Let us sally forth to the encounter of the drawingroom's dreads and dangers."

"But will you-wouldn't you like to rest ?"

66

'O, I'm not tired."

Poor Rachel looked pretty considerably embarrassed.

"Come, coz," said the Poor Relation," will you patronise me, or shall I patronise you?"

"You me," said the flurried and frightened Rachel.

"So be it then to the best of my ability; and now allons."

So arm in arm the Poor Relation and her trembling cousin descended. Their entrée into the drawingroom was either very welltimed, or very ill-timed, we really don't know which; but just as they entered at the door, the whole swarm of the dining-room hive crowded in to take coffee and ladies.

So the Poor Relation, in her coarse black stuff dress, with her braided hair, her demure face, and her perfect plainness, with her contrast cousin, pretty, over-dressed Rachel Mackillop leaning on her arm, walked in like a triumphant queen, apparently attended right regally by all the best catches of matches in the country.

Mrs. Mackillop looked as unutterably injured as Queen Constance when she cried, "Here I and sorrow sit!" Mrs. Mackillop might have exclaimed, "Here I and anger sit!" She hurled first a good-sized thunderbolt at Rachel, and then a larger one at the Poor Relation, who, disengaging her arm from her frightened cousin, walked straight up to Mrs. Mackillop.

It so happened that in this promiscuous entrance, Squire Harrowby had been jostled up against our heroine, and having caught acquaintance with Mrs. Mackillop's last edition of countenance, he lounged on in the Poor Relation's wake, apparently unconscious of everything in the world but his gold watch-guard, which he was jingling and tinkling as prettily and amusingly as any baby in yard-and-a-half-long clothes. "Madam," said the Poor Relation, with a countenance of stolid gravity, yet speaking in accents of singular clearness and precision, so that the whole circle could not choose but hear, "I am come to thank you for your kind consideration in recommending me to keep my room for the remainder of the day."

"I thought you might be tired," said Mrs. Mackillop, in a paroxysm of anger and embarrassment, yet not daring to say more.

"If I had been, madam, I should have felt it my duty to have helped you to entertain your company."

"You are too obliging," said Mrs. Mackillop, with a bitter sneer. "I cannot feel that my kindness has equalled your example, which I ought to emulate by every means in my power. You were graciously pleased to invite me down to your residence, and I came full of gratitude for your remembrance and condescension. I can assure you, madam, that your reception has made the strongest impression on my feelings. Not one of this company but must have felt how deep ought to be my sense of the distinguished manner in which you welcomed my arrival. And then the kindness with which you relinquished my society, even sending me a messenger to signify that your solicitude for my health and comfort induced you to recommend my

remaining in my own room, certainly deserves that I should make this public mention of it in return. I wish I could have laid claim to similar disinterestedness, for in denying myself the repose you recommended, I could not unfortunately pretend to doing anything but please myself you would scarcely credit my assertions even were I to make any, that I could feel much regret in exchanging six foot square of white-washed walls, and six inches of skylight, for this honourable company, and-your society-madam."

Everybody tried to look another way and to hear something else, and there was a general cough that was very troublesome to the company universally.

"Perhaps my housekeeper might think that the room she has given you might the better remind you of the one you have left," said Mrs. Mackillop, unable to control her vinous fermentation.

"My home is a back two-pair in Soho," said the Poor Relation. "It is rather dear, but then the light is good for my embroidery frame, and besides I am near the shops for orders. If you could recommend me, ma'am," curtseying to Mrs. Mackillop, "or you, ma'am," curtseying to the lady next her, " or any of this good company would be pleased to give me an order," curtseying round, "I would be sure and execute it well. Though I ought not to praise myself, I can work poodle dogs in wool so that you would say they were done to the life, and if the gentlemen," curtseying to the troop behind her, "wanted any hunting waistcoats-they are very fashionable—and I would do them cheap.'

