tionally conveyed to him that dubious expression which some men are so apt to interpret to their own advantage. The Captain quickly availed himself of the opening which his vanity fancied it detected in this innocent reception, and followed it up with such a volley of compliments as to heighten the lady's confusion, and compel her to adopt a variety of ways of looking at him under the milk-white round of that coquettish cap which was now brought into action for the first time, and which only inflamed the impression she had so undesignedly made upon him. Ladies are much exposed to this sort of injurious misconstruction from that self-flattery of men which is so apt to find latent meanings in their looks. If they could only contrive to talk without making use of their eyes, they would escape a great deal of troublesome speculation.

According to Captain Dingle's account, they staid that day for dinner, and walked out in the evening (the season was now advanced into spring), Pogey insisting upon Mrs. Raggles taking the Captain's arm, while he escorted Mrs. M'Spurl, whom he was careful to engross at a distance that he might give the Captain a better opportunity of making way with Mrs. Raggles. During that walk, it seemed (to the Captain) that the lady was even more piquant in her glances than before, looking occasionally down upon the ground, then sidling off as if she would break away from him, then turning her eyes softly upon him with a mixed expression of deprecation and playful reproach, and occasionally pressing rather heavily upon his arm. Out of all these signs and tokens and omens, and many more of a like significant kind, the Captain extracted a conviction that the widow had fallen in love with him at sight, which conviction was confirmed by a stray observation that escaped her, and to which nobody else, perhaps, would have attached quite so much importance. Arrived at the gate on their return to the cottage, the Captain, being very gallant under the excitement of his feelings, whispered something in her ear, to which she replied, flirting her muff in his face, "Get along with you, do! considered that conclusive.

He

"The fact is, Rawlings," said the Captain, " I'm not a marrying man-never dreamt of such a thing-but when a woman with seven thousand pounds throws herself at your head, what 's a fellow to do! As for Pogey-stuff and nonsense-she only laughs in her sleeve at him. I could see that clearly. I ought to know the sex tolerably--pretty extensive experience-have seen them at all ages, and in all climates. Pogey has as much chance in that quarter as my bamboo. You may consider the thing settled, old fellow! Keep a sharp look-out, and when I have converted the widow into Mrs. Scott Dingle, won't I treat you to an explosion!"

"So," thought Richard, when the Captain had left him to meditate upon this unexpected piece of intelligence, "Captain Scott Dingle is laying himself out to marry Mrs. Raggles!'

CHAPTER VIII.

Which shows how Richard Rawlings begins to mount the Ladder.

SPRING and Summer had passed away, and Autumn was in the woods. The pleasant air, with a thought of chilliness in it, sang amongst the leaves, and turned them inside out, and sometimes in sport carried them away. With the changes of the seasons come changes in the lives of young and old.

Amuse

ments, occupations, hopes, recollections, anniversaries, undergo vicissitudes of bud, and bloom, and blight, just like trees and flowers; and equinox and solstice mark revolutions in the moral as in the physical world. The oak was shedding its foliage, and Mrs. Raggles her weeds.

She still remained at Bermuda Cottage; and during the intervening months, Mr. Pogey and Captain Scott Dingle sedulously continued their visits, with such fluctuations in their suits as might be expected from the flickering caprice of a lady who did not exactly know her own mind, and who, if the truth in such matters could be got at, enjoyed vastly more the pleasure of keeping them both in a flutter of uncertainty than of resolving the doubts of either, which would have brought her pastime to a close. And so it happened, that when the Autumn arrived, neither the captain nor the apothecary was much nearer his object than when he started.

In the meanwhile Richard Rawlings devoted himself with assiduity to the widow's affairs. His efforts were crowned with success. His own circumstances were considerably improved, and without committing himself to any personal display, he wore the appearance of one who had acquired a responsible position. The crushed boy had risen to the stature and bearing of a

man.

It was, of course, necessary for him to keep up a constant communication with Mrs. Raggles; and the contrast between his manner and that of her other visitors was very apparent to her, and, at first, not very agreeable. Reserved, quiet, and almost grave, he never attempted to flatter her foibles-he did not even seem to be conscious of them, and nearly inspired her with a belief that she possessed a respectable understanding, by always addressing her as if he believed in it himself. Pogey and Dingle amused her, and when they made their appearance, nothing could exceed her high spirits. When Richard Rawlings came, the scene was as suddenly changed as if the curtain had been dropped on the play, and the lights put out. His serious

temperament put her gaiety to silence; and, although he was younger and handsomer than either of her more lively friends, she could not bring herself to regard him in his youthful form, but only in that still and sage aspect which a woman's imagination usually associates with more advanced years.

Sometimes, on his way to the cottage, he fell in with one or other of the widow's suitors, and as neither of them considered Richard in any other light than as a useful deputy, he had the satisfaction of learning from both the progress and particulars of their wooing. But as this was a subject upon which Mrs. Raggles had never taken him into her confidence, the only use he made of the information he thus obtained was to keep it to himself.

One evening, towards the close of the Autumn, Joey and Crikey Snaggs (who, between them, kept house for Richard,) were sitting in the kitchen, Crikey Snaggs philosophically watching the soldiers shooting each other in the fire, and Joey rocking herself in a chair at a little distance, as if she wanted to go asleep and couldn't. Rubbing her eyes after a while, she looked thoughtfully at Crikey, apparently revolving some difficult matter in her mind, and then put the following startling question to him.

66

Why did they call you Snaggs?"

"Don't know," said Crikey; "It come in turn, I suppose."

"Lord help us! do they christen of 'em like that!" "In course they do. Who christened you?'

"I never heerd."

"Why do they call you Joey?"

Joey ain't

my name."

"It ain't?"

"No."

"What were it then?"

"Johanna. They call me Joey for short."

A pause; Joey still ruminating, then breaking silence with

another interrogatory.

"Who were your feyther?"

"There's a go! I never had no feyther."

"Don't be a heathen, Crikey.

"Had you?"

You must have had a fether."

"I should say so," replied Joey, looking at Crikey with a blaze of wonderment in her eyes. "Who were your mother?" At this question, Crikey burst out into a laugh. "Why, Joey, you ere a fool, you ere. I'm a reg'lar orphan. "And how did you come here?" "I was took 'prentice, in course.

Joey?"

What a gabey you ere,

Further inquiries into this obscure bar sinister were brought to a fullstop by the parlour bell.

"That's Mr. Rawlings," said Joey; "go up, Crikey."

Crikey swirled round slowly out of his chair, and went yawning up stairs.

"There are some parcels to be delivered, Crikey," said Richard; "and a letter for the London Road, No. 2, on the Terrace." Crikey's chief business consisted in delivering parcels and letters.