sidered, it is possible that Mrs Beckford might have thrown some light on the list of obscure individuals which her daughter Julia had honoured by a place in her memory.

The fair Augusta evidently was dissatisfied at this account of the Wyndhams, for many reasons. In the first place, there was quite enough of young ladies in the neighbourhood without them; and, in the second place, if they did choose to come, they had no right to be either young, good-looking, or accomplished. For, although the Miss Beckfords were quite too well aware of their own superiority in every respect, to fear rivalry from any people so insignificant as two girls must be, who are supposed by Augusta and her sister to have lived the early part of their lives in an atmosphere of smoke, probably living over a chandler's shop, and going to take a cup of tea, now and then (in their morning dresses), with the family of some tobacconist or hosier, and spending the evening in a discussion on the late fall in sugar, or the probable rise in woollens, still, such people might prove troublesome; and Augusta Beckford hated trouble.

It is a fortunate circumstance that Burns was not indulged in his poetical aspiration-oh, wad some power the giftie gie us!' &c.; for the confusion which would have been caused thereby would probably be as great in many families, as it would have been, had the Miss Beckfords seen that they themselves, and not their (as they thought) passive mother, were ignorant, silly, and self-opinionated. It is much to be feared that Mrs Beckford's life would have been far from a pleasant one, had they been favoured with this view of their own inferiority to their mother. As it was, they kindly permitted her to enjoy herself in her own way, and granting her at all times what is very vulgarly termed 'a fool's pardon-begging pardon of the reader for introducing an expression so very low into a chapter describing the refined and elegant Miss Beckfords. Poor Mrs Beckford received her 'fool's pardon' in very good part, and enjoyed very much the liberty caused by her inability to join in her daughters' intellectual pursuits. Her warmhearted, well-meaning, burly husband

lavished on her every comfort and luxury his large means could well afford; and as the worthy Colonel was always on the spot, to supply good advice when wants were found out, and nice taste in selecting articles to supply those wants, Mrs Beckford had as little care as ever falls to the lot of woman. "The Colonel' was the great oracle of both Mr and Mrs Beckford; and often and often they expressed their astonishment how they ever got on without him, while he was in Affghanistan; but Mr Beckford generally finished the sentence by saying, they had not got on at all-which was indeed very nearly true. Nothing seemed a difficulty to the Colonel. Poor Mr Beckford would rush in, out of breath, in despair at some frightful obstacle to his plans, such as 'the mason building the chimney upside down,' or 'no slates to be had at any price for the new cow-house, all the quarries having struck work, and the rain pouring in.' Upon which the Colonel would march, in his military style, to the disturbed district, to have shingles put American fashion on the distressed cow-house- wood being about the most plentiful thing they had at Beckford Hall-merely directing a glance towards the remarkable chimney, knowing that the sound of his approaching footsteps would have been quite enough to cause the mason to cease his antipodean labours. All climates and seasons were alike to him. There was no day so hot or cold that he was not ready to ride ten or twelve miles, to choose a churn or a plough for Mr Beckford; and let his time be ever so limited, while at Plimton, he never omitted any of Mrs Beckford's odd little commissions; and, by dint of unwearying patience while executing them, was never known to have made the slightest mistake in shade or colour, although, poor man, he was often driven to the verge of despair by such a list as the following, the last he had received from her:-'5 yards gazelle-coloured terry silk bonnet-riband; 12 yards white galloon; 3 pieces white cot Russ braid;

-100 straw needles, No. 6; 200 betweens, mixed; 1 sheet willow; 6 yards cotton wadding; 1 ounce yellow filorelle (the pattern is in your purse); 2 spools ombrè purse-silk; 1 skein black

