lect of her old friend. But she promised herself to take this opportunity for an explanation. And Albert Lenox offered his escort to his sisterin-law, if she would attend; and it was so rarely she could get him into society, that she was too happy of the opportunity. Mrs. Archer Scott, and the Hautons, accepted because their dressmaker had told them Mrs. Lenox was going; and many others followed their example from mingled motives of curiosity and love of novelty. A few friends, indeed! The house was a blaze of light-every room thrown open, and filled with the very elect of society. There had not been a more elegant fête in the annals of Walnut Street. The liberality of Mr. Thompson was unbounded. He, by the way, was not at all out of place, with his portly figure, and face beaming with good temper, for there was nothing innately vulgar about him, and he knew his value among men too well to endanger his selfrespect amid his wife's fashionable guests. Mrs. Thompson herself was all that a dignified and elegant hostess should be, and Madame Leignette, the star of the evening, won all hearts by the lively, coquettish manner, that became her so well, and unconsciously seconded her new friend's cause, by her own affability, and praise of everything around her-" dear Suzette" in particular.

Yes, it was indeed a brilliant affair; and, though Mrs. Le Count satisfied her conscience by exposing the true position of Mrs. Thompson, as she detained Madame Leignette in the perfumed conservatory, that lady resolutely declined her offer of relieving her from such unenviable protection. "How very ungrateful she should be," said the vivacious little creature, "to one who had shown her so much attention;" and this was said with such apparent generosity and good feeling, that Mrs. Le Count was quite moved. And shall we explain the glance of half contempt, half triumph, with which Madame Leignette looked after her retreating form, and watched, at the same time, a tall distingué figure approaching her concealment. It is a pity that bright eyes and sweet voices do not always tell just the truth-that open, honest glances sometimes cover deep laid designs. It was in the inind of the young widow, who was indeed removed only by report from real dependence and penury, at first meeting the grave misanthropic Albert Lennox, to make a conquest of him, with his broad lands and accumulated wealth. It was to follow up her Saratoga impressions that she resolved upon a winter at Philadelphia, to be secured at all hazards, and yet without an item of expense she could ill afford. Her fine jewels and Parisian wardrobe, her bright smiles and gay laughter, were her only capital, and she thanked fortune as fervently as did Mrs. Thompson, when chance made them both minister to each other's schemes. She was too far-sighted not to glean suspicions at least of the truth; but she was not ill-natured, and could afford to extend the ægis of her high birth and connections over the plebeian associations of her hostess, while she was surrounded with all the luxuries

and elegancies, which habit had made essential to her, in return.

Accept Mrs. Le Count's offer-no, indeedwhen in their struggles to keep up appearances abroad, there was scarcely even comfort at home. Place herself under the immediate espionage of Mrs. Lenox, who knew that, if her brother-inlaw never married, his property would descend to her large family. Ah, she was too wise for that: so she greeted the object of her thoughts with her most bewitching smile, then drooped her heavy eyelids yet lower, as he spoke of their former acquaintance. What meant the single white rosebud that gleamed in her dark braids, when she issued from the conservatory, leaning upon his arm? He only knew whose hand placed it there.

No wonder Mrs. Thompson could not sleep that night, as she reviewed its events. She had not heard the whispered sneers of "parvenue,' and "nouveau riche," which had circulated with the flashing wine, at her costly supper table. It mattered little to her that her bold stroke for society would be canvassed, and ridiculed, and sneered at, among the very people she had entertained. It had succeeded, that was enough for her to know; nor did it then occur to her to analyze what was the phantom of fashionable popularity she had at length secured.

It came to her thoughts afterwards, when, after a winter of heartless dissipation, in the circle so long aspired to, she stood still gayest of the gay, at the bridal reception of Mrs. Albert Lenox, and witnessed the ill-concealed hollowness of the congratulations which were offered by the friends of the newly-made husband. And were they not a type of many of those by whom she was now surrounded-filled with envyings and heart-burnings, darkened by malice and evil speaking. Where was the happiness of the home circle-where the purity of the affections to which it is consecrated? What a sigh in such a scene, fair lady.

