mamma," she said unhappily. "Where is mamma? I must go to mamma." And she was not such a very young lady either. But Lady Torquilin, in her kindness of heart, said, "So you shall, my dear, so you shall!" and Mr. Pratte took his aunt's bouquet and mine, and held them, one in each hand, above the heads of the mob of fine ladyhood, rather enjoying the situation, I think, so that we could crowd together and allow the young lady who wanted her mamma to go and find her. Mr. Oddie Pratte took excellent care of the bouquets, holding them aloft in that manner, and looked so gallantly handsome doing it that other gentlemen immediately followed his example, and turned themselves into flowery candelabra, with great effect upon the brilliancy of the scene.

A sudden movement among the ladies nearest the silken barrier a sudden concentration of energy that came with the knowledge that there was progress to be made, progress to Royalty! A quick, heaving rush through and beyond into another apartment full of emptiness and marble pillars, and we were once more at a standstill, having conquered a few places — brought to a masterly inactivity by another silken cord and another Gentleman of the Court, polite but firm. In the room beyond we could see certain figures moving about at their ease, with no crush and no struggle the ladies and gentlemen of the Private Entrée. With what lofty superiority we invested them! They seemed, for the time, to belong to some other planet, where Royal beings grew and smiled at every street corner, and to be, on the other side of that silken barrier, an immeasurable distance off. It was a distinct shock to hear an elderly lady beside us, done up mainly in amethysts, recognize a cousin among them. It seemed to be self-evident that she had no right to have a cousin there.

"I'll see you through the barrier," said Mr. Oddie Pratte, "and then I'll have to leave you. I'll bolt round the other way, and be waiting for you at the off-door, Auntie. I'd come through, only Her Maj. does hate it so. Not at all nice of her, I call it, but she can't bear the most charming of us about on these occasions. We're not good enough." A large-boned lady in front, red velvet and cream, with a diminutive major in attendance, turned to him at this, and said with unction, "I am sure, Edwin, that is not the case. I have it on excellent authority that the Queen is pleased when gentlemen come through. Remember, Edwin, I will not face it alone."

"I think you will do very well, my dear!" Edwin responded. "Brace up! 'Pon my word, I don't think I ought to go. I'll join you at

"If you desert me, Edwin, I shall die!" said the bony lady, in a strong undertone; and at that moment the crowd broke again. Oddie slipped away, and we went on exultantly two places, for the major had basely and swiftly followed Mr. Pratte, and his timid spouse, in a last clutching expostulation, had fallen hopelessly to the rear.

About twenty of us, this time, were let in at once. The last of the preceding twenty were slowly and singly pacing after one another's trains round two sides of this third big room towards a door at the farther corner. There was a most impressive silence. As we got into file I felt that the supreme moment was at hand, and it was not a comfortable feeling. Lady Torquilin, in front of me, put a question to a gentleman in a uniform she ought to have been afraid of- only that nothing ever terrified Lady Torquilin, which made it less comfortable still. "Oh, Lord Mafferton," said she-I hadn't recognized him in my nervousness and his gold lace – "how many courtesies are

there to make?"

"Nine, dear lady," replied this peer, with evident enjoyment. "It's the most brilliant Drawing Room of the season. Every Royalty who could possibly attend is here. Nine, at the least!

Lady Torquilin's reply utterly terrified me. It was confidential, and delivered in an undertone, but it was full of severe meaning. "I'm full of rheumatism," said she, "and I shan't do it."

