hood all that night alone. Next morning, fatigued in body, and much excited in mind, he returned to his mother's dwelling.

There he continued for several days; but the summer was now at hand, and shortly he began to long for the excursions he had formerly so much enjoyed, and for his wild lonely theatre at the Woodlands.

It was not long till he was seen rambling as of old about the district -seen !-by whom? By her, fair Lilias Raby.

She knew he could not stay long away, and it was with the certainty of finding the lost one, that she left the house to wander about the fragrant lanes and fields.

Her father, since the usher's dismissal, had never once alluded to the events that caused it, but in his demeanour towards her preserved a marked severity. He also made the parlour his study, having such books or instruments as he required brought from the library. He offered no opposition, however, to her enjoying the walks she had been used to in the vicinity, and daily she took advantage of this, and as often as she did, she found him expecting her.

And now recommenced the connexion with tenfold its former ardour, from the reaction after the interruption it had received. The tree of love like that of the garden often requires a check to increase its blossoming. You never know what the passion is, till absence, anger, or a rival break the attraction; nor yet do you altogether know it till the obstacle is once more removed.

For several weeks of that most delicious of seasons, the end of spring and beginning of summer, they roved about together, the sweetness of their delight being flavoured with the aroma (if we may use the metaphor) of stealth and danger. They had now hopes, fears, and plans for the future, to occupy them, but lightly did these thoughts sit upon their bosoms, for neither of them was yet fully seventeen years old. They walked arm-enclasping each the other, or sat on banks to look at sunsets (cloud-scenery as he styled it), or gathered flowers to make her an Ophelia, or in the depths of his leafy theatre enacted scenes. He was writing a drama too-a tragedy-the subject the story of Belshazzar, and used to read, or rather act, the lines as he composed them for her sweet criticism.

This was too happy to be of long duration. He applied for employment as a player in the theatre of A-z.

They had long thought and schemed together about this step; he with ardent longing-she with a similar feeling, dashed a little with jealousy; for she began sometimes to fear that the drama was her successful rival, and that the love he bore for her, great as it appeared, was but temporary; the single and engrossing desire, the master affection which she deemed should be all her own, being but too plainly fixed upon theatrical distinction.

But as yet these were only cloud-shadows, flying across the sunny field of her innocent mind and instantly disappearing; for if ever one possessed the art of making himself beloved he did; and with all the warmth, tenderness, and delicacy of his attention there was a sincerity and devotion that rendered her happy and then that nobility of thought which shone through his every word and action made pride of her lover mingle with the pleasure of the emotion itself.

they afterwards frequently adopted, and by it she was enabled to see him draw universal favour and applause in the characters of Richard the Third, Macbeth, Zanga, Penruddock, The Stranger, Duke Aranza, and many others, without being suspected—at least by her father.

Merrick's career was a most gratifying one to himself and all who cared for him. He supported and increased, in a variety of the most celebrated and difficult characters in the drama, the effect he had produced in his first appearance; though certainly Hamlet continued to be his masterpiece.

His salary was largely improved, and the theatre he had first played in became deserted, and was soon shut up to be opened again as an arena for horse exhibitions. He became a perfect lion-came regularly into fashion-was the chief attraction in all the coteries of the place that had any pretensions to be considered literary or dramatic; and many an eye was cast after him with curiosity, admiration, or envy, as he appeared in the public places of the city. Criticisms on his playing appeared in the local newspapers--some breathing unqualified praise, and prophesying great things, for Kean was then in the full tide of his popularity, and it was the age of Kemble and Young, and Siddons and Jordan; others written in detraction-but the best proof of real merit, the returns in money, were unequivocally in his favour.

He now caused his mother to retire from her small, shop, and thus she became entirely dependant upon him for her living, if we except a few pounds in cash, the product of the sale of her stock, and the savings of some years which the scanty trade allowed her to set aside. A house in a quiet and genteel suburban street he had furnished in a rather expensive style, and here they took up their abode.

But while these events were going on, his mother trembled to see habits of dissipation growing upon him daily stronger and stronger; and though he repeatedly assured her, with the laugh of self-confidence, that the temptation of company and excitement merely led him into indulgence, and that his mind had perfect command over itself, and could at any time refrain; yet it was only by threatening to inform Lilias of his doings that she effected a tardy and imperfect amend

ment.