Mrs. Mark Thompson had given herself up to an absorbing reverie. There came a picture before her, as vividly as if it had been reflected in the plate-glass mirror by which she stood, of the barefooted child kneeling by the embers of a decaying fire, heaping them together that their glare might illume the well-thumbed volume in her hand. Next a view of the humble counter over which she had once presided. And, again, of the dreams which the young apprentice revelled in while the brilliant silks were shaped by a skilful hand. And there was a rapid transition now, and the canvass was crowded with brighter scenes; but ever burned that one steadfast flame of desire to stand among those who had scorned her, as their equal. Could it be realthat brilliant light, and soft atmosphere, the Arabian enchantments of her girlhood, all, all fulfilled? It was even so, and it is deemed sufficient reward, dear reader, for all her struggles and all her heart-burnings, that Mrs. Mark Thompson was now not only in society, but acknowledged, together with the fascinating Mrs. Albert Lennox, to be among its leaders.

The slightest suggestions which are thrown out by such a poet as Tennyson deserve study and consideration; surely then his "minor characters" are well worthy a careful examina

tion.

1.-CLARIBel.

Of Claribel we are told nothing but that she "low-lieth;" yet from this one fact we gain some insight into her character, if, as we may with reason suppose, that the place where she low-lieth was the spot selected by herself, or one chosen by others as appropriate for her restingplace.

"Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,
Letting the rose-leaves fall:
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody

Of an inward agony
Where Claribel low-lieth."

We feel assured that she was musical; loving the melodies of nature, which ever found responsive echoes in her heart and soul. But most she loved the sadder strain, being of a melancholy yet reflective temperament, one whose inner life progressed independently and apart from the every-day world in which she lived and moved and had her being. She loved the night especially, when,

"At midnight, the moon cometh
And looketh down alone."

To that silvery orb she could, without a blush, pour out her girlish thoughts-her untaught fancies, and poetic reveries, whilst the outwelling waves and "babbling runnels" made sweet accompaniment to her low but sweet-tuned voice. And like a dream she passed away, whilst nature's melodies float o'er and around,

"Where Claribel low-lieth."

2.-LILIAN.

Of Lilian, on the contrary, we have a most graphic personal description:"

"Airy, fairy LilianFlitting, fairy Lilian!"

How vividly do we see her graceful, childlike form flitting by us-clapping "her tiny hands," and, with feet as tiny, tripping o'er the greentripping or flitting-for walking would be too grave and sedate a motion for such a lighthearted, merry sylph. No quiet moonlight walks-no melancholy reveries for Lilian; she loves the sunshine, the merry trilling of the lark, and, butterfly-like, would chase the butterfly in the bright noontide. Sorrow hath never touched her; she has never made friends with

tears.

"Prythee weep, May Lilian! Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian."

Nay, May Lilian cannot weep; her "silverlaughter" sheweth she hath no need of tears. Ah what a charm is there in "silver laughter"! a joy to think-to know-there are lives all sunshine and brightness whilst youth remains. A silver laugh comes upon my ear as water to the thirsty traveller. Laugh on, May Lilian; lengthen thy sunny time of youth. Let

"Lightning-laughters dimple

The baby roses in thy cheeks." We will not believe in evening gravity for thee! We cannot picture merry Lilian a care-fraught woman. Her mirth would scare away grief's presence as her lightest smile would check the falling tear.

3.-ISABEL.

Lilian differs not more essentially in char acteristics from Claribel than does Isabel from classes of mind. In Claribel we have indica Lilian. They are three types of three distinct Lilian we see the light-hearted and happy-living tions of the introspective and reflective; in in the present and the external; and in Isabel we have the type of perfect womanhood. The sparkling vivacity of childhood has subsided into calm, deep happiness; the pure and bright fancies and imaginings of her spring-time have risen into holy aspirations, and her hours and days of girlish but speculative inquiries and philosophisings, have ripened and strengthened her intellect so that she has

"The intuitive decision of a bright

And thorough-edged intellect to part
Error from crime."

But with all her strength of intellect are combined the woman's sweetness-the womanattributes:

"An accent very low

In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, though undescried, Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride." That Isabel has not grown up quite unscathed by sorrow we feel assured, from this one line:

"A courage to endure and to obey." Suffering and sorrow-skilful teachers both, and not so harsh as the giddy world supposes-have had their share in the perfecting of Isabel's character; they have given her elevation of thought, inspiring her with a distaste to all that is low and paltry, inspiring her with

"A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway.” Most delicately has the poet given us the outline as it were of her face and form; leaving to the imagination of each reader the filling up and colouring of the sketch. Of her eyes we are only told:

Eyes not down-dropt nor over bright, but fed
With the clear-pointed flame of chastity,
Clear, without heat."

