"Put your hats on, my dears,' said my father. These young men will never know what to buy--they'll be buying pepper instead of spice, and I don't know what.'

"Yes, we certainly shall,' said they. "Fine help you are likely to be,' said I, laughing. So there we set out, in the best possible spirits; my father taking care of me, and the young men of Ellen." "What fun!" ejaculated Augusta, whose cheeks were blazing, either with excitement or scorching. "Go on, Mrs. Jeffrey."

"The streets," continued Mrs. Jeffrey, warming with her subject, "the old, irregular, narrow, lava-paved streets, now in darkness, now in a flare of light, were thronged with a curious medley of people -friars, soldiers, beggars, artisans, Trasteverini;-now a brace of shaggy Calabrian bag-pipers; now a scowling Schedoni; now a party of amused English or Americans. We popped into one shop after another-buying fruit here, suet there; then to the baker's for flour. Everything was put into a basket which Reynolds gloried in carrying. Everybody was merry and good-humored-delicious gushes of music came through church-doors; it seemed enchantment.

"Though dark, it was yet early, for the days were at their shortest. We got back to our lodgings and set to work merrily. Reynolds insisted on chopping the suet and apples; my father squeezed the lemons; I washed the currants and grated the nutmeg; Morley and Ellen contented themselves with stoning the raisins, and she accused him of eating a good many. Brandy and sweetmeats and spice were duly added, and then we pronounced the mince-meat only to require thorough mixing. Marcellina, the maid, whose eyes laughed with fun, helped me to make the puff-paste and line the patty-pans; and when the mince-pies were made, she carried them to the oven."

"We had a great deal to do first, and we did it. We set out again, and visited some of the grand old churches, crowded with people, and heard their Christmas music, which was as beautiful as anything earthly could be. We saw the Bambino in wax-work, lying in a manger, with Mary and Joseph, and the shepherds and shepherds' dog, and cattle, large as life, all grouped around. It was a kind of gigantic puppet-show, with a strange mixture of childishness and solemnity in it. We looked on at it as a spectacle, you know, yet could not help feeling impressed; and I think the Roman Catholics, who considered it all right, enjoyed it as a spectacle also. And then we returned to sup on some of the mince-pies, and found them excellent. -So there, Miss Augusta, is your pennyworth for your penny," concluded Mrs. Jeffrey, smiling.

"And here's the penny, Mrs. Jeffrey," said Augusta, "which I call very capitally earned. I should like just such a Christmas Eve. We never have anything like that in this stupid country."

"You spoke of it as your first Christmas Eve in Rome," said I, after a pause. "Did you then spend another there?"

"Ah," said Mrs. Jeffrey, changing countenance, "I don't like to think of the second."

"Why not?" cried Augusta, eagerly. "Do tell!"

"My dear, it was a very different thing. We had had a very pleasant spring in Rome, and a very happy summer in the mountains about Palestrina and Poli. Reynolds and Morley were

there too; they were very busy with their sketch-books; my father was busy with his; Ellen and I were busy with ours. The more we saw of Mr. Morley, the more we liked him. I thought, too, he liked Ellen-I mean, I thought he was becoming attached to her. She may have had some idea of the same sort, but I cannot tell; for she was not like your commonplace young ladies who chatter about love and matrimony with no bashfulness.

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one day, she showed no wounded feeling at their withdrawal on the next. It was a good thing she did not; for, on our return from the mountains, he dropped off from us all at once, without saying why or wherefore. He had not left Rome, but he got into a different set."

"How horrid!" said Augusta. "I think it was very bad of him. Did you never see him any more?" "Not for months. Meanwhile, we went on in our old way; but somehow it seemed rather flat. Ellen was more serious than she had been formerly. Once or twice she told me she was longing to return to England, and to forget all about Italy-there was no place like home. The term for which we had let our house had nearly expired, so that there seemed no reason why we should not go back at the appointed time. But my father got a commission which kept him in Rome through the winter; and if my sister and I could not honestly rejoice in this, we could at any rate submit to it with a good grace.

