"Are you not going to follow the ladies ?" inquired the fine gentleman. I had not perceived that the ladies had risen, so absorbed was I by my conjectures; and, as I stumbled after them, the old man said "We must talk again about this mystery. I see you think, or hope, you have discovered it." 243 CHAPTER XI. "Too faithful heart! thou never canst retrieve IF the half-hour before dinner is proverbially stupid, the hour-or, as (happily gone) used to be in the drinking days of England, the hours after, were, in general, very wearisome. Your show ladies,' young or old, those who put on their 'company manners,' as they do their company dresses-for a purpose, seldom take the trouble to speak to their fellow-women in the drawing-room. Ensconced in sofa corners, or extended in a way that would spoil the ruffs of their great grand mothers without the aid of a clear-starcherthey indulge in the dolce far niente to their hearts' content, and will hardly take the trouble to notice the most interesting dénouement, or describe the most lovely draperies. Those who can sing will rarely sing until the gentlemen come up, and a NOBODY like me, who has neither sons nor daughters to marry, invariably finds ample time for the 'musing,' rather than reflection, which follows dinner in the sleepy atmosphere of the luxurious withdrawing room. If the lady of the house be very good-natured she will give me a nod, or blow me a kiss from the tips of her gloves, across the room; and no matter how dull I look, she will say, "Ah! I see, amusing yourself as usual, we never mind you." On the evening I refer to, however, I was not left entirely to myself; the lady, a Mrs. Hamilton, who had given her opinion concern. ing the mysterious poet, renewed the conversation by abruptly saying, "I think, nay, I am certain, that the author of these poems is not only a woman, but a foreigner. I have seen the handwriting, which is very bad, and the spelling worse; now, no one who can write, as she writes, could spell badly, unless she were a foreigner!" Helen's careless spelling, arising from her habit of thinking how to express—not how she was to spell-her thoughts, came fully to my remembrance, and my hopes revived. I did not, however, ask any questions, or even hint a difference of opinion, and the lady continued, "I have a bit of her writing at this moment in my possession. I am curious in such things, and, as you seem interested, I will show it to you." My heart beat, while with considerable formality she drew forth a pocket-book, and placing it on her lap, opened it with much care it was filled with torn and soiled scraps, and taking them out one by one, she said, "Here it is!—but no, this is a bit of Hatfield's writing, he who shot at that dear old king; I had a great deal of trouble to get that; and— this-but this is a morsel of the real Mrs. Glasse's way of keeping her cooking memoranda-curious! look, how oddly she wrote. dumpling-then apple-cloves in the middle; and this, I should not wonder if this was it ”—I extended my hand-" it is either her writing, or Mrs. Trimmer's receipt in poetry for blacking (she who wrote so charmingly about Flapsey and Dicksey you know!)" It certainly was not Helen's writing, neither was it the poetical receipt. I was almost too interested in the subject to think, as I had often thought previously, of the weakness that led Mrs, Hamilton to prize things, not because of their worth, but their oddity. She turned paper over paper, gazing at each with her round, good-natured eyes, while I sat by in an agony of suspense. "No," she said at last; "no, I have not got it at all-it must be at home; but you could have made nothing of it—the most obscure pot-hooks and hangers you ever saw! Moore and Southey write exquisite hands ; and, by the way, notwithstanding what Disraeli says, I quite believe the fact, that people's characters can be traced in their handwriting. I am sure it holds good with young Byrondo you not think so ?" I had never seen his handwriting-how |