many of those who had been foremost in the scuffle drew their hats over their brows and skulked away.

"Is he deed?" inquired a woman, as she timidly approached the clown.

"I hope not," replied he, rubbing Julius's hands. "Here!" continued he, addressing the woman; "you seem to be one who can feel: help me to lift the lad, will you?"

"Ay, that will'a!" returned she; "poor feller!" she added, "'a wunder who his muther be!"

The clown, having succeeded in getting Julius across his shoulder, now sought to push his way through the crowd, • which had become more densely packed, in consequence of everybody being desirous of watching what the "funny mon was gooin' to do weet dom'd little cheet."

None really knew what Julius had done amiss: but it was supposed by most that he had been caught in the act of picking pockets.

"Let me pass, good people!" said the clown, pressing forward towards the booth.

"What art 'a gooin' to do wee t' lad, galvanarize him?" asked a bystander.

"A tell 'ee what, oud patchy," cried another; "if thou'll tak moy advice, tha'll leave that chap alone, tha'll not meddle."

"Good people," commenced the clown ; "an idea strikes me that"

"Houd thee tongue, or summut else 'll stroike thee!' returned the woman who had spoken before, catching the clown's arm and dragging him onward.

"A hard fist you mean;" said he, "ah, not bad thatthank you! thank you kindly, my good woman!"

A shower of nuts, at this moment, descended like a hailstorm upon the clown's head-then a crushed orange struck him in the eye; but these indignities produced not the desired effect, for he maintained the same good-natured smile, his temper not being in the least ruffled by the irritating conduct of those around him.

"Is my charge quite safe?" asked he, addressing his conductress.

"Charge!" repeated the woman, with puzzled air; "what be that?"

"Bless my heart!" muttered he; "I'm half blinded by that confounded orange. I asked you whether the lad was all right? I want to know whether anything struck him?"

"Noa; yo got it aw."

By this time the clown had reached Richardson's booth; but, instead of ascending the steps in front, as everybody expected he would, he darted under the platform, and disappeared as if by magic.

There was now a wild and scrambling rush up the boothsteps: people paid their money and hastened in to secure the best seats, in order to see " what th' funny chap war gooin' to do wee t' lad;" and various were the conjectures entertained on the subject by those whose curiosity had led them to enter Richardson's show, without looking at a bill, or inquiring what was to be acted for their amusement. Expectation was wound up to a high pitch, and the audience eagerly waited the clown's entrance.

"Is he gooin' to cut t' lad's yhead off, an' stick' un on agin aw reet as it war afoor?" asked one of the audience. " Dunno," returned another; "he mun ha' dealin' wee t' divil, if he do."

"It's moy 'pinion, neighbours," said an old woman, joining in the conversation of those about her; "it's moy 'pinion that aw conjurors an' play-actin' folk ha' summut to do wi' oud Nick."

"Eh, my goodness!" exclaimed a young woman, clasping her baby closer to her bosom; "do 'ee think thatens about 'em?"

" Ay, 'a doos."

"'A thinks 'a 'll goo moy ways whoam," said the young woman, starting up.

"Sit still: an' doant 'ee be a foo!" said her husband.

We must now follow the clown, who, with his burden, had so suddenly disappeared.

The canvas door, through which he passed, communicated with that part of the booth which served as dressing-room to the male portion of the company. Here the clown laid Julius on the ground, which was covered with a thick layer of sawdust, and speedily set about loosening his neckerchief and waistcoat. The bell rang for the performance to commence, and the whole of the actors left the platform, and descended to the place where the clown was kneeling over the still insensible Julius.

"By Mars! I swear here's the veritable hero!" cried a tall man, with bushy whiskers and a long black beard.

"Why here's old Chip turned doctor!" exclaimed another.

"Well, you've caused a nice commotion in the fair," said a squat little woman, who wore an enormous plume of feathers and a very short dress. "I wonder what Mrs. Chipperton will say about your philanthropy! Oh, here she is!"

"What is the matter?" asked a pretty, delicate-looking woman, whose figure was enveloped in a woollen cloak. "Are you hurt? Has there been any accident? Where's Emma?" After these questions a violent fit of coughing seized her. The clown looked at the woman anxiously and affectionately.