Who has not met such eyes, and yet known not whether they were blue or black or brown, or any intermediate shade or hue, only remembering their clearness and purity. Again:

"Locks not wide dispread, Madonna-wise, on either side her head; Sweet lips, whereon perpetually did reign The summer-calm of golden charity." And of figure we only read:

"The stately flower of female fortitude." A mere sketch, and yet a life-like reality, definite in its indefiniteness. In his delicacy of delinea tion, and in his graphic and life-like touches, Tennyson is unsurpassed. His heroines live in our minds and hearts; creations as palpable as those of sculpture or painting.

4.-MADELINE.

Madeline is like a petted, wayward child; yet most winning in her waywardness. "Evervarying Madeline;" thou art like unto an Aprilday-all sunshine one moment, and clouds the next; sparkling and radiant, smiling and frowning; changing ever: in thy young life there is nothing of monotony. Like a beautiful page of nature, thou art ever revealing some new charm-some novel trait. Like nature,

"Revealings deep and clear are thine

Of wealthy smiles: but who may know
Whether smile or frown be fleeter?"

Yet, transiently as the frowns and smiles flit across Madeline's fair brow-external as they appear-they are true evidences of the inner depths of feeling; and "eyes divine" are windows of the lofty soul; through them we see the pure and elevated thoughts the mind gives birth

to-in them we read the heart's fond tale. A child in years, Madeline is woman in heart; but the timidity of the child predominates over the strength of the woman's love, and she shrinks from any demonstration of the lover's passion. "When I would kiss thy hand, The flush of anger'd shame O'erflows thy calmer glances, And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown."

And then, with all the natural frankness of her character, and with the girl's fond trustingness,

"When I turn away,

Thou, willing me to stay,
Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest;
But, looking fixedly the while,
All my bounding heart entanglest
In a golden-netted smile."

And with something also of the woman's consciousness of power; for Madeline must know full well the witchery of a "golden-netted

smile. In beauty there is a deep mystery; reason cannot solve it-cannot explain why it

soul. We only know its power; its mystery we are content to leave unfathomed.

"Smiling, frowning, evermore,
Thou art perfect in love-lore,
Ever-varying Madeline."

5.-ADELINE.

In Adeline we see the dreamy, visionary maiden, whose thoughts and fancies seem ever to take her from this world; her speculations are of the unseen-the spiritual. Her spirit communes with nature's beauty; and in her "faint smile" we read her converse with the

flowers, and birds, and insects, whose language is to her intelligible and sweet.

"Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,
Spiritual Adeline ?"

They are the reflections of her thoughts and fancies. With smiles she answers nature's greetings; the spirits of the flowers also speak to her in their fragrant odours-the winds which gently breathe upon her face.

"Wherefore those dim looks of thine,

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?" Those "dim looks" are searching into the mysteries of nature; seeking to interpret her teachings; to read rightly her great truths--in the perfume of the rose-in the motion of the butterfly-in the "doleful wind"

"When thou gazest at the skies"in the " cowslips on the hill"-in each leaf, or blade of grass, Adeline recognizes God's power and love:

"Hence that look and smile of thine,

Spiritual Adeline."

Her smile is the evidence of God's revelation to her; the recognition, also, of His beneficence and goodness.

"Hence that look and smile of thine,
Spiritual Adeline.”

6. ELEANORE.

Eleanore is a type of the Southern nature dashed with the Oriental-in her beauty, her movements, her every characteristic. She has the dark eyes and expansive brow of a Sultana, and the swan-like form and flowing movements peculiar to the daughters of the sunny south. Cradled in luxury from her birth; ever surrounded by gentle influences; by the poetry of wealth and nature, seeing only the beautiful around her, she has grown up in harmony with nature—a radiant, lovely daughter of the sun,

"The full-flowing harmony
Of thy swan-like stateliness,
Eleanore!

