CHAPTER XVIII.

AND now the chapel's silver bell you hear,
That summons you to all the pride of prayer:
Light quirks of music, broken and uneven,
Make the soul dance upon a jig to heaven.
On painted ceilings you devoutly stare,
Where sprawl the saints of Verrio or Laguerre,
Or gilded clouds in fair expansion lie,
And bring all Paradise before your eye.
To rest, the cushion and soft Dean invite,
Who never mentions hell to ears polite.

POPE.

LORD WENTWORTH's prediction was fulfilled to the letter: the quantity of snow which fell for three successive weeks rendered the roads, if not absolutely impassable, at least sufficiently disagreeable to pedestrians. Under these circumstances, the ladies, with the exception of Lady Cecilia Percival and Miss Dudley, confined themselves to the house. The picture gallery was converted into a promenade; the bays were transformed into green-rooms. Rehearsals were of daily occurrence, and innumerable games were started to kill time. Lord Glenorme constituted himself master of the revels. After much deliberation, it was carried by acclamation that a play, a masque, and tableaux vivants should be represented, so soon as the efficiency of the performers and a change in the weather, would warrant a numerous circle of spectators being invited to Wentworth Castle. The elegant little theatre, long disused, was restored "without regard to expense, "" as Lord Glenorme facetiously observed. Lord Wentworth took a lively

interest in the amusements of his guests; on the present occasion, he suggested "Comus" as an appropriate

masque.

"Let us combine pure morality and exquisite poetry in our choice."

Every one agreed with him, not because he was right, not because he was reasonable, not because he was amiable, but because he was-the Earl.

The role of the Lady was handed over to the fair Geraldine; she accepted it with her usual sublime indifference.

This important matter settled, who was to choose a play? An active canvass commenced forthwith. The dramatic corps was rent into half a dozen factions; each carried on a war of words with commendable spirit. Inuendo, repartee, playful wit, and thinly veiled satire flew round in most uncivil strife.

Lord Wentworth, good at need, once more stepped forth to quell the insurgent powers. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have chosen a masque, permit me to dictate a play. Let it be 'As You Like It.'"

There was a laugh. "One objection may be raised to my choice; it is speedily removed. A flowing mantle, a cap and plume, transform a heroine into a hero, without offending the most fastidious delicacy. We will select some of the most beautiful scenes

"And choose the characters," cried Lord Glenorme; "the melancholy Jacques falls naturally to Temple; he looks the part to perfection."

Mr. Temple threw himself into a theatrical attitude, and, in a deep hollow tone, exclaimed,-" I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my own rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness."

"Bravo, Temple! Rosalind and Celia, shine forth, appear!"

Rosalind was offered to Miss Dudley; to the surprise of all and the chagrin of some, she positively refused to sustain any character, however prominent or subordinate. Lord Glenorme and even Cecilia urged her-in vain.

Considerable difficulty arose in distributing the minor rôles: Lord Glenorme, disgusted with the vanity of some, the caprice of others, was repeatedly on the point of throwing up the whole affair. The play had lost half its charms, thanks to the desertion of Miss Dudley. His lordship was chafing at this contretemps, when he caught sight of the fair object of his meditations, equipped for a walk, tripping lightly down the steps which led from the south terrace to the park. To seize his hat and to overtake her was the work of a moment.

Florence started and turned hastily when she heard a manly step behind her; she would gladly have dispensed with a companion. May I presume to ask, Miss Dudley, whether caprice or principle dictated your refusal to join our corps dramatique?"

"Neither the one nor the other."

"What other motive could prompt such an arbitrary decision?"

"A very sufficient one-incapacity."

“You are satirical; your reading of the part, would, to say the least, be on a par with Cecilia's."

Florence was silent.

"I see, Miss Dudley, you will not honour me with your confidence. Do you object to the cast of the characters?"

"Oh, dear, no."

"Perhaps the French version, or perversion, would have pleased you better. Perhaps you would not have objected to play Celia to the melancholy Jacques?

Florence coloured deeply; she turned abruptly, and hastened back towards the castle. Lord Glenorme overtook her: "Pardon me, Miss Dudley; make some allowance for my chagrin in losing so fair a Rosalind.”

Florence made no reply; her pride was hurt in the tenderest point.

"Miss Dudley, be friends. Pardon a foolish witticism," he bent his knee, as he spoke. Florence was not proof against this act of gallantry; she extended her hand, and said, with a mocking smile, "Comme il vous plaira."

At this moment, Lord Wentworth, Lord Ullswater, and Mr. Temple appeared upon the scene; they stopped short, with a comical expression of dismay.

"Rehearsing," said Lord Ullswater, with a cynical

smile.

"Encore, encore!" cried Lord Wentworth, clapping his hands, as he spoke.

Mr. Temple smiled his usual grave smile, but said nothing. Florence, with a stately curtsey to the gentlemen, marched off, like a tragedy-queen, with more dignity than the occasion required. Lord Glenorme looked after her, and muttering that he had made the amende honorable, walked off in an opposite direction.

Miss Dudley, however, did not rescind her determination with regard to the play; with characteristic impetuosity, she was on the point of refusing to join in the tableaux vivants, and the charades; but, remembering that such uncourteous pertinacity would be ungracious to Lord and Lady Wentworth, she stifled her indignation, as best she might.

We have said that Lady Cecilia and Florence were the only ladies who braved the severity of the season, and walked abroad. Florence, accustomed to the bracing air of the Welsh mountains, could not exist without air and exercise; frequently, she contrived to steal out alone, and after a hurried walk through the snow, would return, all rosy and glowing, to the languid belles in Lady Wentworth's morning-room. Occasionally, she extended her ramble to the neighbouring village, and sometimes, urged on by early associations, would enter the village school, or some of the cottages. Florence possessed the happy gift of pleasing the learned and

the unlearned; of fraternizing with both high and low.

There was a time when she had turned with indifference, if not contempt, from the companionship of "unlearned and ignorant men."

Her father marked the rising evil, and nipped it in the bud. He led her to the couch of disease, where the poor sufferer, bent under the accumulated tortures of years, still looked up in trusting faith.

"My light affliction, my light affliction!" was the only plaint, uttered by lips contracted with anguish.

Florence was moved to tears. Her father seized the happy moment to impress upon her the beautiful sentiments of Sir Walter Scott:

"Are you not too apt to measure things by some reference to literature-to disbelieve that anybody can be worth much care, who has no knowledge of that sort of thing, or taste for it?-God help us! what a poor world this would be, if that were the true doctrine! I have read books enough, and observed and conversed with enough of eminent and splendidly cultivated minds, in my time; but, I assure you, I have heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor uneducated men and women, when exerting the spirit of severe, yet gentle heroism, under difficulties and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to circumstances in the lot of friends and neighbours, than I ever yet met with out of the pages of the Bible. We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart." *

The lesson was never forgotten.

It was the custom, at Wentworth Castle, during the winter months, for the inmates to attend Divine service at the chapel, in lieu of the parish church. Once, and once only, did Miss Dudley join in all the pride of

* Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott, vol. viii, p. 27.