"Let the kettle to the trumpet speak. The trumpet to the cannoneer without. The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth." Old Mac drinks to those he loves!' (As the speaker drained his glass, the youngster who played the cornopean performed a flourish upon the instrument, and the other members of the company did their best to produce an appropriate demonstration.) 'But to the point. We have witnessed to-night a most remarkable performance by a young lady, who I am informed has never appeared upon the boards--a young lady who is destined to occupy a distinguished position--mark me, a distinguished position--and may old Mac live to see it! She has youth, she has grace, she has beauty, she has genius. In her presence I say it, my sons. The old actor knows a pretender when he sees him, and he knows genius when he sees it; he sees it here. In proposing the toast of this young lady's health' (Mac placed his glass upon the table, and waited until it was refilled), 'and in wishing her the success that always should, but sometimes doesn't, wait on merit, old Mac knows that he is performing a task which every one of you would like to have performed in his place. But damme, my sons, while old Mac lives, the old school of gallantry will never die out.' How the toast was received, and with what enthusiasm it was drunk; how they all surrounded Jessie and petted her and complimented her; how she blushed and trembled at the praises which were showered upon her; and how these honours seemed to remove her farther and farther from me,--I have not the power to describe. It was two o'clock in the morning before the company broke up, and Jessie and I walked home. My heart was full almost to bursting, and I could not trust myself to speak. Not a word passed between us, but with Jessie's arm closely entwined in mine, and with her hand clasped in mine, I felt that without her I would not wish to live. When we reached home, I knocked softly at the street-door, but no answer came. I knocked more loudly, but still there was no answer. Surprised that my mother was not waiting up for us, I tried the handle of the door, and found that it was unlocked. I closed the street-door, and we entered the sitting-room, where a candle was burning. My mother was there, sitting by the table, with her head on her arm. I approached her in some alarm, and saw that she was asleep; her dreams must have been distressing ones, for she was sobbing bitterly. CHAPTER XXXI. MY MOTHER EXPRESSES HER FEARS CONCERNING JESSIE. One evening, as I was smartening myself up in my room, preparatory to going to the Wests', my mother entered, and said, almost humbly, 'My dear, can you spare me a few minutes?' 'Certainly,'I replied. 'Jessie is at the Wests', isn't she?' 'Yes, my dear. I'll not keep you long. I want to speak to you about her.' 'Go on, mother,' I said, in a tone of satisfaction, for that was the subject I loved best to converse upon.