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"I'm not saying he's worse than others, and I'm not saying he's better," said Mr. North slowly. "I could have wished Christina had. married a man I knew and could have trusted. I don't say I don't trust you, sir, but you're young, and you're a stranger, and Christina there has as much prudence as a baby, and wouldn't believe a tiger was treacherous till he had torn her in pieces; but what's the use of standing out? I said I wasn't going to stand out, and I'll stick to it. Christina has chosen for herself, and you have chosen for yourself, and I believe the name and the thought of the old place went against you at first; but there! I don't take much account of that now, and I have not got anything more to say against you than that you are a stranger

to me.

"But time will do something for me there," said Walter. He was not angry, but, on the contrary, rather honoured the old man for his open speaking.

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"It may or it may not," said Mr. North. "I am old, and I don't understand present fashions, nor the young men now-a-days and their goings on. There's a great deal I don't understand and don't want to understand. got the thing that matters most to me now in this world: keep her what she is now, with all her faith in truth and constancy and happiness unshaken; and then I'll say God bless you, and thank you too."

Captain Cleasby's attention had wandered a little during the first part of Mr. North's speech, and he had been looking at Christina, who still sat with her hand in the old man's. He remembered how he had seen her first in the same oak parlour by the flickering light of the fire, as he saw her at this moment, only now her startled curious look had given place to one of thoughtful happiness, and the smile which had hovered around her mouth was banished only by the solemnity of her grandfather's words. But as Mr. North ended, Captain Cleasby withdrew his eyes from her and came a little forward.

"I will do my best, sir," he said.

"Of course you are right: I am a stranger, and you have no particular reason to place confidence in me, except that you knew my father; but I hope you don't want us to wait. It is done now, you know, and I hope you won't consider that waiting is any good. I must go up to see these lawyers, and then of course I will do anything you like in the way of settlements."

"It isn't the settlements," said Mr. North, perversely; "it all looks very pretty-I know it always does when people are young and I'm not saying anything special against you; but I have seen enough of it in my time to last my life. There's Mary-well, it was all a bright look-out for her once, and what did it come to? And there was my poor Margaret-married nine months and left a widow; and if it's going to be like that with Christina-well, I suppose I can't prevent it, only I'd sooner it was after I am dead, and out of the way of seeing it."

"But it won't be like that, will it, Christina?" said Captain Cleasby, softly.

"I can't hear what you say, nor can't see you either," said Mr. North, dis contentedly. "For the matter of that, I have said yes, and may have done with it; but I am quicker at forgetting than at remembering now, and I don't suppose I should know you if I was to meet you in the street.'

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Captain Cleasby turned to the chimney-piece, struck a match, and lighted one of the tall candles which stood upon it, took it in his hand, and held it so that the light fell full upon his face as he stood before Mr. North, composed and grave, whilst the old man's eager eyes looked him all over. It was a refined and distinguished face expression, although not distinctively frank, had nothing to make you doubt its truth; the grey eyes looked straight before them, and the delicate lines of the mouth had a determined look about them which gave a manliness to the face it might otherwise have lacked, for it was wanting in broad outlines and marked features, and gave you rather

the impression of a pencil sketch than of a finished drawing. But as he stood there quietly with the strong light upon him, there was something so independent and unfearing, and yet so courteous and deferential in his manner, and in the mode he had chosen of dissipating the old man's suspicions, that the cloud cleared from Mr. North's forehead, and he held out his hand to him with a cordiality which had as yet had no place in his conduct.

"I believe I wronged you. I wronged you, I daresay; but things have gone badly with me of late, and Christina here is about the only thing that remains to me, and she had disappointed me. She should have known her own mind sooner; but we won't say any more about that. I don't say but it may turn out better than I should have thought."

"I think so," said Captain Cleasby. He was not a man to make protestations. "Won't you believe that, as Christina says, we are going to be good and happy?"

Then for the first time Mr. North saw the peculiar charm of his smile, and he was conquered.

