in a hundred would have made it, and I am sure, from your having made it, that you can write; I wish that you would be kind enough to make me some verses' to set to music."

"I will try," returned Peregrine; " depend upon it, that I will do the best in my power; and in return you must sing to me, some morning-I do so wish to hear you sing. Perhaps, you will favour us to-night."

Certainly not-Mrs. Proteus is here-I never sing when she is present; but, when I have no fear of being ruined by a contrast-any morning that you will call at my aunt's, I will gladly do my best to amuse you. I hope you are not very critical." "Not at all," returned Peregrine.

And thus those two new friends conversed till dinner was over, and, we are sorry to say, Peregrine Pultuney completely fascinated. How tame and insipid was Julia Poggleton, in the memory of the flattered youth, compared with this radiant, dazzling beauty-this gifted and eccentric Augusta Sweetenham, now visibly, bewitchingly before him. His new friend was certainly very beautiful and most winning, when she pleased so to be. She liked Peregrine, and scrupling not to show her preference, she had made her way to the young gentleman's heart, through the commonest of all channels-his vanity. He was not very vain; but who is not vain enough to be flattered by the marked partiality of a lovely and gifted woman? We know not; but we

are very certain that Peregrine Pultuney was no stoic in this respect. He is the hero of this story, but nevertheless he must be invested with human weaknesses.

Perhaps never had Peregrine Pultuney been to a party, at which the dinner-hours had passed away so delightfully; and never had the telegraphic nod been given by the burra-beebee to the lady of the house, so much to Peregrine's dissatisfaction, as that which Lady Tryem made to Mrs. Parkinson on the present memorable occasion. Our hero followed the rounded form of Augusta Sweetenham, with greedy eyes, as she glided out of the dining-room, and his face was still turned towards the door, though the ladies were half way upstairs, and his mental vision still dwelling on Augusta's white shoulders and her delicately turned ancles, when he heard a voice, which startled him, close to his ear, saying, "Well, Pultuney, are you so much lost in admiration of Mr. Parkinson's doors, that you have not a word to say to me-and will not even acknowledge my presence."

"Dear me, Clay, I beg your pardon,” said Peregrine, "I did not know that you had changed your

seat."

"I hope you don't think it desecration," said Mr. Clay," in me to occupy this seat-if you do, I will move on to my wife's. You are really a sad fellow —this will never do we must carry you back to Dum-Dum."

"All in good time," returned Peregrine. "To be in good time, we must be very quick," rejoined Mr. Clay, helping himself to a glass of claret. "I rather think that you are almost too far gone already there, help yourself, and drink, Absent friends'-if you can do it cordially still. You can, can you? well, I am glad of it, but remember that I have begged you to beware."

"You speak from experience, perhaps," said Peregrine bitterly.

"No-not exactly," returned Clay; "but it might have been so, and this much I can tell you, that you are playing a dangerous game; but I will say no more, I want to talk to you now about another sort of game, We are going soon to play the Barrackpore and Calcutta cricket clubs, and must have you in the eleven. Your leg-hits have ere now, I know, done much to secure us the victory."

As gentlemen do not drink more wine in Calcutta than in other civilized parts of the world, the afterdinner session was soon broken up, and Peregrine found himself once again in the neighbourhood of the gamboge couches. One hasty disappointing glance round the room showed him Augusta Sweetenham, bounded on the right by her aunt, and on the left by the lady of the house, and if not actually inaccessible, at all events so located as to be accessible to nothing but common-place, which somehow or other our hero did not feel disposed to talk to the fascinating Augusta. He turned away, therefore, and seeing Mrs. Clay on the ottoman, walked to

wards it, and seated himself beside her. They conversed for some time on indifferent subjects, and, at last, as is very often the case when a young wife is one of the talkers, the lady's husband became the subject of conversation. "Your lord and master," said Peregrine, a-propos of something or other that had been said by the lady," is a very great friend of mine, I assure you; and, to show what a tender regard he has for my welfare, he has been giving me a wigging since dinner."

Mrs. Clay said she had very little doubt that he amply deserved it, whatever it was for.

"I can assure you

regrine.

that I did not," returned Pe

"What was the offence?" asked the lady, "I will answer for it that he was quite right.”

"Offence!" cried Peregrine, "why the fact is that I commited no offence at all. He accused me of flirting with Miss Sweetenham."

"And do you mean to say that you were not?" asked Mrs. Clay.

66

Yes," said Peregrine, "I was only talking to her at dinner. One cannot help talking to a lady when one happens to be in the next seat to her."

"No," rejoined Mrs. Clay," and for that reason you talked so very much to me-depend upon it that my husband was right."

"Then I am afraid," said Peregrine Pultuney, a little abashed, "that I must plead guilty at all events, to the charge of rudeness."

"That is nothing,” returned the lady.

"And the other you think is so heinous an offence."

"I have no right," said Mrs. Clay, " to offer an opinion about it.”

"But I beg that you will."

"You had better not ask me."

"Remember then that you have forced it upon yourself."

"Yes," said Peregrine, "I am not afraid; I do not think you will be very severe upon me."

"I am not going to blame you," returned Mrs. Clay, "but merely to speak in a voice of warning. You think that there is no harm in thus paying attention -exclusive attention, to a beautiful and fascinating girl, like Miss Sweetenham. There may be no evil, nay, I am sure that there is none, in your intentions, my dear Mr. Putluney; but there may result, at some future time, from these most innocent intentions a world of unanticipated evil. Setting aside the chance of your being estranged in heart from the lady, to whom you are engaged, by the captivations of this new friend-setting this aside, I say, as a thing unlikely-nay, impossible, if you will, what surety have you that the intelligence of your flirtation with Miss Sweetenham (already talked of, let me tell you-commented upon, in this drawingroom) may not, through some mischievous channel, reach England and your betrothed."

"And if it were," returned Peregrine, "what does it amount to? Why, merely, that on a certain