Lady Betty; 1 ounce black floss; 1 ounce white floss; 8 yards white purl; 1 small tatting shuttle; 1 knittinggauge; some Vanilla; and choose a pole-screen. I would like it lined with scarlet, not cerise the librarystool is to be cerise-gazelle looks bad at night. 6 dozen ponceau narrow Stettin riband, penny width; 36 yards crimson carpet-binding (get it good). I think I will have a new respirator; the brown one I have is a different shade from my bonnet; a black one would do. And some camphor-soap. And tell Waite's young woman it was yellow amber, not oak amber, I wanted, and to give you the right wool, and I will send the other back by the cart to-morrow. And don't forget the blanket-pins, and to go for my watch; and I think you might choose a dinnercap for me, and the hyacinths; and buy me some nice ribands for my patch-work. Added to this, the poor Colonel had to get seakale-mats, and bass-mats, and balls of listing, and tacks, and nails, and gunpowder, and an oat-bruiser, which Mr Beckford was buying merely because he was harassed by reading, day after day, in the Times,' the peremptory interrogatory of Mary Wedlake, 'Do you bruise your oats yet?' besides several little matters of his own. So it redounds much to his credit, that he never failed, amid difficulties that would have quailed the heart of many a man, or woman either.

'Ah, yes!' said Augusta; 'the person you speak of is no doubt the relic of some royal progress through that smoky Babylon. I daresay he lives at "Oil Mount," or "Ironville," or "Cotton Bank," or "Alpaca Grove." I wonder such vile towns are permitted to exist, so low and vulgar. The only use I could ever see in such places is, to provide shops for the aristocracy and élite to purchase at.'

'In that case, my dear,' said the Colonel, 'by your own showing, you can never go there to purchase anything; so I would (were I you) leave the aristocracy to be stifled in the smoke, if they wish it. You know, you would be equally ineligible as buyer or seller.'

"You know, Augusta,' said Julia, 'that there is one point you and I are

agreed upon, and that is in hating and despising "scientific musicians." It is dreadfully low and vulgar, only fit for music-masters and public singers; and, do you know, I have a strong suspicion that these Wyndham girls are. I have no proof positive, but I have a very strong suspicion of it. For one thing, the one in blue trimmings read or played the Julia Quadrilles' as well as possible. You know it was at a party at the Whittlefields', where a quadrille was got up. Of course the Whittlefield girls did not attempt playing before me; and I determined I would not, and did not, to vex the Whittlefields; so you may be sure there was a fine fuss to get a musician. But what do you think! Up got Miss Wyndham, sailed across the room, drawing off her gloves, saying, "Pray, let me be your substitute, Miss Whittlefield;" and down she sat, and played quite too well. I assure you such good players are no acquisition: it throws one dreadfully into the shade. I did my best to quench her, by protesting I could dance to nothing but the 'Julia' or Augusta Quadrilles,' knowing she could not possibly know them. By this means I had hoped to get her from the piano, where, indeed, I never should have let her be at all; but how could I have imagined that the girl, whose music-stand was filled with Bach, and Mozart, and Beethoven, and Handel, and Hadyn, and Mendelssohn, would or could play for dancing; but play she did, and asked for the music of the Julia Quadrilles,' and opened them up before her. Her sister then came over, and said, "What are you going to play, Margaret?" She never turned her head, but answered, "I at first thought it was a study on consecutives. It is a set of quadrilles, dedicated to Miss Julia Beckford, by her unknown admirer S-m-1 Sm-th." I am afraid they were both laughing, for Miss Frances abruptly turned to look at a pole-screen, and the horrid Margaret coughed dreadfully. I am sure she is consumptive. However, she played them right through. To do her justice, the mistakes she did make sounded more like improvements, particularly the place where 'Vilikens' is introduced. I lost all temper with that senseless Sam Smith, for he hopped about on his horrid little

toes, deafening one with his delight at the way Miss Wyndham was playing. Pon m'honna, now, Miss Juiwa, it's diwine pwayin, she's an angwel in pwetticoats; nowhin else. She's faw bwetta wan wittle Napowlean!!" &c. &c. This is what uncle would call a digression; so to return to the party at Lady Emma Clare's. At last Lady Emma thought proper to remember I could play the piano, and said, now that the gentlemen have appeared, perhaps you will try the piano, Miss Beckford? Before rising for that purpose, I thought it would be but goodnatured to say a word or two to Miss Wyndham (you know this was before the Whittlefields' party), for of course it would be rather a mortification to a girl like that, who, I suppose, thought she played well, to have one of us to play for the first time. So I said very sweetly, as I drew off my gloves, "If you are fond of music, Miss Wyndham, you are come to the very place to have your passion gratified to the very fullest extent! We are so musical, we perfectly live on it! I suppose you do not play, for I observed there was no piano in your drawing-room. But I am aware it is not uncommon to meet people who, while they know nothing of the divine art, have a strong natural love of music; in the same way, a servant is very often the best judge of a portrait. I hope I shall find you a very merciful critic of my poor attempts at playing." I then sat down at the piano, and commenced with Quidant's Mazeppa Galop.' It is such a useful thing, for no one on earth can tell whether you are playing right or wrong, and I am sure nobody could play every note of it right. I then played Brinley Richard's March of the Men of Harlech,' then 'Talexy's Mazurka,' and then Osborne's 'Pluie de Perles.' When I thought I had played enough, I rose up, determined not to play another note, let them press ever so much, for I wanted to keep all the rest of my good things for the party on Monday, but the rude beasts merely thanked me, and I sat down on the sofa beside Miss Wyndham, and said, "Oh, Miss Wyndham, I quite envy you your quiet seat! I am so fatigued! but it is the penalty one must pay for accomplishments, one's friends are so exigeant-I quite envy you being

