CHAPTER II.

"The elderly walked through the library,
And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures;
Or sauntered through the gardens piteously,
And made upon the hothouse several strictures:
Or rode a nag which trotted not too high,

Or on the morning papers read their lectures,
Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix,
Longing at sixty for the hour of six."

BYRON.

The Marine Parade at Brighton was thronged with fashionables in every species of gay vehicle and striking attire, the sun was sinking like an eastern king on a canopy of purple and crimson, and every courtier-like wave that bowed before him, retired laden with gold. It was one of those autumns with which the climate of England atones for a cold spring and a wet summer; and every empty-headed exquisite, caracolling on a crea

ture far more "clever" than himself, informed each lounging, vapid belle that it was a "lovely evening," and she in return announced that it had been "a very fine day."

On an evening like this, a family was assembled at the windows of one of the palacelike houses looking on the spot we have named. At first the watchers-for watchers they evidently were seemed all complacency, but as time advanced, and what they looked for came not, little impatient ejaculations occasionally escaped from the ladies, and a few grunts and growls from two old gentlemen, who compared watches, and murmured the cabalistic words, "late," and "dinner."

These gentlemen were old Mr. Lindsay, a merchant of immense wealth (the master of the house in question), and Mr. Grunter, an old chum, quite dependent upon him, a surly, bearish fellow, about whom there was nothing of the toady but his situation.

Old Lindsay, though a humourist, was a man of the warmest benevolence of heart; Grunter had no claim upon him but that of

having been an usher in a school where he was a scholar, and of being not merely without a friend in the world, but shunned and disliked except by those who dared not offend the rich Mr. Lindsay's uncouth protégé. The goodhearted old man not only endured and provided for, but actually felt an interest in Grunter (on account of what he called his misfortunes) a kind of habitual respect for one whose severity had embittered the bright joys of his boyhood, and had caused Homer and Virgil to rank for ever in his memory with the rod and the strap.

Rather to spare his feelings the mortification of receiving benefits for which he rendered none, than for any service he was really of, Grunter was considered and remunerated as tutor, reader, and librarian. Mr. Lindsay's nieces had occasionally been his pupils in writing, arithmetic, and grammar. The Latin grammar being his forte, they had been compelled to go through it with him; and though they had long since learned all he had to teach, he still preserved an air of authority

with them, and occasionally ventured to correct, if he detected any want of Lindley Murreyan exactness in their expressions.

Of late, much to Grunter's annoyance, a new pupil had been found for him by Mr. Lindsay, in the shape of pretty, ignorant Annie Maxwell, whose Scotticisms almost drove him mad, and who never could understand the difference between shall and will.

The ladies of the party were the Reverend Mrs. Lindsay-(if being the wife of the Reverend Gregory Lindsay, Mr. Lindsay's brother, could entitle her to the appellation!) - her daughter Augusta, a proud young beauty; Miss Tibby Maxwell, an old twentieth Scotch. cousin of Mr. Lindsay's (also a dependent), and Annie Maxwell, a young relative, dependent on her a hoyden of fifteen, blooming and fresh as her native heather.

At the moment our tale opens, Mr. Lindsay was very impatient, for he was expecting his only son, Julian, who had been for three years absent on the continent, and who, during

those three years, had been for ever uppermost in his father's thoughts.

Mr. Grunter was equally impatient, for he was expecting a splendid turbot, which he himself had discovered in the market, and forthwith secured. Since the hour of luncheon, this "beautiful creature" had been ever present to his mind. Six o'clock, the dinner hour of Mr. Lindsay, was already passed; for three long hours had he been constant in every thought, and counting the minutes, when he should meet again the creature who had proved to him that there is such a thing as love at first sight. Who can marvel at his impatience! He was nervously watching for a bell-the only bell that could make his heart beat" that tocsin of the soul, the dinner-bell."

"I think I'd be the better of my dinner, cousin," said Miss Tibby Maxwell, taking out of a deep pocket a large silver watch.

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Young folk are na jist sae punctual as they war in my younger days; they gang flirting

aboot after every pretty new face they see,