DINING ALONE. (A Christmas Story.) BY MR S. ABD Y. I would advise you, my young friends, to beware of entering into a clandestine marriage; such a line of proceeding is "wrong," without being "pleasant;" it will bring heavy clouds around you which will not readily be dispersed by sunshine. It may be rather distressing to a timid girl to walk up the centre aisle of a church, encircled by a bevy of well-dressed simpering relatives, and to be aware that her movements are watched by a large party of friends and acquaintances in the galleries; but though it may be distressing, it is respectable. It may be annoying to her to know that the Times and other newspapers will give information to all England and a great many more countries— "That she has taken her lover's name, Yet although annoying, it shows, at all events, Having now delivered my opinion of clandestine marriages in general, I will give my readers the details of one in particular. Alice Denby was secretly married to Charles Mansel at a retired church in London. She was the daughter of a country gentleman of small estate and large family, and became acquainted with Mansel when he was paying a visit at the house of one of their near neighbours. Mansel was an only son: his mother was a widow; her income was an easy one, but it would expire at her death. Mansel, however, had been from childhood the protégé of an old friend of his father's, and Mr. Haddon was not contented with alluding in very plain terms to his testamen tary intentions, but had for some years generously allowed his young friend six hundred a-year for his private expenses. He had, however, the propensity, very common among old gentlemen, of wishing to choose a wife for his destined heir, and he chose half-a-dozen in succession, all with good pedigrees and good fortunes, but with so very sparing a portion of beauty, talent, or amiability, that Mansel was compelled to decline them all, and say in the words of Haynes Bayley "Your will is my law, sir; but then, do you see, The ladies you fix upon, never pleaše me!” Mansel had known Alice Denby but a short time before he loved her, and truly was his affection returned. Nobody's consent was asked: Mr. Denby, though far from being worldly or ambitious, would not have allowed his daughter to marry a young man without any provision, the six hundred a-year bestowed by Mr. Haddon being merely payable "during pleasure," and it would be certainly and remorselessly withdrawn had Mansel committed the desperate act of marrying for love. The idea of a secret marriage now presented itself to the mind of Mansel; he could maintain his wife in quiet and comfort on six hundred a-year, and Mr. Haddon was in very precarious health; Mrs. Sloper, his trusty housekeeper, thought him declining fast. Alice timidly urged that they should wait at least for a few months before they decided on the course they were to pursue; but Mansel could not endure the idea of leaving one whom he considered so charming as Alice, exposed to the assiduities of several very eligible country admirers; and this inclination "to doubt yet doat" was reciprocated by Alice. The friends with whom Mansel was staying had not only told her of the wealthy and high-born ladies advocated by Mr. Haddon, but they had informed her of far more dangerous rivals: young, beautiful, and accomplished girls, who considered that in a marriage with Mansel they should combine interest and inclination. aunts, and chaperons were also paraded before Alice in a terrible light, and she was particularly warned of two opposition manoeuvring mothers, each with several pretty daughters, who lived in a fashionable part of London, and whose houses were generally known among young men by the names of "The School of Design," and "The Society of Arts!" Yet when Mansel first proposed a private marriage to Alice, she shrank from the idea with horror; how could she bear to leave in secrecy the roof so dear to her, beneath which she had passed so many peaceful hours? Mothers, 66 And did Alice Denby consent to exchange all these advantages for a name and for a ring," for a name, moreover, that was to be borne, and a ring that was to be worn far from the familiar scenes of her early youth? I grieve to say that she did. The girlhood of Alice had indeed been a "mourning bride" weep over its contents! It very happy one; her father was kind-hearted was evident that her father doubted of the realand cheerful, her mother gentle and affectionate. ity of her marriage; she was strictly forbidden Alice was the eldest of the family; all loved to write again to him or to any of the family, her, all looked up to her for kindness and as- unless she was prepared to throw off all mystery; sistance. Isabel, the sister two years younger he could only accept her perfect sincerity as any than herself, regarded her with admiration un- proof of the peniteuce which she professed to mixed with envy; she was the counsellor and feel. Alice conjured her husband with tears to playmate of her schoolboy-brothers, the presi- allow her to write fully and circumstantially to ding genius of the nursery, the favourite of a her father, but Mansel earnestly entreated for a large circle of pleasant friends. few weeks' silence. He had also received a letter that morning; it came from Mrs. Sloper, Mr. Haddon's trusty housekeeper. Mansel had propitiated Mrs. Sloper by honied words and