and you hate him that he is waiting for you upon some of the hills or behind his entrenchments. Then the hurry comes of getting on horseback; and you are very friendly to all your companions-and they are all very pleasant and laughing at this time, except one or two, who are thinking of their home. Your regiment is ordered forward; you do not know what to think; perhaps you wish the enemy would run away, or that your regiment is not needed, and sometimes you have a great wish of anger toward him; but all this is shifting, gloomy, uncertain, that you do not think two things one moment. Then you hear the sound of the firing, and your heart beats fast for a little while, and you think of all your friends in Germany; and this is the time that is the worst. You are angry with all the men who provoke wars in their courts and parliaments; and you think it is a shame that you should be there to fight for them; and you look at the pleasant things you are leaving all behind in your own home, just as if you were never to see them any more. That is a very wretched and miserable time, but it does not last very long if you are ordered to advance; and then, my dear friend, I can assure you that you do not care one farthing for your own life-that you forget your home altogether, and you think no more of your friends; you do not even hate the enemy in front any more—it is all a stir, and life, and eagerness; and a warm, glad feeling runs all through your veins, and when the great 'hurrah' comes, and you ride forward, you think no more of yourself; you say to yourself, 'Here is for good Fatherland!'-and then A sort of sob stuck in the throat of the big Lieutenant. "Bah!" said he, with a frown, as if the bright morning and fresh air had done him an injury, "what is the use of waiting out here, and killing ourselves with hunger?" Bell was writing when we went into the hotel. As we entered she hastily shut up her small portfolio. "Why not finish your letter, Mademoiselle?" he said, gently. "It will be a little time before breakfast comes in." ject, and said to Queen Titania, with a fine affectation of carelessness— “You will laugh, Madame, at our having another adventure in a stationer's shop." "I think," said my lady, gravely," that I must put a stop to these wanderings about in the early morning. I can not quite make out why you should always get up hours before any body else; but I find that generally some story is revealed afterward of a young lady.” “But there is no young lady this time," said the Lieutenant, “but a very worthy man whom we found in the stationer's shop. And he has been at Sedan, and he has brought back the breech of a mitrailleuse and showed it all to us, and he has written a small book about his being in France, and did present us with a copy of it, and would not take any payment for it. Oh, he is a very remarkable and intelligent man to be found in a stationer's shop up in this curious old town on the top of a hill; but then I discovered he is a Scotchman, and do you not say here thať a Scotchman is a great traveler, and is to be found everywhere? And I have looked into the little book, and think it very sensible and good, and a true account of what he has seen." "Then I presume he extols your countrymen ?" says my Lady, with a smile. "Madame," replies the Lieutenant, “I may assure you of this, that a man who has been in a campaign and seen both the armies, does not think either army an army of angels, and the other an army of demons. To believe one nation to have all the good, and another nation to have all the bad, that can only be believed by people who have seen none of them. I think my friend the stationer has written so much of what he saw, that he had no time for stupid imaginations about the character of two whole countries." At this moment the introduction of breakfast broke our talk in this direction. After breakfast Bell finished her letter. She asked the Lieutenant to get it stamped and posted for her, and handed it openly to him. But, without looking at "I can finish it afterward," said the it, he must have known that it was addressgirl, looking rather embarrassed. Of course, when the Lieutenant perceived that the attention thus drawn to the letter had caused her some confusion, he immediately rushed into another sub ed to "Arthur Ashburton, Esq., Essex Court, Temple." "Well," said Bell, coming downstairs with her hat on, "let us go out now, and see the town. It must be a very pleasant old place. And the day is so fine; don't you think we have had quite exceptional weather hitherto, Count Von Rosen ?" Of course he said the weather had been lovely; but how was it that Bell was so sure beforehand that she would be pleased with Bridgenorth? The delight was already in her face, and beaming in her eyes. She knew the weather must be fine. She was certain we should have a delicious drive during the day, and was positive the country through which we had to pass would be charming. The observant reader will remark that a certain letter had been posted. Really, Bridgenorth was pleasant enough on this bright morning, albeit the streets on the river-side part of the town were distinctly narrow, dirty, and smoky. First of all, however, we visited the crumbling walls of Robert de Belesme's mighty tower. Then we took the women round the high promenade over the valley. Then we went down through a curious and precipitous passage hewn out of the sandstone hill