But Lilias herself, now amid all the joy, attendant on his success, perceived with a terror and alarm, hardly accountable to others, continual symptoms of a progressive decrease in the ardour of his feelings towards her. He began to have fits of absence in her company, to look as if he felt it insipid at times, and devoid of interest. Then once or twice he missed appointment, and though his excuses were valid enough to satisfy even an ordinary lover, yet well she knew the time had been when he would gladly have overleapt more powerful obstacles than they to be but near the house she lived in, and watch at a distance the light twinkling from her window.

Reader, is there any greater mental pang than to see the affection of one you vehemently love growing less and less, while your own suffers no abatement to see her gradually and surely falling away from you, while all your efforts to arrest or recal her passion are ineffectual, and at last you must begin to affect coolness yourself, while your very heart

is burning, and you see her indifference is real? Have you ever known this feeling-transplant it to the heart of a woman, young, beautiful, and all gentleness, and you will conceive the torture that wrenched the bosom of poor Lilias.

But even this was far from sufficient to account for the indications she gave of agony in thought. It was not mere imagining, it was actual fear-she was utterly miserable-seeming continually as if she would have spoken-would have appealed tearfully-have implored him, but that the feelings of her womanly nature forbade.

But though the quick eye of the slighted or haply injured girl perceived this, his mother's, his own, were blind to it. He was not himself aware of any abatement in his affection, and now at length when his gains had made him comparatively independent, he claimed her pro mise, long before made, that they should be united.

As he breathed the request into her ear, a weight seemed lifted from her bosom a weight of apprehension and dread that had long pressed upon it, though known only to her own silent thoughts-and powerless with sudden joy, she fell into his arms.

"And will you leave off company, Merrick, and drinking—it is so low and coarse-so unworthy of your intellect-will you, love?"

"All-all-my own heart's darling! I will come home always as soon as the tragedy is over-except when I have to play in the afterpiece;-I will cut liquor, and all company but yours. Will you trust me, Lily?

When she left him that evening at the end of the avenue that led to the parsonage she was happy. When did happiness visit her again?

On the following day the manager of the theatre received a letter from a celebrated tragedian then starring in the provinces. It was in answer to an offer of an engagement, and stated his willingness to play for three nights at the theatre of A-z, at the terms, if we do not mistake, of fifty pounds for each of the two first nights, and the third to be a benefit. Enormous as these were they were immediately accepted, and shortly the great tragedian arrived.

The prices at the doors were raised to nearly double their usual amount, yet the house was crowded-actually jammed-the very orchestra was filled-the musicians playing what little music was wanted under the stage.

The play was " Othello," and the part of Iago fell to Merrick.

Those who were present on that occasion had an opportunity of seeing what very few have witnessed, two of Shakspeare's most magnificent characters acting and reacting upon each other in the hands of the great tragedian, and one fully qualified by nature and study to play second to him. The great master himself was struck by the acting of the youthful Iago. It had something about it so fresh and original, was so evidently the fruit of nature's giftgenius, that he could not help several times during the piece giving utterance to flattering sentences of approval and encouragement.

The next evening he played Richmond to the Londoner's Richard the Third, to that gentleman's so great satisfaction that, when on the concluding night he afforded him also admirable support in his part of Lear, he requested him to be his companion to a certain city in Nov.-VOL. LXVI. NO. CCLXIII.

2 D

BOZ IN AMERICA.

BY THE EDITOR.

SINCE the voyages of Columbus in search of the New World, and of Raleigh in quest of El Dorado, no visit to America has excited so much interest and conjecture as that of the author of "Oliver Twist." The enterprise was understood to be a sort of Literary Expedition, for profit as well as pleasure: and many and strange were the speculations of the reading public as to the nature and value of the treasures which would be brought home by Dickens on his return. Some persons expected a philosophical comparison of Washington's Republic with that of Plato; others, anticipated a Report on the Banking System and Commercial Statistics of the United States; and some few, perhaps, looked for a Pamphlet on International Copyright. The general notion, however, was that the Transatlantic acquisitions of Boz would transpire in the shape of a Tale of American Life and Manners-and moreover that it would appear by monthly instalments in green covers, and illustrated by some artist with the name of Phiz, or Whiz, or Quiz.