presents of shawls and silk dresses, and she frequently gave him intelligence of the sayings and doings of Mr. Haddon; the present letter was to inform him that a serious attack of illness had induced Mr. Haddon to decline his country house engagements, that she was nursing him with devoted attention, that she would not advise Mansel to come down and see him, since Mr. Haddon, as he was well aware, could never bear the idea of being suspected to be ill; but that if any change for the worse took place, which she thought it very likely would soon be the case, she would give him the earliest intelligence of it. Alice, thus silenced, felt that all communication with her home must for a time be out of the question; she compelled herself to appear in good spirits before Mansel, but when he was absent, all the sorrows that she had brought on herself, arose vividly before her. A perpetual fear of discovery seemed to haunt her. She had gone, accompanied by Mansel, to the Polytechnic, and had narrowly escaped being recognized by a family of country neighbours who occasionally visited London for a few weeks; nothing but Miss Helen Hutchinson's frantic screamwhen the ship exploded in the water, which concentrated on her the attention of all her alarmed relatives, could have enabled the newlymarried couple to make their escape. A few days afterwards, a friend of Mansel's had met them at an exhibition of pictures, joined them for some time, evidently wondering that he was not introduced to Alice, and indemnified himself for his disappointment, by averting his eyes from all the pretty faces on the walls, and fixing them intently on the still prettier Alice. The Crystal Palace at Sydenham was out of the question; even in November people are sure of meeting some of their acquaintances there. Alice, therefore, felt herself debarred from the amusements which she had anticipated with so much satisfaction. Her walks with Mansel were now only in retired places, and she never went out without a veil. It seemed melancholy to Alice to compare her situation with that of a young relative, who had become a bride a year ago, and who had written accounts to her of little annoyances in the shape of "an avalanche of morning visitors, and a mountain of letters and notes, all waiting to be attended to, and hardly giving her time to be happy." Poor Alice! she had just overheard the landlady telling a friend of the dull, moping habits of the young bride, illustrating her re Mr. Haddon, who, like most old bachelors without any legal heir, was exceedingly popular among his friends, was about to pay a series of visits to country houses, very much to the dissatisfaction of Mrs. Sloper the trusty housekeeper, who predicted that he would never live to come back again, but very much to the satisfaction of Mansel, who was secure that his company would not be required by his somewhat exacting patron for several weeks, and that a peaceful honeymoon was ready to shine forth for him and his bride. A journey to Scotland was not necessary; Alice had attained the age of discretion a short time ago, and was therefore legally privileged to make an indiscreet marriage as soon as she liked. She went out one morning for an early walk; Mansel was awaiting her in a hired carriage at the end of the lane; they drove to a neighbouring town where was a railway station, and reached London in two hours. The very quiet and simple marriage having been solemnized, Mansel took his bride to apartments which he had previously engaged in an airy, pleasant, but unfashionable part of London. They were commodious and well-furnished; the landlady was respectable and civil; and the waiting-maid, whom Mansel had engaged expressly to attend on his bride, was full of anxiety to please her young mistress, and under different circumstances Alice might have passed a very happy honeymoon. It is true it was November, and the weather was very foggy, and London was very empty; but Alice had no aversion to November, had too good a constitution to mind fogs, and considered that London had so many objects whereby visitors might be interested and amused, that she was quite contented to resign the gaieties and vanities of the season, in favour of more rational sources of attraction. Yet thorns soon began to mingle in Alice's path of roses. Her husband permitted, nay requested her to write to her father, acquainting him with her marriage; but she was prohibited from giving her address, or mentioning the name of the church at which she was married; it was important that these matters should be kept secret, lest they should reach the ear of Mr. Haddon. Mr. Denby's reply was to be sent under cover to a friend of Mansel's; and when it was received, how did the marks by the graphic declaration that "she had never had a rap come to the door for her since her arrival at the house!" Alice read, drew, and played; but still the sense of being deserted by all the world but one, weighed heavily upon her spirits; the rose-coloured veil of delusion had fallen from her eyes, and she experienced the sad consequences which one wrong act is sure to bring in its train. Christmas came: it had formerly been the favourite season of the year to Alice. How did she sigh, when she recalled its employments and recreations! She thought of the distribution of clothes to the poor, in the manufacture of which she had always actively assisted; she