worse, "nowhere ;" that I have been fixed in post-scenium regions, while I have been longing to glitter before the footlights in the full view of the audience; that socially I am a Horatio, or even a Mr. Rosencrantz, and, for the life of me, notwithstanding my earnest longings and thorough convictions that I could play the part admirably, I cannot get cast for Prince Hamlet. And, then, to think that I should be perpetually performing Catesby to such a Richard! Horatio to such a Hamlet as Perkins! It is really exasperating, though of course, and I wouldn't have the fact questioned for one moment, Perkins is my friend, and I wouldn't be jealous of him or injure him in any way on any account. Certainly not.

Perkins is in the Civil Service. He holds a responsible post (so he tells me) in the Black Sealing-Wax Department of the Government Probate-Duty Office. He entered the service at the prescribed salary of eighty pounds per annum. It was before the days of competitive examinations; there were few fetters then upon the generous distribution of patronage. You carried your member's election, and soon after-really a most extraordinary thing, and so unexpected-your son was appointed to the Black Sealing-Wax Department. Certainly it was as well for Tom Perkins that he was not put through a course of searching educational inquiries; for though he is my friend, and a dear good fellow, I happen to know that for some time before his marriage he was in the habit of spelling 'affection' with one fonly. I dare say his wife has set that all right for him now; but perhaps, had the peculiarity been disclosed by an examination, it might have disqualified him for the appointment. He has gone on to good fortune in the regular rotation of the service. He had his due rises of ten pounds a year, then his rises of twenty pounds. Perhaps he is nearly thirty years of age now, and he enjoys his income of a good three hundred, clear of income-tax, and the other little deductions. for superannuation purposes which the Government providently makes from the salaries of its servants. I am told that he bears an excellent official character. He himself informs me that he works "deuced hard." "All a mistake you fellows outside make, I assure you, chaffing government clerks about nothing to do, and that. Quite a different sort of thing. The work's deuced hard, and responsible, and important, I can tell you. Enough to knock a fellow up." Of course I'm bound to credit this statement, though at the same time I cannot shut my eyes to the fact, that on nearly every occasion of my calling on my friend at his office, he has been either busy brushing his hair, or washing his hands, or eating his lunch, or reading the newspaper, none of which occupations can be fairly called laborious, or of vast political importance. I have witnessed sometimes his interviews with the public, through the railings at the top of a partition, on a sort of Pyramus and Thisbe plan. He keeps the public waiting a good deal, but comes to them suddenly when they are nearing a climax of impatience, and replies to their inquiries with a brisk yet affable independence of manner which appears to disarm complaint; while the shape and extent and general superiority of his whiskers secure for him, I

fancy, the credit of being a far more distinguished officer of State than he really is. I have made no scruple of disclosing the real position of my friend; for the fact is, the whole business has been made the subject of a blue-book, which, for a shilling or two, imparts to the nation full particulars touching its servants, their names, and standing, and incomes, and is indeed a valuable work of reference for the tradesmen who give credit in the neighbourhood of the offices of Government.

With every respect for Perkins, I am bound to say that he was not fairly entitled to play upon the first fiddle. He had no right to arrogate to himself that delightful instrument. I desire to speak with befitting modesty concerning myself; but, unless it may be in some small items of personal appearance,—such as whiskers, for instance,-I cannot admit the superiority of Perkins. I think I have often outshone him at tea-tables, when I give full flow to my conversational powers, while I know that he has beaten me at a ball. At this last entertainment, however, more depends upon neckcloth and shirt-studs and shiny boots, than upon merely mental qualifications. Yet I once thought myself a neat waltzer, too,-but we'll let that pass. I am not an assuming, a vain-glorious man; perhaps I have been, indeed, over-diffident and wanting in self-assertion. Perhaps I made no sufficient resistance when Perkins first appointed me to an inferior position in his orchestra, and then commenced to wave his baton; I ought to have refused to play then, if I ever contemplated refusal. But it was hard to know exactly when Perkins commenced to assert himself in this superior manner. I only discovered my situation when it seemed to be irremediable. I found that I was fidus Achates only,-a very excellent and praiseworthy man, no doubt; but we all know that pater Eneas is the real hero of the story; and Perkins had cast himself for that interesting character, and was treading the boards grandly in it, before I was properly conscious of what was transpiring. I was known to society as "Perkins's friend." Detached from Perkins, I seemed to possess no particular identity. I was a "lean-to;" remove Perkins, and I fell. I was nothing, nobody, but for Perkins; and when he was invited, as he often was, to evening-parties, a hope was constantly expressed that he would bring his friend. I was an appendage merely—a portion of his presentment, like his shirt-collar; I was served up with him,-not from necessity, but custom,-like horse-radish with roast beef.

