of merry adventures at breakfast. We all meet in
the great room at the hotel for a substantial meal at half-past one,
and again (most of us at least) at eight; but it is a moot point
which of these meals we call dinner. Very merry both of them are;
Martyn and Horace Druce are like boys together, and the girls scream
with laughter, rather too much so sometimes. Charley is very noisy,
and so is Meg Druce, when not overpowered by shyness. She will not
exchange a sentence with any of the elders, but in the general laugh
she chuckles and shrieks like a young Cochin-Chinese chicken
learning to crow; and I hear her squealing like a maniac while she
is shrimping with the younger ones and Charley. I must except those
two young ladies from the unconscious competition, for one has no
manners at all, and the other affects those of a man; but as to the
rest, they are all as nice as possible, and I can only say, "How
happy could I be with either." Isa, poor girl, seems to need our
care most, and would be the most obliging and attentive. Metelill
would be the prettiest and sweetest ornament of our drawing-room,
and would amuse you the most; Pica, with her scholarly tastes, would
be the best and most appreciative fellow-traveller; and Jane, if she
could or would go, would perhaps benefit the most by being freed
from a heavy strain, and having her views enlarged.

10.--A worthy girl is Jane Druce, but I fear the Vicarage is no
school of manners. Her mother is sitting with us, and has been
discoursing to grandmamma on her Jane's wonderful helpfulness and
activity in house and parish, and how everything hinged on her last
winter when they had whooping-cough everywhere in and out of doors;
indeed she doubts whether the girl has ever quite thrown off the
effects of all her exertions then. Suddenly comes a trampling, a
bounce and a rush, and in dashes Miss Jane, fiercely demanding
whether the children had leave to go to the cove. Poor Margaret
meekly responds that she had consented. "And didn't you know,"
exclaims the damsel, "that all their everyday boots are in that
unlucky trunk?" There is a humble murmur that Chattie had promised
to be very careful, but it produces a hotter reply. "As if
Chattie's promises of that kind could be trusted! And I had _TOLD_
them that they were to keep with baby on the cliff!" Then came a
real apology for interfering with Jane's plans, to which we listened
aghast, and Margaret was actually get