of "The Old Curiosity Shop," followed at the same house. "Notre Dame" was produced at the Adelphi on Easter Monday, 1871. The piece had a run of two hundred and fifty-six nights. The author's latest production is "Hilda, the Miser's Daughter," now successfully running at the Adelphi. Mr. Halliday was the editor of the "Savage Club Papers," very popular among a large class of readers. As our portraits all are in the caricatura style, we have, in reference to his adaptations of the novels of Scott and Ainsworth, represented Mr. Halliday as leaning on them for support; but it is almost unnecessary to add, in the case of so successful a writer, that he can walk very well without anything but his own talent to help him along. The task of an adapter is a very difficult one, and Mr. Halliday's success is complete. Mr. Chatterton said, at Drury-lane, "Byron spelt bankruptcy and Shakspeare ruin" for him as a manager. With Mr. Halliday's assistance, he has had some of the greatest successes ever known at Drury-lane. Still, in our opinion, Mr. Halliday's original productions are of very much more lasting value in literature than such pieces as "Kenilworth," "Rebecca," and "Hilda," eminently well as those plays have hit the public taste, and supplied the wants of two popular theatres. PETER MACJOY'S APRIL FOOL. ing place in the regiment: home soldiers replacing old friends, and the regiment going through that phase of existence incidental to a return home from Indian service, when the discrepancy of Indian and home pay has been fully realized. Wealthy men, who kept horses, and could ride, and also who could not ride, joined the regiment, and, with all the unimpaired vitality of home blood, were bent upon getting as much amusement out of soldiering as it would possibly admit of trusting, by the time the regiment is ordered again upon foreign service, to be able to settle comfortably down upon the family estates with the cheaply earned title of Captain. Of Peter Macjoy's belongings very little was known in the regiment. True it is that, under the genial influence of evening toddy, he had been heard to hint at certain paternal acres in the far North, with many retainers-where lairds, it seemed, had it pretty much their own way, and kept recalcitrant tenants in a wholesome state of subjection; but as none of the paternal rent-roll seemed to make its way over the border into Peter's pocket, we must charitably presume that the retainers were too numerous to allow of any such display of parental solicitude. As we said before, Peter was sorrowful. There gradually was borne in upon his mind the fact that his regimentals ought to be renewed; that they did not contrast favourably in the mazy dance; that not even a display of medals and clasps can entirely upset the correlation of man and his outside cover PETER MACJOY, the hero of my story, ings. But there were still more bitter dregs was in no way remarkable. Mentally and physically, his attributes were much of the ordinary average. Scotch by birth and parentage, and a lieutenant-quartered on the south coast of England-in a foot regiment, with barely sufficient means to keep off the constable, it is not to be wondered at that he looked with no very favourable eyes upon every contemplated festivity projected by his regiment, which had but lately returned from India. Peter had grilled out the supernumerary steps up to his present position at the top of the lieutenants, and the momentous question with him now was, could he manage to hold on, or should he be compelled to exchange to a regiment in India, and commence mounting the ladder again from its last rung of lieutenants ? Peter was sorrowful. Changes were tak in his cup. There were rumours of his being speedily purchased over-not a pleasant anticipation at any time, but more than usually galling in the present instance; for the next man down for purchase was FitzSinester. Now, Macjoy did not love Sinester, and Sinester superciliously hated Macjoy; and during the temporary absence of officers, fate had placed them in the same company, Peter commanding, with Fitz as sub. This wide-awake youth-the Admirable Crichton of the younger subalterns-had been gazetted to a lieutenantcy some time since; but, from no very clear cause, had joined only upon the return of the regiment to home service. Fitz-Sinester knew his way about-at least, he thought he did, which must be equally comforting. His vicarious interest at the Horse Guards was a favourite theme; his knowledge of life, something to listen to and profit by. He had seen the His weakness has this month assumed the form of "April Fooling." Most of his brother subs have been made victims-all except grave and self-contained Peter Macjoy; and that this should not have been encompassed is a matter of secret chagrin to Fitz. Now, however-instigated he must have been by the Nemesis of past victims-he saunters down to where Peter is silently vegetating, and