3

had seen

Yes! I came out in 'Romeo.' Ah! father, if you me in the vault, throwing myself upon 'Juliet' after I had taken the poison !"

"I saw Romeo Coates die in it a good many years ago," said the old gentleman; "he was reckoned a clever fellow enough. I remember he did die capitally, sure enough. The people encored him, and he did it again, two or three times over."

"Worse and worse! I must not associate my first-born with the remembrance of Romeo Coates; he would never forgive me when he came to years of discretion. Let me see what shall it be? I think it shall be 'Othello!" "

"Othello!" said his astonished mother, "why, my dear Frank, 'Othello' was a blackamoor, wasn't he?"

No, mother, not altogether black; that is a vulgar error -brownish-swarthy. To be sure, he says,

666 'Haply, that I am black;'

but he means comparatively, as in the 'Two Gentlemen of Verona,' where it says

"Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.' He certainly does not mean blackamoors. I never, myself, played 'Othello' black entirely. But, perhaps, that name would not do. What do you say to Cymbeline?""

"Is that a Christian's name?" asked Mrs. Shirley. "Perhaps the clergyman would object to it. Now, my father's name was Benjamin,-Benjamin Buggins, and a very honest man he was; and your grandfather Shirley's name was Abraham,-odd enough, that they should both be Scripture names; but I am rather partial, myself, to Scripture names."

Her son did not take the hint,-in fact, he did not hear it, for he was reviewing in his "mind's eye" a train of Shakspeare's heroes, as long as the procession of kings that appeared to Macbeth,

"Another, and another still succeeds."

"Ah, now I have it!" he exclaimed d; "he shall be Orlando!"

66

"Oh, yes, dearest !" cried the new mamma, who had till

66

then listened passively to the debate in all the luxury of convalescence, with her baby nestled close to her on her pillow; I should so like that! Orlando is such a sweet name! Well, then, Orlando it shall be,—it shall be 'as you like it,' my Emmy-my own Emmy;" and then he kissed her and the young Orlando over and over again; and the grandmamma and grandpapa looked as delighted as if the baby had been their own, and agreed that it ought to be as dear Emily wished.

To be sure it sounds a little romantic,” old Mrs. Shirley could not help observing,—“ rather uncommon," she was afraid their neighbours would think. Her husband, however, sought to comfort her on this head, by assuring her that the name was not at all uncommon-in the racing calendar.

6

'Why," said he, "don't you remember the old earl's bay colt Orlando,' that won the sweepstakes at York, the first year we were married? I took you to the racecourse myself, behind me on a pillion, you know. And only last spring, there was Squire Hawthorn, at the Beeches, backed his chestnut horse, Orlando,' rising four years old, against the field at Doncaster, and won with him; so let us hope that the name will be lucky."

The ten years that have passed over our stage-strack hero's head since the birth of his first-born, have made him something of "a wiser" though not "a sadder man.” He rides about with his father in a business sort of style to qualify himself for the succession to the stewardship; but is always the first to volunteer his services in the theatrical way, public or private, whenever a plea of charity, or any other decent excuse, presents itself to him. He is as fond of his wife, and as kind to her as he was the first week of his marriage; and he has lost none of his attractions in her eyes. They are now surrounded by a train of boys and girls, whom he calls his "Shakspeare Gallery ”—and a motley group they are. The "melancholy Jacques" is the greatest pickle in the whole village; the "fiery Hotspur" a meek and timid boy, always at his mother's knee; a little saucy fat Viola, who seems not very likely ever to

"Let concealment, like a worm i' the bud;
Feed on her damask cheek;"

and the gentle Desdemona, so far from being a maid so quiet that

"She blush'd at her own motions,"

is the veriest romp in nature; climbs over gates, and gets into trees with her brothers, and is friends with everybody that comes into the house in a minute. Wild, unchecked, sunburnt, with running about the woods and farm-yards all the day long, they are all, save the misnamed Hotspur, as strong as young lions, and as merry as mountebanks, to the infinite contentment of their father, who is never weary of their mirth, and the exceeding pride and delight of their grandfather and grandmother Shirley, who always advocate their having their own way, and being happy as long as they can.

