had a most agreeable, interesting chat at dinner, that you have had a pleasant trip; I suppose you met many friends?"

66

No, not so; I made myself agreeable to anybody and to everybody."

"Dear me! how strange-how very odd! You and Mrs. Sydenham and her family appear to have been very intimate."

"Yes, we saw a great deal of each other-did we not, my dear Mrs. Sydenham? I don't know what I should have done without you and your very charming daughter; and Cecil too, though I call him an untamed youth. I could not keep him in order at all; he was always running away, and deserting us, which was very sad conduct in him." Turning to Miss Hubland, she said, "Is not Miss Sydenham charming?"

"Yes, I think her pretty; at least, she would be pretty, if it was not for her forehead."

"Her forehead!-it is so fine."

"It is so out of proportion; or else it is her nose.

She is very

satirical, is she not, at times, or very shy? They say she is clever; I fancied she was rather dull."

"Oh, she is charming !" said Lady Sophia, obstinately.

"I am glad to hear you say so; I fancied you did not quite like her, sometimes."

"I like her extremely; she's quite my pet."

"It must have been very agreeable, extremely nice," said Miss Hubland, addressing Mrs. Sydenham, "to have acquaintances near you, with whom you could establish yourself on so friendly a footing."

"Yes, it is always pleasant to meet old friends; Lady Sophia and I enjoyed it very much. We were able to see each other every day."

"Really! dear me! Lady Sophia, well, then, I shall begin to believe some of the amusing reports I heard. He! he! Well, I suppose they must be true. He! he!"

Lady Sophia pretended not to understand this, and said, "At watering-places, you know, everybody is very intimate with every body. I am sure I was really glad to visit all sorts of people I should no more think of calling on in London, than I should think-think-"

And here her Ladyship paused for lack of an appropriate simile. "Than you should think of flying to the moon, suppose you say, by way of giving the sentence a fine finish," said young Elvers, vexed at his mother's rudeness. "There, I am sure, you would never go."

"Nor I neither," said Maude; "those cold airs in the higher regions would freeze me to death."

Elvers saw a strong expression in her countenance, and said, in a

confused way, "My mother means that she does not suppose herself called upon to call upon all kinds of people, of quite a different grade from our own."

"If your mother supposed herself called upon, surely she would call again; not to do so would be ill-bred," replied Maude, mischievously catching at his words.

"What are you saying about death? A young creature like you -you must not talk of death," said Lady Sophia.

"And as to going to the moon," said Elvers, "I am sure you are mistaken; it would suit you very well: you would be in such a blessed state of serene, cold solitude."

"I dare say some of my friends might not mind my going," said Maude; and she walked away, and took a seat near the table. Miss Elvers was sitting on a sofa, by Sir Walter Stanworth; Mr. Clarkson and Mr. Copeland Mason were standing near.

Mr. Clarkson asked Miss Elvers how she liked the music in the foreign churches.

"Oh, delightful!" she exclaimed, "quite equal to our opera! The churches are very fine; in fact, everything was so very fine. I liked it so much, and so did dear mamma."

Miss Elvers was in particularly good humour, and the world looked couleur de rose that evening.

Mr. Copeland Mason and Mr. Clarkson entered into a discussion on architecture. Mr. Copeland Mason was considered a very intellectual and accomplished man. He was about forty, very quiet, perfectly self-possessed, and he generally differed from the person with whom he conversed. He had the manner of teaching, rather than of talking. He spoke in a clear, sharp voice.

"I believe, after all, that nothing can exceed the beauty of the English cathedrals," said Mr. Clarkson.

"You think so? You have never been abroad, I perceive."

"No; but I conclude, from all I hear, that that is the case. Our parish churches are extremely beautiful, very beautiful; only they appear to less advantage than others, because they have been so dreadfully handled of late."

"Excuse me; perhaps you are not aware that foreign churches have suffered from the same decline of taste."

"I lament that decline so much."

"Well, I am not sure; it is a change, certainly-a change of taste, I should have said."

"I think that change very lamentable. Don't you consider it very lamentable?"

"We must look to a long result before we can judge of such a question."

"I so much deplore the ruin of those magnificent Gothic buildings."

"You must recollect they are Gothic before you deplore." Mr. Copeland Mason laughed a little; he seldom did more; and it was generally at something he himself had said.

Mr. Clarkson was puzzled; but Mr. Copeland Mason was so clever, that he hesitated to differ from him, or to question him. "You yourself, I feel assured, prefer the Gothic to the Grecian ?" he resumed.

"Undoubtedly."
"And why is that?"
"It awakens no feeling."

"Exactly; you are not a Greek."

"But I like Gothic, because its symbolism does awaken feeling." "And it is so beautiful!" exclaimed Maude; "and the contemplation of beauty does us so much good."

Mr. Copeland Mason was not going to listen to a lady about architecture; but in a polite manner he continued to follow up his contest.

"Genius is ever inventive; why should it not be inventive now as in the eleventh, twelfth, fifteenth century?"

"I have little faith in its power to excel what has been done; I think it should study ancient models, and attempt to equal them."

