sinewy knee, and how, nodding to the blows of the tamborine, he already meditates within himself the appropriate convolutions of the dance. And the pretty widow ! by the girdle of Venus, she also is pointing her trim toe, and, look ye! better and better, do you not see that she has given her veil to the Stoic, that so she may perform the more expeditely ?"

"I see it all," said I," but do speak lower, dear Sabinus; for, be sure, they would neither of them poise themselves half so gracefully, if they thought we were observing them."

"Hush!" quoth he, turning his head another way; "I suspect the Stoic's eye has already caught us."

Hearing this, I should of course have looked, after the example of the Centurion, in another direction; but I know not if you have experienced what I have oftentimes done, that, as if under the influence of some serpentine fascination, one's eyes are in such situations extremely apt to rest themselves just on the object which most

of all they should avoid. And so it was with me; for, instead of looking away, I perversely directed my eyes right upon the philosopher, who was so near that he could not possibly mistake me, or dream of my mistaking him for any one but himself. And he also, perhaps fascinated like myself in the style of which I have been speaking, although it was too evident that the sight of me was extremely unwelcome, appeared, nevertheless, to be constrained to keep his optics fixed upon me,-insomuch that I could not refrain from saluting him, to which he replied by a very low bow, and an unfortunate attempt towards a smile of courtesy. The widow, who could not help seeing what passed between us, saluted me also, but with an air of considerable confusion, for the blood mounted into her face, and suffused, for a moment, with deep crimson, both her neck and arms; and altogether, it was manifest that our recognition of her in such a situation, and in such com

pany, had affected her with much perturbation. The Centurion, however, who had by this time turned round again, no sooner saw that the ice was broken, than in he plunged with a volley of dashing compliments-betraying in nothing either surprise, or any extraordinary species of feeling, beyond what is common when acquaintances chance to fall in with each other fortuitously.

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All hail," said he, "fair lady! and all hail, most reverend friend Xerophrastes! What a beautiful moonlight evening this is? Come, no shyness, old cock of Hymettus; foot it away, foot it away, man! The lady will never have courage, if you don't give her your hand. Come now, and remember, my good friend, that even although you be a Stoic, you are an Athenian into the bargain. Come, polite sage, hop on, and convince us that philosophy has not quite washed out your original urbanity and elegance."

There was always so much good nature in the manner of the worthy Centurion, that it was almost impossible for any one to be offended even by his sarcasms. His broad ruddy face seemed made for the very habitation of smiles; his lips were ever wreathed with benignity, not to be mistaken; and the tones of his voice were so rich and easy, that Thersites himself would not have dared to suspect them of malice. Yet Xerophrastes, on this occasion, appeared to be by no means delighted with the style of his salutation. A frown passed very darkly over his forehead, and he turned to the blushing lady with an air of the highest impatience. She, on her part, although she was probably far from deriving any pleasure from what had passed, had the wit to disguise, in some measure, the feelings of

her mind. She cast, therefore, a smile of airy and good-humoured rebuke (such at least it was designed to be) upon the mirthful Centurion, and said, “Come, Sabinus, methinks it might become you better to

offer me your hand yourself for this sacred dance, than to play off your jokes so upon Xerophrastes, who cannot help himself any more than the rest of us. Come, Centurion, I insist upon having your company."

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My dear lady," quoth the Centurion, advancing close to Rubellia, "you well know that my services are always at your disposal; but it seems to me that you are already engaged for this dance; and I am sure you will break the heart of Xerophrastes, if you disappoint him, now that he has tightened his girdle, and plucked up his mantle, and made so many preparations. No, no; the luck is his for this time, and don't let him be deprived of it.-You see how conscientious I am, my dear Stoic; no more words, I pray you. Lead forth your fair partner; and Valerius and I, since we can do no better, shall follow in your

train."

Xerophrastes heard all this with a countenance but little mollified. He turned, however, once more to the lady; and then