clever," returned Emma, gazing up into her husband's face with an expression of trustfulness.

"Dignity, dignity, madam! If you continue to look so meek, people will not think anything of us; we shall be taken for nobodies."

"Oh, ma, please look dignified," said Zarina, flinging herself into a dancing attitude.

"There! even Rina knows how requisite it is to let folks see we are somebodies. I'll warrant she'll be no soft,

lackadaisical

"Hush! hush, dear Julius!" cried Emma. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, dear," responded the wife hesitatingly-" at least, nothing very particular. I was only thinking that, perhaps, it would be as well not to talk as we do before the children. Zarina is so precocious; and Clotilda, though but seven, is, spite of her quiet ways, extremely observant, and

Here Emma stopped, perfectly astonished at the long speech she had had the courage to make. Julius did not reply, but immediately set about tuning his violin, while Emma and her two little girls stood ready to commence their dance. After much screwing and twanging, the bow was flourished, and three pairs of feet were simultaneously put into motion.

Julius Cave was the son and only child of a country actor of poor repute. From his earliest boyhood, Julius had been on the stage; his first introduction to the footlights being in the character of Cora's child, in the play of "Pizarro.” From that period his services were in constant requisition, and he became what, in theatrical parlance, is termed the "stock-child" of the theatre. The boy was extremely sharp, shrewd, and desirous to learn. He accompanied his mother, who was a danseuse, to all her rehearsals; and, by so doing, picked up his rudiments of dancing; and the good-natured leader of the orchestra taught him his notes, and how to handle the violin. Step by step Julius progressed, and indefatigable were his exertions to acquire proficiency. He had never been sent to school; he knew no children of his

own age, in fact, he had no companions but men and women; and oftentimes he used to sit, quiet and observant, listening to their conversation, and treasuring up in his memory the pronunciation of every word they uttered. Early he became acquainted with all the vicissitudes of a country actor's life, its many struggles, hardships, and disappointments.

Now, Julius was ambitious; therefore he studied hard, and practised almost incessantly. His parents cared little for each other, and less for him; consequently, he felt that his future entirely depended upon his self-exertion and per

severance.

A theatre is a school in which much good may be learned; and in the society of the player, however humble his talents may be, there is frequently found a peculiar fascination of manner, for he is intelligent and reflective; each day he acquires something new, his thoughts are ever busy, and he delights to add to his store of knowledge. Human nature is his chief study, and in that great open book which teaches so much, yet is so difficult to read, the actor cons many of his most useful lessons. An actor is no companion for the multitude; he lives in a little world, peopled by his fancy's creations: the true actor is, during the time that he is before the audience, the character which he represents on the stage, whether it be that of a king, a robber, or a mendicant; thus, half his life is passed in wild, changing dreams.

At length Julius grew too big for children's parts, so he was "sent on" in processions, chorusses, and mobs: sometimes he had a line to deliver, and that one line, though it was only to inform Lady Betty Faddle that her carriage waited, was esteemed by Julius as something better than banner-bearing. But, alas! such favours as the aboverecorded message-delivery were of rare occurrence; for Julius did not fit the suits of livery worn by the farcefootman, and being almost smothered by an amplitude of garment, his appearance on the stage was always hailed with shouts of laughter, much to the annoyance of the manager, who, being the low comedian of the theatre, as a matter of course, desired to monopolize the laughter of the audience. Julius had reached an awkward age, the manager said, and

his services were worth neither meat nor drink. The youth was piqued at this observation, and resolved to seek his fortune elsewhere; behind another row of footlights he might perhaps find more sympathy; at all events, he would try what he could do the world lay open to him, as well as to others; therefore he would at once go forth alone. He had heard of London, and of the fame and fortune achieved by actors in the great metropolis-nay, he had been told that they had carriages of their own, in which they rode about like real lords and ladies. Julius pondered and fretted till he lost flesh and fitted the livery worse than ever. The manager swore at him, and one night, in a fit of chagrin, the enraged youth tore off the scarlet plush inexpressibles, with a secret determination of never putting them on again.

