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whole evening; she hoped there would be an end to that for the present, at least.

The country-dance was over, and the indefatigable performers were grouping for the last reel before supper.

"Elsie, you had better dance with Blake. He is Blundell's skipper, rather a swell, and he is standing there with no one to speak to. Now, Mr. Blake, Miss Calverley is going to take you for her partner this time."

"Me, sir? I'm, I'm — its pertickler kind of you, sir, and of the young lady" —" with a bow to each. "But I ain't quite right on my legs — borned that way. Very much obliged indeed, sir." And the flattered skipper retreated, thinking vastly higher of the entertainment than he had done previously.

"You had better take one of them," counselled Tom. "They are all hanging together like a pack or sheep. Here you," said he, catching hold of our friend Jerry, and thrusting 'him forward — "you stand up here; and mind you do your best, for you have got Miss Calverley for a partner."

Jerry, fiery-red to the roots of his hair, and retreating inwardly from all his garments through very limpness, obeyed; and Tom, bidding his cousin keep the set open for him, turned away to match together and hustle to their places as many more of the company as had not already paired, and could give no good reason why they should not be joined together.

"Am I to have the pleasure, at last?" Blundell had heard Tom gallantly soliciting the hand of the blooming village schoolmistress, and had found his way down to the lower end of the room forthwith.

"No, indeed! I am dancing with one of your men."

"With whom?"

"One of your sailors. There!" indicating the unfortunate Jerry, confronting her with a face so drawn and withered, that the strongest solution of alum poured down his throat could alone have produced a like result.

"Jerry," said his master, quietly, "go and find some one else. And know your place better another time," added he, in a voice that threw yet more alum into the already stiff potation.

"As if it warn't bad enough already," muttered the poor lad, as he turned away. "An' I could ha' sworn it was the t'other one too."

"How dared the fellow presume!" exclaimed Blundell, passionately. "How could your cousin allow it! Pray forgive me this unintentional annoyance," taking her hand; "such audacity ——"

"It was not his fault. He was told to do it."

"Told! Who told him?"

"Tom did from me."

"From you? It was a great mistake. Tom should have known better — he should not have done it."

"He should, if I told him."

Her heart was swelling proudly, but she would not hear the absent condemned. At the moment, in her confusion of spirits she fully believed that the idea itself, not merely the acquiescence in it, had been hers.

"It was a great mistake," repeated Blundell, dictatorially. "You ought not to dance with men like these."

The hand he held was snatched from his. "Excuse me," said Miss Calverley of Calverley, with the air and frown of an empress; "it is for me to judge what I ought and what I ought not to do in matters like this."

And without another word she left him.

From The Nineteenth Century.



It is sometimes said, in relation to individuals, that the world does not know its greatest men. It might at least as safely be averred, in speaking of large numbers, that Christendom does not know its most extraordinary people. The name of Montenegro, until within the last two years, was perhaps less familiar to the European public than that of Monaco, and little more than that of San Marino. And yet it would, long ere this, have risen to worldwide and immortal fame, had there been a Scott to learn and tell the marvels of its history, or a Byron to spend and be spent on its behalf. For want of the vates sacer, it has remained in the mute, inglorious condition of Agamemnon's predecessors.[2] I hope that an interpreter between Montenegro and the world has at length been found in the person of my friend Mr. Tennyson, and I gladly accept the honor of having been invited to supply a commen-

  1. 1. Le Monténégro Contemporain. Par G. Frilley, Officier de la Légion d'Honneur, et Jovan Wlahoviti, Capitaine au Service de la Serbie. Paris: 1870.
    2. Montenegro und die Montenegriner geschildert von Spiridion Goptchevitch. Leipzig: 1877.
  2. Hor., Od. IV, ix. 25.