"That winter, there broke out a terrible influenza. I was told that you could not go out in London without continually meeting hearses and mourningcoaches, nor enter a haberdasher's shop without seeing the counter heaped with black, and every customer in mourning. In Paris it was as bad; and there were many influenza cases in Rome. Ellen's was one of the first. We thought she had only taken a heavy cold, and did not make much account of it till delirium set in. Then we got thoroughly frightened; and I felt how wretched it was to be ill in a strange land. My father ferreted out an English physician. Ellen said, when he was gone, That man's face showed he could do nothing for me. I shall die-I shall die! Don't cry for me. I'm not afraid.'

"These were almost her last words. Towards night she began singing, and continued an incessant wail, that was almost like a hymn without words, till stupor succeeded, which ended in death.

"It was on Christmas Eve. I had gone into the sitting-room for something,

"'Yes,' said I. She said, 'Tell Mr. Morley there's no safety but in Jesus.''

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Oh, then he was not very religious, I suppose," said Augusta softly, after a pause. Perhaps not. There you have now the history of my two Christmas Eves in Rome. You cannot be surprised at its being painful to me to speak of the second, nor at my being glad to return to dear old England; but I left some one dearer to me than all the world besides, in the Protestant burial-ground."

"Then," said Gussy, after another pause, "you did not marry Mr. Reynolds."

No, indeed," said Mrs. Jeffrey, forced to smile at the remark.

"What has become of Mr. Morley?" "He is dead."

Afterwards, two young people, not particularly interesting, came in to supper, which was cheerful enough. One of them observed that her mince-pie was gritty.

"So is mine," said the other; "I think it has had a tumble in the snow."

Augusta and I exchanged a look. Just then, her teeth went crunch against a stone.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BIRTHNIGHT BALL.
"Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men."

The young people who supped with us, and whom Augusta in her off-hand way afterwards spoke of as Methodists, had

previously been to church or chapel, I forget which; and as I took my solitary way home after parting with Gussy, I could not help thinking that a religious service was the fittest way of keeping Christmas Eve. I rather wondered that Mrs. Jeffrey had not gone to some place of worship, as she seemed of a serious turn, though very cheerful; but I believe she was afraid of the night-air and could not indulge in coach-hire. I do not think people observed Christmas Eve as well then as they do now, for they often chose that evening for parties and spent it in dancing. Doubtless many attended some public service, but probably they were those who did not dance at all.

I liked what I had seen of Mrs. Jeffrey and wished we were friends, to which her cordial manner seemed to invite me; but when I asked Augusta whether I should not call, after having been entertained by her, she said with decision, "Certainly not; you went with me."

That was the last I saw of either of them for a long time. Directly Christmas was over my head was full of the Hartlepools. I gave them a week to settle in their new home, and then ventured to show my face.

But there had been a more formidable removal than I had supposed. The former occupant had been tardy in moving out, and the Hartlepools had considered a good many things necessary for their comfort. When I entered the court, which happened to be all in shade, and therefore looked gloomy, a great van took up the access to the doorway and was being unloaded, while Edwy was intently watching the proceedings through a dirty window and flattening his nose against the pane. Directly he saw me he rushed to the door to welcome me; but a grand piano was being lifted in with some difficulty by three men, so as to prevent us from reaching one another; seeing which, he rushed out of sight, and, I concluded, carried the news of my arrival with him. As soon as I could enter the hall, which was full of luggage and litter, I was met by an elderly, business-like servant, not one of the country set, who looked hard

at me, and on my inquiring for Mrs. Hartlepool, replied, "She is very busy." I said, "I am Miss Lyon. Perhaps one of the young ladies will see me."

"You can step in here, M-" said she, a little more civilly, and opened a door, which she closed on me as soon as I had entered. I found myself in a small though very lofty wainscoted parlor-the same in which Edwy had been keeping watch -with tall, narrow windows and deep window-seats: and here I waited an hour. It seemed a very long one.

At first I waited patiently enough, hearing well-known voices and much running about overhead; now and then the scraping of some heavy piece of furniture, moved with difficulty. I could well believe them to be very busy, and wished I had waited a day or two longer; but still I hoped to exchange a kindly greeting before I went away.

