combined deeply and strongly to impress the horrible conviction on the mind, that this poor creature, in spite of all assumptions and decorations to the contrary, was a _very poor_, worn-out, deplorable creature indeed! It forced upon the spectator something like the idea of a death's head endeavouring to be merry,--a skull fitted with glass eyes, and covered with a thin painted mask of parchment, striving to laugh and look happy, in order to be consistent with the laughter and the happiness around it. Add to this the hollow faint voice,--(the mere echo of the sound it once had been,)--pumped up from lungs that seemed to have lost all power,--to have decayed until scarcely any portion remained,--and we shall feel impressed, as Colin was, with a fearful, almost a terrible, sense of the poor uses to which humanity is sometimes put, and of the deep wretchedness often existing among those whose occupation in life is to _look_ gay, whatever they may feel. In truth, consumption was feeding on her, seemingly deep and irremediable. Yet she struggled on: what else could she? Still she strove, still fulfilled her occupation every night, still sung, still tried to look merry, although her heart was all out of heart, and her bosom was filled with fear and anxiety from the dread sense of approaching death--too surely at hand--and she unprepared! Perhaps to come to her on that very stage,--perhaps _then!_ And all this to gain a morsel of daily bread! Although reflections of this nature crowded on Colin's mind in a heavy throng, as he gazed on the poor made-up form before him, still he could not entirely free himself from the impression which her appearance had previously produced upon him. That which was artificial, and affected to others, was not so to his perceptions, for his inexperience would not allow him to see it. The appearance of modesty was to him real modesty; of grace, was grace; of lightheartedness and joy, as real as though a single care had never entered that bosom since the day it first stemmed the rude tide of the world. And as for the rest,--just as with every other imperfection which may exist in the object of any lover's hopes--so was it with hers. Through familiarity they were soon overlooked; and, like the shadows on the moon, though they chequered, they did not extinguish the general light. At the conclusion of the performance Mr. Wintlebury borrowed ten shillings of Colin,--promising to pay him again as soon as he could get into work,--and they parted for the evening. Our hero returned to his humble bed in Mrs. Popple's garret, to pass a restless night amidst strangely-mingled visions of tavern concerts and beautiful singing ladies.