exclaims, with his most provoking air of superiority "Ah! Macjoy, you don't go the pace, I see. Want a partner, eh? Now, shall I introduce you to a lovely girl-regular high stepper-just can go the pace, and no mistake?" More, perhaps, with a view of speedily disembarrassing himself from these hateful attentions, Peter accompanies his treacherous sub down the room. Once or twice Sinester makes a feint of stopping to fulfil his promise to the letter; but it is only a feint. However, he does introduce Macjoy to a partner, whispering as he leaves him"April Fool, old boy!" The net proceeds of this silly and apparently trivial proceeding are that Peter finds himself standing up in the next quadrille with a buxom lady of a "certain age," all smiles and amiability, whose black eyes beam sentimental admiration, not unmixed with matronly pride, for the decorated young soldier at her side. Here, at least, was a Desdemona totally indifferent to the brilHeliancy of bullion or the texture of broadcloth. Now, the next festivity contemplated was to be a grand ball, given in honour of the inspection of the regiment in the month of April by a Royal Duke; and it is upon this occasion that we wish personally to present our hero, as he, with his not over-brilliant epaulettes, is making a rather shady wallflower of his person in close propinquity to the doorway. Sinester is there, of course. is on the committee, and an M.C., and in particularly fine feather. It is now well understood that not a great many days will elapse before he is gazetted to a company; and he has consequently mounted a very tall horse indeed, whilst his supercilious patronage of his admirers is something to be remembered. Let us, however, do him the justice to say that he is really a very presentable youth-tall and gentlemanlike, with good eyes, and particularly fine teeth; and one who has an abundant stock of agreeable small talk. And then his dancing! Who could think of tendering his clumsy efforts when Fitz-Sinester evinced any intention of putting in his claim for the hand of a fair partner? Fitz would sail down upon the prize, scattering all bashful indecision, like a large trout amid a swarm of minnows. There are some men whose personality must be ever cropping to the front, or they are miserable. Such a one is Fitz-Sinester. Assuming the privilege of her sex and seniority, yet with considerable tact and breeding, she induced him to talk of himself, of India, of his services, and even of those mysterious family acres. Probably, she had an intuitive sense that her partner was not floating quite down the mid-stream of prosperity; for, with gentle and appropriate speech, she touched upon what she was pleased to term the "hateful system of purchase," that made merit so subservient to money, and flooded the country with military titled jeunesses dorées. And our hero-how fell these kindly sympathetic sentences upon him?—this man, so lonely, yet with such need of sympathy-just now in the very winter of his discontent. We cannot answer, but henceforth assume only the privilege of chronicling certain events as they occur. Peter danced again and again with the same partner; was altogether aux petits soins during the evening; took her in to supper; and finally, having cloaked and hooded, saw her into her carriage. Peter danced not again that night. He was more than usually absorbed and thoughtful, and was heard muttering over and over again the name of a well-known British perfume. The next day, after luncheon, Peter was seen making his way through the most fashionable neighbourhood of the suburbs; where he was observed to enter an abode bearing the sweet title of Lavender Lodge. Some time in the evening, he was seen roving by the "sad sea wave," in company with his partner of the night before; and for the whole of the next week he must have been pleasantly occupied, for he looked so supremely happy. At this date Peter sat up late with MacNab, the surgeon of the regiment, an elderly married man. Their conversation was of a strictly confidential nastrictly confidential nature; all that was ever heard of it was its concluding sentence, as Macjoy took his departure "I tell ye, mon, gin she hae the siller, and gin she lo❜es ye, she'll do it." The next day, at visiting time, Lieutenant Peter Macjoy and Dr. MacNab were announced at Lavender Lodge. Peter was on duty, was subaltern of the day—at least, he said he was-and was compelled, after a short stay, to leave MacNab to entertain his fair friend. But here, again, the door is shut against us; for of what they conversed there is no record. The next morning, by an early train, the doctor and a lady started for London. There was very considerable driving about the city, from one spot to another, terminating in a visit to Craig's-court, and an interview with the well-known army agents. The doctor and his protegée got home about six o'clock p.m., and Macjoy met them at the station. The day