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CHAPTER II.

MAKING ACQUAINTANCES.

Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a distant waste:
No shepherds' tents within thy view appear,
Yet the Chief Shepherd is for ever near."
-Cowper.

HE Abbey Church of WhiteLadies, to which allusion. has already been made, was not in any condition for Divine Service, being only a beautiful ruin. When Madam went to church, therefore, she drove two miles to Tewkesbury.

At nine o'clock punctually, the great lumbering coach was drawn to the door by the two heavy Flanders mares, with long black tails which almost touched the ground. Madam, in a superb costume of black satin, trimmed with dark fur and white lace, took her seat in the place of honour. Rhoda, in a satin gown and hood, with a silk petticoat, all black, as became the day-sat on the small seat at one side of the door. But Rhoda sat with her face to the horses, while the yet lower place opposite was reserved for Phoebe, in her unpretending mourning. The great coach rumbled off, out of the grand gates, always opened when Madam was present, past the ruins of the Abbey Church, and drew up before a row of six little houses, fronted by six little gardens. They were built on a very minute scale, exactly alike, each containing four small rooms, kitchen, parlour, and two bedrooms over, with a little lean-to scullery at the back. On the midmost coping-stone appeared a lofty inscription to the effect

that

VOL. XVI.-NO. II.

MISTRESS MARGERY," ETC.

"THE MAIDENS' LODGE WAS BUILT TO THE PRAISE AND GLORY OF GOD, BY THE PIOUS CARE OF MISTRESS PERPETUA FURNIVAL, WIDOW, FOR THE LODGING OF SIX DECAYED GENTLEWOMEN, SPINSTERS, OF GOOD BIRTH AND QUALITY. A.D. 1702."

It occurred to Phoebe, as she sat reading the inscription, that it might have been pleasanter to the decayed gentlewomen in question not to have their indigence quite so openly proclaimed to the world, even though coupled with good birth and quality, and redounding to the fame of Mistress Perpetua Furnival. But Phoebe had not much time to meditate; for the door of the first little house opened, and down the gravel walk, towards the carriage, came the neatest and nicest of little old ladies, attired like everybody that day, in black, and carrying a silver-headed cane, on which she leaned as if it really were needed to support her. She was one of those rare persons, a pretty old woman. Her complexion was still as fair and delicate as a painting on china, her blue eyes clear and expressive. Of course, in days when every one wore powder, hair was of one colour-white.

"This is Mrs. Dolly Jennings," whispered Rhoda to Phoebe; "she is the eldest of the maidens, and she is about seventy. I believe she is some manner of cousin to the Duke-not very near, you know."

The Duke, in 1712, of course meant the Duke of Marlborough.

"Good morning, Madam," said Mrs. Jennings in a cheerful yet gentle voice, when she reached the carriage.

"Good morning, Mrs. Dorothy. I am glad I see you well enough to accompany me to church."

"You are very good, Madam," was the

F

other ladies wore. There was nothing to keep her warm in that quarter except a necklace. Large ear-rings depended from her ears, half a dozen rings were worn outside her gloves, a long chatelaine hung from

"Yes, Madam, I thank God," returned Mrs. Dorothy as cheerfully as before.

While Phoebe was meditating on this last answer, the second Maiden appeared from Number Two. She was an entire contrast to the first, being tall, sharp-featured, florid, high-nosed, and generally angular.

"Mrs. Jane Talbot," whispered Rhoda. Mrs. Jane, having offered her civilities. to Madam, climbed also into the coach, and placed herself beside Mrs. Dorothy.

"Marcella begs you will allow her excuses, Madam, for she is indisposed this morning," said Mrs. Jane, in a quick, sharp voice, which made Phoebe doubt if all her angularity were outside.

While Madam was expressing her regret at this news, the doors of Numbers Five and Six opened simultaneously, and two ladies emerged, who were, in their way, as much a contrast as Mrs. Jane and Mrs. Dorothy. Number Six reached the carriage first. She was a pleasant, comfortable-looking woman of about fifty years of age, with a round face and healthy complexion, and a manner which, while kindly, was dignified and selfpossessed.

tached a bunch of trinkets of all shapes and sizes. She was laced very tight, and her poor nose was conscious of it, as it showed by blushing at the enormity. Under her left arm was a very small, very fat, very blunt-nosed Dutch pug. Phoebe at once guessed that the lady was Mrs. Vane, and that the pug was Cupid.

"Well, Clarissa!" said Mrs. Jane, as the new-comer took her seat at the door opposite Rhoda: "Pity you hadn't a nose-ring!"

Mrs. Vane made no answer beyond an affected smile, but Cupid growled at Mrs. Jane, whom he did not seem to hold in high esteem. The coach, with a good effort on the part of the horses, got under way, and rumbled off towards Tewkesbury.

"And how does Sir Richard, my Lady Betty?" inquired Madam with much cordiality.

"Oh, extremely well, I thank you," answered Lady Betty. "So well, indeed, now, that he talks of a journey to London, and a month at the Bath on his way thence."

"What takes him to London ?" asked Mrs. Jane.

""Tis for the maids he thinks to go. He would have Betty and Gatty have a season's

Phoebe then perceived that the scat of honour, beside Madam, had been reserved for Lady Betty. But Number Five followed, and she was so singular a figure that Phoebe's attention was at once diverted to her.

She looked about the age of Lady Betty, but having evidently been a beauty in her younger days she was greatly indisposed to resign that character. Though it was a sharp January morning, her neck was unprotected by the warm tippet which all the

-he is wishful to have her touched." "Is she as ill for the evil as ever, poor child?"

"Oh, indeed, yes! 'Tis a thousand pities -and such sprightly parts as she discovers!"*

"Tis a mercy for such as she that the Queen doth touch," said Mrs. Jane. "King William never did."