There was a dead silence—and then a little stifling and choking of something that broke on the ear like suppressed laughter, from out of the midst of which sounded out the voice of a friend of the family, "Has anybody got a vinaigrette for poor, dear Mrs. Mackillop?"

"Here is mine," said the Poor Relation, producing an old-fashioned piece of obsolete gimcrackery. "It will do you good, ma'am. I find it very serviceable when I'm tired out with work. You don't know, ladies, how worn out one may feel with sitting at an embroidery frame from five o'clock in the morning till twelve at night. Ah, you who live in happy homes know little of the lonely sufferings of the friendless poor, and therefore it was the kinder in Mrs. Mackillop to invite me down from my two pair of stairs back lodging to this country palace of a place. I'm sure I thought it very kind, and I came with my heart full of fresh milk of human kindness-I hope it won't turn sour," added the Poor Relation in a sotto voce.

"Hadn't-hadn't you better-retire-and-and-make some change in your dress?" gasped out Mrs. Mackillop. "I suppose your trunks hav'n't been unpacked, since you are still in your travelling dress-and-and-you see I am entertaining my friends."

"Well, now, I really thought I looked quite eligible; but to be sure, the glass in my room has got so starred and cracked, and unsilvered, that I couldn't very well see myself. But am I not all right," said the Poor Relation, twisting herself round, and endeavouring to look at herself behind; whilst in doing so, she displayed a beautifully modelled figure, and fell into a few dancing steps, that would not have disgraced Fanny Elsler. "I was careful to put on my best dress,

because I wished to make a good appearance-and besides, I gave threepence a yard more for this robe than my last. Don't you think the style good? I shall be very happy to give the pattern to any lady-or gentleman;" again curtseying round.

"Will nobody take her away! won't you sit down and be quiet!" gasped out Mrs. Mackillop. "Don't you see I have company to entertain! I can talk to you another time!"

"I'm sure, ma'm, its quite my duty to try to help you to entertain your company, seeing that I'm your near relation. I'm sure I ought to help you-and indeed I do try-I am trying-and I hope I succeed. I hope I do help my relation to entertain you, ladies and gentlemen? Don't I help her to entertain you?"

The long, loud, heretofore painfully suppressed laugh, burst outthere was no alternative but suffocation; and the paroxysm was increased and lengthened by the Poor Relation's standing with the most self-satisfied air in the world, and curtseying decorously round, with a puzzling and provoking expression of chuckling vanity in her face.

"Rachel Rachel! go to the instrument and play me a march-a bravura-loud-loud-anything-only loud !" passionately exclaimed

Mrs. Mackillop.

Rachel, as if the atoms of which she was composed would have all dropped into a misshapen heap, tottered to the instrument; but her fingers were unable to add more than a few notes to the discord, and these were flurried and fluctuating.

"My poor cousin is nervous," said the Poor Relation. "Rich people always are nervous, but poor people never can afford to be so. I promised to help Mrs. Mackillop to entertain the company, so if my cousin will just give me her seat-why I'll take it."

The Poor Relation squeezed the trembling Rachel Mackillop out of her seat, and squeezed herself in, and then with a wild, brilliant, startling power of execution, passed her hands over the keys of the instrument, and there she sat drawing round her such a regiment of the spirits of harmony, that even the most dull and lifeless of her hearers became at last enthralled, forgetful of everything but that they were under the potency of enchantment; and so while the spell is on them we leave for the present the Poor Relation.

ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN SIR H. LE FLEMING SENHOUSE, K.C.H.,

OF H. M. S. " BLENHEIM," LATE COMMANDING THE NAVAL FORCES IN

THE ATTACK UPON THE HEIGHTS OF CANTON.

OPEN her annals' pages yet again

Retrace her glories to a wondering world :
Britannia's ensign yet remains unfurled,
Proud as when first it flutter'd o'er the main !
The Discontent may furtively complain,

And prate an envious prattle; but mankind
Will ne'er cast deeds of honour to the wind,
Whence Malice shrinks, where Envy finds no stain:
For though no Waterloo, Trafalgar, Nile,

May now with terror shake attentive nations,
Yet heroes are not wanting for the pile

In which Britannia seeks her dear oblations :
Nor look we for the flaws, when records tell

A tale where England fought, and England's children fell.

