THE EXAMINER.

re nent ete

of the weiglit of it till, after the interment of his father, | as if it would join his lips to hers for ever, instead of

he repaired, for the first time, to resume his visits to his Rosalie.

He was stepping up without ceremony to the drawing room, when the servant begged his pardon for stopping him, telling him at the same time, that he had receive instructions from his master to show ‘Theodore into the parlor when ‘he should call.

‘Was Miss Wilford there 7

‘No’ Theodore was shown into the parlor. Of all savage brutes, the human brute is the most pernicious and revolting, because he unites to the evil propensities uf the inferior animal the mental faculties of the supe- rior one; and then he is at large. A vicious tempered cog you can muzzle and render innocuous ;—but there is RO preventing the human dog that bites from fleshing his tooth; be is sure tofave it in somebody. Amd then ‘the infliction is so immeasurably more severe !—the quick of the mind is so mech more sensitive than that of the body. Besides, the savage that runs upon four fegs is so inferior im perfarmance to him that walks upon two. Tis he that knows bow to gnaw! TI have eften thought ita pity and asin that the man who plays the dog should be protected from dying the death of one. He should hang, and the other go free.

_ “Well, young gentleman” was the salutation which Theodore received when he entered the parlor; ‘and pray what brings you ‘here . |

Theodore was struck dumb; and no wonder.

‘Your father, [ understand, has died a beggar! Do}

you thinkto marry my niece? If Theodore respired with difficulty before, his breath was utterly taken away at this. He was a young man of spirit; but who can keep up his heart, when his ship, all at once, is ‘going down?

The human dog wem on. ‘ Young gentleman, I shall be plain with you, for Tam a straight-forward man; young women should mate with their matches—you are no match for my neice; 80 a good morning to you!’-— How more in place te have wished ‘vim a good halter! Saying this, the straigtit-forward savage walked out of the room, leaving [the door wide-open, that Theodore might have room for egress ; and steadily walked up staire.

It was several mimites before he could recover his self-recollection. When he did so, he rang the bell.

‘ Tell your master I wish to speak ‘to him,’ said Theo- dore to the servant.who answered it. The servant went up stairs after his master, and returned.

‘Tam sorry, sir,’ said he, ‘to be the bearer of such an errand; but my master desires you instantly to quit the house; and has commanded me to tell you that he nas given me orders not to admit you again.’

‘} must see Miss Wilford!’ exclaimed Theodore.

‘You cannot, sir!’ respectfully remarked the servant ;| ‘for she is Jocked up in her own room; but you can send a message to her, added he, in a whisper, ‘and J will bethe bearer of it. There is not a servant in the

tearing them away. She heard her name called from a short distance, and in a half-suppressed voice; she started, and turned towards the direction whence the er peren warning came; she heard it again; she

drawn herself from Theodore’s arms ; she Jooked at him; flung her own around him, and burst into tears upon his ec ‘—In another minute there was nobody in the ane,

Lendor is a glorious place for a man of talent to make his way in—provided he has extraordinary good luck. Nothing but merit can get on there; nothing is sterling that is not of its coinage. Our provincial towns won't believe that gold is geld, unless it has been minted in London. There is no trickery there; no canvassing, no intrigue, no coalition! There worth has only to show itself, if it wishes to be killed with kindness! London tells the truth! You may swearto what it says—what- sover may be proved to the contrary. The cause—the cause is prery ing in London! Show but your craft, and straight your brethern come crowding around you, and if they find you worthy, why you shall be brought inte notice—even though they should tell a lie for it and damn you. Never trouble yourselfabout getting on by interests in ‘London! Get on by yourself. Posts are ‘filled there by merit; or if the man suits not the office, why the office is made to adapt itself to the man, and so there is unity after all! What a happy fellow was Theodore to find himself in such a place as London!

He was ‘certainly happy in one thing; the coach in which he came set him down ata friend’s whose cire- cumstances were narrow, but whose heart wes larre—a curate of the church of England. Strange that with all the appurtenances of hospitality at his command, abun- dance shail allow, be it said, that the kindest welcome which adversity usually meets with, is that which it receives from adversity! If Theodore found that the, house was a cold ene to what he had been accustomed, the warmth ofthe greeting made up for it. ‘They breakfasted at nine, dined at four, and, ifhe could not sleep upon the sefa, why there was:a bed for him! In a day he was settled, and at his work.

And upon what did Theodore found his hopes of making a fortune, and rising to fame in London? pon writing a play. Atan early period he had discovered, as his friends imagined, :a talent for dramatic composi- tion; and having ratler sedulously cultivated that branch of literature, he thought he would now try his hand in one bold effort, the success of which should determine him as to his future course in life. The play was written, presented, and accepted; the performers were ready in their parts; the evening of representation eame on, and Theodore, seated in the pit beside his friend, at last, with a throbbing heart, beheld the curtain rise. The first and second acts went off smoothly, and with applause.

