Miss Louisa Perkins, untroubled by any passion, tender or otherwise, smiled, and ate, and smiled again. Mr. Armondyle endeavoured to make himself comfortable, which was indeed now, as at every other moment of his existence, his primary object; while Mrs. O'Donagough, who had conceived a sort of mystical idea that he was a person of consequence, poured out civilities upon him with a copious profusion which no sang froid less perfect than that of Mr. Armondyle could have stood unmoved-his most animated reply, however, was but a very slight inclination of the head. But, as of course might have been anticipated, the most animated group in the party consisted of Miss Matilda Perkins, Mr. Foxcroft, and the blushing troop of little loves and graces which were playing between them.

It was in truth a labour of love, the toilet of Miss Matilda on that auspicious day-and equally captious and curious were it to inquire with a critical spirit, either in the time consumed, or the effect produced by it. Suffice it to say, that her sister, in the short moment that was left for review, before stepping into the hackney-coach, pronounced that she looked "very nice indeed."

very

The result was all that the gentle Matilda's heart required; for, from the manner, and, indeed, from the words of Mr. Foxcroft, it appeared incontestable that he thought she looked very nice too. Obedient to the hint of his patron, this gentleman made the best use of every moment that preceded his being called, bon gré, mal gré, to take his place at the card-table. Never, to be sure, did the most exemplary saint invoke maledictions on the fifty-two offending elements which combine to form the hateful abomination called a pack of cards, with more heartfelt zeal than did the dejected Matilda, as she sat forsaken and forlorn on a couch which commanded the fullest possible view of the form and countenance she loved!

Poor lady! Surely no female heart under similar circumstances can fail to feel for her. More moving accidents may assuredly be found to employ the historian's pen,-sorrows, which on the face of them bear marks of deeper tragedy, may be recounted, and a reader's sympathy be claimed for sufferings more fatal-but for pure, perfect, unmitigated, vexation of spirit, it could hardly be surpassed. A lover (within a quarter of an inch a declared lover), to be sitting in the same room with a young lady of thirty-six, and yet absolutely precluded from the possibility of uttering a single word to her! Even the pleasure of looking unremittingly in his face was not long allowed her; for Mr. O'Donagough, who naturally felt that the payment of his dinner was not to be risked by the presence of any ladies, old, young, or middle-aged, no sooner, by the course of cutting, lost Mr. Armondyle as a partner, than he unceremoniously requested the female part of the company to establish themselves in the other drawing-room; a piece of tyranny against which there was no appeal, but which made the ladies rebearse in chorus that well-known sentiment of the fair, namely, "that there is no spectacle which the eye can rest upon, throughout the whole surface of the globe called earth, one-thousandth part so detestable, as seeing the only four men in company sit down to whist."

The banished ladies (poor things!) naturally fell into two têtes-àtétes; in one of which all the minuter circumstances of Mrs. O'Donagough's present and approaching greatness, were voluminously re

hearsed to Miss Louisa's patient ear, while in the other, the younger ladies resumed the eclogue style, whispering rhapsodies respecting their beloved ones.

The party altogether, however, produced more of the results wished for than generally happens where expectation has been so highly wrought-our poor Patty being, in fact, the only one disappointed essentially. Mr. O'Donagough had made up his mind to be equally well contented by Sir Henry Seymour's showing symptoms of love-making to his daughter, or money-losing to himself; and therefore, when he received six five-pound notes from the young baronet, together with a very cordial declaration of their having had an excellent rubber, he was not disappointed. His lady, too much occupied in "tasting her corners," as she called devouring the compounds of grease and garlic of which she had superintended the preparation, to have time for closely watching the proceedings of her daughter and Sir Henry, felt perfectly satisfied, because she perceived he was talking to her; and this, together with the unwearied admiration of Miss Louisa at every thing she saw, and every thing she heard, sufficed to make her declare that it was "a most delightful dinner-party." Mr. Armondyle shared the winnings and the satisfaction of his host, being too well pleased at finding a new house to dine at, to permit his being critical at the dinner. Miss Louisa ate a great deal of apple-pie and custard, to which she was particularly attached; felt conscious that she was a prodigious favourite with the Amphitryonia of the feast; and, better than all, began to entertain very serious hopes that her poor dear darling tender-hearted Matilda would get a husband at last, after all the quantity of cruel disappointments which the false-heartedness of men had made her suffer. Sir Henry Seymour was quite as well pleased as any of them. For while the skilful O'Donagough contrived to make him constantly remember his own near connexion with General Hubert, he set him completely at his ease respecting Patty, whom the wily father spoke of as a mere child, but one greatly petted and beloved by Mrs. Hubert and her daughter. At the moment when this affectionate partiality was dwelt upon, Sir Henry Seymour might have been seen, had any body watched him, to fix his eyes upon the object of it with a very naïve expression of astonishment; but his own superlatively sweet temper succeeded, after a short struggle with his common sense, to convince him that it was all very natural, considering how very kind-hearted and affectionate the poor girl was, and how perfectly impossible it was for her to help being vulgar.