spared all such things." The stupid thing said, "I am afraid I scarcely understand the cause of your congratu lations, Miss Beckford, but I am glad you are come to share the sofa, for it is very comfortable." I had scarcely sat down, delighted to get the coast clear, and meaning to sift all the information I could get out of her, when over marched Sir Henry, saying, "My dear Margaret, this is most unfortunate; we cannot find 'Il Trovatore' anywhere." Imagine my horror when Miss Wyndham said, "I had no idea you were looking for it; pray, tell Emma I do not want it at all, and I am sure she does not require it either." At this moment Lady Emma came back into the room; upon seeing which, up rose Miss Wyndham, and, seating herself at the piano, she played the accompaniments and sung the solos, and Sir Henry, and Lady Emma, and the other Miss Wyndham, sung the four-part passages of an opera of Verdi's. I had never heard before of 'Il Trovatore.' Angry as I was, I could not help thinking it superb; but when they had finished, and Sir Henry asked me how I liked it, I said, Italian music was pleasing, but nothing stood the test so well as the good old English glees and madrigals, though I did not sing them myself; whereupon Sir Henry got a fusty old book, and they sung, Oh! happy, happy fair,' How merrily we live,' and several others. By this time I was well tired of their monopoly of that good piano, and fell into raptures about Mendelssohn. But I stopped pretty quickly, when I heard that horrid General growling and worrying at Miss Wyndham for some of those andante things in E's and F's and G's of Mendelssohn. I am glad she did not play them, for I am sure they must be dull things; besides, her way of refusing was rather nice, for she said, "You shall have them all tomorrow, General, but Lady Emma has promised to ask Miss Beckford to sing for us now." The nasty old chuffy walked off muttering something, which Sir Henry said was a hymn the General had learned among the wild Irish; it was very short, and sounded very like "hominy and fowl;" I daresay those poor half-starved creatures have all their ideas running on food; I daresay it means beans and bacon," for

I

hominy is not very unlike beans. am sure the Wyndhams were surprised when they heard me sing, for I concentrated all my strength on Robert toi que j'aime.' And when I came to what papa calls the " screech," Miss Wyndhain jumped on her seat. I only sung one song, for the carriage was waiting, and papa fussing away as usual, and, as we were driving home, he chattered the whole way about the time he, and mamma, and Uncle Wilmot used to sing glees. Delightful music it must have been! and only fancy-what a fool papa is, to be sure! As Captain Phipps was handing me into the carriage, there was he (papa, I mean) bellowing to Sir Henry, "That glorious music has carried my thoughts back thirty years; we used to have such music when I was first married, till my poor wife lost her voice from a cold." Thirty years indeed! I think papa might have more sense than to tell such things; a nice age he makes us out indeed. And the whole way home he was humming, "More tuneable, more tuneable!" on and on. I was sick of the whole party. I dared not say one word, for uncle chose to come inside the carriage that evening; to be sure it was raining, but what harm would a drop of rain do a soldier?'

'None!' said Augusta, impatiently;

'but I must say, Julia, you have not managed well. Surely you could have invented some plan of keeping these girls in their proper place. I wonder very much, when you saw how they were likely to turn out, you did not begin as you should have done.'

Very well,' said Julia, 'you will have an opportunity very soon of trying what you can do, for papa insists on a dinner party here for thein. We will see you and them doing battle against each other.'

