As usual, its boards reclined outside, in their favourite sloping attitude, and proclaiming "Fancy Fair for the Swallow's Nest. Under distinguished patronage"the Bishop of Blackwall, and Mrs. Mountain, the Lady Hautboy, Mrs. Towler, Rev. Arthur Duffy, &c. As I was reading the names, a pink-faced, large-whiskered, good-humoured clergyman stopped to read also, and said, abruptly, "My name looks as well as any in those red capitals? That big A is like the trousers on the French soldiers, eh?"

I could not help smiling. "Oh, you are the Reverend Arthur Duffy, then ?"

"They tell me so. Come, sir, we'll see you in it. If you only buy a cushion, or a pair of handscreens, you'll lay your head. on your pillow with the reflection that you've fed a swallow or two for a day. Step in, my dear sir.”

This gentleman seemed to be what is called a character. Before I could reply, he exclaimed, "I declare, the walking poker himself!"

I saw a prim, stiff, tall, dry-looking clergyman coming along, with an expression of disgust on his face.

"Well, Doctor Pitt," said the jovial clergyman, "you won't come in and raffle for the seal-skin cloak?"

Doctor Pitt replied: "I request, Mr. Duffy, you will not address me on the subject. You are too free, sir; much too free."

"Well, it's the land of freedom, you know, and as for addressing your reverence on the subject

"None of your buffoonery with me, sir," said Doctor Pitt, furiously. "Don't give me these ridiculous titles. You are going too far, Mr. Duffy, and will get yourself into a scrape."

I listened, quite amazed, to this altercation between two holy men-officially holy-a compliment at least owing to their white ties.

Mr. Duffy laughed when Doctor Pitt had passed on, and, with a strange confidence, explained the matter.

He and Pitt had taken opposite sides as to the bazaar. "That old stuck-up prig -whose very bowels were made of starch and buckram-had set himself against the bazaar from the beginning. He had opposed it, I can't say tooth and nail," added Mr. Duffy, "for he is only imperfectly furnished with those articles. It means opposing me. You must know, the people about here are handsome enough to say that my ser

mons are more entertaining than his. Jealousy has been known to reign in the breast even of the most holy. But step in, and let us see how the ladies are getting on.'

We stepped in forthwith, I not a little puzzled by my new friend. It would be hard to give an idea of the almost commercial air of the Mopetown Rooms.

"We've done wonders in the time," said Mr. Duffy. "I was here half the night with the young ladies, hammering and tinkering, with an apron about me. Faith, it's the only apron they'll ever let me wear; and for that matter I've done more useful things in it than many a bishop would in his."

The place had quite a bustling air. The doors were about to open, and the fair shopkeepers had scurried to their places, thinking that we were the first instalment of the public. There were nine "establishments," four on each side, with a glorified one in the centre, a sort of arbour made out of pink calico and muslin, with a wreath at the centre of the arch. This was the Towler bower. The rest were exposed, as they should be, being mere plebeians, under the naked canopy of the ceiling. A card pinned at the side of each bore the names of the fair venders. The Towler stall was tenantless for the nonce.

My friend had left me, and, I saw, was almost at once surrounded by a number of flushed young ladies, whom in two or three seconds he had convulsed with laughter. I glanced leisurely round the stalls, and took note of each seller, enthroned behind a heap of coloured paper boxes, dolls, toys, cushions, antimacassars, some pieces of paper washed over in faint tones, and complimentarily described as "water-colour drawings," teacaddies, slippers, &c.-things which I do not enumerate in any spirit of invidiousness as to Mopetown, for every one, I am sure, will admit they have seen precisely the same wares at sale-rooms in towns of greater fashion. Behind each table was a matron, more or less ugly, each assisted by a band of ladies-daughters, or friends' daughters-with, in most cases, a businesslike looking spinster, of plain exterior, but who, I could see, was useful, had done all the hard work without recognition, and who was not meant to be recognised. Some Miss Smith, or Miss Jones, or Miss Wilkinson, in whose instance virtue, and the pride of bustle and of being useful, was to be its own reward. These human elements I have also noticed at other bazaars.