to the lower part of the town, and visited the old building in which Bishop Percy was born, the inscription on which, by the way, is a standing testimony to the playful manner in which this nation has from time immemorial dealt with its aspirates. Then we clambered up the steep streets again until we reached the great central square, with its quaint town-house and old-fashioned shops. A few minutes thereafter we were in the phaeton; and Castor and Pollux taking us into the open country again. "Mademoiselle!" said the Lieutenant -the young man was like a mavis, with this desire of his to sing or hear singing just after his morning meal-" you have not sung to us any thing for a long while now." "But I will this morning, with great pleasure," said Bell. "Then," said Von Rosen, "here is your guitar. When I saw you come down to go out this morning, I said to myself, "Mademoiselle is sure to sing to-day." So I kept out the guitar-case." The horses pricked up their ears. The The inscription inside the door of this oldfashioned building, which is ornamented by bars of black and white, and peaked gables, is as follows: "Except the Lord BVILD THE OWSE cords of the guitar twanged out a few notes. The fresh breeze blew by from the fields; and as we drove through the stillness of one or two straggling woods, Bell sang "If enemies oppose us, And England is at war We fear not wound nor scar! Though the stormy winds do blow!" "Mademoiselle," cries the Lieutenant, "it is a challenge." Bell laughed, and suddenly altered the key. "Fair Hebe I left with a cautious design"— this was what she sang now— "To escape from her charms and to drown love in wine; I tried it, but found, when I came to depart, The wine in my head, but still love in my heart." "Well," said Tita, with an air of astonishment, "that is a pretty song for a young lady to sing!" Bell laid down the guitar. "And what," I ask of Queen Titania, "are the sentiments of which alone a young lady may sing? Not patriotism? Not love? Not despair? Goodness gracious! Don't you remember what old Joe Blatchers said when he brought us word that some woman in his neighborhood had committed suicide ?" "What did he say ?" asked the Lieutenant with a great curiosity. "The wretched woman had drowned herself because her husband had died; and old Joe brought us the story with the serious remark, The ladies 'as their feelins, 'asn't they, sir, arter all?' Mayn't a young lady sing of any thing but the joy of decorating a church on Christmas Eve ?" "I have never been taught to perceive the humor of profanity," says my Lady, with a serene impassiveness. "Curious, if true. Perhaps you were never taught that a white elephant isn't the same as a rainbow or a pack of cards ?" "My dear," says Tita, turning to Bell, "what is that French song that you brought over with you from Dieppe ?"" Thus appealed to, Bell took up her guitar, and sang for us a very pretty song. It was not exactly French, to be sure. began It aw; To meet was agreed on at Seymy' deyke nuik, Where I sauntered wi' mony a seegh and lang uik." But good honest Cumbrian is quite as foreign to most of us as French; and no exception could be taken to the sentiment of Bell's ballad, for none of us could understand six consecutive words of it. Much-Wenlock is a quiet town. It is about as quiet as the spacious and grassy inclosure in which the magnificent ruins of its old monastery stand gray and black in the sunshine. There are many strange passages and courts in these noble ruins; and as you wander through broken arches, and over court-yards half hid in the long green grass, it is but natural that a preference for solitude should betray itself in one or other of the members of a noisy little party. We lost sight of Bell and the Lieutenant. There was a peacock strutting through the grass, and making his resplendent tail gleam in the sunshine; and they followed him, I think. When we came upon them again, Bell was seated on a bit of tumbled pillar, pulling daisies out of the sward and plaiting them; and the Lieutenant was standing by her side, talking to her in a low voice. It was no business of ours to interfere with this pastoral occupation. Doubtless he spoke in these low tones because of the great silence of the place. We left them there, and had another saunter before we returned. We were almost sorry to disturb them; for they made a pretty group, these two young folks, talking leisurely to each other under the solemn magnificence of the great gray ruins, while the sunlight that lit up the ivy on the walls, and threw black shadows under the arches of the crumbling windows, and lay warm on the long grass around them, touched Bell's cheek too, and glimmered down one side of the loose and splendid masses of her hair. Castor and Pollux were not allowed much time for lunch; for, as the young people had determined to go to the theatre on reaching Shrewsbury, their elders, warned by a long experience, knew that the best preparation for going to a country theatre is to dine before setting out. My Lady did not anticipate much enjoyment; but Bell was positive we should be surprised. "We have been out in the country so much-seeing so much of the sunlight and the green trees, and living at those little inns-that we ought to have a country theatre as well. Who knows but that we may have left all our London ideas of a play in London; and find ourselves quite delighted with the simple folk who are always uttering good sentiments, and quite enraged with the bad man who is wishing them ill. I think Count von Rosen was quite right" Of course Count von Rosen was quite right! 