A clock had struck as I entered the house. I told myself that the time seemed longer than it was; and just as I was insisting on this to myself, the clock struck again! Then I knew I had waited an hour, and thought they must have forgotten me. I longed to run up stairs and show myself; but what I could have done at Compton Friars I could not do here. I did not even know my way about the house, which seemed full of intricacies and echoes. It was very uncomfortable! I had a great mind to go away, but if they knew I was there it would seem so strange. My hand was often on the bell, but I did not ring it. I opened the door a little instead, and looked out.

Helen was just passing through the hall. She cried, "Why, Bessy!" and flew to me and kissed me. She said, "How long have you been here?"

I said, "An hour by Shrewsbury clock," so then we both began laughing.

She said, "How very odd!-Did anybody know you were here?"

"Oh yes," I said, " Edwy saw me come in, and he ran away to tell you, I thought."

"He ran up, brimful of some intelligence," said Helen, "and mamma cut him short with 'Edwy, you have such a dirty face that I won't hear a word till you'

feel worried. My good mother could not banish it from her thoughts, for if we went out together she would sometimes plant herself before the window of one of the temptation-shops and say, "There now, Bessy-that would suit you exactly, supposing you went to the Hartlepools."

"Too expensive, mother, I'm sure." "Nay, I doubt it," and in she would go and inquire the price, and feel the texture, and examine the width, and calculate the needful quantity, while I was on thorns, being persuaded she would never buy it.

At length-only a week before the birthday, (the date of which I knew well enough,)—a dear little blush-colored note, with silver edges, came from Urith, giving good reasons for its not being written sooner, and cordially inviting me to the birthday party.

"There now, mother! you see they are not set up," cried I with glee.

"Well, no; but one could never have guessed they had been in such suspense about the recovery of a near relation. And now, Bessy, let us start off for that dress at once," said my mother, who was greatly pleased, "for much is to be done in little time."

But yet, when I showed her my answer to Urith's letter, she said, "You have thanked her as much as if she had given you five hundred pounds. And she is only her mamma's mouthpiece. 'Shali have much pleasure in accepting,' would have been quite enough. Will all the other guests express such unbounded gratitude, think you?"

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of gold he told down upon the table had already been stored in his purse for the very object they were now given for.

The trouble and pains that party cost us! But, after all, the trouble and pains on these occasions make great part of the pleasure.

When the eventful evening arrived it was so bitterly cold! with an east wind, hard frost, and the ground as slippery as glass. My mother assisted with fond pride at my toilette; my father fetched a cab and accompanied me in it. We made slow progress; horses, rough-shod, were going at a foot pace, or slipping and sometimes falling. These misadventures kept us in continual excitement.

"Another horse down! How soon a crowd collects! Our man seems a careful fellow. You will get in to supper, I suppose. I'm afraid, my dear, your head being uncovered may give you cold. And this dress," taking it cautiously between finger and thumb, "does not seem to have much warmth in it."

Though it seemed as if we never should get there, we did at last. My father nimbly alighted, handed me out, gave me a knowing smile, and disappeared. I felt embarrassed. The hall looked brilliant, now it was lighted up; there were hired waiters, quite like butlers, one of whom ushered me into the "cloak-room" where I had waited that long hour, and where 'pretty Fanny," as we used to call her at Compton Friars, helped me off with my wraps and pulled out my sleeves. Next I was ushered into the tea-room, where I had green tea and a drop-biscuit; next

"Stuff! Do you think yourself the Hartlepools' only friend? You are conceited, Bessy. But come, let us start off for the dress, for I declare I'm as full of it as you can be."

My father coming in just before he started for the brewery, she made a spirited attack on him, which he with great good humor answered. But though he playfully pretended to make a great difficulty of it, and to think we were going to ruin him, I am persuaded that the bright pieces

loudly announced as "Miss Lyon," and, the next moment, found myself in a crowd of strangers, amid an incessant murmur of voices.

Mrs. Hartlepool shook hands with me at the door, said a few kind, cheerful words, and retained my hand while she looked round for Urith, caught her eye, and passed me on to her.

"Come this way, Bessy," said Urith, whom I had never seen look so nice. "Have you had some tea?"

"Oh yes, thank you!"