of love an ignoble surrender? Is the search for the Cupid which my poor little Psyche pursued in the darkness the god of her soul's longing - the god of the blooming cheek and rainbow pinions to result in Huxter, smelling of tobacco and galipots? I wish, though I don't see it in life, that people could be like Jenny and Jessamy, or my lord and lady Clementina in the story-books and fashionable novels, and at once under the ceremony, and, as it were, at the parson's benedietion, become perfectly handsome and good and happy ever

after."

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“And don't you intend to be good and happy, pray, Monsieur le Misanthrope- and are you very discontented with your lot and will your marriage be a compromise" - (asked the author of "Mes Larmes," with a charming moue) — “ and is your Psyche an odious vulgar wretch? You wicked satirical creature, I can't abide you! You take the hearts of young things, play with them, and fling them away with scorn. You ask for love and trample on it. You - you make me cry, that you do, Arthur, and and don't- and I won't be consoled in that way and I think Fanny was quite right in leaving such a heartless creature."

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Again, I don't say no," said Pen, looking very gloomily at Blanche, and not offering by any means to repeat the attempt at consolation which had elicited that sweet monosyllable "don't" from the young lady. "I don't think I have much of what people call heart; but I don't profess it. I made my venture when I was eighteen, and lighted my lamp and went in search of Cupid. And what was my discovery of love! — a vulgar dancing-woman. I failed, as everybody does, almost everybody; only it is luckier to fail before marriage than after."

"Merci du choix, Monsieur," said the Sylphide, making a curtsy.

"Look, my little Blanche," said Pen, taking her hand, and with his voice of sad good-humor; "at least I stoop to no flatteries."

"Quite the contrary," said Miss Blanche.

Why

"And tell you no foolish lies, as vulgar men do. should you and I, with our experience, ape romance and dissemble passion? I do not believe Miss Blanche Amory to be peerless among the beautiful, nor the greatest poetess, nor the most surpassing musician, any more than I believe you to be the tallest woman in the whole world-like the giantess whose picture we saw as we rode through the fair yesterday. But if

I don't set you up as a heroine, neither do I offer you your very humble servant as a hero. But, I think you are - well, there, I think you are very sufficiently good-looking."

Merci," Miss Blanche said with another curtsy.

"I think you sing charmingly. I'm sure you're clever. I hope and believe that you are good-natured, and that you will be companionable."

"And so provided I bring you a certain sum of money and a seat in Parliament, you condescend to fling to me your royal pocket-handkerchief," said Blanche. Que d'honneur! We used to call your Highness the Prince of Fairoaks. What an honor to think that I am to be elevated to the throne, and to bring the seat in Parliament as backsheesh to the sultan ! I am glad I am clever, and that I can play and sing to your liking; my songs will amuse my lord's leisure."

And if thieves are about the house," said Pen, grimly pursuing the simile," forty besetting thieves in the shape of lurking cares and enemies in ambush and passions in arms, my Morgiana will dance round me with a tambourine, and kill all my rogues and thieves with a smile. Won't she?" But Pen looked as if he did not believe that she would. "Ah, Blanche," he continued after a pause, "don't be angry; don't be hurt at my truth-telling. Don't you see that I always take you at your word? You say you will be a slave and dance - I say, dance. You say, 'I take you with what you bring:' I say, I take you with what you bring.' To the necessary deceits and hypocrisies of our life, why add any that are useless and unnecessary? If I offer myself to you because I think we have a fair chance of being happy together, and because by your help I may get for both of us a good place and a not undistinguished name, why ask me to feign raptures and counterfeit romance, in which neither of us believe? Do you want me to come wooing in a Prince Prettyman's dress from the masquerade warehouse, and to pay you compliments like Sir Charles Grandison? Do you want me to make you verses as in the days when we were when we were children? I will if you like, and sell them to Bacon and Bungay afterwards. Shall I feed my pretty princess with bonbons?"

"Mais j'adore les bonbons, moi," said the little Sylphide, with a queer piteous look.

"I can buy a hatfull at Fortnum and Mason's for a guinea. And it shall have its bonbons, its pootty little sugar-plums, that it shall," Pen said with a bitter smile. Nay, my dear, nay my dearest little Blanche, don't cry. Dry the pretty eyes, I

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can't bear that;" and he proceeded to offer that consolation which the circumstance required, and which the tears, the genuine tears of vexation, which now sprang from the angry eyes of the author of " Mes Larmes," demanded.

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The scornful and sarcastic tone of Pendennis quite frightened and overcame the girl. "I-I don't want your consolation. I-I never was-so-spoken to bef- by any of my my-by anybody"- she sobbed out, with much simplicity. Anybody!" shouted out Pen, with a savage burst of laughter, and Blanche blushed one of the most genuine blushes which her cheek had ever exhibited, and she cried out, "Oh, Arthur, vous êtes un homme terrible!" She felt bewildered, frightened, oppressed, the worldly little flirt who had been playing at love for the last dozen years of her life, and yet not displeased at meeting a master.

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"Tell me, Arthur," she said, after a pause in this strange love-making, why does Sir Francis Clavering give up his seat in Parliament?"

