you see how wretched she has made herself about

Frank Halloway!"

"Thank you,” replied Gertrude, with a reproachful look. "How very kind you are! I suppose you think I am a block of marble, devoid of all feeling?"

"By no means, my dear," said the mother. "I was only laughing at your notion of becoming a wife at fourteen. When I was of your age, I was scarcely permitted to look at a gentleman passing in the street, much less to think of marrying. But the times are sadly changed; there is nothing now as we used to have it thirty years ago. We must no longer murmur if lectured to from the pulpit by young men calling themselves clergymen, who, perhaps, have scarcely numbered sixteen summers; nor complain, if doctors of the same age are licensed to kill and poison us with their drugs; nor breathe a syllable of reproof, if our laws are enacted by 'beardless politicians,' who have not escaped their minority. Oh, these are sad, sad times!"

CHAPTER VII.

The Play's the thing.-HAMLET.

I ATTENDED the theatre. The play was Romeo and Juliet. The lamps shone brilliantly, and the boxes were crowded with beautiful women. Their eyes sparkled, and their dazzling necks rivalled even the snow in whiteness: I thought they resembled spirits of the air more than frail and perishing mortals of the earth.

The orchestra broke forth in full chorus. The playful flute, the mellow horn, the sprightly violin, the solemn drum-all blended their harmonious notes, ravishing the soul with ineffable delight.

O MUSIC!-the theme of bards from time immemorial-who can sing of thee as thou deservest? What wonderous miracles hast thou not accomplished? The war-drum beats—the clarion gives forth its piercing notes-and legions of armed men rush headlong to the fierce and devastating battle. Again, the drum is muffled, and its deep

notes break heavily upon the air, while the dead warrior is borne along upon his bier, and thousands mingle their tears to his memory. The tender lute sounds upon the silvery waters, and the lover throws aside his oar, and imprints a kiss upon the lips of his beloved. The bugle rings in the mountain's recesses, and a thousand spears are uplifted for a fearful and desperate conflict. And now the organ peals, and with its swelling notes the soul leaps into the very presence of the Deity.

I was speaking of the theatre. The curtain rises, and soon the melancholy Romeo moves across the stage; the pit cheers and welcomes him with shouts. He presents himself before the audience, and bows with inexpressible grace. His spangled slippers, his white satin mantle embroidered with gold, his large waving plumes, and, above all, his well-curled mustaches, secured him at least a favourable reception. The play proceeds regularly; the catastrophe approaches; Romeo drinks poison, and at length breaks open the tomb of the Capulets. He dies, as a matter of course; while Juliet-the tender, the devoted Juliet-stabs herself, that she may keep him company to the land of spirits. The curtain falls; the men wave their hats, the women their handkerchiefs; here is one in tears, there another in

VOL. I.-F

convulsions; the pit stamps, the boxes applaud, the gallery shouts; all, indeed, are equally-it is difficult to find a word; let us take a line from Collins

"Pleased, delighted, raised, refined."

This night's exhibition determined me to be a player. There was a fascination about the stage which was to me wholly irresistible. I doubted not that in a few months I should be a distinguished performer-enjoying a reputation which all might envy, but none acquire. I also made some shrewd calculations as to the amount of wealth I should yearly accumulate by my new profession; but as avarice was not one of my foibles, I pretended not to great accuracy-concluding that I would be satisfied, for the first year, with a thousand dollars, clear of all expenses.

The first thing was to procure a competent preceptor. I took up a newspaper, and saw the advertisement of a Mr. Wire, (what a name!) who fitted young gentlemen for the stage, pulpit, senate, or bar. A wonderful man was this Mr. Wire. I hastened to his residence, and rang the bell; the door was opened by the very gentleman himself. Mr. Wire was not a lean, slender man,

as might be expected from his name; on the contrary, he was stout and well built, somewhat resembling his own favourite Falstaff. His eye

was blue, his forehead lofty, his hair thin and curling, and his nose decidedly Grecian. By his speech, I discovered that he was a native of Ireland. In deportment he was extremely polite. Mr. Wire conducted me to a parlour on the second floor, and gave me a chair at a window looking out upon one of the principal squares.

"You are a teacher of elocution ?" said I.

"I profess, sir, to be master of that invaluable and too much neglected art," pompously answered Mr. Wire.

"Have you many pupils?"

"At present, sir, not more than twenty. I have just taught three large classes. I had ten applicants this afternoon; and expect, in another week, to have more than I can attend to. By-theby, did you attend my exhibition at the Masonic Hall? One of my pupils, a boy only ten years old, would have astonished you. What do you think? he was encored three times in the recita

tion of Queen Mab-a thing never before known. You know that is one of the most difficult passages in the English language."