I confess that at first this situation annoyed me, and my early inclinations were in favour of flat rebellion, for the dethroning of Perkins and the setting-up of myself as monarch, in lieu of, and as successor, to him. But my better nature prevailed. I sacrificed ambition upon the altar of friendship, for Perkins was my friend. Could I pull him from his high place without hurting him? I acquiesced in my position. I tied the handkerchief over my eyes, and worked away at the saw just as Perkins bid me. My own personality was lost in that of Perkins's; I continued to be known as Perkins's friend-as the shadow, the reflex, the result of that superior man. One thing, it was a position not difficult to sustain.

It was a small part. Not much was expected from me in it, and I never attempted to make a great deal of it. I was well up in it. I knew all the cues, and said, "Ay, my good lord," "No, my good lord," whenever Prince Perkins required the utterance of those simple words. Of course he won all the applause. I can only hope that I earned some respect. I cannot be sure of it, however. We know about the first, we can hear it-it's so lusty, and noisy, and tremendous; but the last is undemonstrative, and vague, and dumb,-one may be excused for doubting about it. Sometimes, in my gloomy moments, I would wonder what would become of me in case of the death of Perkins,—an event I sincerely deprecated. Will society, I asked myself, for there was really no one else who could give me an answer, and I was not clear that I could do so myself, will society mourn me also as lost to it? will it wear crape, not merely for Perkins, but also for Perkins's friend? Shall I be regarded as dead, or will there some shadow of an individuality be born for me? Shall I then, so to speak, come into possession at last of that poor little personal property?

Meanwhile, I am happy to say, Perkins lived, and ate his lunch, and brushed his whiskers, and tried the patience of the public, and worked hard-"deuced"-at the Black Sealing-Wax Office; and he prospered, and the yearly "rises" of salary went on, and he became a more and more brilliant member of society,-and I was his friend; and in that capacity was often in attendance on festal occasions, standing in draughty places outside drawing-room doors, while Perkins waltzed with beauty in the centre of the apartment. I hope I enjoyed myself, but I am not very positive upon the subject; perhaps the enjoyments of the Horatios of life are at the best but tepid states of feeling. Still I was doing my duty, and should have been found quite ready with my cues whenever my good lord needed them.

"Isn't she beautiful?" he came up to me at last,—a dance completed, -dabbing his face with his cambric handkerchief.

I did not know in the least to whom he referred; still I knew my part. I admitted that she was beautiful. I think I added, "Very beautiful."

"She's the daughter of old Jackson of the Colonial-Soap Office." I said, "Indeed!"

"You know him, of course?" Prince Perkins went on.

I said, "Of course." To the best of my recollection and belief, I had never heard even his name before.

But I soon afterwards perceived to whom his remarks had reference. He was dancing the "Lancers." The band that is, the pianoforte, the cornet, and the harp-were just striking up that tune which has somehow crept into those quadrilles from the "Beggar's Opera,"-something about a man's heart being oppressed with care, and the sound of a fiddle going lightly O. I saw that Perkins, busy with his partner, was forgetful of his figures, after the manner of people dancing the "Lancers;" and I noted