Two gentlemen were placed immediately in front of

house, Mr. Theodore, bat ‘is sorry fer you to the soul ” This was so much in-season, and was so evidertly | spoken ‘from the heart, that Theodore could not help catching the honest fellow by the hand. Here the, drawing-room bell was rung violently. ‘T must go, sir,’ said the servant; what message to!

Theodore. ‘ What do you think of it ” said the one to the other.

‘Rather tame,’ was the reply.

‘Will it succeed ”

ad stopped till the last moment! She had half with-|

353 SE Ee eS SSS SY ES aE SSS i CT PS TY erm

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plagiarism,’ rejoined the other. ‘He is aware tha: Several other authors have constructed dramas upon th+ same passage in history ; and—to draw the most charita- ble inference, for you would not suspect him of tellinc a deliverate lie—he thinks you have seen them, and have availed yourself of them.’

“Is it not the next thing toa falsehood,’ indignantiv exclaimed Theodore, ‘ to advance a charge, of the jusi-

ness of which you have not assured yourself?’

| ‘IT know not that,’ rejoined his friend ; ‘ but it certainly indicates a rather superficial reverence for truth; and a disposition te censure, which excludes from all claim ‘ ingenuousness the individual who indulges it.’

cog he will go the round of the whole kingdom °”

es,

‘Should I not contradict it »

* No.’

‘Why?

_ “Tis beneath you; besides, the stamp ef malignaney is So strong upon it, that, except to the utterly ignorant. it is harmless; and even these, when they witness you: play themselves, as some time or another they will, wil! remember the libel, to the cost ofits author and to your advantage. I see you have been almost ag hardy treated by this gentlemen,’ continued he, glaneing over the paper which Theodore had taken up when he entered the room. Are you acquainted with any of the gentlemen of the press ”

‘No; and is it not therefore strange that Lshould have enemies among them 7

‘ Notat all,’

‘Why?

‘ Because you have succeeded, Look overthe rest of the journals,’ continued his friend; ‘you may find salve for these scratches.’

Theodore did so; and in one or two instances salve, indeed, he found ; but upon the whole he was in little danger of being spoiled through the praises of the press. ‘ Why, exclaimed Theodore, ‘ why do not letters enlarge the soul, while they expand the mind? Why do ther not make men generous and honest? Why is not every literary man an illustration of Juvenal’s axiom 7

‘Teach a dog what you may,’ rejoined his friend, ‘can you alter his nature, so that the brute shall no: predominate ?”

‘No,’ replied Theodore.

‘ You are answered,’ said his friend.

The play had what is called a ran, but not a decided one. Night after night it was received with the same enthusiastic applauses; but the audience did not i: crease. It was a victory without the acquisition 0° spoils or territory. ‘ What can be the meaning of this” exclaimed Theodore ; ‘ we seem to be moving, and ye: do not advance an inch?’

‘They should paragraph the play as they doa pan- tomime .’ remarked his friend. ‘ But then a pantomime is an expensive thing; they will lay outa thousand pounds upon one, and they must get their money bac. The same is the ease with their melo-dramas; so if yo want to succeed to the height, as a play-wright, you know what to do.’

‘ Doubtful.’ The third act, however, decided the fate of the play—|

‘What? inquired Theodore. ‘Write melo-dramas and pantomimes "” Six months had now elapsed, and Theodore’s puree.

my mistress ?? ,the interest of the audience beccme so intense, that, at

‘Tell her to give me a meeting, and to apprize me of one particular stage of the action, numbers in the second the time and place,’ said Theodore; andthe next mo-|and third rows of the side boxes stood up, and the clapp- ment the hall-door was shet upon him. ing of hands was universal, intermingled with cries of

One may easily imgine the state of the young fellow’s|‘ bravo!’ from every part of the theatre. ‘Twill do, mind. To be driven with insult and barbarity from the was now the remark, and Theodore breathed a little house in which le had been received a thousand tines more freely than he had done some ten minutes ago. with courtesy and kindness—which he looked upon as| Not ‘to be too tedious, the curtain fell amidst shouts of

j with all his success, was rather lighter than when }« first pulled it out in London. However, in a week, tw: bills which he had taken from his publisher would fa!) due, and then he would run down to B——, and perhay & obtain an interview with Rosalie. At the expiration o the week his bills were presented, and dishonoured | He repaired to his publisher for an explanation—i« house had stopped! Poor Theodore! They were i:

