withdrawing of the curtain disclosed the secret. The long expected day arrived. One would have thought, from the waggons and chaises that poured in from the neighbouring towns, that a cattle show, or a hanging, or some such 'merry-making matter,' was going on in the village of . The church was filled at an early hour, and pews, aisles, and galleries crowded as we have seen a less holy place at the first appearance of a foreign actor. The teacher and the clergyman were in the pulpit; the scholars ranged on benches at the opposite extremities of the stage; the crowd was hushed into reverent stillness while the clergyman commenced the exercises of the day by an appropriate prayer. The curtains were hardly closed, before they were again withdrawn, and the eager eyes of the assembly fell on Elvira. A shadow of disappointment might have been seen flitting across Mr. Lloyd's face at this moment, while Mary Hull, who sat in a corner of the gallery, half rose from her seat, sat down again, tied and untied her bonnet, and, in short, manifested indubitable signs of a vexed spirit; signs, that in more charitable eyes than Mrs. Wilson's certainly would have gone against the obnoxious doctrine of 'perfection.' Elvira was seated on the throne, ambitiously arrayed in a bright scarlet Canton crape frock, a white sarsenet scarf, fantastically thrown over her shoulders. Her hair, in imitation of some favourite heroine, flowed in ringlets over her neck, excepting a single braid, with which, as she fancied, 'à la grecque,' she had encompassed her