his partner. Oh, that's Miss Jackson, is it? Little, but pretty, with dark glossy hair, and scarlet geraniums appearing here and there amongst its many folds,-profuse hair, twisted into thick hard cables and plaited into wide flat bands, and tucked in and turned out in an arrangement at once imposing and ingenious. Dark glossy eyes too, with a pleasant jewel-sparkle in them; and a full vapoury dress of white-what?-gauze -tulle-barége-net-tarlatan-muslin,-I really don't know which. Why don't they teach these things at boys' schools? She had white shoulders too, plump and satiny; but why is she always bringing them up to touch the tip of her pink ear? Is that affectation, or is she really interested in Perkins's stories-is she really laughing at Perkins's jokes? Well, I've known Perkins a good many years, and have as much right, perhaps, as any one to say that his jokes are not brilliant, and are hard to laugh at-though I have laughed at them, I admit, the hollow, joyless laugh well known on the stage, and which is part of the character I play in society. Miss Jackson is well dressed, I see now, as Perkins whirls her round; and they resume their places. The scarlet geraniums in her hair are carried off, as the painters call it, by other geraniums trimming the skirts of her filmy white dress. She seems to me to like Perkins rather than not, and they go down-stairs together to supper; they separate on the stairs, however; she needs scope for her skirts, and she laughs prettily at the follies of fashion's dictates, as women always do, never dreaming of disobedience, however; and they consume together various mysteries from the pastry cook's and champagne which effervesces violently, all, it seems, that is required of champagne at suppers; and they both sow the seeds of a fine harvest of dyspepsia, to be reaped on the morrow. Subsequently he handed Miss Jackson to her carriage, and had the satisfaction of knowing for certain, if he had ever entertained any doubts on the subject, that her feet were neatly moulded-is not moulded the correct term to use on such an occasion?

"Horatio," said Perkins to me, as, having taken our mantles out of pawn, as it were, giving our tickets and the necessary fee to the coachman, and receiving them in return from a pile in the back parlour, we quitted the hospitable mansion, and felt the pavement strike very cold through our thin-soled boots,-"Horatio," with earnest accents, "I'm in love."

"Indeed, my lord!"

"And I would marry, Horatio."

“ Marry, my good lord? Is't possible?"

These were not our precise words, but they convey the substance of our remarks.

"Suppose we light our cigars."

So Prince Perkins fell in love. Is it treason to hint that he became rather a bore in consequence? I hope and believe that I am a good listener. I know I can bear the same story told and retold a good many times without flinching. The tale of grouse in the gun-room is always

humorous to me, and I trust I may be able to laugh at it quite to the end of the chapter. But Perkins and his love! He was prosy about it. He was tiresome to a degree. His old confident manner deserted him. He seemed to lose faith in himself. He no longer waved his baton with that severe precision that was grand to see. Perkins was disqualifying rapidly for the post he had assumed of first-fiddle and top-sawyer.

Still he fell gradually, and his manner of following up his suit in the first instance was quite worthy of his best days. He set about "working oracles," as he called it, to visit the same houses as Miss Jackson visited. In a wonderful way he procured invitations for himself from people who must have been entire strangers to him. He was always waltzing with Miss Jackson. The brightly-polished bald head of old Mr. Jackson was always close to the folding-doors nodding to the music, while he smiled approval of the waltzers. He had been many years in the Colonial-Soap Office. He had the highest respect for government institutions. He loved the Civil Service with his whole heart. I believe he desired nothing better than that his daughter should seek a husband among the officers of that service. I believe that he was willing and anxious at any moment to join the hands of Perkins and his child, and bless their union, and give them besides a very nice stock of furniture, plate, linen, china, glass, &c., and perhaps a snug little settlement in addition. And the lady received the lover's advances kindly. She had always smiles for him, and bright eyes, and waltzes, and had been heard to confess that he was a dear," whatever that may be,-and moreover "very nice-looking." I am sure her "yes" was quite prepared for him whenever he had need of it. It seemed to me that the course of Prince Perkins's love was as smoothly laid out for him as a garden-lawn.

Yet he would worry himself about it cruelly. Worse than that, he would worry me. How he went over and over again the subject! How he teased and twaddled! For hours he would pin me down to listen to long incoherent ramblings about his feelings, and the state of his mind, and his heart, and his head, and the depth and breadth of his passion for Miss Jackson; what were his thoughts, his dreams, his forebodings, his ambitions; how he could not eat, could not drink, could not sleepthought he was going into a decline-was sure he should not survive the rejection of his suit, he who loved her with that-that devotion, and all that sort of thing, you know, old fellow, &c. He came and sat up all night, enjoying a monologue on the matter, and went away a jadedlooking wretch to his morning duties at the Black Sealing-Wax Department; and after office-hours he would join me again, and renew the subject. He was dreadfully depressed and desponding, took miserable views of every thing, said that life was now a blank to him, that he had nothing to live for now, that he was a changed man, and that his heart was dead within him. I don't think he knew himself what he meant, and I'm sure I did not. It was quite in vain I attempted to console him. Fruitless were all my endeavours to convince him that Miss Jackson recipro