Senhouse! 'tis true, a patriot's rest is thine

Yet could we wish that Fate had led thee hence

:

To die nor speak we from a vain pretence
Of cause ill-grounded-for there is a line
Forbidding place to Disaffection's whine,
Set for the sailor and soldier-these

Must please themselves to do as others please—
Battle with Fortune, sink, yet never pine.

It is not this we urge: but who gainsays

That other warfare should have earned thy fame,
Brightened the still bright sunset of thy days,
And spread abroad the lustre of thy name?

Not that thy work were crown'd with fairer end,

But distant sounds fall faint-a neighbour's voice would rend.

We follow'd to the grave. If it be meet

For those to weep whose trade makes many tears,

"Tis no vain moment, after callous years,

When mourning Nature steals from her retreat :

And there were those whose waken'd hearts did beat,
To mark the coffin lower'd, and to see

The last remains of proud humanity

Consign'd to dust-the dust beneath their feet.

England, old England, may indeed rejoice

The veteran's blood; for when her youth are falling,

'Tis fair to think they hear another voice

With her's-while young, ambitious Hope is calling :

When such as Senhouse die, 'tis echoed wide:

A land grown sere in Fame, yields nought of strength and pride!

Hong Kong, China.

F. J. Š.

TALES OF A TOURIST.—No. 3.

PATRONA-CALIL.'

CHAPTER III.

THE revolters had tumultuously stopped before that principal entrance of the seraglio, known under the name of Sublime-Porte (BabHumayoun.) Their numbers filled the square that surrounds the outer wall of the Sultan's residence. Muslou and Ali, their standards in their hand, went from rank to rank of the undisciplined crowd, whose backs were to the mosque of St. Sophia, having the elegant fountain, which faces it, in front. They pointed out to their zealous proselytes, the pale Bostandjis, whose long scarlet caps floated in the air like flakes of fire from behind the battlemented ramparts. From time to time, on the platform of some lofty tower, an officer of the seraglio would appear, and with a trembling voice endeavour to harangue the unruly multitude, in order, if possible, to bring them back to a sense of duty; but one universal cry of indignation invariably drowned the faint voice of the speaker. The sword-bearer and Kislar Agha, the two first dignitaries of the palace, were themselves compelled to retire with no better success.

Of the whole body of Janissaries, scarce had a few odas (regiments) remained faithful to their master's fortunes. Amongst the most distinguished of their number were the four companies of Solahs, with their lare uskuifs (caps) overshadowed by lofty white plumes, and the Peiks, another kind of body-guard, dressed in gold-embroidered robes, and helmets of bronze, in imitation of the ancient Byzantian pomp. A few Baltadjis also appeared on the side of Achmet's defenders. On perceiving their pointed caps of yellow felt, each was reminded that their principal privilege consisted in carrying the coffins of deceased sultans.

Patrona-Calil, his sleeves tucked up above the elbow, walked to and fro, his arms crossed fiercely on his brawny chest, amidst that tumultuous throng, whom he commanded with all the precision and authority of a commander-in-chief. His manly features, which the frightful wound that furrowed them from top to bottom rendered still more energetically expressive, seemed inspired by some superhuman thought. His extraordinary foresight left nothing undone. At the same instant of time he would repulse the attack of a hostile force, and distribute his orders that the tranquillity of the capital should not be disturbed. On pain of death, he strictly forbade pillage and violence. The dealers were compelled to keep their shops open; and such was the ascendancy he managed to acquire, that, amidst the general confusion, he had not to punish the slightest infringement of his commands. What Patrona wished, what his party demanded, was the heads of the ministers, and the Sultan's deposition, if he refused to grant them.

5

1 Continued from vol. xxxvi. p. 406.