non in German, Humboldt's version, and much I enjoyed it."

"And Latin?" asked Peregrine.

"Yes-I do know a little more about that; I know at least a whole line, and the meaning of it

moreover;

'O formose puer, nimium ne crede colori' ".

And she scanned the line, dactyls and spondees, as well as any fourth form-boy at Eton, looking sig nificantly all the while into Peregrine Pultuney's face, with a bright sunny smile playing sweetly upon her own.

"But German you know well, I believe?" continued Peregrine, who had no business in the world to take such a lively interest in the young lady's attainments; but who was, nevertheless, very inquisitive about them.

"Yes," returned Augusta Sweetenham, "a little; but I am not the least inclined this morning to talk about literature of any description; I want you to tell me whether you have decided about what dress you are to wear at the fancy-ball.”

"I have decided not to go at all," returned Peregrine.

"Nonsense; you have done nothing of the kind. Did not I tell you that it was my hookham (order) —my imperative hookham that you should go. The men here are really such slow coaches that we cannot afford to lose one who is not a slow coach,

and who will, I know, appear in some good character, and keep it up too with good spirit; you really must go, Mr. Pultuney.”

"I am afraid that I cannot," returned Peregrine, deprecatingly; "I am afraid that I must make a sacrifice and stay at home; but I should like to go very much."

"I know you would--then why not go? You have been to a dinner-then why not to a ball? To oblige me, Mr. Pultuney, will you go?"

Such a look-such a smile-such a winning tone of voice and one little hand too, in the eagerness of its owner, laid thoughtlessly upon Peregrine's, and hastily withdrawn, yet not before it had done its work most effectually, were more than our hero could resist. He looked into the beautiful face of Augusta Sweetenham-his fair tempter-sighed, and was vanquished. "To oblige you," he said, "I would do any thing-I will go to the fancy ball.” "Thank you thank you, I am very grateful, you-thank and so glad that you have consented. You must go in character, mind—but here comes my aunt."

Peregrine who had not thought of inquiring about her, wished Mrs. Sweetenham anywhere else than within the four walls of her own drawingroom; but he was nevertheless very tender indeed in his inquiries after the good lady's health, made sundry very pertinent observations regarding the weather and the salubrity thereof, and was just thinking of taking his departure, when the sound

of the gong caused him suddenly to change his mind in the hope that the new visiter might be a lady, who would occupy Mrs. Sweetenham's entire attention, and leave him to carry on the by-play with her niece.

In this, however, he was disappointed. The new visiter was no other than Frederick Splashington, and, as such, about the last person in the world whom Peregrine wished to meet at Mrs. Sweetenham's. Confidence our hero had in abundance, as all who have studied this history must know; but in spite of this he looked a little confused-we do not quite say ashamed of himself-when Frederick Splashington caught his eye upon entering the room, and gave him a look which said plainly enough, "You are a very sad fellow, Master Pultuney."

After a little miscellaneous conversation, relating to some young ladies who were going to be married, some old ditchers who were going home, a fancy fair at the Town hall, the overland mail and the eternal fancy ball on the 25th, the young gentlemen rose to take their departure at the same moment of time; whereupon Mr. Splashington asked Mr. Pultuney in what vehicle he was travelling, and Mr. Pultuney made answer that Dr. Fitz-simon had dropped him at Mrs. Sweetenham's, and that he was going home in a palki.

"How can you go in any thing tant villaine ?" asked Frederick Splashington, passing his arm

through Peregrine's, as they quitted the drawingroom together, "fit only for les roturiers-la canaille; you must let me leave you at Fitz-simons's —these palkis are only meant for crannies (clerks) and cadets."

"With all my heart," returned Peregrine, smiling. "I would sooner travel in a Stewart's buggy, but as I do not happen to possess one, I must patronise the cheap-and-nasties now and then."

"Do you wish to go elsewhere," asked Splashington; "or shall I drive you home direct? tez-montez, mon ami."

Mon

"I will go home straight if you have no objection," returned Peregrine, montez-ing with great agility-for the horse was not much inclined to stand still-" it is a very little way from this."

"Too near, a great deal," said Frederick Splashington, "and so I shall take you round by Parkstreet. You are a sad vaurien, Master Peregrine; now tell me if you are not ashamed of your galanteries?"

"What galanteries?" asked Peregrine, who was beginning to grow impatient of the badinage of his different friends.

"Quelle innocence! now, my dearest friend, what can I mean but your attentions to Miss Sweetenham? You think there is nothing in it, I dare say; but depend upon it you will discover your error. Don't be angry with me, pray, my dear Pultuney;

but you had better beware of that girl; there is something very seduisante about her, I know; but believe me she is not the person for you to choose as a friend and companion."

"And why not?" asked Peregrine. "Because I am an engaged man, am I forbidden to have friends and companions? I really do not see the harm of cultivating such a friendship as this."

66

Friendship!" exclaimed Frederick Splashington-" Friendship! c'est un mot dangereux. Do not talk about friendship, pray. If you want a friend I will be your friend—a better friend to you than Miss Sweetenham."

“Thank you,” said Peregrine, coolly; “but I do not see that there is any occasion to give up Miss Sweetenham, although I may avail myself of your offer."

"You chill me," returned Splashington; "but I forgive you. I am too much your friend to be angry with you—too much your friend to be afraid of offering you wholesome, though bitter advice. Believe me, Pultuney, that your feelings towards that girl are not what they ought to be not what you think them not what Miss Poggleton would like them to be. I tell you that you are playing a dangerous game-you are fascinated, I know you are, and Miss Sweetenham knows it too. She is not all innocence and simplicity as you think her. She will be delighted to know that you are unfaithful; for it will be a triumph, beyond all other triumphs, if she can