66 about commonplace things only having become commonplace through our familiarity with them," continued Miss Bell; "perhaps we may find ourselves going back a bit, and being as much impressed by a country drama as any of the farmer-folk who do not see hålf-a-dozen plays in their life. And then, you know, what a big background we shall have!— not the walls of the little theatre, but all the great landscape we have been coming through. Round about us we shall see the Severn, and the long woods, and Broadway Hill "And not forgetting Bourton Hill," says the Lieutenant. "If only they do give us a good moonlight scene like that, we shall be satisfied." "Oh no," said Bell gravely-she was evidently launching into one of her unconscious flights, for her eyes took no more notice of us, but were looking wistfully at the pleasant country around us— "that is asking far too much. It is easier for you to make the moonlight scene than for the manager. You have only to imagine it is there-shut your eyes a little bit, and fancy you hear the people on the stage taking in a real scene, with the real country around, and the real moonlight in the air. And then you grow to believe in the people-and you forget that they are only actors and actresses working for their salaries—and you think it is a true story, like the stories they tell up in Westmoreland of things that have happened in the villages years ago. That is one of the great pleasures of driving, is it not?— that it gives you a sense of wide space. There is a great deal of air and sky about it; and you have a pleasant and easy way of getting through it, as if you were really sailing; whereas the railway whisks you through the long intervals, and makes your journey a succession of dots. That is an unnatural way of traveling, that staccato method of Here Mademoiselle caught sight of Queen Tita gravely smiling, and immediately paused to find out what she had been saying. "Well ?" she said, expecting to be corrected or reproved, and calmly resolved to bear the worst. But how could Tita explain? She had been amused by the manner in which the young lady had unconsciously caught up a trick of the Lieutenant's in the construction of his sentences-the use of "that" as the introductory nominative, the roun coming in afterwards. For the moment, the subject dropped, in the excitement of our getting once more back to the Severn; and when Bell spoke next, it was to ask the Lieutenant whether the Wrekin-a solitary, abrupt, and conical hill on our right, which was densely wooded to the top-did not in a milder form reproduce the odd masses of rock that stud the great plain west of the Lake of Constance. A pleasant drive through a fine stretch of open country took us into Shrewsbury; and here, having got over the bridge and up the steep thoroughfares to our hotel, dinner was immediately ordered. When at length we made our way round to the theatre it was about half-past seven, and the performance was to commence at twenty minutes to eight. "Oh, Bell!" says my Lady, as we enter the building. She looks blankly round. She looks blankly round. From the front of the dress circle we are peering into a great hollow place, dimly lighted by ten lamps, each of one burner, that throw a sepulchral light on long rows of wooden benches, on a sad-colored curtain and an empty orchestra. How is all the force of Bell's imagination to drive off these walls and this depressing array of carpentry, and substitute for them a stage of greensward and walls composed of the illimitable sky? There is an odor of escaped gas, and of oranges; but when did any people ever muster up enough of gayety to eat an orange in this gloomy hall? 7.30, by Shrewsbury clock.-An old gentleman and a boy appear in the orchestra. The former is possessed of a bass-viol; the latter proceeds to tune up a violin. 7.40-which is the time for commencing the play-three ladies come into the pit. The first is a farmer's wife, fat, ostentatious, happy in a black silk that rustles; the two others are apparently friends of hers in the town, who follow her meekly, and take their seats with a frightened air. She sits down with a proud gesture; and this causes a thin crackle of laughter and a rude remark far up in the semi-darkness overhead, so that we gather that there are probably two persons in the upper gallery. 7.45. Two young ladies- perhaps shop-girls, but their extreme blushing gives them a countrified look-come into the pit, talk in excited whispers to each other, and sit down with an uncomfortable air of embarrassment. At this moment the orchestra startles us by dashing into a waltz from "Faust." There are now five men and a boy in this tuneful choir. One of them starts vigorously on the cornet; but invariably fails to get_beyond the first few notes, so that the flute beats him hollow. Again and again the cornet strikes in at the easy parts; but directly he subsides again, and the flute has it all his own way. The music ceases. The curtain is drawn up. The play has begun. The first act is introductory. There is a farmer, whose chief business it is to announce that "his will is law;" and he has a son, addressed throughout as Weelyam, whom he wishes to marry a particular girl. The son, of course, has married another. The villain appears, and takes us into his confidence; giving us to understand that a worse villain never trod the earth. He has an interview with the farmer; but this is suddenly broken offa whistle in some part of the theatre is heard, and we are conveyed to an Italian lake, all shining with yellow villas and blue skies. 