"Au fait, why does he give it to me?" asked Arthur, now blushing in his turn.

"You always mock me, sir," she said. "If it is good to be in Parliament, why does Sir Francis go out?"

"My uncle has talked him over. He always said that you were not sufficiently provided for. In the the family disputes, when your mamma paid his debts so liberally, it was stipulated, I suppose, that you- that is, that I that is, upon my word, I don't know why he goes out of Parliament,” Pen said, with rather a forced laugh. "You see, Blanche, that you and I are two good little children, and that this marriage has been arranged for us by our mammas and uncles, and that we must be obedient, like a good little boy and girl."

So, when Pen went to London, he sent Blanche a box of bonbons, each sugar-plum of which was wrapped up in readymade French verses, of the most tender kind; and, besides, despatched to her some poems of his own manufacture, quite as artless and authentic; and it was no wonder that he did not tell Warrington what his conversations with Miss Amory had been, of so delicate a sentiment were they, and of a nature so necessarily private.

And if, like many a worse and better man, Arthur Pendennis, the widow's son, was meditating an apostasy, and going to sell himself to - we all know whom, at least the renegade did not pretend to be a believer in the creed to which he was ready to swear. And if every woman and man in this king

dom, who has sold her or himself for money or position, as Mr. Pendennis was about to do, would but purchase a copy of his memoirs, what tons of volumes Messrs. Smith, Elder and Co. would sell!

CHAPTER XXVII.

IN WHICH PEN BEGINS HIS CANVASS.

MELANCHOLY as the great house at Clavering Park had been in the days before his marriage, when its bankrupt proprietor was a refugee in foreign lands, it was not much more cheerful now when Sir Francis Clavering came to inhabit it. The greater part of the mansion was shut up, and the Baronet only occupied a few of the rooms on the ground-floor, where his housekeeper and her assistant from the lodge-gate waited upon the luckless gentleman in his forced retreat, and cooked a part of the game which he spent the dreary mornings in shooting. Lightfoot, his man, had passed over to my Lady's service; and, as Pen was informed in a letter from Mr. Smirke, who performed the ceremony, had executed his prudent intention of marrying Mrs. Bonner, my Lady's woman, who, in her mature years, was stricken with the charms of the youth, and endowed him with her savings and her elderly person. To be landlord and landlady of the "Clavering Arms was the ambition of both of them; and it was agreed that they were to remain in Lady Clavering's service until quarter-day arrived, when they were to take possession of their hotel. Pen graciously promised that he would give his election dinner there, when the Baronet should vacate his seat in the young man's favor; and, as it had been agreed by his uncle, to whom Clavering seemed to be able to refuse nothing, Arthur came down in September on a visit to Clavering Park, the owner of which was very glad to have a companion who would relieve his loneliness, and perhaps would lend him a little ready money.

Pen furnished his host with these desirable supplies a couple of days after he had made his appearance at Clavering and no sooner were these small funds in Sir Francis's pocket, than the latter found he had business at Chatteris and the neighboring watering-places, of which-shire boasts many, and went off to see to his affairs, which were transacted, as might be supposed, at the country race-grounds and billiard-rooms.

Arthur could live alone well enough, having many mental resources and amusements which did not require other persons' company he could walk with the game-keeper of a morning, and for the evenings there were plenty of books and occupation for a literary genius like Mr. Arthur, who required but a cigar and a sheet of paper or two to make the night pass away pleasantly. In truth, in two or three days he had found the society of Sir Francis Clavering perfectly intolerable; and it was with a mischievous eagerness and satisfaction that he offered Clavering the little pecuniary aid which the latter according to his custom solicited; and supplied him with the means of taking flight from his own house.

Besides, our ingenious friend had to ingratiate himself with the townspeople of Clavering, and with the voters of the borough which he hoped to represent; and he set himself to this task with only the more eagerness, remembering how unpopular he had before been in Clavering, and determined to vanquish the odium which he had inspired amongst the simple people there. His sense of humor made him delight in this task. Naturally rather reserved and silent in public, he became on a sudden as frank, easy, and jovial, as Captain Strong. He laughed with everybody who would exchange a laugh with him, shook hands right and left, with what may be certainly called a dexterous cordiality; made his appearance at the market-day and the farmers' ordinary; and, in fine, acted like a consummate hypocrite, and as gentlemen of the highest birth and most spotless integrity act when they wish to make themselves agreeable to their constituents, and have some end to gain of the country folks. How is it that we allow ourselves not to be deceived, but to be ingratiated so readily by a glib tongue, a ready laugh, and a frank manner? We know, for the most part, that it is false coin, and we take it: we know that it is flattery, which it costs nothing to distribute to everybody, and we had rather have it than be without it. Friend Pen went about at Clavering, laboriously simple and adroitly pleased, and quite a different being from the scornful and rather sulky young dandy whom the inhabitants remembered ten years ago.

The Rectory was shut up. Doctor Portman was gone, with his gout and his family, to Harrogate; an event which Pen deplored very much in a letter to the Doctor, in which, in a few kind and simple words, he expressed his regret at not seeing his old friend, whose advice he wanted and whose aid he might require some day: but Pen consoled himself for the Doctor's