trailua pike than to carry, (or be carried by) the crutches on which they leant. All these were just-. ling and pushing each other, each striving to be first, and all pouring out the most pitiable cries, as the service finished, and people of all conditions, ages, and sexes thronged out, creating a confusion and clamour worthy of Babel itself. So soon as D. Candida and her mother (whom we shall call D. Lucia) came out, they were at once assailed and surrounded by these worthies, for the elder lady being famous for her charity, her veil and rosary were as well known to these creatures, as the sail of her husband's boat is known among a hundred others by the fisherman's wife. Scattering alms and making way with difficulty, D. Candida and her mother next came upon a group very different from that we have been describing, for it was composed of ladies and cavaliers of the first rank, as their numerous pages and other attendants testified! These saluted the mother and daughter, who throwing open their veils as they returned the compliment, allowed their taces at last to be seen. D. Lucia might have counted about fortyfive summers, but was handsome still; over D. Candida's head not more then nineteen springs had passed, and she was beauty itself. What an enchanting smile she gave, as the recognized her acquaintances in the group we have just introduced, though even that smile bright as it was, was not sufficient entirely to conceal an air of sadness and melancholy which had taken possession of her usually

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joyous countenance. After the first salutations, many .compliments on her approaching marriage were addressed to D. Candida, all of which she heard in silence, and with eyes cast down to the earth, whether from modesty or dissatisfaction we cannot say. Be this as it may, while one of the cavaliers, not the brightest of the circle, was torturing his dull imagination to produce tropes and figures to embellish a long discourse he was making on the happiness of the married state (he himself being a bachelor of some fifty years 'standing), an arm, wrapped up in a sleeve all shreds and patches, introduced itself into the glittering circle, having at the end of it a hand which furtively sought out the hand of the blushing betrothed, who in spite of her confusion, cunningly received a note, and thought to hide it in her handkerchief. But though D. Lucia was at that moment engaged with another matron in a deep discussion on the mysteries of marmalade making, her eyes were too watchful for this manœuvre to escape her. She flew at her daughter like a tigress, snatched the unlucky letter from her hands, knew at once the writing and borne away by her fury (more ungovernable in a female devotee than any one else) raised her hand, and gave poor Candida the most tremendous box on the ear that ever female band gave, or female check received. « The Lord forgive >> me for doing such a thing, on such a day, and in >>> such a place, but I had promised it to her » exclaimed she, while the unlucky girl, half dead with

shame and vexation, buried her face in her veil to hide her tears. D. Lucia took a hasty leave of the company, caught D. Candida by the arm, and hurried her home still faster than she had come. The young cavaliers laughed at the mother's anger; the girls made fun of the daughter's aukwardness; the mothers all upheld D. Lucia, though none of them knew exactly what had happened; and in less than ten minutes they were talking of the fashions of head dresses, and stomachers, and of the last new mystery (there were no Prima Donnas or tenors, no Rossis or Flavios then to occupy all the conversation) as if such a thing as a box on the ear given publicly to a young lady on the point of marriage was a thing of every day occurrence.

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But let not our gentle readers of the fair sex (who, we most devoutly pray may never find themselves in a similar predicament) imagine that D. Lucia's anger was satisfied with the ignominious punishment she had inflicted on her hapless daughterno such thing. Soon as she reached home, even before she took off her veil, she called for the key of the dark chamber, and without another word shut her daughter up in it, leaving on the table a light, a rosary, and two learned treatises, one upon matrimony, the other on agriculture. This last may appear a curious subject for a young lady's perusal, but it was not so, for its author, the most learned frei José do Santissimo Sacramento, had mixed up with his instructions for the cultivation of turnips, and

parsnips, excellent moral lessons for young females; the worthy priest carrying his zeal so for as to teach them how they should behave, if ever by any evil chance they should find themselves alone with young men whose purity of intentions might not be above all suspicion. He also advised them to be very careful when they went out of the house (which according to him they ought to do only three times in this world, viz to be christened, married, and buried, to look well that no ends of ribands or strings were hanging loose about them, and, above all, to take particular care that their garters were safely tied. So the lucubrations of Frei José, it will be seen, were a most appropriate lecture for our heroine in her present circumstances.

But she was not doomed to a very long solitary confinement nor was her reading entirely confined to the two books we have mentioned for betwen twelve and one that night, her prison door was softly opened, and one of her mother's servants gave her another letter from her lover who had been informed by the cripple of the infortunate accident of the morning, which piece of unformation the cavalier received so ungraciously that master mercury was glad to take to his crutches with all the speed he could muster. D. Candida read and reread her lover's epistle (it was in verse and couched in the most moving terms bis imagination could suggest, or his muse allow the use of) then seized on the pen which together with ink and paper, this new

messenger of Cupid had brought her, and hastily wrote these words. «Dearest Gonçalo, save me from

my mother for I am determined, never to marry » a man who, however noble, sensible, and rich he may be, never wrote a line of poetry in his life, » has a mole on his face, and is christened Simon.»> How long she would have gone on in this style we cannot say, for just at this moment the box on the ear came across her recollection, and in a moment she tore up the paper, and said in a decided tonesto the Iris. Go and tell Sor. Gonçalo, neither »to write to me, nor see me, nor even think of me any more »t de

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A fortinight after this, while her mother was at vespers D. Candida was in her room with Snr. Gonçalo in propria persona a Follow me, exclaimed the cavalier, all is prepared for our flight; money, it »>is true, I have little or none, but what matterwe can live happily in some village on the pro»duct of the sale of your jewels, till your mother's death and then all her wealth must be ours. Come! D. Candida mechanically followed her over, he was already in the street, when suddenly recollecting the tremendous weight of [her mother's hand, and the solemn promise she had given to the cavalier with the mole on his face she stopped, drew back, and shut the door hastily remaining herself inside, and leaving the disappointed gallant in the street.

Ten days more elapsed, and one fine morning