"What is it that vexes you so much, Anna?" inquired Alixie tenderly. "We are so very sorry," said Glatira.

Anna Federovna violently withdrew her hands, and rose from her seat. "There is nothing to be sorry for," she said. She strode down the saloon, out into the hall, and called loudly for her carriage. It drew up to the door, she instantly jumped in, and ordered the coachman to drive to town. The old servant, fancying that his mistress had made some mistake, or that he had not heard aright, turned his horses' heads towards Jourkofsky.

To town, you fool, you blockhead," vociferated Anna Federovna, leaning out of the window. "Did you not hear me?-to town, I say!" A group of peasants, passing by at the moment, observed to one another, "The barina is in one of her tantrums!"

The word which we have translated "tantrum" is totally inefficient to describe the malignancy of the passion that desolated the bosom of the once respectable and respected, steady and consistent relative of Alixie Petrovitch. She burned with an intense desire to wreak her vengeance on some one. The Jew Moses appeared the fittest target for her envenomed arrows; she nourished a deep grudge against that unlucky descendant of Abraham for having, notwithstanding the repeated promises to the contrary which she had extorted from him, supplied her rival with some tolerable flour. As we have already seen, the furious old lady drove post-haste to the Inspector of the Police, and her halfuttered accusation against the poor Israelite was but too eagerly caught up by that prejudiced functionary. After ensuring the mischief, Anna Federovna retreated from the responsibility of its consequences, and did not return until after the exodus of the unlucky Jew.

The family feud still exists and grows. The rival housewives do not visit; they live but to poison one another's lives. They glare at each other in church with flushed countenances, and pass on with a haughty toss of the head. If Glafira Ivanovna ascertains that Anna Federovna wishes to travel anywhere along the road crossing her husband's estate, she instantly orders the bridge to be taken away that carries the road over the narrow river, dividing their several domains. The young lady rejoices in having annoyed the old one; and the inhabitants of the village, unconcerned in the family feud, are prevented from going about their business, and sometimes incur considerable losses, owing to the delay caused by the removal of the bridge.

Anna Federovna, on her part, will sometimes order the sluices to be drawn up, thus letting off the water that turns the mill on the estate of Sakofka. The miller growls and swears; but he is no worse off than his brethren of the village mills, and the peasants who are waiting for their meal, and suffer considerable inconvenience on that account. Thus the country is agitated by the everlasting controversy between these hostile housewives. As for Alixie Petrovitch, he has taken for consolation to reading and sleeping, and is grown as round as a tun.

NOT WISELY BUT TOO WELL.

A SKETCH.

CHAPTER 1.

LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.

I HAD just finished my dinner, in chambers one November evening, and was beginning to enjoy the first sip of a really good glass of wine; and to think that, after all, a bachelor's life is not such a miserable lot, when one's health keeps good, and one's digestion faultless; and those ill birds duns keep away from the door. Quite a festive evening I had determined to enjoy, when of a sudden I heard the door opened, a heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and a rich jolly voice shouted in my ear: "Wake up, you old toper, and listen to my good news. I am booked, Jack, in the matrimonial way, to the dearest, sweetest little maiden that ever gladdened your eyes. Congratulate me on my good fortune, old fellow.”

Could this be Balbus? I looked round, and found that the boisterous invader was no other than my old college friend, and thorough scapegrace, Charley Dalton-one of the merriest, laziest, and best-hearted rogues, that did not even pretend to do anything, and acted up to their pretensions religiously. By profession my companion was a barrister, that is, he had kept his terms duly in the Temple, and had eaten through the requisite number of mutton dinners in the solemn old hall; but as for a brief, I can conscientiously aver that not even the shadow of one ever troubled him. However, he didn't mind, this genial youth; he was blessed with exuberant animal spirits, could sing a decent song, and had five hundred per annum; and now, I suppose, he was going to be married.