thought of the service performed in the village church by the clergyman who had christened her; of the pleasant family meeting at dinner; of the Christmas tree, which seemed like a tree in a fairy-tale to her little brothers and sisters, so much mystery was always kept up in regard to the individual presents which they were to pluck from its illumined branches. Would that joyous group still assemble, when she, who had been the beloved of all, was self-banished from the circle? Would Isabel speak of her absent sister, or would she feel humbled even by the mention of her name? Alice, however, thought with gratitude, that although she should not enjoy the Christmas evening with her parents, she should still pass it with the one whom she loved above all the rest of the world; she remembered that Mansel had sacrificed much for her, although not so much as she had sacrificed for him, and she resolved that she would not be an inanimate or sorrowful companion, but that she would look forward to happier and brighter times. Alice, however, found that she was mistaken when she believed that her husband would dine with her on Christmas Day; she had heard him say that the family of cousins with whom his mother and himself had been accustomed to spend that day, were now travelling on the continent; but Mansel's mother had just returned to her residence in London, and had requested her son to dine with her. A refusal was out of the question; even Alice could not have wished it, but how bitterly did she feel the impossibility of accompanying her husband on his visit! Alice had heard much of Mrs. Mansel from the friends with whom Mansel had been staying in the country, and was strongly prepossessed in her favour. Gentle, excellent, intellectual, devotedly attached to her son, would she not be disposed to love one, who like Alice, had given up so much for him? Mansel, how ever, held out no hope to Alice that he should take his mother into his confidence; he accompanied her to church, and her spirits were for a time calmed and refreshed by the appropriate service of the day; the blessings and privileges of the holy season were, she felt, extended to all, although all might not partake of its social pleasures. The short day was beginning to close in, when Mansel took leave of Alice, "I am sorry that you should dine alone on Christmas Day," he said, "but you see, dear Alice, that it would be impossible for me to excuse myself to my mother." "Dining_alone!" how little that expression conveys to those to whom a solitary dinner is of frequent recurrence; but the fact must be revealed that Alice had never in her life dined alone! A member of a large family, she had, in those cases when she had not been included in the engagements of her parents, partaken of the nursery or the school-room dinner; and since her marriage, Mansel, to do him justice, had been scrupulously careful not to neglect her; he had joined a party of friends occasionally for two or three hours in the evening, but had never been absent from the dinner-table. And Alice's first experience of a solitary dinner was to be on social, cheerful Christmas Day; that day so joyfully anticipated by her on every preceding year! Everybody in the house seemed happy but herself. Mansel had gone to enjoy pleasant converse with the mother whom he loved and respected; Alice's maid had requested permission to spend the day with her father and mother, who lived on the outskirts of London; the landlady was entertaining a married daughter and her husband; but none expected Alice, none would welcome her to their home. If she could be transported into the midst of her family circle, she would cause as much consternation among them as the "White Lady" in the German story, who visited her relations in a state of semiexistence, a kind of living death! Alice did not ring for candles, but they were brought to her; the landlady was always attentive to the "poor young thing," for whom, in spite of her youth, beauty, handsome husband, and easy circumstances, she could not avoid feeling a great deal of commiseration at all times, but especially on a day like this, when her utter solitude was certainly something extraordinary as well as pitiable. Alice did not seek to employ herself in any way, but merely sat and gazed into the fire; melancholy and reproachful thoughts began to haunt her mind; how selfish, how undutiful had been her conduct! how had she violated the fifth commandment, which that very morning she had prayed to be enabled to keep! how ill had she repaid the kind care that had been bestowed on her! how had she slighted the excellent principles that had been instilled into her! She had voluntarily exiled herself from her family. Sickness and death might come among them, and she would not be informed of it. Her husband might weary of his life of monotonous seclusion: her present solitude might be a type of that which was in store for her during her future life. The hour of six was approaching, and Alice heard the preparations for her solitary meal beginning in the adjoining room. How gladly would she have countermanded them! but she was quite aware that her good-natured landlady would consider that nothing but a serious illness could cause disinclination to a Christmas dinner, and would alarm Mansel on her account when he returned. Only a quarter of an hour intervened between Alice and dining