"In that I think you are so much mistaken. To the medieval mind, wrapped in a cloud of superstition, Gothic architecture had charms. Its day is gone, especially in this country; it is passed by. It is a body absolutely without a soul; nay, worse,—it misrepresents our feelings, and misleads imaginative minds and uninformed persons. We want a style suited to our present ideas, present state, present exigencies. To deal with the subject prac tically:-Much is said of the want of room: why then expend as much upon one church as would build half-a-dozen? We are a luxurious people; I lament it, but it is the case. We must take things as they are; we must have comfortable, convenient places, and we have little money for religious purposes. This is the common-sense view of the question; and these three considerations -so strikingly important to a person who has reflected on the subject should be made the basis of a new style, appropriate, and therefore as admirable in its way, as those that went before. I would call these considerations the lamps' of modern architecture." And here again Mr. Copeland Mason smiled.

"But the Normans must have found money for religious purposes," said Mr. Clarkson.

"With great difficulty, I assure you. They had to work very hard, to make pilgrimages to Rome, to beg here, and to beg there. We have not time for that sort of thing; this is a busy age. We are matter-of-fact, breathing sort of people; we all have our business to attend to."

"I have heard it said of those early Normans, that they con

sidered a day lost in which they did not move in some grand work," said Maude.

64

Well, I dare say we are just as industrious, only in a different way. I hope you don't fancy me an idle man. I assure you I have no time for reading. I absolutely know nothing you may smile, it's the fact. I have no time. I have been fighting a great battle about education, and I am trying to get up some baths and washhouses; I have great faith in baths and washhouses. But I am sure, Miss Sydenham, you must have thought me a Goth, which I hope I am not, for talking on such dry subjects in the presence of a lady."

In order to make himself more agreeable, he selected tales from his long list of topics, and commenced a series of questions, but without eliciting any very animated accounts.

"My symbolical friend, I see, has departed," he said; "he has run away. I hope I have not put him to flight; I should be sorry if I were the cause of his retreat. I believe I must be saying good night myself, as I go to-morrow by an early train into the north."

Miss Elvers took his place, and said, "Dear Maude, I suppose you have heard the news? I am going to be married to Sir Walter Stanworth: it is all settled."

"Yes, I know it, every one knows it."

"Were you not surprised?"

"Yes, to answer truly, very much."

"Yes, but I like him much better than I did; and besides, papa and mamma are so pleased. I determined to marry, because Harry is the favourite; it is a great shame, but he is. Everything is done for him, and nothing for me; so I determined to marry. Papa and mamma like it, because he is a baronet. I might not be so lucky again, and then there might be objections; and when the little ones grow up, I suppose, I should be quite laid on the shelf. You know I am plain; mamma says I am not like her family,— I am an Elvers; by that she means I am ugly: it is her delicate way of insinuating her opinion on the subject. She thinks Harry like herself, and so he is. Harry said you were so pretty; I said you were not. Don't look cross; I said, she is not pretty-she is beautiful. I am not like you; but I dress well, and that gives me a distinguished appearance. But I am plain; don't say I am not."

“I was going to say nothing on the subject." "Don't be cross. What do you think of Sir Walter? He is rather too stout, and rather stupid. You see, I tell you everything. He has such a good fortune, and a very nice place,-quite a grand place, mamma says, in Leicestershire. Papa and mamma have been staying there. I suppose it's very dull; but, you know, I shall never stay there more than a few weeks in the year: that will be long enough for the romance of being lady of the castle.

I sup

pose, if you were lady of a castle, you would stay there all the year round! I hope he does not dislike moving about; I am afraid he looks as if he did: do you think so?"

"You should have inquired beforehand whether he had any 'objection to travel,'" said Maude, smiling.

"Yes; I don't know, though,-it might have alarmed him, and put him to flight altogether. Papa says the difference of age is not of the least consequence, where the fortune and connections are suitable. How grave you are !-well, good-bye. I dare say you will be married yourself some day !”

And after all the guests were departed, Maude threw herself on the sofa; her hand rested on her lips, and her eyes were fixed on the lamp, and she mused of many things till the clock struck, one, two, and the clock in her mother's boudoir struck, one, two, and played its gay tune; and Maude arose and braided her hair, and dreamed painful and confused dreams. She stood within a gorgeous Church, and heard its pealing music, and then through the crowd of worshippers dark and restless spirits moved stealthily, watching and mocking; and the walls lost their beauty, and became blank and dreary, and she wandered alone among a strange, rough multitude, looking in vain for an altar. And suddenly a young girl seized her hand; she was dressed gaudily, and laughed and talked in a violent, artificial manner; and when she turned her face, her profile was that of a haggard, malignant old woman, and those dark spirits were still seen watching and mocking; and Maude arose early, glad to escape from such sleep.

THE CORNISH MINERS.

(FROM AUNT NELLY'S PORTFOLIO.)

EVERY one I hope has heard of the superior intelligence of our Cornish miners. At all events those who converse much with them cannot fail to be struck with the poetry sprinkled throughout their most familiar talk, so different from that of the labourer who follows the plough, with the exception here and there of a Bloomfield-or a Burns, who, having nothing else to spend his poetic fire upon, immortalizes the daisy upturned by his share. I do not of course mean that our miners express themselves as cottagers in tracts are sometimes made to do, like Christian rhetoricians, only that they have a proneness to metaphor and antithesis which imparts a richness to their patois, and even when mingled with the worst English, converts it into eloquence. This, for one reason, may be owing to their acquaintance with Wesley's hymns, a book