to give trouble, and a great dread of exposing herself to public observation. The carriage, as Mrs. Coates repeated twenty times, was ordered not to come till after the farce, and she kept on hoping and hoping that Miss Berry would be stout enough to go back to see “The Maid of the Oaks.” Miss Berry did her utmost to support herself; and said she believed she was now quite well, and could return; but I saw she wished to get away, and I ran to see if a chair could be had. Lord Mowbray, who had assisted in conducting the ladies out, now followed me; he saw, and called to one of his footmen, and despatched him for a chair. “There, now,” said Mowbray, “we may leave the rest to Mrs. Coates, who can elbow her own way through it. Come back with me--Mrs. Abingdon plays Lady Bab Lardoon, her favourite character--she is incomparable, and I would not miss it for the world.” I begged Mowbray to go back, for I could not leave these ladies. “Well,” said he, parting from me, and pursuing his own way, “I see how it is--I see how it will be. These things are ruled in heaven above, or hell beneath. ‘Tis in vain struggling with one’s destiny--so you to your Jewess, and I to my little Jessica. We shall have her again, I hope, in the farce, the prettiest creature I ever saw.” Mowbray hastened back to his box, and how long it might be between my return to the Jewess, and the arrival of the chair, I do not know: it seemed to me not above two minutes, but Mowbray insisted upon it, that it was a full quarter of an hour. He came to me again, just as I had received one look of silent gratitude; and while I was putting the young lady into the chair, and bustling Mrs. Coates was giving her orders and address to the servant, Mowbray whispered me that my mother was in an agony, and had sent him out to see what was become of me. Mrs. Coates, all thanks, and apologies, and hurry, now literally elbowed her way back to her box, expressing her reiterated fears that we should lose the best part of “The Maid of the Oaks,” which was the only farce she made it a rule ever to stay for. In spite of her hurry and her incessant talking, I named the thing I was intent upon. I said, that with her permission I should do myself the honour of calling upon her the next morning to inquire after Miss Berry’s health. “I am sure, sir,” she replied, “Mr. Alderman Coates, and myself, will be particularly glad of the honour of seeing you tomorrow, or any time; and moreover, sir, the young lady,” added she, with a shrewd, and to me offensive smile, “the young lady no doubt’s well worth inquiring after--a great heiress, as the saying is, as rich as a Jew she’ll be, Miss Montenero.” “Miss Montenero!” repeated Lord Mowbray and I, in the same instant. “I thought,” said I, “this young lady’s name was Berry.