alone," when she heard a knock at the street door, and the sound of a carriage stopping. She took but little notice of it, feeling quite sure that no visitor would be coming to herself; but she was mistaken. She was surprised to see her husband enter the room, but still more so, when he was followed by a lady whose great resemblance to him clearly indicated her to be his mother. Had Mrs. Mansel come with the intention of giving a lecture to her daughter-in-law, I am of opinion that she could never have had the heart to persevere in it, when she looked on her sad countenance, and eyes "washed with salt tears;" but she came with no such purpose, "Dear Alice," she said, clasping her in her arms, "your troubles are over. I know all now; and if I had known it sooner, you should not so long have been left neglected and uncared for." Alice returned her embrace warmly, and looked to Mansel for an explanation of the extreme promptitude and suddenness with which his confession to his mother had been made. The explanation was given with delighted eagerness. It appeared that when Mansel reached his mother's house, he fouud a letter awaiting him, that had arrived that morning from Mr. Haddon. It contained the announcement of his marriage with his trusty housekeeper, Mrs. Sloper, who had nursed him with such tenderness through a dangerous illness, that he could not resist the opportunity of securing to himself so tender a nurse through life. But although Mr. Haddon had committed a foolish action, he ended his letter like a sensible man. He said that he felt that Mansel had much reason to be mortified and disappointed at his marriage, as he had with justice considered himself likely to be his heir, and that he had therefore resolved not only to double the income he had hitherto allowed to him, but that he had given instructions to a solicitor to make over to him the property requisite for such a purpose. Never did any young man receive the intelligence of his disinheritance with such amiability as Mansel! A mountain taken from his mind, his income doubled, smiles restored to the face and happiness to the heart of his lovely young bride; the "wide wide world" again opened to him, in which for several weeks, he had occupied so very insignificant a corner, what wonder that he felt and looked happy, and was very sure that not one of the people who would in a few hours be gathering gifts from the Christmas trees, would gather a gift so acceptable to them, as was Mr. Haddon's letter to himself! Mrs. Mansel saw the affair in quite a different light, and was on the point of uttering some very severe remarks touching men in their dotage suffering themselves to be victimized by deluding housekeepers, when her son put a stop to her "wise saws," by pouring forth the confession of his secret marriage, Mrs. Mansel was hurt at the want of confidence her son had evinced towards her, but she had never shown herself wanting in "that sweet weakness to forgive," and the account of the beauty and amiability of Alice, and the exemplary character of her family, pleaded powerfully in part of Mansel's petition for pardon, All that was kind and womanly in Mrs. Mansel's nature, now induced her to commiserate poor Alice, sitting in her dull lodging, looking forward to her comfortless dinner. She proposed to her son an immediate visit to his bride, and he joyfully accepted her offer. Alice, within a few minutes, had the delight of telling her puzzled landlady that she should not dine at home, and of accompanying her husband and his mother to the pleasant, cheerful abode of the latter. Not only was Alice rescued from "dining alone," but her dinner and subsequent evening were peculiarly agreeable. Mrs. Mansel kindly and judiciously asked her many questions about her home, her family, and her pursuits; and the young bride talking delightedly of her parents, her brothers and sisters, her garden, her pets, and her poor pensioners, seemed to feel her heart as well as her lips unfrozen; she had rarely, since her marriage, ventured even an allusion to home, or to anything connected with it. Mansel, still kinder, promised to take her down to her father's house on the ensuing day; therefore, although Alice lamented when the happy Christmas evening came to an end, she had the pleasure of looking forward to a still more happy morrow. And fully were Alice's expectations realized, and joyous was her reception when she returned to her father's home as the acknowledged bride of a doating husband, possessed of twelve hundred a year, and a host of other recommendations. The usual Christmas party had not taken place, on the plea of the indisposition of Mrs. Denby; but her illness was that of the mind rather than the body; the restoration of her daughter effected an immediate cure of her malady, and the party took place after all; but it was on New Year's, instead of Christmas Day, and Mansel and his bride were the objects of general attention and kindness from all the guests. Many were the conversations that Alice held with her mother and sisters about the dreary days at the lodging-house, her longing for familiar faces, her sorrows that the "postman's knock," once so interesting to her, should be converted into a strange sound, in which she could have no possible concern; but nothing seemed to make so much impression upon them as her loneliness on Christmas Day; and Isabel, after having