warm mellow light over the sea of white wigs, feathers, laced coats, flowers, ribbons, and diamonds. |