Our north-east frontier is not much known, nor does any one in England who has not had the honour to be connected with tea, its cultivation, sale, or transport, seem to be clearly aware where even the province of Assam lies. Now this is a shame, considering it supports a very large and handsomely paid civil list, as also two regiments of native light infantry, and a small number of curious-looking militia. The valley of Assam has the Burrumpooter, with its many tributaries flowing through it; and from it are seen far away the snow-white peaks of the Himalyah. At the time I write of, Jeypore, on the right bank of the river Dehing, was the head quarters of the 1st Assam Light Infantry; and Ningroo, an outpost situated about fifty miles up the river, was a small clearing in the jungle where men vegetated, and generally caught its most noxious fever, of which they died.

It was in the month of April, of the year '45, a report came down from this outpost of Ningroo, to the commanding officer at the head quarters of Jeypore, stating rumours to be abroad that a party of Singphoes had come down, and were lurking about the jungles in rear of the outpost, with a design to make a night attack and cut up the guard. Now as this had really happened about a couple of years previously, it was necessary to ascertain the truth of the report, and to guard against treachery; consequently Major H- ordered a detachment of forty men to be told off, intending himself to go up in person to see how matters really stood, and asked me to pack some linen for him, with "a piece of soap and a couple of towels" à la Napier, as also to give orders for his cook-boat to be made in readiness, with the usual supply of small black and speckled fowls, red ruffed cocks, and two or three dispirited-looking ducks, shut into small bamboo coops, for consumption on the journey. This I did, but at the same time seeing no cause of detention for myself alone at home, I begged very hard to accompany him, to which he at last consented, although I was warned of all the discomforts and roughing which awaited me; but as I cared not for this, and my own arrangements were soon completed, the morrow's early morn was fixed for our departure.

As soon as dawn broke, great was the bustle. The large number of canoes needed for such a detachment of men, with their provisions-not to speak of arms, accoutrements, and ammunition-had been seized or stopped by the commissariat agent the night before, and were now moored at the nearest ghaut. The river bank and road were crowded by the Sepoy's wives and children, bringing down their cooking-pots, bags of rice, parched peas, oil, jars, chillies, and spices.

By-and-bye the bugle sounded, and the detachment appeared, headed by their native offi

The

Here

cer, and with three cheers entered their boats. We were in ours. There was a lighting in the eastern horizon; a fresh small breeze crept over the face of the waters; the long grasses and large leaves bowed themselves down to it; there was a wild chorus of cries from the monkeys in the high trees, and uprose the broad sun. boats shoved off, one long canoe, with its unionjack trailing from the stern taking the lead, and all the rest, like so many snakes, winding and paddling their way after us. By-and-bye we entered the first reach of the river, and the station, with its houses and figures watching us from the bank, was lost, and the scene before us was one which might have been hundreds of miles away from any human habitation. was the deep quiet river, without a line or ripple before us, with its high wooded banks rising from a rocky base on each side of us; tall, dark, glossy-leaved Indian-rubber trees, with their myriad young shoots hanging from their long branches, filled with bright flowering parasites; dangling creepers, and red-faced monkeys, swaying about in wild play, or leaping from one tree to another; clumps of plantations, with their long roll of young unfurled leaves, sticking out from amidst them, heavy with new, and then further down, and nearer the water, near themselves, those gigantic ferns, beautiful with their dentilated foliage and tiny sprays: betwixt and between rises one mass, one flush of many-leaved vegetation, dark green, light green, verging on yellow, crimson, deep warm brown, and the white-leafed shrub (I forget its name just now), with the little orange blossom so common in the jungles of Assam.

Ön we floated, the splash of the paddles dripping into the water again; the long-chanted song of some of the boatmen in the rear, the laugh or talk between some of the men, or the long, shrill chirp of some big grasshopper from the jungle, were the only sounds; and so we floated on till about ten, when I began to be very hungry, so, as a smooth little piece of white land was in view, we stopped, got out, and ordered our breakfast. As I was walking along, seeking for the nicest and shadiest spot for our table and chairs, I came upon the fresh footprints of a large tiger. He seemed, as I followed the steps, to have come down from the high jungle bank above our heads, walked to the waters' edge to drink, then turned up again, ascended a little sandy slope, higher than where we had our boats moored, there lain himself down under the shadow of a large tree, just the most comfortable, airiest, and shadiest spot of the whole, and the very one I was on the lookout for. I fancy he must have remained there some little time, as the sand was a good deal marked, but not seeing anything in his way, up the river or down the river, he had got up disgusted, I presume, and walked away again into