The platform on which so many entertainers had figured was occupied by the quadrille band of Mopetown-a scant company of musicians-a pianoforte, fiddle, German concertina, and cello, who were already tuning, but did not dare to begin until the Towlers arrived. There was a little structure half-way down the Mopetown Rooms of a curious sort, the purpose of which I could not so much as divine, and which I could only set down as a sort of refined Punch and Judy show. I noticed also some fussing men, who were always rushing about, and consulting with the matrons; and also some impetuous and high-coloured young girls, who, as it were, cantered about from stall to stall, carrying orders and despatches-female aides-de-camp. Some of the stall-holders were appallingly plebeian: Mrs. Muggins, Mrs. Shackford, Mrs. Bigger, Mrs. Briggs, and the like. There was, however, one showy, though not very refined-looking dame, a Mrs. Whelply, at whom I could see snortings and tossings of manes, as though it were some enemy that had got in among these fair creatures. I foresaw that she would be the most successful merchant of the day-that her wares would be swept away like magic, and that her own sex would be ready, as indeed they were now, to eat her.

Hark to a commotion at the doors, with a sound of carriage wheels! Instantly a number of both sexes, including the Reverend Arthur Duffy, with some of the stall-keepers, literally scampered down the room to the door. It was the committee, and the committee going to meet the august queen of the whole, Mrs. Towler. They reappeared in a moment two and two, the Reverend Arthur Duffy last, smiling and chattering, as he conducted two ladies, one gorgeously attired in yellow with very light bonnet strings and large bows, the other in pale slate-coloured satin, very prim, neat, and Quakeresque. Joy! here was a surprise. A murmur ran round, "The bishop's lady!" It seemed almost miraculous, the heavenly inspired suggestion which came to Mrs. Towler at the last moment. Perhaps the bishop's lady would not be offended, though the acquaintance was so slight-would she excuse the freedom, come down in person, and accept hospitality at Towlers ? A crushing repulse might be anticipated for such a liberty. Strange to stay, the bishop's lady was gracious, indulgent, would overlook the affront, as some of these great people often

do, so far, as to come for a day or so. Not of course for her own sake would she make such a sacrifice, but for the Swallow's Nest, where her heart was.

The sensation was indescribable, as may be well conceived, as the illustrious pair were led up. Every one crowded round, the stall-keepers stood up to gaze. The august party was led forthwith to the daïs, where the bishop's lady was duly enthroned in something almost like ecclesiastical state.

Soon after the public were admitted, orders having been given to throw open the doors, as though a vast crowd were struggling to force their way in. This operation was effected without inconvenience, and, beyond the mere fact of the opening, made no difference in the situation. There were no more persons in the building after the opening than before. All the fair stall-keepers were now in their places, and arrayed in the most seductive smiles.

Feeling some curiosity as to the result of this experiment, I returned in a couple of hours, and found that trade had much improved, and might, indeed, be called brisk. The room was tolerably full, all the aristocracy of Mopetown, who did not like to arrive before the fashionable hour, being present, though their dresses might have caused a little surprise in Rotten Row. Strange to say I could only make out some half a dozen gentlemen, apart from the committee men, as being present; and of these I could only set myself down and another as being what might be called “independent," that is, unconnected with the various shops and marts. I at once became an object of attention, that was inconvenient to myself in the highest degree, being, as it were, "spotted" as a stranger, and fairly baited and harried to a degree that made life almost insupportable. The young girls, whom I may call, I hope without unpoliteness, "touts" for various trading establishments, accosted me with the strangest freedom, and a manly familiarity. Every one had tickets-one had a pair of handscreens, another a wax doll arranged in wedding-dress. The trustee of the latter almost unsexed herself with the boldness of her importunities.

"Take a ticket for the bride, only a shilling each. Come, now, you won't refuse me."