So strong indeed was this impression, that certain blue-stockinged prophetesses even predicted a new Avatar of the celebrated Mr. Pickwick in slippers and loose trousers, a nankeen jacket, and a straw-hat, as large as an umbrella. Sam Weller was to reappear as his help, instead of a footman, still fuil of droll sayings, but in a slang more akin to that of his namesake the Clockmaker: while Weller, senior, was to revive on the box of a Boston long stage,-only calling himself Jonathan instead of Tony, and spelling it with a G. A Virginian widow Bardell was a matter of course-and some visionaries even foresaw a slave-owning Mr. Snodgrass, a coon-hunting Mr. Winkle, a wideawake Joe, and a forest-clearing Bob Sawyer.*

The fallacy of these guesses and calculations was first proved by the announcement of "American Notes for General Circulation," a title that at once dissipated every dream of a Clock-case or a Club, and cut off all chance of a tale. Encouraged by the technical terms which seemingly had some reference to their own speculations, the moneymongers still held on faintly by their former opinion:-but the Romanticists were in despair, and reluctantly abandoned all hope of a Pennsylvanian Nicholas Nickleby affectionately darning his mother-a new Yorkshire Mr. Squeers flogging creation-a black Smike-a brown Kate, and a Bostonian Newman Noggs, alternately swallowing a cocktail and a cobbler.†

Still there remained enough in the announcement of American Notes, by C. Dickens, to strop the public curiosity to a keen edge. Numerous had been the writers on the land of the stars and stripes-a host of travelled ladies and gentlemen, liberals and illiberals, utilitarians

With the wishes of these admirers of Boz we can in some degree sympathize : for what could be a greater treat in the reading way than the perplexities of a squatting Mr. Pickwick, or a settling Mrs. Nickleby.

Not a horse and a shoemender, but two sorts of American drink.

and inutilitarians-human bowls of every bias had trundled over the United States without hitting, or in the opinion of the natives, even coming near the jack. The Royalist missing the accustomed honours of Kings and Queens, saw nothing but a republican pack of knaves; the High Churchman, finding no established church, declared that there was no religion-the aristocrat swore that all was low and vulgar, because there were no servants in drab turned up with blue, or in green turned down with crimson-the radical was shocked by the caucus, the enthralment of public opinion, and the timidity of the preachers-the metaphysical philosopher was disgusted with the preponderance of the real over the ideal--the adventurer took fright at Lynch law, and the saintly abolitionist saw nothing but black angels and white devils. An impartial account of America and the Americans was still to seek, and accordingly the reading public on both sides of the Atlantic looked forward with anxiety and eagerness for the opinions of a writer who had proved by a series of wholesome fictions that his heart was in the right place, that his head was not in the wrong one, and that his hand was a good hand at description. One thing at least was certain, that nothing would be set down in malice; for compared with modern authors in general, Boz is remarkably free from sectarian or antisocial prejudices, and as to politics he seems to have taken the long pledge against party spirit. And doubtless one of the causes of his vast popularity has been the social and genial tone of his works,— showing that he feels and acts on the true principle of the "homo sum"-a sum too generally worked as one in long Division instead of Addition.

In the mean time the book, after long budding in advertisement, has burst into ful! leaf, and however disconcerting to those persons who had looked for something quite different, will bring no disappointment to such as can be luxuriously content with good sense, good feeling, good fun, and good writing. In the very first half-dozen of pages the reader will find an example of that cheerful practical philosophy which makes the best of the worst-that happy healthy spirit which, instead of morbidly resenting the deception of a too flattering artist, who had lithographed the ship's accommodations, joined with him in converting a floating cupboard into a state-room, and a cabin "like a hearse with windows in it," into a handsome saloon. But we must skip the voyage, though pleasantly and graphically described, and at once land Boz in Boston, where, suffering from that true ground swell which annoys the newly landed, he goes rolling along the pitching passages of the Tremont hotel with an involuntary imitation of the gait of Mr. T. P. Cooke in a new nautical melodrama.

Now, Boston is the modern Athens of America. Its inhabitants, many of them educated in the neighbouring university of Cambridge, are decidedly of a literary turn, and of course were not indifferent to the arrival of so distinguished an author in their city. Modesty, however, prevents him from recording in print the popular effervescencethe only fact which transpires is, that the first day being Sunday he was offered pews and sittings in churches and chapels, "enough for a score or two of grown up families." These courtesies, one and all, the traveller is obliged to decline for want of a change of dress,—a fortunate circumstance so far, that whilst the curious but serious Bostonians were