"Well, my boy," rejoined I, in a saturnine tone of voice, "you seem to have a pleasant knack of disturbing your friends' siestas; but sit down, Charley, pray, and make yourself at home in the old den. You will find a glass in that cup-board, take a weed, and compose yourself,

My friend complied with all these requests, and curling himself into my coziest arm-chair, took a prefatory sip, anthematized the cigar, which refused to draw, and then burst out into a ringing joyous peal of laughter which did one's heart good to listen to.

"It really does seem too much of a good thing though," resumed my friend, when the fit had partially subsided, "for a fellow like me to settle down into the respectable line, abjure all my fast companions

(meaning thee, my Lothario), and become a model family man.

But I suppose you are impatient to learn who the lady is. Wait till you have seen her. You remember the girl we met at the Archery Ball last summer—I mean the blonde with those large speaking blue eyes, and that demure little smile-you waltzed with her, my anchorite, and raved about her for a month; her name was Anna Stewart. Well, it is her sister that has done me the honour of whispering a little word of three letters, which means a good deal, but does not take long in telling. I met their brother, he was at Corpus, you know, and is now in orders. I met him at the Bishop's, and through him got introduced to Oaklands, the fair Ella's paternal domain. You know me too well, old man, to suppose that I could stay in the house with a charming, and withal sensible girl, without getting very badly hit. I soon fell deeply, madly in love with Ella Stewart; and one night in the conservatory told her a little secret. She didn't say the conventional 'Ask Papa, nor 6 What will Ma say,' but she looked up to me with her deep brown eyes, and whispered a coy loving assent-Yes, she would be my wife, and that through weal or woe, come shine, come storm.' Voila tout, my old friend, and now do congratulate me. We are to be married in the spring; the old man behaved like a thorough brick, bade me keep my treasure carefully, and with a 'God bless you,' sent me to join my precious. Now, old cynic, you do not seem overjoyed; if you are very good, I will take you to Oaklands and you shall see my 'divinity,' and fain confess that the sun shines on no fairer girl in England."

"Ha, well! all very well, Mr. Charley," assented I, "but have you reckoned the responsibility of this step." (I was an ill-conditioned old bachelor, voyez vous, and could not keep my sorry temper from cropping out occasionally.) "Recollect mind, that the change will be a great one. You are not used to trammels of any kind, accustomed to enjoy life and wander about at will; you will see married life rather a change.”

"There you go, you old Diogenes," laughed the happy man, "always groaning. Blest"-and here he threw his eyes around my well-appointed room, and choice furniture, and took another appreciative sip-" blest if any one wouldn't think that you were a Capuchin, instead of a happy old bachelor, with every comfort and no relations to bore him. Well! and suppose if you have had one little 'affaire du cœur,' you are quite recovered now; and as to what you say about married life, wait till you see my betrothed and then talk."

"I only joked, my dear boy; I only joked; I'm sure I wish you joy, and all that sort of thing, with all my heart, and rather envy your luck, for bachelor life is not such a pleasant thing as it seems. One wearies somehow of the perpetual loneliness and friendlessness and wishes for somebody to sit opposite and make coffee; but seriously, I am anxious to see your choice, Charley, my boy: when shall I come ?"

"Oh, let me see, any time will suit me; say next Thursday week. I will just drop a line to acquaint Stewart mère of our visit, so hold

yourself in readiness ;" and for the second time the happy youth relapsed into temporary insanity, and raved about his darling's features and smile, and graceful form till I almost tired. These things so rarely interest a third party. I could not wonder though at any girl's falling in love with my genial young friend. As he lay curled upon the chair, with the wine-glass in his hands, he looked a perfect Antinous--a true type of manly Saxon beauty, with chestnut hair curling over a broad intellectual forehead, his cheerful gray eyes lighting up the whole of his face, and a beautifully chiselled nose. Not an effeminate style at all; he was six-feet and a trifle broad shouldered, "with thews and sinews such as warriors have;" arms with muscle in them, which many a blatant cad felt the weight of in the halcyon days when we were at Trinity, and which "stroked" many a winning boat in the boating struggle at Oxford.