filled four sheets of paper to an intimate friend, with an account of all the troubles and discomforts of the first few weeks of her sister's married life, considered that she had as completely crowned them, as the authoress of the ballad of "Auld Robin Gray" crowned the sorrows of her heroine by the "stealing of the cow," when she wrote, "And had it not been for the opportune marriage of that dear old foolish Mr. Haddon, poor Alice would actually, on Christmas Day, have had the trial of 'Dining Alone!'" Several years have elapsed since these incidents took place, and they have been years of much happiness to Alice and her husband. For some time they felt very uncertain where to fix their residence; some of their friends advised a place in the country, and fancy-farming; but Mansel maintained that fancy-farming was so very expensive a pursuit, that his income would prove totally inadequate toits requisitions. Others advised travelling on the continent, but Alice's father very truly remarked, that those who have travelled much on the continent are seldom fit for anything else; that they return to England annoyed by the climate, dissatisfied with the dulness, and feeling that the "dwelling among their own people" is rather to be regarded as an infliction than as a privilege. About that time, Mansel made acquaintance with some persons who interested themselves warmly in the various Institutions and Societies now happily abounding in London, for the purpose of bettering the condition and instructing the minds of the working classes. Mansel inquired into these subjects, and partook in the interest his friends expressed for them; he had an easy income, good talents, and abundance of leisure; he thought he could not employ his time more usefully and advantageously than by assisting in these good works of charity and philanthropy. Consequently he is more away from Alice than men without a business or profession are generally away from wives to whom they are devotedly attached; but perhaps this may be all for the best. Martin Farquhar Tupper says:"Be not always in each other's company: it is often good to be alone. And if there be too much sameness, ye cannot but grow weary of each other." Alice is now in the occasional habit of "dining alone;" but she is perfectly willing to do so, and glad that her husband is so well employed. Solitude is only a trial when the mind is ill at ease, especially when, as in the case of Alice on Christmas Day, the uneasiness is accompanied by the consciousness of having done wrong. Now, however, all is bright without and within. Alice receives her husband with smiles of pleasure when he returns from one of the meetings where he has been labouring to do good to his fellow-creatures, inquires eagerly into all the details of the evening, and never for a moment considers that she has undergone any hardship in "Dining Alone!" A PILGRIMAGE TO STRATFORD-ON-AVON. BY EDWIN GOADBY. A pilgrim myself, I can readily pardon the enthusiasm of ancient palmers, wandering to sacred shrines to erase from their lives the sins of the past, and imbue them with a saintlier holiness. Carp at it as one may, there is something of a hearty sentiment beneath it all. We are still human, if we have discarded staff, wallet, and scallop-shell. We are always placing ourselves beneath certain influences, real or suppository, and hoping to catch inspiring airs after the same medieval manner. At Mecca, why should we not be Mahometized? in Cappadocia, why may we not expect to imbibe the dragon-killing vigour of Saint George? and in Stratford-on-Avon, what doth hinder that we, too, should not become writers of sonnets and dramas ? All our ruin-visiting, our placeworshipping, our "Murray"-in-hand galloping abroad has something of this ancientness about it. Whenever we can, we place ourselves hopefully in the matrix of some kingly soul, and our pigmy glance wanders round, while vanity whispers to us, "Go to; why should not we also be famous ?" I stay not, after such an apologetic preamble, to refer to my own feelings in the matter. I made my pilgrimage with whatsoever intention was uppermost-I think there was reverence in it. Here are the notes; as for the rest, see ye to it. The morning train from Coventry to Warwick fills with the usual collection of business and pleasure travellers; and, taking our seats, we are soon whirled through shrub-planted cuttings, with here and there a primrose peering through the delicate green of newly-tressed pines, whilst occasional long sweeps of country opening to the view, besprent with flocks, relieve the dulness of an April morning. Suddenly we are startled from our pastoral reveries, by a stout porter's voice bawling out, "Kenilworth"-awakening dim remembrances of Leicester, Amy Robsart, and old Mervyn, and photographing on the mind a picture of ivied ruin. The Castle, however, is a mile distant, and hidden by a clump of trees. All we can see is part of the straggling town, with rows of houses spreading out like the combs manufactured by the inhabitants. A snort and a plunge, and we are off again, and soon all eyes are turned to the River Avon as we cross it, for the first time realizing our propinquity to the great poet's birthplace. Alighting at the station, which serves from its equidistance for both Warwick and Leamington, a walk of some two or three hundred yards brings us to the Avon, with |