deration the different circumstances; she only thought that he would consider her one whose love was lightly gained and lightly lost; that he would distrust the soul-loyalty of his wife; that she would cease to be what it was her pride to know she was now-his star, his ideal of true, pure, noble womanhood. Mrs. Morton had disliked Horace Greville more and more during these months of enforced intercourse; but it had never entered into her mind that he could be so thoroughly base as to dream of trading upon her fear and love. This morning, however, before starting for the flower-show, he had come to her and given her to understand very clearly and distinctly, and without the least circumlocution, that unless she would make over to him at once a certain sum he named-or, he wasn't particular-jewels that would represent and could at once be turned into that sum-unless she would do this quietly, unknown to her husband, and trust to his honour (!) to repay her, he would recount to Morton that little scene in the turfy lane when her heart had been ready to go out to him so warmly. He was candid and honest, in a measure, about it.

'I want the money, awfully,' he said; it is not out of any bad feeling towards you, Mrs. Morton, that I ask you to do it; I hope you perceive this? it is simply that I want and must have the money, and I see no other way of raising it, without laying myself open to such a course of questioning as I should not approve. I want the money at once, and you must be kind enough to lend it to me. More than this -you must be kind enough to keep the having done so a secret. I tell you frankly, I have no other means of raising it without creating suspicion; ever since I knew I should want it I determined to try my influence over you and make it useful to me. Flora! for the sake of old times, for the memory of the love you would have given me before this hot-blooded half-Spaniard made you his, do me this service, and I will soon remove my presence from you for ever?

The appeal was one to stir up, to gall, and wound her pride; but she dared not refuse. If she did he would tell Philip' and down would come her fabric of happiness. For in her trembling, devouring love for her husband she did not stop to reflect how very little, in reality, there was to 'tell' him.

'You must give me till to-morrow,' she said hoarsely; and then she went to prepare for her day's pleasure. She looked airy, graceful, lovely in her costume of blue and white-as airy, as graceful, as pure and fresh as a convolvolus-but she was horribly uneasy. To do this that Horace Greville asked her would be indeed to do a thing that she would tremble for her husband to learn; and yet!--and yet!-dared she risk angering Horace? dared she contemplate the probability of Philip ever looking coldly upon her and accusing her of having deceived him? No, no; not that, butwhat was she to do? The woman who hesitates is-what? and Flora, upright, true, faithful wife as she was, Flora Forrester hesitated.

Sauntering along the centre transept, they became aware of the approaching presence of Lord and Lady St. Clair. Lord St. Clair hobbling in gait, rubicund in face, irascible in temper, as usual. Lady St. Clair, fragile, beautiful, slightly bored, also as usual. Her pretty little ladyship brightened up-transparent little piece of porcelain as she was wonderfully as her former acquaintances neared her; and Philip, with a vivid remembrance of how kind she had been to him in former days, and how much he had admired her for her condescending grace, and how much he had pitied her for being tied to such an old brute, sprang to her side and expressed delight vocally and visibly, at once to her trembling gratification and her husband's ill-concealed chagrin.

Flora was glad to see her too, 'pretty little thing;' Flora had learnt to be exceedingly tolerant of Lady St. Clair since she herself had been such a happy wife; she had come to have a sort of admiring pity for poor Ida's lot as an un

happy one-not that she knew, but that she thought, it must be so. The reserved shaft, therefore, which Horace Greville now let fly, fell harmless. While Philip was, together with the lovely little lady, inhaling the fragrance of some remarkably fine white roses, Horace Greville breathed into the ear of Philip's wife the story of that little episode in the corridor at Kempstowe; he also asked her if she had ever seen the remarkably correct likeness Philip had made of Ida in those days? and offered, if she had not, to show it to her on their return. But in the scornful smile that came over Flora's face as his mellifluous accents fell he read aright that this shaft was harmless, and that he had been wise not to trust to it alone to work her.'

And soon they came upon other friends; for, as I said, all London had poured down to the metamorphosed park at Penge on this bright May day. Soon, radiant in spring toilette and fictitious spirits, they came upon Kate Elton, and hardly had the old friends-the possible sisters - exchanged greetings before they were joined by Captain and Mrs. Forrester-Thwaites.

If ever a woman feels a mean but wholly irrepressible triumph, it is when she contrasts herself with the wife of the man she has loved, and who she knows has loved her, and finds that wife palpably wanting. It was not alone to the jaundiced eye of jealousy that Eliza was stamped as an inferior article' to the pretty brunette who had suffered such agonies of mind and ankle on Charlie's account at Kempstoweand ah, how often since! This inferiority was a fact patent to the world, and to no portion of that world was it clearer than to Captain Forrester-Thwaites himself.