Only a boor could refuse, and two were purchased. The exhibition of money thus paid out inflamed the emulation of others, and I was instantly mobbed by the handscreeners, the cushion, the antimacassars,

the fender stool. One lady caught hold of my arm; another, when I declined rather bluntly, fell back on ridicule and sarcasm to effect her purpose.

"Surely you can afford a sixpence or two; it won't break you, will it? I'm sure you wouldn't have come here without a few shillings in your pocket."

Even the proprietress of the bride, to whom I appealed, to my astonishment turned against me.

"Well, he needn't boast of that. Mr. Shank took ten shillings' worth yesterday! Come, take half a dozen tickets for the bride, and we'll let you off."

I felt that the free Mopetown young ladies could not be offended by a corresponding bearing, so keeping the demeanour of certain commercial gentlemen at the Dolphin well before me, I tried a little rustic repartee as a last desperate resource. "If they put you in a raffle, my dear," I said, with an engaging air, "I would take no end of tickets.' This stroke had the happiest effect. Her boldness deserted her, and her voice grew faint. Come," I went on, "if all these young ladies were thrown in as bridesmaids, I would go as far as five shillings a ticket." This produced a scare, and fluttered them all as Coriolanus did the Volscians. But I could not count upon impunity. The Reverend Mr. Duffy was down upon me in a moment.

"Come up to Mrs. Towler's table; they were asking me who you were. You must buy a nick-nack-it's expected-and it's only civility. Come now.

Mr. Duffy's arm was in mine, and in a moment he had dragged me up to the great ladies. They were gracious.

"What will you have ?" the bishop's lady said. "The cigar-case? just the thing. Oh, and you must take the cushion. Five shillings, please. Every one that takes a ticket is entitled to the bishop's sermon on the Trinity. A 'Trinity,' dear, for this gentleman."

"That's right," said Mr. Duffy, malignantly turning on me when he had gained his point, "pluck him, pillage him. He's rich, and has no friends. Come, sir, down with the rhino; the cigar-case is yours at two ten. What, you won't? Well, you are a millionaire !"

"Oh, Mr. Duffy, we don't ask so much. We'll let this gentleman have the case for a pound."

There was great disgust when this offer was declined; however, I was allowed to depart on taking a ticket for the cushion,

and bore away my copy of the bishop's sermon.

I have no wish to hold up Mopetown in particular, for the reader will own that he has found a strange uniformity in human nature as to this matter of bazaar. Everywhere, as at Mopetown, the exhibition appears to call out a bold license, turning all the young creatures into a species of camp-followers, making them free, even impudent. On other occasions they are afraid to stir from mamma's side; now they will range public rooms in presence of crowds, and will familiarly accost perfect strangers with theatrical seduction. This seems to be common to all bazaars within and outside Mopetown. I should say the post-office device was the most demoralising feature of all. It obtained at Mopetown a highly elaborate shape, and I was informed that the damsels actually competed for the honour of being officials in the establishment-the publicity and the opportunity for exhibition were so favourable. At Mopetown there were a number of charming, but very forward "touts," who, in coquettish costume, acted the part the "bringer" does for the recruiting sergeant. These young creatures exercised all their wiles and fascinations to draw visitors to the post-office. "There is a letter for you, I know," one would say—“ a letter from a lady you admire." The victim was then led off to a little green-baize office, with a pigeon-hole, where a charming but business-like young post-mistress was installed. The bringer, asking my name, which seemed strange, considering that she had assured me there was a letter waiting for me, duly informed the postmistress, who, by way of carrying out the fiction of a poste restante, bent down as if to make a search among the despatches, but, in reality, to inscribe the inquirer's name on the envelope of a species of valentine. A shilling fee was charged for this trouble, and it is astonishing the amount of hysterical giggling and skittish simpering that attended on the childish transaction. The Reverend Mr. Duffy, however, revelled in the pastime, came again and again for letters, and was comic and goodhumoured; but I noticed he never was charged any fee. There is an economy in thus being an agreeable cleric, and the gigglings and blushings which attended his remarks showed how popular he was.