"You may, you may-I trust you may," he said, rather tremulously, and brushed his hand hastily across his eyes. He was growing weak, poor old man, and he could not talk of things that excited him for long at a time without being agitated; and soon after Captain Cleasby took his leave. His sister was all alone, and would be waiting dinner for him, but yet he lingered for a moment at the door in the soft autumn twilight before he wished Christina good-night.

"What a little time ago it is!" he said. "Just think, Christina, only yesterday you thought you were going to marry some one else. You are very fickle, I am afraid. I am astonished at my own imprudence in trusting myself to you. Whom will you be going to marry to-morrow, I wonder?"

Christina thought of Bernard, and of Mr. Warde, and her self-reproach was

No. 149.-VOL. XXV.

too keen, and her regrets too oppressive, to allow her to answer him lightly or indifferently.

"Don't," she said; "please don't. Don't talk about it. I think happiness makes one feel what one has done wrong more: when I was so unhappy, it didn't seem as if it mattered so much."

"Don't make yourself unhappy about it now, then. After all, it did me, or might have done me, more harm than anyone else. I don't consider that Warde has half-no, not a quarter as much to forgive as I have; if I can give you absolution, I am sure he may. Only, you understand, that it is a little fault which must not be repeated."

Of course he could not know how much real ground for misery and remorse there had been. He had been more moved than he chose to show by Mr. North's fears and reluctance to part with his grand-daughter, and it was a sort of reaction from the mood of the last half-hour which made him now disposed to get rid of his unusual sense of responsibility and gravity by talking lightly. But Christina was disturbed that he should speak carelessly of what had touched her so deeply.

"It hurts me to think of it," she said: and he saw the tears in her eyes.

"Forgive me!" he said, quickly; "I ought to have thought of that. Don't let me go away feeling that I have made you unhappy. You know I don't blame you for a moment; we are going to forget all that, dearest. My life has been an unsatisfactory one. Gusty will tell you I am not good for much, but it is too late now, isn't it? Say you forgive me, Christina, before I go.'

Silently she put both her hands in his, and they stood there together for a minute looking out at the dusky twilight, through which the stars were faintly shining, on across the heath and the white road to the trees of the Park, and the light beyond on the top of the hill.

"It is a new heaven and earth to me," he said, "since we stand in the world together."

To be continued.

BB

LONDON DINNERS.

MANKIND has been divided into "those who live to eat," and those "who eat to live." In a very clever Dutch novel called the "Burgomaster's Family," which has just been charmingly translated by Sir John Shaw Lefevre, the Burgomaster is described as belonging to the first category: "He had one idol which he worshipped with all his heart and soul, and on whose altar he would in case of necessity have sacrificed everything belonging to him." "What a good dinner was to Burgomaster Welters no words can tell; it was the realization of all his dreams and wishes." No doubt such people exist, but there is surely a third and a very numerous class who, though preferring good cooking to bad, yet consider eating as a mere adjunct to the real pleasure of society, and look upon the actual dinner as very secondary in importance to the enjoyment of the agreeable qualities of those assembled to eat it.

Much has been written about cookery, much about gastronomy in general, and much about the various domestic arrangements connected with eating and drinking, and especially with the important meal of the day. But I do not recollect meeting with anything in print which fully enters into the question of London Dinners, considered in their bearing upon social intercourse in its most agreeable form, as well as with reference to their gastronomic excellence; and yet few of those who have been in the habit of dining out in London, during the last twenty-five or thirty years, can fail to remember with extreme pleasure those dinner-parties in London where they have met Sydney Smith, Macaulay, Milman, Quin, Charles Villiers, Strzelecki, B. Osborn, A. Hayward, and a host of others who have kept up a lively conversation with a degree of wit and spirit which has resulted in the greatest intellectual enjoyment, and with

an amount of gaiety which is the most wholesome relaxation after the fatigues of the day, whilst at the same time the gastronomic part of the entertainment has been perfectly well maintained.

