"Still you did not bow to me," said Miss: Fairweather, in a serious tone.

"You would not have had me give three distinct nods, like a Chinese mandarin. If you could have read my thoughts, you would have known that I was most anxious to turn

and walk with you. But I was afraid you would think me officious on our short acquaintance. Miss Hilaire I know very well. She is always cheerful, and we are good friends." Oh, yes, and you can bow to her and not

to me."

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Spare my feelings, recollect I am from the back woods of America. How should I know how to bow correctly?"

"You shan't turn the tables upon me. The back woods indeed-you a poet and an artist.” "Do not quiz me quite so openly. When did I give myself out for a poet ?"

"Poetry and painting generally go together. At least you are an author. You will not deny that when I have read your articles in magazines."

"In a very small way as yet-and as for poetry I never attempt it but on very particular occasions. I shall not forget two occasions of my writing in albums, on account of the very different succcess which my poetical effusions received. In the first instance, the lady actually shed tears over the affecting verses I wrote. In the latter, In the latter, the young lady received the album from my hand, laid it on the drawing-room table, and thanked me for my trouble without reading my lines. I have never written in an album since."

"So you confess to have written poetry moving enough to cause a lady's tears to flow." "You would make me vain if I thought you were not quizzing."

"Quizzing, indeed!"

What else can I imagine ?-a poor portrait painter, without the patronage even of the provincial town in which I reside-I, who every day feel bitterly that I have yet done nothing to fulfil the over sanguine expectations of par

tial friends, or to make the world believe in me."

"Mr. Basil," interrupted Miss Fairweather, "I see you are speaking from your heart, and I protest against such an unfair judgment of yourself. Your self depreciation of what you have done, and how many young men at your age have done much less, proves what you are capable of achieving. Whether in literature

or in art, I feel convinced that you will fulfil the most sanguine expectations of your wellwishers."

There was an air of sincerity in Miss Fairweather's speech which made it go to his heart.

"Such language from you," he said, in a low voice, "awakes all my slumbering incentives to ambition. There are times when the dreary monotonous life I lead here has made my art seem worthless, and the future cheerless."

"But there are two sides to every question. It is but fair that you should know what others think of you. It will not make you vain."

"I wish you could always appear before me like my good angel to chase away the sad and gloomy reflections which sometimes beset me. It is better to be too sanguine than too despairing. We are happy, and at least we work while we are hoping."

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Imagine my presence, then, at such times," said Miss Fairweather, with a bewitching smile. "With your powers of fancy

it would not be difficult."

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Delightful as the occupation will be, it will fall far short of the reality."

Whether by accident or by a little manœuvering we cannot undertake to say, but it is a fact that Ernest escorted Miss Fairweather home that evening. A servant had arrived for that purpose from Mrs. Grainger's about an hour after Miss Fairweather made her appearance at Mrs. Basil's. But as the Misses Flaccid intended to walk home, why not all go together?

Ernest was busy at his easel one day not long after this evening, when Mrs. Basil en

tered the studio with two young ladies. The first, as Ernest saw with keen delight, was Miss Fairweather, behind her came the blushing Miss Lawrence.

"Mr. Basil," said Miss Fairweather, when "how sly you

the first greetings were over, were about your acquaintance with my friend, Miss Lawrence, who, I find, has actually been living here, and you have been sketching her likeness, and making love to her, perhaps

"Ohl Constance," interrupted Miss Lawrence, hastily, and afterwards blushing at her own vehemence, "how can you say such things ?"

The beauty of these two young ladies was so dissimilar in character, that neither had any cause to fear rivalry from the other. They served rather mutually to set off one another to the best advantage.

Miss Fairweather was a dashing beauty, all sparkle and vivacity-one of those girls who take our hearts by storm, as it were.

Elinor Lawrence resembled some transcen