The next morning Julius rose at daybreak, counted over his little store of money for the fiftieth time, and collected his scanty wardrobe, which he carefully tied up in an old cotton handkerchief. Having completed the important task of packing, he wrote with a piece of chalk, on the door of his garret, a few words, which he entitled a farewell letter to his parents," who were fast asleep in the next apartment. Fastening his little.bundle to the end of a stick, he stole down the creaking, carpetless stairs of his miserable home, opened the street door, and passed out. For some minutes he paused, then shouldered his stick, again counted his money, and descended the house steps. Then he mused, knit his brows, and gazed vacantly up the street; anon he turned round, and bestowed the same amount of gazing in the contrary direction. "Which road should he pursue?" he asked himself. Shutting his eyes, he rapidly performed a pirouette on the pavement. "So," he said, still keeping his eyes closed, "I'll turn to my right, whether it be up the street, or down the street; so here goes for what dad calls a teetotum," -saying which, Julius made another pirouette, opened his eyes, and speedily proceeded on the road leading to Wigan. Julius walked eight miles without once resting. Ay, there was the eighth milestone; he had been walking for two hours, as near as he could reckon; and, as he started when the church clocks were striking four, it must, of necessity, be now six o'clock. He felt very hungry and sleepy, for he was

How lonely he thought

not in the habit of rising early. himself, too, as he sat with his back against the stone, and gazed into the sky! The scene was novel to the youth, who had lived all his young life in large manufacturing towns, amid the gas and artificial glare of a theatre by night, and the dark atmosphere of gloomy streets, many of which consisted of rows of cotton warehouses, by day. How merrily the birds sang, and how sweet and balmy was the fresh morning air! Julius drew forth from his bundle a large crust of bread, and, with a cheerful spirit, commenced his frugal breakfast. He compared himself with Whittington, the poor boy who became Lord Mayor of London. Julius wished the bells would ring, that he might, out of their sound, read his fortune. He was not far from a church, for he could see the spire of one above the trees in the distance -the tinkling bells might speak to him of the future, as truly as they spoke to Whittington, for, after all, who was Whittington, he should like to know? He wasn't an actor. Julius didn't believe he even knew who Shakspeare was; then, of course, he was a nobody-a mere nobody, whose name had never been in print, whose voice even had never been heard. If such a numskull of a boy could become a lord mayor, what mightn't Julius some day become? Why, Edmund Kean, of whom he'd heard so much, had once been a very poor lad in one of Richardson's booths, and he rose higher than a lord mayor-higher than a king, Julius thought; for he became the greatest actor the world had ever known. Who, then, could tell what Dame Fortune had in store for Julius Cave?

After the youth had eaten his bread, he recommenced his march without the remotest notion of whither he was journeying. All the cash in his possession was three shillings, the pinchings of many a meal, which he had changed into sixpences that the sum might seem larger; for though Julius knew well the value of money, and also how far it would go, he was willing to cheat himself into a belief that the sixpences were all shillings. The young adventurer trudged onward musingly. Was there a theatre in the town which he saw before him? If not, he must walk on to the next. Julius considered theatres essentially necessary to the well-being of society, and as indispensable as churches and

chapels; in fact, he entertained an independent opinion on most points; therefore, the reader will not be surprised when I inform him that Julius liked the inside of a theatre better than the inside of a church. "Somehow," he said, "he never visited the latter place without being made uncomfortable and wretched. The parson preached so much against the stage and the players. Why didn't he mind his own business, and not try to put people against what was good for them. He should like to hiss him, that he should; but people must neither hiss nor clap in a church." Now, the cause of this lack of religion in Julius is easily explained; his father was a bigoted Roman Catholic, and his mother was a Protestant. Thus the parents, whose ideas on religion were so diametrically opposed to each other, had had daily disagreements as to the faith in which their child was to be reared, till the ultimate result of those differences of opinion was a resolve that he was to go neither to church nor to chapel. Julius had now just reached the outskirts of Wigan -sooty Wigan, as it was called; neat houses, with gardens around them, were on each side of him; but as he proceeded, the buildings were higher and blacker, and without gardens. Towering chimneys, pouring forth volumes of smoke, surrounded and filled the town; and most of the people whom he met looked as if they resided in coal cellars and slept upon soot bags.

"Here, little boy," said Julius, stopping a lad who was hurrying along with a breakfast-can in his hand.

"Who dost thee caw 'little by' ?" asked the lad, in the broad Lancashire dialect. "Look at theesel'! tha'rt nane

so big!"

"I beg your pardon," said Julius, in an humble tone; "I'm sure I didn't mean to offend."

cr

“Oh, tha didn't! that's reet," replied the lad, laughing. Lorgeous gracious! how foine tha talks! who art tha, and wheere dost 'ee cum fro' ?!”

Julius did not reply, but walked on.

"Holloa! tha'rt running away, art 'ee? I'll punch thee yhead, if tha dusn't tell me aw aboot theesel'."

Julius was confounded.

"What a little brute!" exclaimed he mentally; "I shall not tell him who I am."