Late in the day arrived a reinforcement, consisting of three or four officers from the detachment quartered close by, who had

been implored and cajoled by Mrs. Towler into attending. The sensation produced by these warriors was indescribable. They were followed with adoration, but they would have nothing to do with the postoffice, or the fair post-mistress. In fact, I heard one of the party dismiss the suggestion with a sotto voce "rot !"—a word, I believe, of military slang, signifying abhorrence and disgust. But the popular feeling in their favour was changed into something like execration when it was discovered that the military gentlemen devoted themselves to the stall of the showy but low-born Mrs. Whelply - disdaining what they called "old Mother Towler's" show, with its episcopal attraction-and that from this lady they bought many cushions, dolls, and handscreens. Nay, horror! a young lady tout reported to Mrs. Towler and the committee that the odious Mrs. Whelply had consented to a proposal made by one of the young bloods:

"I'll give you a sov., Mrs. Whelply, for a cigar, if you promise to bite the end off." Why, this was sheer impropriety! The woman would contaminate our young girls! What could you expect?-the woman had been a scheming governess.

Such was the fancy fair at Mopetown. In the evening an auction was held of all the unsold articles, which went little short of the articles originally on sale. The Reverend Mr. Duffy officiated as salesman, and convulsed everybody with his humour and spirits. But this seemed to have been the only result of his wit. Being held at the Mopetown Rooms, the fancy fair, as a matter of course, succumbed to the destiny that attended that place of exhibition. There was no pecuniary success-absolutely no profit.

AMONG THE SAND-HILLS. SILENCE among the sand-hills.

Only the ceaseless roar,

The thundering roll of the sullen surge,

As lashed by the black north-easter's scourge,
It crashes upon the shore.

Quiet among the sand-hills.

Only the sea-mews fly,

Blending their shrill unceasing wail

With the ominous sob of the rising gale,
Flitting 'twixt sea and sky.

Dreary among the sand-hills.

The great grey sweep of waves,

As cold and as dull as the heavy sorrow,

That seems from the scene new strength to borrow, To reckon the past's thick graves.

Lonely among the sand-hills.

In a helpless, hopeless woe,

While the wild birds cry and the wild winds moan, And the white surf creeps over sand and stone, And the great tides ebb and flow.

Lonely among the sand-hills.

Lonely where'er I be, Oh vainly boasted power of song! In my bitter need it can but prolong The dirge of the desolate sea.

A TALE OF TOLEDO.

NEVER in all Spain was there so fascinating a gentleman as the young Andalusian, Don Juan de Aguilar. To express his power over hearts, the phrase "look and die" would be altogether inadequate; for the noblest ladies became desperately enamoured of him without having seen him at all, a mere description of his perfections sufficing to kindle the most ardent passion. His command of courtly language was alone sufficient to render him irresistible, without the attraction of his person, since there was not a tongue that had a greater command over those pretty conceits that were so much in vogue in the days of Philip the Third, than that of Don Juan de Aguilar. Moreover, he was so perfect a caballero, his fine sense of honour and his consciousness of lofty lineage were so plainly indicated by his features and his general bearing, that the proudest gentlemen no sooner set eyes on him, than they felt inclined to grasp his hand, and solemnly vow eternal friendship. If the description we have just given of Don Juan's qualities appears somewhat highly coloured, and if the sentiments expressed in the course of the following narrative seem somewhat constrained, it will be borne in mind that we are not speaking of modern Europe, but of Spain early in the seventeenth century, the period when the Spanish hidalgo combined an abandonment to the dictates of a passionate nature with obedience to an extremely artificial code of morality, after a fashion to which the history of the world affords no parallel.

Notwithstanding the great personal and mental advantages of Don Juan, few would have envied him, when he stood one fine day on the heights of the Castel de San Cervantes, in the vicinity of Toledo. The reputation of his sister had been compromised by a noble who was studying at the university of Seville, and who had basely fled to Toledo after winning her affections. Accordingly, without loss of time, Don Juan, like a noble caballero, set off from Seville in pursuit of the fugitive, whose blood, he was resolved, should wash out the stain on the family honour. When he had got as far as the castel, and paused