licate gaiety, that the effect was delightful as unexpected; and Geraldine rose, amid the modest triumph of being equally skilled in touching every chord of the human heart that vibrates to pleasure or to anguish. She was immediately surrounded by a bevy of female amateurs, requesting a copy.

"As sung, with unbounded applause, by Miss Geraldine Southwell, they ought to add," again whispered the courtly sir Charles. "Helas! I fear me much it will not be as sung by Geraldine !"

Our heroine, excused herself, on the ground of her not being possessed of a copy. She had retained the song from memory, after having heard it once or twice sung by a lady, a native of Portugal. The musical Mrs. Gore, who had been the most anxious for the Modinha, appeared neither delighted nor convinced by this apology; she did not recover her good-humour till the complaisant Mr. Preston, who could scarcely distinguish

one

one note from another, declared that "Though Miss Geraldine sung like a very nightingale, she was certainly not so great an executioner as Mrs. Arthur Gore."

Not to appear completely engrossed with the music of a rival songstress, this lady had, during part of Geraldine's performance, been employed contemplating a very beautiful group that was placed on a marble slab in her vicinity. The subject was Cephalus and Aurora.

"I am glad you like that composition," said lady Louisa: "my Geraldine has proved by it, that while at a distance, she dedicated to me the employment of her leisure hours. That piece of statuary is the production of her own talents. For an amateur, it is not amiss."

While lady Louisa's native generosity tempted her, perhaps injudiciously, to bring forward, in the most prominent point of view, the endowments of her protégée, the latter endeavoured, with equal eagerness, to turn the conversation from herself.

She

She appeared deeply engaged discussing with Matilda a disputed passage in a play that had lately been, in private, one of their evening amusements. Matilda was severely mortified with the superior attention Geraldine excited, but she concealed it under that well-acted show of sentimental friendship which every high-bred female knows how to get up for company. Thinking it would look well to be seen conversing together on a subject of taste, she put one fair arm round Geraldine, and looking up fondly in her face, said “You must direct me, my sweet cousin, who are so much better informed on every subject than I am, to find that delightful passage. All I know is, it was either in Shakespeare's Venice Preserved, or some other of his comedies."

Judging, what was very near the truth, that this was Miss Southwell's first appearance in a literary character, and not wishing her cousin, who, in any contest of fashion, dress, or even accomplishments,

might have come off triumphant, to expose her little knowledge of books, Geraldine would have again quickly shifted the conversation, but for the unlucky Pendennis, who, of all men living, possessed the least tact, and who, on hearing the words, "plays, reading, and Shakespeare," pronounced, could not forbear joining in the discourse, and asking Geraldine if she had ever been present at any of those evening amusements technically termed "readings?"—" I assure you, madam,” he continued, "they are the most delightful things in the world. During my short stay in Dublin, I was present at two of them, given at the dowager lady Kilcrest's

-a fine, intellectual, talented creature—a pupil of mine. I had the honour of giving her ladyship a few lessons in mnemonics. But to return to the readings: they took prodigiously!-never saw any thing give such universal satisfaction in my lifenever, on my honour, since the run of Marius."

"I do love," whispered Matilda Southwell, “to hear Red Roquelaure make himself ridiculous-talking of a pupil of mine,' in which class he includes every title in the Court Guide, and the run of Marius, an unfortunate tragedy of his composition; the run of which, my father assures me, began and ended on the selfsame night. Now we shall have some amusement."

Geraldine was inclined to be of her opinion; but the indefatigable Pendennis returned to the charge, with—“ Should you not like, lady Louisa, to have readings at Meadowscourt?"

Several different voices seconded the motion; and as Geraldine had acknowledged that she sometimes, to a private circle, read a play aloud, every one was anxious to judge whether she excelled as much in this as in every other accomplishment. Beset by importunities, and actuated for and against the proposal, by secret and conflicting motives, lady Louisa

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