I don't care though I never saw them,' said Augusta; I am sure that they are very disagreeable people; but doubtless they may give us a great deal of trouble, and they should have been put down at first by a coup de main. I must say, Julia, though you have so little natural ability, you should have managed it in some way.'

Julia's angry retort to this speech caused an abrupt termination to come to this clear and impartial account of the poor Miss Wyndhams, and the two amiable Miss Beckfords sank into an angry silence. Mrs Beckford, not expecting to be talked to by her daughters, continued to crochet, and count and mutter her four long, two chain-four long, nine chain, repeat,' until the bell rang for prayers, and the Colonel and Mr Beckford re-entered the room.

'After all, Margaret, I think we are better at home this lovely evening, with liberty to come in and go out as we please, than sitting in Mrs Tromra's hot dining-room, undergoing the

formalities of a dinner party. Yes, there is great consolation to be had occasionally in being left out of an invitation, when one has time to reflect.'

Consolation! I never required any, I assure you; I was more elated than resigned from the first when I heard of it; I mean to enjoy myself most thoroughly under my deprivation.

I hope, if you have anything very enjoyable in prospect, you will include me, for I should be relieved on the principle Sir Walter Scott did the beggarman, who said, "If your honour knew how lazy I am."'

'Your honour must throw off your laziness, then; for my intentions embrace exertion corporeally and mentally. My idea is this: it is such an age since I touched the keys of an organ, and I have "a feeling of sadness and longing, that my soul cannot resist." We can make a long evening, by having tea as late as we please, and if you will come down with me to the village, we will try and induce the old schoolmaster to renew the offer he made me the other day of the keys of the church and organ. I was too hurried to accept of his offer then, but I am sure he will not refuse them, and as that curly-headed grandchild, to whom Lucy, in a sudden fit of generosity, gave one of her chickens, offered to blow, nothing is wanting but your will.'

"Which is wanting no longer. I am overjoyed! Oh, we will have all the dear old tunes again! The mere suggestion has soothed that restless feeling.'

Frances tied on her bonnet with unwonted celerity, and the sisters sallied forth. On, under the shade of pleasant hedgerows; on across the fields, to save a portion of dusty road; and on to the house of the old man who acted both as clerk, organist, and schoolmaster-a quiet, simple old soul, who had passed through his several duties with the most uniform diligence: each day's work was done as the previous one had been, which, in like manner, resembled its predecessor, as one year had resembled the other through his long life. Changes,' he said, were never of his seeking; they came because he could not help them.' He never swerved from 'Old Hundredth,' 'Martyrdom,' 'Devizes,' and other tunes he had carefully learned in his youth, and stoutly refused innovations of any modern ones, no matter how celebré. And liking Mar

garet because she had once accidentally praised one of his favourites, he was determined that anything he could do for her should be done, even to lending the beloved keys to her, a stranger.

When Margaret and Frances entered the church, the brilliant rays of a July sunset were streaming through the stained-glass windows, throwing a long, dusty line across the old aisles, contrasting strangely with the dim walls and the rusty armour, that seemed to look down so grim and silent on the old oaken pews, as if their grave demeanour was more suitable society than such passing radiance. They at least would still remain, though the worshippers in them would pass out, Sunday after Sunday, through the churchyard into the bustling world, till at last the individuals filled up the moving type of man's ceaseless passage, by passing, at the close of life, once again the churchyard gates, not to go on in his daily course as before, but fading into the silent land from whence we can return no more. Some flies were buzzing from monument to pew, and from pew to monument, they all life and action, and all else death and repose; they were the only signs of life around, until the sisters entered, and, struck with awe at the quaint beauty of the scene, they stood looking in silence at the lights and shadows around them.

'Living dust and dead dust,' said Margaret, solemnly.

'See how plainly the sun throws out the names on the flagstones, though they are so worn-those that are near the chancel.''

'How odd people must have felt long ago, when they buried inside of churches, to sit, week after week, staring at the very stone, all through the service, that must one day be raised to cover themselves.'

'I think the feeling would wear off with custom. We see them through the window, that is the only difference. I always feel as if those inside were volumes of a book, and that the other numbers were to be found outside.'

'A book that will go on increasing through many an age still, when you and I are written in one like this.'

'Margaret, before you begin play