together. On this occasion, the retiro was untenanted, but apparently it had not been long so, for, on the table, a sketch was lying, which immediately attracted the intruder's attention. It represented an Amazon on horseback, to a certain extent similar in attitude to that of the unmentionable German, but differing widely from it, insomuch that the warlike maiden's antagonist was not a raging wild beast, but a sorely wounded Parthian youth. So deeply was St. Edmunds engaged in the contemplation of this drawing, that he did not hear a light step behind him, until the voice of the startled Cécile reached him as she exclaimed:

'Holy Virgin! our poor Amazon."

My dear Miss Basinstoke, I hope that I have been guilty of no indiscretion."

"Your cousin Conny will be here presently," replied Cécile, endeavouring to suppress a slight smile, "and you had better ask her what she thinks upon the matter."

"Is this sketch hers?"

"It does not signify if it is hers or another person's. What I am alluding to is the invasion of our retreat, and its present consequences."

"And you think Constance will scold me more effectually than you could ?"

"As your cousin, she has a right to do so, which I may not claim."

"Well, it cannot be helped, Miss Basinstoke. Now that I have seen this drawing, which, by the bye, was lying fully exposed on the table, I must tell you how charming, how beautiful it is."

"You know that you will not mend matters by paying such unmerited compliments," replied Cécile, stretching out her fairy hand to recover the sequestered offspring of her fancy.

"Then must I attempt to ingratiate myself by a word of criticism. Will that be more patiently endured ?”

"Unquestionably."

"But first may I ask, Miss Basinstoke, for what the design is intended?"

"As a pattern for Conny's tapestry work; that is, of course, if it succeeds at all. But pray let me hear your critical remarks."

"Well but, Miss Basinstoke, I must first state, in extenuation of the suggestion, that, though I draw a little, my observation will point to what is far more within my province.

I have had a good deal of theoretical practice in the noble art of cutting and thrusting, and I must tell you that, beautiful as the composition and general attitude of the group decidedly are, the heroine will scarcely accomplish her victory. See, her adversary is fearfully wounded. As he is reclining on his knees, the fore-hoofs of her horse are even now dashing against his brow: a second more, and they must bear him to the ground. Now, it seems to me that too much strength is thrown into the left arm, as if she were endeavouring to restrain her furious courser, while the right arm is wielding the spear with less assurance than might beseem so intrepid a combatant. That weapon will deal no deathstroke, Miss Basinstoke."

Are you sure that one is intended?" muttered Cécile, without raising her eyes. "Look again."

Thus admonished, the critic gazed more intently upon the sketch, and then the true spirit of the conception dawned more clearly upon him.

"Ah!" resumed he musingly, "I had indeed completely mistaken the purport. The left hand is most designedly reining in the ruthless

:

charger the right arm is all unwilling to strike. Now that I look more closely into the lovely countenance, there is a smile of pity, nay more, a thrill of anguish there which explains all, and well corresponds with the whole attitude. Still, perhaps it would be more merciful, Miss Basinstoke, to give a finishing thrust where so fearful a wound has already been dealt."

"The heroine may not be the accomplished warrior that you think. You can perceive that her antagonist's wound proceeds, not from a spear, but from a winged shaft, which must have been cast by some strange and distant hand. Lord St. Edmunds," added she, more earnestly, "pray return me my drawing: really it is not yet finished.”

"Though you have betrayed your secret,' replied he, "I cannot relinquish my investigation so soon. Indeed, I have hardly looked at the adversary yet. Strange that there should be a smile of triumph upon his lips in all the agony of that hour:-and yet, not so strange either."

"What, you a soldier!" said Cécile, "and feel neither shame nor pity for the warrior who is dying by a woman's hand?"

"I feel what he looks, Miss Basinstoke, and you can best tell whether shame and sorrow are uppermost in his heart as he bids this hasty

farewell to life."

These reflections were here interrupted by the sudden entrance of Constance, most opportunely, as we deem, for it is perfectly surprising, as Sir Charles Basinstoke would often say, what nonsense girls and boys will talk when they are left alone together. Indeed, we should scarcely have felt ourselves justified in introducing the foregoing little dialogue, did it not tend to show that our Cinderella is no less proficient in the accomplishment of drawing than in that of music. That she is likewise an adept in the other sister-art, we shall, in due time, have also occasion to illustrate.

L