I think it was in the year 1835 that a Mr. Walker, a well-known London police magistrate, published a series of periodical papers called "The Original," devoted to "The Arts of Dining and giving Dinners," "The Art of Travelling, and the Art of attaining High Health." They were amusing, but Mr. Walker appeared to be a sort of social cynic,-he liked society mainly so far as it contributed to his own personal enjoyment; for, though he says that he considers eight as the number for a dinner-party, I believe he would have been quite satisfied with a party of two, or even to have dined by himself, provided he was at that time in the enjoyment of perfect health, and provided the dinner was served up according to his own somewhat peculiar notions.

Mr. Hayward's book on dining is open to no such criticism, but those who have read his article on this subject as it appeared in the Quarterly Review many years since, or in its subsequent republication by Murray, will not find fault with me, I think, for inviting a little further consideration as to the best mode of arranging private dinner-parties in London.

In so doing, I entirely exclude public dinners, which are for specific purposes, and which require to be conducted on different principles from ordinary entertainments; these remarks apply entirely to dinners at private houses, especially during the scrambling months succeeding Easter. succeeding Easter. Previous to Easter, London society is almost perfect; for the same materials, intellectual and gastronomic, are attainable, while they are brought together in a less formal way than is possible later in the year. After

Easter the state of affairs is quite altered. A three weeks' invitation is not considered too long to secure a pleasant party, or, what by many is considered a synonymous term, a large party. A room thirty feet by twenty is supposed to be large enough to hold twenty or twenty-four guests in comfort. Dinner begins about half-past eight, and does not end till half-past ten, the party being too numerous for anything like general conversation during dinner; carriages are announced, and the guests hurry away, without having had the opportunity of exchanging a dozen words with any but the couple right and left of them at the table. The great fault of these so-called entertainments is that the party is too large (and consequently the room too hot) and the dinner too long.

Can these assertions be contradicted and if not, may it not be worth while to consider whether some reform might not be advantageously introduced? It is not in the power of every one to command wit or great social qualifications, but it must certainly be for the general advantage of society to give facilities to all for displaying whatever powers they possess, and it may be as well to begin by pointing out the disadvantages of the present arrangements.

It is not necessary to discuss the art of cookery, or to enter into details respecting the arrangements of the cuisine. As good cooks may be found in England as in any part of Europe, and the cost of a dinner must of course be regulated by the taste and the purse of the host, though there is no greater mistake than to suppose that the most expensive dinner is necessarily the best. Good wine is indispensable, but the quantity consumed is in general too small to make it a formidable item of expense, and, with the exception of a few sorts of fruit, all articles of consumption are best where they are the most plentiful and consequently cheapest. There are certain large houses and establishments which seem to require large parties or banquets; but as a rule in London houses, fourteen, or at the utmost sixteen, are as many as can be well accom

modated, and it is not easy to enjoy general conversation with a larger number. If invitations are given for a quarter before eight, it is generally understood that eight is the hour intended; after that time ten minutes or a quarter of an hour is enough law to give for accidental delays. To keep a whole party waiting, because one or two ladies or gentlemen will not take the trouble to dress in time, is a very questionable act of politeness. It used to be said of two distinguished brothers who were habitually unpunctual, that if one was asked to dine at seven on Tuesday, the other came at eight on Wednesday; but such eccentricities can only be pardoned in men whose minds are so absorbed by public business as to make them forgetful of the courtesies of society.

In this country, where people do not converse freely with each other without an introduction, any foreigner should be specially introduced by host or hostess; and the only good reason which can be given for not doing the same to every guest, is that in our vast London society, those may be inadvertently asked together, who have been trying to avoid each other all their lives, and then an introduction becomes awkward. A little arrangement is of course necessary as to sending down the right ladies and gentlemen together, and also as to seating them properly at table, so that husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, &c., are not placed next to each other; and for want of this previous forethought the best assorted parties are sometimes quite spoiled. Having begun with the assumption that parties of fourteen or sixteen are best suited for the size of ordinary London dining-rooms, as well as for conversation, the number of attendants upon such a party must of course be regulated by the fortune of the entertainer; but to ensure perfect attendance, one servant to every three guests is about the necessary number. Much of general comfort, and more of mental activity than is generally supposed, depends upon the temperature and ventilation of a room. With the