He could not but feel it; alas! he could not but own it to himself, poor fellow! Gone was the tenderly deprecating look of love from those large brown eyes that had once harassed him so; gone was the pallor of anxiety from her cheeks. Excitement had brightened the brown eyes to the fire of the diamond, and tinged the cheek with the

hue of the crimson rose; excitement, and a little womanly feeling of pleasure that she was so much prettier and so much more elegant than her rich, successful rival. In gesture, dress, voice, manner, in all that constitutes a woman charming, Kate Elton was radiant to-day. She had subdued the rebellious rising in her throat which had threatened to choke her on his first appearance, and the effort to do so had rendered her tones even softer and more thrilling than of old. Softer and more thrilling! demon of ambition-of such poor paltry ambition-which had made the listening to these tones almost a crime, and the constant hearing of the muddy ones of the apothecary's daughter a duty! She wore her barège shawl like an angel or a Frenchwoman, neither showily, nor dowdily, nor uneasily; his wife, who could not achieve this at all, wore him instead of her shawl, if one might judge by the way in which she swathed herself in that garment. Her gloves, too; how was it that while Kate's gloves, of a hue more delicate than silver, if possible, remained freshly pure and undefiled; his wife's took all sorts of dark shades, and 'got blacks' from places where blacks were not? The dragoon's moustache came out of curl with annoyance and mortification. If Kate would only give him one look expressive of sympathy and continued kindly feeling towards him, the early dream,' he would take up his cross and bear it manfully amongst the flowers; but Kate would not give him this look. No; after shaking hands with him with indifferent, and with his wife with extreme politeness, Kate Elton appeared to vivaciously forget his existence as she walked on merrily with his sister in front of the party.

She might have been a little unhappy, he thought, on this, their first meeting since his ill-starred marriage; she might have shown to him, at least, that she appreciated his motives better.' It was not quite clear what this sentiment meant, but it sounded magnanimous and good, and he kept on repeating it. to himself as he walked behind

with his wife until he got to believe in it.

Mrs. Forrester-Thwaites was not much happier or more at her ease on this occasion than was her liege lord. She was with them, but not of them; and she felt this as keenly as the most delicately-organized and finely-sensitive daughter of a hundred earls might have done. The most they accorded her was pitying good-nature. Philip Morton and Flora were always cordial and kind; but the cordial kindness never amounted to cordial friendship; for Horace Greville she scarcely existed; Lady St. Clair, when she did speak to her, always permitted her own blue eyes to droop languidly upon Mrs. Forrester - Thwaites's hands, thereby making the latter feel extra uncomfortable; while Kate Elton, Mrs. Forrester-Thwaites acknowledged to herself, she could not abide. Charlie's manner to her, too, she thought, with some justice, might have been more pleasant: he need not have gone into such morose depths in the public way he did, proclaiming to all the world, and to the hated 'old love,' that happiness was not reigning in his heart. In her humility she was always ready to acknowledge her inferiority of mind, manners, andno, not estate, but personal charms, to him and to his beautiful sister; but to have him showing that he felt it, and expected her to feel it, with reference to Kate Elton, was 'too much,' she thought, bitterly. She had endowed him unreservedly with all she had, and he had been glad to take her property; but her love, that he had never been able to disguise effectually, he could have dispensed with. Eliza Thwaites had taught herself to bow meekly under the weight of this last crushing truth, to accept the situation and make the best of it; but she writhed under its displayal before the eyes of the girl whose presence still could call a burning flush to the brow of her husband. There was more than one aching heart in that gay group of re-united friends, but not one that ached with so sore an anguish as did that of the despised wife.

With a jealous dread that she, poor thing, could not conceal from him, she watched piteously, whenever he did address Kate, for the glances that should tell her that the same warm feelings still lived. Kate's haughty reticence struck her as being assumed to mislead her alone, not as being the natural result of the reaction that she might have thought had taken place in the girl's mind. She looked on doubtingly when he was talking to his sister even; for was not Flora, Kate's friend? might they not be

? She knew not what to accuse them of in her helpless, unshared, sorrowful distrust of herself and her husband.

But the conversation the brother and sister held hurriedly apart for a few minutes bore no relation to the subject of her fears. Naturally, in her doubt and difficulty, Flora turned to her brother for assistance, with the sure feeling that from him it would be obtained. Mrs. Morton made him master of the subject in a few words-as much of it as she intended him to know at present; that is, 'Charlie,' she said, 'I want you to lend me some money to-morrow without anybody knowing it. I may pay you some time or other, or I may not; if I can, I will: now, will you do it?'

'Certainly; but, my dear Flo, what is this? You, of all women in the world, to be wanting money without your husband's knowledge. Surely Philip▬▬

'Is all that is good and generous, Charlie,' she hastily interrupted. 'I know all you think and all you must feel; but I am sure you won't be angry with me, or think I am wrong, when I tell you why Philip must not know of it. I will go up to your house to-morrow, Charlie, and tell you all about it.'