"Is that no mistake?" gently suggested Lady Betty.

"Never dared," came rather grimly from Madam.

"Well, maybe," said Mrs. Jane. "But I protest I cannot see why Queen Mary should not have done it, as well as her sister."

"I own I cannot but very much doubt," returned Madam, severely, "that any good consequence should follow."

By which it will be perceived that Madam was an uncompromising Jacobite. Mrs. Jane had no particular convictions, but she liked to talk Whig, because all around were Tories. Lady Betty was a Hanoverian Tory -that is, what would be termed an extreme Tory in the present day, but attached to the Protestant succession. Mrs. Clarissa was whatever she found it the fashion to be. As to Mrs. Dorothy, she held private opinions, but she never allowed them to appear, well knowing that they would be far from acceptable to Madam. And since Mrs. Dorothy was sometimes constrained unwillingly to differ from Madam on points which she deemed essential, she was careful not to vex her on subjects which she considered indifferent.

Rhoda was rather disappointed to find that Phoebe showed no astonished admiration of Tewkesbury Abbey. She forgot that the Abbey Church at Bath, and St. Mary Redcliffe at Bristol, had been familiar to Phoebe from her infancy. The porch was lined with beggars, who showered blessings upon Madam, in grateful anticipation of shillings to come. But Madam passed grandly on, and paid no attention to them.

The church and the service were about equally chilly. Being a fast day, the organ was silent but all the responding was left to the choir, the congregation seemingly supposing it as little their concern as Cupid thought it his, who curled himself up comfortably, and went to sleep. The gentlemen appeared to be amusing themselves by staring at the ladies; the ladies either returned the compliment slily behind their fans, or exchanged courtesies with each other. There was a long, long bidding prayer, and a sermon which might have been fitly prefaced by the announcement,

"Let us talk to the praise and glory of Charles the First." It was over at last. The gentlemen put down their eye-glasses, the ladies yawned and furled their fans: there was a great deal of bowing, and courtesying, and complimenting-Mr. William informing Mrs. Betty that the sun had come out solely to do her honour, and Mrs. Betty retorting with a delicate blow from her fan, and, "What a mad fellow are you!" At last these also were over; and the ladies from Cressingham remounted the family coach, nearly in the same order as they came, the variation being that Phoebe found herself seated opposite Mrs. Clarissa Vane.

"Might I pat him?" said Phoebe diffi dently.

"If you want to be bit, do!" snapped Mrs. Jane.

"Oh deah, yes!" languishingly responded Mrs. Clarissa. "He neveh bites, does 'e, the pwetty deah!"

"Heyday! Doesn't 'e, the pwetty deah?" observed Mrs. Jane, in such exact imitation of her friend's affected tones as sorely to try Phoebe's gravity.

Lady Betty laughed openly, but added, "Mind what you are about, child."

"Poor doggie!" softly said Phoebe.

Cupid's response was the slightest oscillation of the extreme point of his tail. But when Phoebe attempted to stroke him, to the surprise of all parties, instead of snapping at her, as he was expected to do, Cupid only wagged rather more decidedly; and when Phoebe proceeded to rub his head and ears, he actually gave her, not a bite of resentment, but a lick of friendliness.

"Deah! the sweet little deah! 'E's vewy good!" said his mistress.

The gentle reader is requested not to suppose that the elision of Mrs. Clarissa's poor letter H, as well as R, proceeded either from ignorance or vulgarity-except so far as vulgarity lies in blindly following fashion. Mrs. Clarissa's only mistake was that, like most country ladies, she was rather behind the age. The dropping of H and other

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Come, Jenny, don't you bite," put in Lady Betty. "Cupid has set you a better example than so."

"I'll not bite Clarissa, I thank you," was Mrs. Jane's rather spiteful answer. "It would want more than one fast day to bring me to that. Couldn't fancy the paint. And don't think I could digest the patches."

Lady Betty appeared to enjoy Mrs. Jane's very uncivil speeches; while Cupid's mistress remained untouched by them, being one of those persons who affect not to hear anything to which they do not choose to respond.

"Never mind, Mrs. Jane," said Rhoda. "Mrs. Dolly will give me something, I know. And I shall visit her first."

Mrs. Dorothy assented by a benevolent smile.

"I hope, child, you will not forget it is a fast day," said Madam gravely, "and not go about to divert yourself in an improper manner."

"Oh no, Madam!" said Rhoda, drawing in her horns.

No sooner was dinner over, and as Rhoda had predicted, there was nothing except boiled potatoes and bread and butter, -than Rhoda pounced on Phoebe, and somewhat authoritatively bade her come upstairs. Madam had composed herself in her easy chair, with the "Eikon Basilikè” in her hand.

"Will Madam not be lonely?" asked Phoebe timidly, as she followed Rhoda.

"Lonely? Oh no! She'll be asleep in a minute," said Rhoda.

"I thought she was going to read," suggested Phoebe.

"She fancies so," said Rhoda, laughing. "I never knew her try yet but she went to sleep directly."

Unlocking a closet door which stood in their bedroom, and climbing on a chair to reach the top shelf, Rhoda produced a small volume bound in red sheepskin, which she introduced to Phoebe's notice with a rather grandiloquent air.

"Now, Phoebe ! There's my Book of

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"Why, what are aunts good for but to be called names?" was the amiable response. 'But now listen, Phoebe. I am going to read you a piece of my poetry. You see, our old church is dedicated to Saint Ursula: and there is an image in the church, which they say is Saint Ursula,-it has such a charming face! Madam doesn't think 'tis charming, but I do. So you see, this poem is to that image."

Phoebe looked rather puzzled, but did not

answer.

"Now, I would have you criticise, Phoebe,"