66 "That is the problem stated," said the Lieutenant; now we shall have the solution. But do you find the walls going away yet, Mademoiselle ?" "I think it is very amusing," said Bell, with a bright look on her face. Indeed, if she had not brought in with her sufficient influence from the country to resolve the theatre into thin air, she had imbibed a vast quantity of good health and spirits. there, so that she was prepared to enjoy any thing. The plot thickens. The woman-villain appears-a lady dressed in deep black, who tells us in an awful voice that she was the mistress of Weelyam in France-that being the country naturally associated in the mind of the dramatist with crimes of this character. She is in a pretty state when she learns that Weelyam is married; and events are plainly marching on to a crisis. It comes. The marriage is revealed to the farmer, who delivers a telling curse, which is apparently launched at the upper gallery, but which is really meant to confound Weelyam; then the old man falls-there is a tableau-the curtain comes down, and the band, by some odd stroke of luck, plays "Home, sweet home," as an air descriptive of Weelyam's banishment. We become objects of curiosity, now that the adventures of the farmer's son are removed. There are twenty-one people in the pit-representing conjointly a solid guinea transferred to the treasury. One or two gay young men, with canes, and their hats much on the side of their heads, have entered the dress-circle, stared for a minute or two at the stage, and retired. They are probably familiar with rustic drama, and hold it in contempt. A good ballet, now, would be more in their way, performed by a troupe of young ladies whose names are curiously like English names, with imposing French and Italian terminations. A gentleman comes into the pit along with a friend, nods familiarly to the attendant, deposits his friend, utters a few facetious remarks, and leaves: can it be that he is a reporter of a local newspaper, dowered with the privilege of free admission for "himself and one ?" There must at least be three persons in the upper gallery, for a new voice is heard, calling out the graceful but not unfamiliar name of "Polly." One of the two rose-red maidens in front of us timidly looks up, and is greeted with a shout of recognition and laughter. She drops into her old position in a second, and hangs down her head; while her companion protests in an indignant way in order to comfort her. The curtain rises. The amount of villany in this Shrewsbury drama is really getting beyond a joke. We are gradually rising in the scale of dark deeds, until the third villain, who now appears, causes the previous two to be regarded as innocent lambs. This new performer of crime is a highwayman; and his very first act is to shoot Weelyam's father, and rob him of his money. But lo! the French adventuress drops from the clouds: the highwayman is her husband: she tells of her awful deeds, among them of her having murdered "her mistress the Archduchess ;" and then, as she vows, she will go and murder Weelyam, a tremendous conflict of every body ensues, and a new scene being run on, we are suddenly whirled up to Balmoral Castle. "I am beginning to be very anxious about the good people," remarked Tita. "I am afraid William will be killed." "Unless he has as many lives as Plutarch, he can't escape," said Bell. "As for the old farmer," observed the Lieutenant, "he survives apoplectic fits and pistol-shots very well-oh, very well indeed. He is a very good man in a play. He is sure to last to the end." Well, we were near the end; and author, carpenter, and scene-painter had done their dead best to render the final scene impressive. It was in a cavern. Cimmerian darkness prevailed. rian darkness prevailed. The awful lady in black haunts the gloomy by-ways of the rocks, communing with herself, and twisting her arms so that the greatest agony is made visible. But what is this hooded and trembling figure that approaches? Once in the cavern, the hood is thrown off, and the palpitating heroine comes forward for a second to the low footlights, merely that there shall be no mistake about her identity. The gloom deepens. The young and innocent wife encounters the French adventuress; the woman who did not scruple to murder her mistress the Archduchess seizes the girl by her handsshrieks are heard-the two figures twist round one another-then a mocking shout of laughter, and Weelyam's wife is precipitated into the hideous waters of the lake! But lo! the tread of innumerable feet; from all quarters of the habitable globe stray wanderers arrive: with a shout Weelyam leaps into the lake, and when it is discovered that he has saved his wife, behold! every body in the play is found to be around him, and with weeping and with laughter all the story is told, and the drama ends in the most triumphant and comfortable manner, in the middle of the night, in a cavern, a hundred miles from anywhere. "No," said Queen Titania, distinctly, "I will not stay to see La Champagne Ballet or the Pas de Fascination." So there was nothing for it but to take |