ration, he was conducted by Mrs. Tickle herself, attended by a bright shining house-maid, as tall as a grenadier, and as grave as a judge, to a neat apartment, overlooking the garden, cleanly papered and carpeted, which the lady, with a wonderful show of urbanity and amiability, informed him was "destined for his dormitory." Overwhelmed with the kindness of Madame, the young man accompanied her on her return to the parlour, where supper was prepared, and the young ladies en attendant, who thought it necessary to a display of good breeding, not to take the smallest notice of Welsted, but to remain in a corner, whispering and tittering, evidently making fun of somebody, in a tone of voice which left each individual of the party in doubt whether he was or was not the immediate and special subject of their mirth.

The supper consisted of hot fish and cold roasted beef, a huge dish of pickles and another of potatoes, with an immense fruit-pie. The effect produced upon Welsted by the substantiality of the repast was evident to Mrs. Tickle, who assured him, that much as there seemed upon table, there was plenty of mouths to eat it, for as they dined at two, their appe

tites were sharp enough before ten, which, on Saturday nights, was the hour appointed for the present meal.

"You can play a good part at the English roast beef, can't you, Mounsheer?" said Mrs. Tickle, addressing herself to the French master.

"Play wid de beef, Madam?" said Ronfleur; "I no play, I eat; ha, ha! I declare-I like rosbif-eh ?"

"Yes, Mounsheer," said Mr. Dixon, "we know you do, Sir."

"Well, you ought to work double tides sometimes, Mounsheer," said the lady of the house; "for you see, Mr. Welsted, Mounsheer is a Papist, and they fast more than we do."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Welsted; who thought the lady's manner of alluding to the French gentleman's religion somewhat abrupt.

"Fast, indeed!" said Tickle, "and pretty fasting it is too. Why Mounsheer don't mind a cod's head and shoulders and potatoes, with oyster sauce and a few pancakes, and an omelette into the bargain, by way of starvation, besides soup maigre, like what our boys get on high days and holidays, and a dish of

maccaroni to wind up with. Come, never mind, let us sit down; this is no fast,-is it, Mounsheer ?"

"No, I declare," said Ronfleur, "we no fast -ha, ha! plenté to-day,-I declare."

In a few moments Welsted ascertained that the poor Frenchman was the butt of the family, and the good-natured simplicity with which he displayed his gallantry towards the young ladies, and the manner in which they received it, excited a feeling of compassion for an old man in a strange country, compelled to labour in the decline of life for his bread, and to earn his pittance mixed with scorn and ridicule. But his pity was wasted; vive la bagatelle was the motto of Monsieur Ronfleur, and he saw not, or if he saw, felt not the irksomeness of his own situation, or the degradations to which he was forced to submit.

"Come, Mounsheer," said Miss Tickle, as they were preparing to seat themselves, "come here, and sit next me;" and she said this pointedly, and illustrated by action, in order to express her horror at the idea of getting next the new usher. Harriet sat on the opposite side

next her mother, and next to her the smirking Dixon, whose hair was extremely well powdered, to do honour to the festive board, while the contrast its snowy whiteness afforded to his dingy neckcloth, was decidedly disadvantageous to the effect of the drapery.

"What will you have, girls?" said Mrs. Tickle. "I'll have some fish, Ma, please," said the elder.

"And I," said the younger, "will have some of the beef, Pa; where it's most underdone, please, and a pickled onion or two, please, Pa.”

"To be sure, my dear," said Tickle, who was as tender as a dove of his own progeny.

"Mr. Welsted, what will you take?" said Mrs. Tickle," you are the stranger."

"I'll take a little of this beef, ma'am," said Welsted, making up his mind to do at Rome as Rome does.

"La! Ma," said Miss Tickle, in a sentimental tone, with a large flake of fish upon the point of her knife, "I wonder where poor Mr. Stevens is now :-don't we miss him ?”

Oh," said Tickle, "I dare say he's home before this, my dear."

"Poor Stiffens," said Ronfleur; "I declare -I like Stiffens; he plaisant, good, gentil man. I sorry he go."

"La! so we all are," said Mrs. Tickle.

"Ah!" said her elder daughter, helping herself to some melted butter.

"You saw him here, Mr. Welsted," said Tickle, "the day you dined with us: he was your predecessor."

Welsted assented; and forthwith a whisper, sent across the table to her sister, by the elder Miss, produced an exclamation from the younger, of "Oh la!" and a subsequent horselaugh.

"Be quiet, Harriet," said Mrs. Tickle; "he'll hear you presently:" which, if he meant Welsted, he certainly did, and noticed at the same moment that the younger Miss Tickle had not the faculty of aspirating the H: a calamity producible at times of very comical results.

"Stiffens," said Ronfleur, who was eating salad, and who seemed determined to recur to his favourite subject, "Stiffens, he draw very well: I declare-eh? his drawings were superbe, Sir, eh ?"