thermometer at 62°, conversation may flow easily, and wits may be at their brightest and sharpest; but raise the temperature to 75° or 80°, and the most elastic spirits become subdued, the most brilliant genius subsides into mediocrity. I am always tempted to ask, when I hear that some wit" was not himself last night," what was the state of the thermometer? No dinner should last more than an hour and a quarter, or at longest an hour and a half; if it does, a pleasure becomes a pain. There is no country in Europe, I believe, where so much time is spent at the dinner table as in England, and this is owing to the greater number of dishes which we think necessary. I have on this point consulted a lady friend in Russia, whose table there is considered as well and plentifully supplied as that of anyone at the Court, and her answer is as follows:

"ST. PETERSBURG, June 17, 1871. "I send you menus of our own three last dinners, which are very good specimens. The one for twenty-two was got up in a hurry for Marshal Comte Berg and other Government generals, only here for a few days; otherwise two soups, one clear and one purée, would have been better: it is the very largest dinner as to dishes ever given here. The dinners in Berlin, at the King's and Crown Princess's, I remember, were even smaller. Sometimes at very State dinners a Punch à la Romaine is put in between the cold entrée and the rôts; that is all. Of course beyond twelve or fourteen there are doubles and trebles of each dish handed round at the same time, and each dish comes in separately and is quite done with before another comes. The dessert and flowers are on the table. It is thought a very badly served dinner if it takes more than 1 or 1 hour. The dessert is then handed round, each dish, and the plates changed for each dish; then the finger-glasses and water put down on a plate each, which is the signal for the end. The serving of the dessert is included in the time I have named. It would be a most happy revolution in London if you could bring it about. Here they wait very dexterously, and no one is ever forgotten in handing a dish as each goes regularly round.' FOR 14 PERSONS.

Diner du 16 Mai, 1871.
Consommé de gibier aux quenelles.
Petits pâtés.

Truites de gatchina, sauce hollandaise.
Selle de mouton à l'Anglaise.
Filets de perdreaux à la Périgueux.
Poulets nouveaux gélinottes et grins rôtis.

Salade. Asperges en branche. Pain de groseilles à l'allemande. *Mousse au café.

FOR 22 PERSONS.

Diner du 8 Mai, 1871.
Consommé de volaille à la D'Orléans.
Petits pâtés.

Truites saumonée, sauce hollandaise. Filets de boeuf à la Jardinière. Suprêmes de volaille à l'écarlate. Côtelettes de foies gras en bellevue. Poulets nouveaux, perdreaux et cailles rôtis. Salade.

Haricot verts à l'Anglaise.

Plum puddings, sauce John Bull.
Glaces à l'écossaise.

FOR 12 PERSONS.

Diner du 5 Juin, 1871. Consommé de volaille aux quenelles. Petits pâtés.

Saumon, sauce hollandaise. Filet de boeuf à la Jardinière. Suprême de perdreaux aux truffes. Poularde et gibier rôtis.

Salade.

Asperges en branche.

Gâteau Moka.

Glace aux framboises.

A letter, dated 5th May, 1871, from a friend in Copenhagen, an excellent authority on even more important affairs than dinners, is much to the same effect "I enclose a couple of menus such as you ask for. One is of a dinner at our Minister for Foreign Affairs, and the other at Count Moltke's. I do not myself approve of putting down the wines on a bill of fare, as it savours too much of the restaurant. I never do, and my dinners, I think I may say, are considered the best given here, or certainly amongst the best. I had a very formidable rival in the Russian Minister, who had positively a genius for house decoration, but he is no longer here." I insert the Copenhagen menus:

JEUDI LE 12 JANVIER, 1871.

St. Péray. Chât. Léoville.

Sherry impérial.

Huîtres fraiches. Consommé aux quenelles de volaille.

Diablotins à la parisienne. Filet de boeuf truffé à la Périgueux.

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