"I shall be awfully sorry to lose you, dear old chap," resumed my friend more seriously; "we have been such staunch friends, have we not? But as the Bible says, you know, a fellow must leave all his relations and friends and cleave to his wife. Tell you what, you must dine with us often. Not that I can give you sherry like this, by any means; 'res angusta domi' would prevent it; we can't all be Luculluses like you. Stay, there goes ten; I go to play pool, for the last time in my bachelor life, at the rooms of one Thurston a Sadducee, with Chalker of the Lancers, and some old Trinity men. Ta-ta, old man, keep yourself disengaged for Thursday;" and whistling the "Birra" from Marta, he rushed out as impetuously as he had made his appearance.

As the last echo of his footsteps died away, and I was left alone in my glory once more, I threw myself back in my chair and looked moodily at the fire gleaming so cheerfully, and peopled the grate with bygone scenes and faces, as people will do when in a sentimental humour. I began to envy this young fellow's lot, and wondered why such a lot had not been mine. Ohime! had I not attended at the feet of young maidens, had I not striven to make myself as agreeable as possible to the fair. How badly that young lady with the auburn coronet peeping cozily from behind that coal, behaved to me if she did leave me for another she need not have laughed me to scorn. There is that beautiful actress, Katie Francis, again: why, I actually was fool enough to imagine that she was tendre. What brava could equal mine? whose bouquet surpassed the magnificence of mine? yet she allowed me to bask in her smile for but a short period, and then, in the cant phrase of the day, "went to the bad." Well, thought I, you have had your day, my boy, and you are less prepossessing now than ever you were, so rest content; and so, whimpering over my lost gioventù, I seized the poker and demolished the witching faces in the fire, then with a weary sigh, sought refuge in that common comforter, my bed.

CHAPTER II.

IN THE TOILS.

THE time slipped swiftly by, and punctual to the minute on Thursday morning came my friend Charley, gorgeously attired, and with a most radiant face. No sign in his face of that weary, seedy look which some men wear in the morning just after breakfast, auguring badly of their previous night's dissipation. The reason of his purple and fine linen I knew full well. 'Tis a sure sign, look you, of a youth's being in love, when he begins to attire himself sprucely. Now-a-days, the British youth prides himself not a whit on his personal elegance; as long as he feels himself airy and comfortable he is given to affect shaggy tweed and sturdy knickerbockers; but when he pays a visit to the lady of his choice the case is altered, then doth he indue himself in the official frock-coat, his ties are grandiose then, and his feet encased in the very shiniest of boots. And again when the lady wishes to make an impression, who but she to deck herself brightly; what says the "parient" in the ballad?— "Go dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array."

"Here we are again," broke in Charley, interrupting the current of my thoughts, "punctual to the time; hope you have slept well, old boy, for I want you to have your eyes open to see my Beauty perfectly. So ho, boy, easy then; now then, Jim, the reins ;" and giving rein to the spirited horse, off we dashed on our courting expedition. "I hope the old lady will be genial," said my friend; "she sometimes has a sort of melancholy over her: why, I am sure I can't tell; with two such daughters she ought to be in paradise. By Jove, sometimes I can hardly imagine myself awake, it must be some too happy dream, it seems too happy for sober reality."

"Ah! you were always given to dreaming," responded I, "don't you remember that you could never walk once down the 'High' without getting into a perfect phrenzy of love, by reason of the pretty faces that haunted that delectable promenade. Don't you remember, Charley, how eager the Senior Proctor was to make your acquaintance, and what a lecture old Mackenzie used to read you on wasting your opportunities, and not improving your probation time.""

"Peccavi confiteor," laughed the youth; "but then those were one's 'sallet days.' I have abjured sack, I assure you, and taken to quietness, and you will acknowledge that the being who wrought this change is no mean enchantress."

During this chat we had been driving through a succession of beautiful lanes, in the prettiest of all England's counties, Kent, and though the season of the year was not the most genial, still our spirits went up soon to blood heat; there is something so madly exhilarating in the feeling of being drawn swiftly by a spirited horse, never mind where the locale is.