He did not say anything, but she could see that he was relieved by her promise to tell him all about it.' Presently he said, speaking very low and almost sadly, 'Flo, there's one little favour you can do me, dear, if you will.' He paused, and when she had asked him what,' he went on rapidly, burying his face in his handkerchief as he spoke, so

that she could not see its expression. 'Just discover, if you can, whether Miss Elton is going to throw herself away as report says. I know I have no right to ask, or to be interested, or any thing of that sort; but, Flo, he is not worthy of her; he is not, indeed: persuade her from it.'

Flora shook her head. 'I will try, Charles, in this case, for I, too, do not think him worthy of her. I am sure I wish rather that it was some one whom I could persuade her to marry; for Kate has altered, grown colder and harder, poor child, and-well, it would be well for all parties, I think, if she were married.'

'Heaven knows she can't have suffered more than I have,' said Captain Forrester, moodily; and then, their conference over, the brother and sister rejoined the others. Later in the day Flora did, softly and cautiously, put that question, that Charlie had suggested, to Kate. Her answer was a haughty denial of the report; and then, with a quick change of manner, a laughing assurance that Flora might tell her brother she was still wearing

the willow for him.' Kate made the assertion daringly, in order to impress Flora with an idea of how utterly improbable it was; but Flora looked beyond the first turning, and sighed that it should be so.

That May day, amongst the flowers at Sydenham, was not such a brilliant success after all for those with whom I have to deal.

The next morning Flora went to town; and though Charlie scoffed at her foolish fears, he promised to respect her confidence; and she felt all the happier now her brother shared her secret. 'I shall go home with you, Flo,' he said, 'and I shall hand the money to that fellow, or he will annoy you in the future; and when you give me leave, I will tell your husband how it came about; for, believe me, you won't feel free and comfortable until he knows.' But Flora so earnestly begged that he never would 'tell,' that Charlie, in his own mind, began to regard Mr. Morton as a modern Blue-beard. It was the morning following this day that Sir Ulric Lyster learned that Saint Kevin's purchase-money was placed to his credit.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,

North Wales.

F the limner's art has no other

I advantage over certain profes

sions (usually considered by Mrs. Grundy to be more respectable, it certainly has this that he may leave this dear distracting town' at the close of the season, wander whither he likes, having no fear of a business letter' or 'sudden call home' before his eyes, and unattended by any weight, save that which his knapsack and camp stool may impose. He has no scruples on the score of neglected duties, but carries his profession with him, combines his practice with recreation, and sets up shop where others are idling. While Dr. Glibbs nodding in semi-somnolency over medical memoranda in his circular fronted brougham, after having been up with Lady Olivia Branchley all night, and on his way to Mrs. Quiverfull's annual case; while Mr. Tangler goes into that suit of 'Growl v. Snarling' in the back office at Hatton Garden, Tom Stippler's business leads him, with a light heart and sunburnt face, over heathery down, or causes him to pitch his canvas tent by the banks of a salmon weir.

Of course each occupation is good in its way, and in point of profit, a lawyer or physician in good practice will pocket many more guineas than fall to the share of their artistic brethren; but if good air and exercise, an easy life and excellent digestion are to be thrown into the scale, give me, I say, the painter's lot. A Hansom cab will serve my turn as well as the latest novelty from Long Acre, and bearing in mind the story of Master Reynard and the Grapes, I prefer a cottage at Blackheath to a house in Belgrave Square.

It is in the latter fashionable quarter that Richard Dewberry, Esq., of the Middle Temple, London, resides when he is at home, which, to do him justice, is very rarely. The consumption of a certain number of

dinners in the society of his confreres, the payment of certain fees, and Mr. Bobwig's little bill for a horseLair head-dress and flowing robe, have constituted him a full-blown English barrister, and he wants but a brief or two to make him the happiest of men.

Not that the absence of even these documents has any serious effect on his spirits. Why should it? Having some six hundred a year of his own, and as much more in prospect, R. D. can afford to look dispassionately on the future, and cultivate the attorneys or not as he pleases. He goes down to his chambers with the greatest perseverance every morning. I have lunched there frequently, and pronounce his salads unexceptionable. What then? Shall we spoil their flavour with wretched pigskin or crown the bowl with garlands of red tape? Faugh! It would be like the harpies which Virgil describes descending on a classic banquet. Long live the briefless one, I say, so long as he has an income to live upon.

It was at the commencement of the long vacation, and after celebrating one of the aforesaid mid-day repasts, that Mr. Dewberry and I discussed the important question— Where shall we go this autumn?

Of course, numberless places; routes and tours suggested themselves in turn. Paris, the Rocky Mountains, St. Petersburgh, and the Levant; but since my purse is not quite so long as my legal friend's, and we had seen a good deal of the Continent together in former days, I felt inclined to do a little sketching in a quiet way and proposed North Wales.

'Capital idea!' cries Dick, who is a man of few words; 'we'll start on Monday.'

And so we did.

Our railway journey from London was as interesting as railway journeys usually are. From the moment that we passed under that imposing Greek portico at the Euston Station, which they say cost sixty