But now we must turn our eyes to those for whom our earliest interest was awakened; and, therefore, we shift the scene to Courtney Lodge and its immediate environs-and whom have we here, walking under that long line of beeches, in order to escape the flood of light which the sun is pouring round him just before he sets behind yonder hill? It is our worthy friend, Mr. Slender himself; he does not quite escape the rays that touch the foliage above his head with burnished gold; they touch his brow also, and give it something of seraphic radiance-it is only the natural expression of his countenance a little heightened by the passing incidents. It retains all the simplicity, the benevolence, that marked it when we first saw him cheerily skipping up and down the causeway on his road to Gormanton; but it has somewhat more of seriousness, even of abstraction in it. He has been nearly ten years the successor of Doctor Jackson; the change in his worldly circumstances has only increased his sense of responsibility, his earnest desire to acquit himself of his duties, which appear to him under new phases, under every dispensation that falls to his lot. Still there is a fulness of contentment in his aspect, an affectionate smile plays at the corners of his mouth; for he has just been to see his Margaret, on her return from a visit with her husband and children to Maltravers Hall, for the frequent interchange of these visits forms the greatest enjoyment of both families. He is recalling to himself how she

looked, what she said, how affectionately Clement shook him by the hand, how his grandchildren ran to meet him. He would not stay dinner because he had some parochial duties to attend to; but he was only suffered to go away upon his promise that he would come the next day for the whole day, and bring Lucy and her husband and their children with him.

And who is Lucy's husband-and where?—but Mr. Slender shall give us all the statements that we have time for in his own words. He is winding up his account of the year in his journal, and we shall take the privilege of old friends, and look over his shoulder, and transfer his pages to ours, wherewith to take farewell of our readers,

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE CURATE'S JOURNAL.

I HAVE closed the old year upon my knees, in humble thanksgiving for the mercies vouchsafed to me in the course of it, by the Giver of all good. When I arose I passed in review all that has befallen me the last ten years of my life, and truly I was lost in wonder and gratitude when I thought of all the outward prosperity and internal peace which have been granted me the whole of that time! My Margaret, my first born, her mother's image, the pride of my heart, has been raised by the generosity of a most admirable and excellent young man, who loves her with a perfect love, to a fortune and condition, which, happily, nature has given her every requisite to adorn. Her native graces are heightened, and her mind enlarged, by intimate association with highlyeducated persons, and by foreign travel, which has imparted to her its polish, without any of the tinsel of its affectations. Warm and cheerful in her hospitalities, prudent and exact in her domestic arrangements, her house is the abode of peace and love, order and social enjoyment; but what delights me most of all, and for which I am most abundantly grateful, is that she retains, amidst all her affluence and all the importance which it naturally gives her in society, all the meekness and lowliness of heart which she has ever had

from a child. Her husband, still her fond admiring lover, as well as her tenderest friend, finds fresh motives for the exertion of his fine talents and benevolent principles, in the delight she manifests on seeing them so fully appreciated by all around him. He will indeed, I doubt not, be one of the first, as he is one of the best, men in the country, and I hope a blessing to it. Out of five lovely children, with which they have been blessed, one only they have been called upon to resign-and doubtless the affliction of losing that one was sent them for wise and good purposes, to remind them of the sorrows to which human life is continually open. My poor Margaret's maternal heart had always rejoiced with them that did rejoice, and this stroke taught her also to weep still more sympathizingly with them that weep; but she is always most tender and considerate in her deeds of love. Well may her presence be hailed as it is, by the poor and the afflicted, as an angel of consolation ! And then how loving she is to her sister; how she rejoices when they meet! how dutiful, how affectionate to me! And Clement, how kindly he always welcomes me! how affectionately he always calls me father! Truly he is my beloved son, the benefactor of all belonging to me, to whom, under Heaven, I owe all my earthly blessings !"

Then there is my sweet Lucy, the light of my hearth, the prop of my old age. She is as happy at the vicarage as her sister is at Courtney Park. She cares not for deer, or for peacocks, or any other fine things, whilst she has her cows, and her poultry, and her bees, which her husband laughingly calls her pin-money. And what an excellent young man he is; How thoroughly devoted to the duties of his calling! How tenderly he loves his wife and her pretty prattlers, whose sweet, shrill voices gladden my walls, and fill them with echoes of days gone by. They are, indeed, formed for each other; her vivacity is to him what it has ever been to me; as sunlight on the hills, or the song of birds in the spring; it contrasts, moreover, so prettily with his mild seriousness; though she is serious, too, when duty requires it of her. When he preaches she is the most attentive and admiring of his auditors; and when he converses on religious topics, she shows, in her "chaste conversation, coupled with fear," such lovely teachableness and humility