his own! Then, what was to be done? Rosalie’s approbation, unmingted with the slightest demonstration |the Gazette that very day! ‘Theodore turned into the uncle, after all, had told him nothing but the truth. His of displeasure, and the author had not twenty friends in/ first coffee room to look at a paper; there were, indeec father had died a beggar! Dear as Rosalie was to the house. the names of the firm : ‘I defy fortune to serve me : Theodore, his own pride recoiled at the idea of offering | If Theodore did not sleep that night, it was notfrom!scurvier trick!” exclaimed Theodore, the tears hai* her a hand which was not the master of a- shilling! | inquietude of mind—contentment was his repose. His'starting into his eyes. He little knew the lady whos Yet was not Theodore portionless. His education was! most sanguine hopes had been surpassed ; that fit of a’ ingenuity he was braving. |

finished; that term he had completed his collegiate London audience had stamped hima dramatist—the! He looked now at one side of the paper, and now ai studies. If his father had not left him a fortune, he had, way of fortune was open and clear, and Rosalie would |the other, thinking all the while of nothing but the bilis provided him the means of making one himself——at all be his. \and the bankrupts’ ie bane Fete at B events, of commanding a competency. He had the, ‘Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Theo- his eye, and soon his thoughts were occupied with nc. credit ef being a young man of decided genius, too. dore and his friend repaired to the coffee room. *We thing but B——; fer there he read that the young lorc ‘T will not offer Rosalie a beggar’s hand!’ exciaimed must see what the critics say, remarked the Jatter. of the manor, having just come of age, had given 2 ba!t Theodore: ‘I shall ask her to remain true to me for a! Theodore, with prideful confidence—the offspring of fair;and supper, the former of which he opened with the

, DIE

year, and I'll go up to London, and maintain myself hy success—took up the first morning print that came to lovely and accomplished Miss Rosalie e The my pen. It may acquire me fame as well as fortune; his hand, Theatre Royal met his eye. * Happy is the | grace of the fair couple was expatiated upon ; and the

and then I may marry Rosalie? ‘successful dramatist!’ exclaimed Theodore to himself;

editor took occasion to hint, theta psirso formed by

This was a great deal of work to be done ina year; ‘at night he is greeted by the applause of admiring nature for each other might probably before ong, tak:

but if Theodere was not a man of genius, he possessed thousands, and in the morning they are repeated, and a mind of that sanguine temperament which is usually echoed ali overthe kingdom through the medium of the: an accompaniment of the richer gift. Before the hour'press! What will Rosalie say when her eye falls upon of dinner, all his plans were laid, and he was ready to|this’ And what, indeed, would Rosalie say when she | startfor London. He waited new for nothing but ajread the utter damnation of her lover's drama, which the’ message from Rosalie, and as soon as the sweet girl critic denounced from the beginning to the end, witheut |

hands in another, a longer anc more momentous cance What did Theodore think of Fortune now ? . ‘©, that it were but a stride to B "he exclaime: as he laid down the paper, and his hand dropped nerve- less at his side. He leftthe coffee-house, and dreamne: his way back to lis friends, Gigs, carriages, cars

could send it it came to him. It appointed him to meet her im the green lane after sunset: “the sun bad scarcely set when he was there; and there, too, was Rosalie. He found thet she was Rosalie still. Fate had stripped him of fortene—but she could not persuade Rosalie to refuse him her hand, er her lip; when, helf-way down the lane, she heard a light quick step belind her, and, turning, beheld Theodore,

‘Theodore’s wishes, as I stated before, were granted as soon as communicated: and now nothing remained | ‘but te say geod-hye—periaps the hardest thing to two’

young avers. Tosalie stood passive in the arms of Taeadore, as he tok the fareweil kiss, which appeared,

presenting his readers with asingle quotation to justify rolled by him unheeded; the foot-patl was crowéer. the severity of his strictures! but he saw not a soul in the street. He was inthe 0 ‘Tis very odd!’ said Theodore. ‘room at B——, and looking on while the young lord « ‘°Tis very odd, indeed ! rejoined his friend, repeating the manor handed out Rosalie to lead her cown the his words. ‘You told me this play was your own, and |dance, through every figure of which ‘heodore followe:. here I find that you have copied it from half a dozen them with his eyes with scrutinizing glance, scanning others, that have been founded upon the same story.’ {the countenance of his mistress. ‘Then the set waa ‘Where ? inguired Theodore, reaching for the paper. over, and he saw them walking arm-ip-arin wp end down ‘There!’ said his friend, pointing to the paragraph. ‘the room, and presently they were dancing agai ; anc ‘ And this is London!’ exclaimed Theodore. ‘I never/now the ball was over and‘he followed them tot» read a play, nor the Tine of a play upen the samme subject. |supper-room, where he saw the young lerd of the ‘anes ai: oes not the writer preve the plagiarism ? ‘place Rosalie beside himself.—Then faucy ohamged te ‘pec

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