"Don't distress yourself," he said gently; "there's nothing wrong, but that terrible cough of yours."

"I can't help it," returned Mrs. Chipperton faintly; "I don't go outside now. I keep myself well wrapped up, as you see: to be sure the dress is a very thin one, and a very cold one too-fairy dresses always are so." And again she coughed in her handkerchief, which she kept rolled up in her hand, no doubt in order to hide the spots of blood with which the cambric was stained.

"Have you any hartshorn?" asked Chip; "a few drops might revive this poor lad."

"Where did he come from? Dear, dear, I don't understand who he is," said Mrs. Chipperton, in a wailing voice. "Ah!" she added, "you want hartshorn; I'll call Emma." Lifting up a piece of canvas which separated the dressingplaces, she continued, "Emma, look in my basket for a bottle."

"Yes, mother," answered a sweet girlish voice. "Make haste, darling."

"Here, mother, here is the bottle," said Emma, running up to Mrs. Chipperton; "are you ill, mother dear?"

"No, no, darling; your father wants the hartshorn for

C

this poor boy," said Mrs. Chipperton, pointing to Julius, who was now sitting up, looking more dead than alive.

"Chip's wanted," said a rough voice behind the canvas.

"All right!" responded the clown, mechanically rising; then, drawing Emma aside, he said, "Don't let your mother dance her solo to-day-you can do it for her, can't you, my pet?"

"Every step, father," said the little girl, lifting up her pretty face for a kiss. "Don't fear, father dear; you shall see how well I'll dance; I'll not forget one step."

"Bless you, my precious treasure," said the clown, in a choked voice; "what would old Chip be without his pretty daughter!"

"Who is the boy? what can I do for him?"”

"Go and talk to him; you'll soon find out what to do for him," said Chip hurriedly. "There's my music-take care of your mother!" and with these words the clown disappeared behind the canvas.

Emma returned to her mother, who was giving Julius a cup of tea.

"How glad I am to see you better!"

"Thank you, miss," said Julius.

" Emma, there's your tea in the jug; I didn't pour it out," said Mrs. Chipperton.

"I won't have any tea till I have finished my dance," rejoined Emma.

"Our dance, you mean," said Mrs. Chipperton.

"Hush, mother! please let me do it all-just for this one night," pleaded the young girl, flinging her arms round her mother's neck, and burying her face in that bosom on which she had slumbered when a helpless babe.

"Am I in Richardson's booth?" asked Julius, swallowing the hot tea, and nearly scalding himself.

"Yes; don't you know where you are?" said Emma, opening her eyes very wide.

"I'm bothered!" said Julius; "I think I've been dreaming."

"When I've finished my dance, you shall tell me all about who you are, and who your father and mother are," said Emma frankly.

"Mrs. Chipperton, it's near your time," said the same

rough voice, which had before spoken. "Miss Gaston is

dead."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Chipperton. "Come, Emma." "I'm coming," replied she; "there's a nice bit of breadand-butter for you," she added, handing him a large slice which she had just cut.

"What is your name?"

"Julius."

"May I call you Julius?"

"I'd like to see you dance," said he musingly.

"Oh, I perceive you want me to call you Mr. Julius?" said Emma, piqued.

"No, indeed! I don't care a pin what you call me; I want to see you dance."

"Emma, Emma, we are waited for!"

"Yes, mother; come along, Julius! you shall see me dance."

Julius followed the mother and daughter to the wings of the stage. The curtain was up, and the ballet had already commenced. A few bars of melancholy music were played, and Emma glided on the stage. A long shout of wonder and admiration greeted the little girl's appearance.

"How beautiful she is!" cried Julius, clapping his hands, and marking, with experienced eye, the ease, grace, and elegance of all her movements.

"I'm glad to see you better, my boy," said a voice close to Julius. "I have much to thank you for," returned the youth, extending his hands.

"By and by will do for thanks," said the clown. "What do you think of her?" he added, jerking his head towards his daughter. "That was her mother's dance; Em never did a step of it till this instant.”

"Has she ever danced in London?" asked Julius simply. "Not she, poor child! getting to London is no easy matter, my boy." "So I understand."

"If it were not for that girl, the people would have their

own way with me to-day."

"What do you mean?" asked Julius.

"Why," returned Chip, "the donkeys have got an idea