The question as to what Lady Torquilin would do, if not what was required of her, rose vividly before me, and kept me company at every step of that interminable round. "Am I all right?" she whispered over her shoulder from the other end of that trailing length of pansy-colored velvet. "Perfectly," I said. But there was nobody to tell me that I was all right-I might have been a thing of shreds and patches. Somebody's roses had dropped; I was walking on pink petals. What a pity! And I had forgotten to take off my glove; would it ever come unbuttoned? How deliberately we were nearing that door at the farther end! And how could I possibly have supposed that my heart would beat like this! It was all very well to allow one's self a little excitement in preparation; but when it came to the actual event I reminded myself that I had not had

the slightest intention of being nervous. I called all my democratic principles to my assistance-none of them would come. "Remember, Mamie Wick," said I to myself, "you don't believe in queens." But at that moment I saw three Gentlemen of the Household bending over, and stretching out Lady Torquilin's train into an illimitable expanse. I looked beyond, and there, in the midst of all her dazzling Court, stood Queen Victoria. And Lady Torquilin was bending over her hand! And in another moment it would be it was my turn! I felt the touches on my own train, I heard somebody call a name I had a vague familiarity with-"Miss Mamie Wick." I was launched at last towards that little black figure of Royalty with the Blue Ribbon crossing her breast and the Koh-i-nor sparkling there! Didn't you believe in queens, Miss Mamie Wick, at that moment? I'm very much afraid you did.

And all that I remember after was going down very unsteadily before her, and just daring the lightest touch of my lips upon the gracious little hand she laid on mine. And then not getting nearly time enough to make all of those nine courtesies to the beautiful sparkling people that stood at the Queen's left hand, before two more Gentlemen of the Court gathered up my draperies from behind my feet and threw them mercifully over my arm for me. And one awful moment when I couldn't quite tell whether I had backed out of all the Royal presences or not, made up my mind that I had, then unmade it, and in agony of spirit turned and backed again!

It was over at last. I had kissed the hand of the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, and there's no use in trying to believe anything to the contrary-I was proud of it. Lady Torquilin and I regarded each other in the next room with pale and breathless congratulation, and then turned with one accord to Oddie Pratte.

"On the whole," said that young gentleman, blandly, “you did me credit! "

HER LETTER.

BY BRET HARTE.

[FRANCIS BRET HARTE, one of the most popular of American authors, was born at Albany, N. Y., August 25, 1839. His father was a teacher in a female seminary, who died leaving his family with but little means. The son, after an

ordinary school education, went to California (1854), and was successively miner, school-teacher, compositor, and editorial writer for San Francisco journals. He was secretary of the United States branch mint in San Francisco (1864–1870), and in 1868 founded and edited the Overland Monthly, to which he contributed some of his most powerful stories of Western life, such as "The Luck of Roaring Camp," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat, ," "Miggles," and "Tennessee's Partner." Returning to the East in 1871, he took up his residence in New York and became a regular contributor to the Atlantic Monthly. He was appointed United States consul at Crefeld, Germany (1878), whence he was transferred in 1880 to Glasgow, Scotland, and continued in that office until 1885. Since then he has resided in London. Besides the works above mentioned he has written: "Tales

of the Argonauts," "Gabriel Conroy," "In the Carquinez Woods," "Snowbound at Eagles," "A Millionaire of Rough and Ready," "Crusade of the Excelsior," "Susy," "Clarence," "In a Hollow of the Hills," Partners."]

A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;

Likewise a proposal, half spoken,

That waits on the stairs for me yet.
They say he'll be rich, when he grows up,-

And then he adores me indeed.

And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

"Three

If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,-
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier,-
In the bustle and glitter befitting

The "finest soiree of the year,"

In the mists of a gauze de Chambery,

And the hum of the smallest of talk, Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork";

Of Harrison's barn, with its muster

Of flags festooned over the wall;

Of the candles that shed their soft luster
And tallow on head dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle;
Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis ;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee;

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping

On the hill, when the time came to go; Of the few baby peaks that were peeping From under their bedclothes of snow; Of that ride, that to me was the rarest; Of the something you said at the gate,Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress

To "the best paying lead in the State."

Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,

That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,

And swam the North Fork, and all that, Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter, The Lily of Poverty Flat.

But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing! (Mamma says my taste still is low,) Instead of my triumphs reciting,

I'm spooning on Joseph, -heigh-ho!