But general as the satisfaction of the company seemed to be-for even poor Patty convinced herself, before the end of the evening, that the difference in Jack was only because there were so many plaguy people watching them-general as was this satisfaction, it was nothing in comparison to the heartfelt happiness of the lady and gentleman for whom the entertainment had been originally planned. The feelings of Mr. Foxcroft, who, as he meditated on the "independence dwelt on by Mr. O'Donagough, became what might truly be termed desperately attached to the fair Matilda, were gratified in the greatest degree by perceiving that, however favourable the impression he had made upon her at Brighton, he had rather gained, than lost, by absence. For not even in the last trying moments when they had got wet through together on the

pier, had she shown such unequivocal marks of attachment, as when he trod upon her toe during that day's dinner. Of the state of Miss Matilda herself it would really be difficult to speak at length without deviating from the necessary sobriety of prose; so elevating, entrancing, soulsubduing were the emotions which took possession of her during the ineffable two hours of their juxtaposition at the dinner-table.

- Nothing, in short, could in all ways have succeeded better than this opening of the O'Donagoughs' London campaign; and the busy future rose before the eyes of all, decked in the very brightest colours, and pregnant with all sorts of agreeable possibilities.

(To be continued.)

CHARADE.

ΒΥ Φ.

THE widow Jones is fair and fat,
And her gait is seldom hurried,—-
What has the widow Jones been at,
That, to-day, she looks so flurried?
Sir Hugh has ridden a score of miles,
And well "my first" has sped him,
To drink in the tones of the widow Jones,
And to ask her if she'll wed him.

Now simple maidens who nothing know,
Will melt when a lover woos 'em ;-
Then how, when her suitors bend so low,
Should a widow's lip refuse 'em?
And many a day, as her neighbours say,
Tho' so grave and good she's reckoned,
To win Sir Hugh, and to keep him true,
Has the widow spun "my second!”

And so when, at last, he declared his love,
And described his varied feelings,
And told how he needed some hand to move
"My all" from his doors and ceilings;
The widow Jones, with a gentle "yes,"
Put an end to the old man's sorrow,

And declared that in cupboard, shelf, or press,
Not one should remain to-morrow!

Now tho' you may wonder the good old knight
So long for a wife should tarry,
And tho' you may fancy the cause was slight
Which induced Sir Hugh to marry:
Yet I think you will see, in the Registry,
Where all weddings are now included,
That nine out of ten, of our married men,
Have wed for the cause Sir Hugh did!

LETTERS FROM IRELAND-NO. X.*

BY JOHN CARNE, ESQ.

Few towns in Ireland are more finely situated than Cahir, at the foot of the Galtee mountains, diminutive in height, very graceful in form: the Suir winds amidst gardens and groves, and the vicinity is as rich in its shrubs and plants as the banks of the Blackwater. Myrtles and laurels of equal size and height to those of the south of Ireland, may be found in the west of Cornwall, where the hydrerangia, of great size and beauty, is generally in the cottage garden, and often in the hedges: but the arbutus, the daphne, the azalia, the magnolia, are luxuriant here.

Many an excursion among the magnificent hills and their glens may be made by the stranger: the latter is a species of scenery in which Ireland is very deficient: the deep, noble and savage glen, so various and so perfect in Scotland, is rare in this country. About six miles distant up the hills is the vale of Aherloe, through which lies a solitary path from Cahir to Tipperary: about half-way is a hunting-box of Lord Kingston, splendidly situated on the declivity. Aherloe is thinly peopled and cultivated, a mile and a half broad, and four miles long on the right, a steep and barren mountain, a lower one on the left, a rapid stream in the centre. There is a wild grandeur about the place, and just as a wish is felt for the softness of nature, the hamlet of Aherloe, and two or three country-seats of wealthy men, in their dark woods, break beautifully in view. Care, taste, and expense, have made these the abodes of luxury, while the other tenants of the vale seem to "embrace the rock for a shelter." In the hamlet is a church, a rectory, and an inn: where the people who fill them come from it is not easy to discover: the incumbent has, of course, but little to do, and resides in a happier scene, devolving the slender duties of his charge on the curate, whose salary is small; the excitements of his life miserably few. A Romish chapel and priest are also here, and to them are attached most of the people.

In these lonely sites the Protestants form a very small proportion of the community: the pastor's field of benevolence and mercy would be very confined if bounded only by his own flock: in his charities he makes little difference, whether the poor be of his own church, or that of Rome. The point of conflict is in cases, now of frequent occurrence, where doubts about their faith arise in the minds of the Romanists, who desire to see the clergyman and listen eagerly to his words: then the chamber of death becomes an arena of jealous and angry feelings on the part of those from whose fold the people desire to depart. instance of this was related to us by a lady, who was herself the agent.

An

A delicate-looking young woman came to me one winter's evening: her cloak was old but clean; she had a very neat cap on, under which her dark black hair was parted plain, upon a fair high forehead. She had attended

• Concluded from No. ccxxiii., page 395.