following this event, Macjoy had an interview with the Colonel, who subsequently addressed a communication to the Horse Guards. Two days after this, Peter Macjoy made application for two months' leave of absence, to commence from the 1st of May. Now was observed in the letter-rack a large missive bearing the seal of the firm at Craig's-court, and addressed to Lieutenant Fitz-Sinester. But where was Fitz-Sinester, that he let his correspondence lie unclaimed? No one exactly knew. The truth was that Fitz, with his usual savoir faire, had obtained a few days' leave of absence to visit a neighbouring squire, the possessor of streams more than usually well stocked with trout. He has been absent ten days; and we reintroduce him on the last day of the month of April, which this year happens to fall upon a Friday. It is evening, and the mess nearly half over, as, after a hurried toilet, he enters, and takes his seat at the table. "Good evening to you, Mr. Fitz-Sinester," says the Major-the senior officer. "Have you got your letters yet?" "Not had time yet, Major, I am obliged to you; but dare say they'll keep a bit. Gazette in yet?" "Not yet, Mr. Fitz-Sinester; but we are looking out for it every minute. Had you not better take a glass of wine?" "Thank you, Major; but we fancy we shall be sufficiently master of the occasion, and-" "Able to subdue all demonstrations of 'glassy essence.' Well, I hope so; but remember few steps are certain in this world except the last and great promotion, which, I fancy, must be entirely without purchase." Fitz is hungry, and applies himself for the next twenty minutes, with considerable zeal, to the demolition of eatables. Then, an evening paper is silently put into the hands of the Major by a mess-servant. "Mr. President, with your permission?" A bow from the President; and, amidst profound stillness, the paper is opened. "Let me see," says the Major. "Ah! here it is. Listen, gentlemen: "War Office, April 30th, 18"Lieutenant Peter Macjoy to be captain by purchase, vice Invalide, who retires. Ensign to be lieutenant, vice Macjoy promoted." Silence continues long after the Major ceases reading. But, alas, poor Sinester! What a crushing blow! What a mortal disappointment! What a complete and unlooked-for checkmate! Large beads of perspiration stand out upon his clammy countenance as he sits in silence, all shrunk and limp, with parched tongue that refuses to utter a word. At length he manages to blurt out— "Must be some mistake, Major." "I'm afraid not, Mr. Sinester. You see, Captain Macjoy has only-though rather late in the day-claimed his privilege of seniority of purchase." "And," commenced Captain Peter Macjoy, from the other end of the table, "you see, it is still the month of Ap—” But, no; the man was down-"consideration like an angel came”—and Peter held his peace. He could afford to be generous. Nay, more, he even sent Fitz-Sinester an invitation for a breakfast appointed to take place the next morning, after a certain ceremony at the parish church, which was duly chronicled as follows: IT T was a bright, gladsome July morning when we left Corcyra Villa. Janet had been worse for two or three days, and she could only be moved from her bed to the sofa. She had no pain. Her head did not ache. She was only so tired and so weary. What she wanted was to rest-ever to rest. She did as we wished without complaining. When we gave her physic, she took it; and when we urged her to take food, she ate and drank what she could. But neither the physic nor the food did her any good. Day after day she became thinner. Her arm seemed scarce bigger than the arm of a wax doll. Her face, too, was thin, but very beautiful. Her eyes had grown larger, and shone with a light like the light of stars. She was very pale, but her cheeks were flushed, always flushed, and most so when she slept. Still I did not know how ill she was until I found she could not walk to the fly. I carried her out of the house, and laid her on the seat of the carriage. It was like carrying a baby, and the nest-egg came into my throat, almost choking me. Dr. Bungay had told us to be cheerful, and we tried to look cheerful whilst we were with her. As we drove from Corcyra Villa, we thought of what might be passing in her mind; but she was calm, and, leaning on me, appeared to doze. Dr. Bungay met us at the station. He had promised to see us off. He had engaged an invalid carriage for us; and to our surprise and our joy, he said that he should go with us to the seaside, and see us settled. His kindness-his loving kindness-nearly overcame us. We could not thank him; but I know we blessed him, and that whilst we live we shall love him for his love to us in our affliction. When a dear one is very sick, and may be sick unto death, the doctor is an angel of hope and comfort to those who fear and mourn. It was a long journey. All the way, Janet and we thought the end was come; but the had her hand in mine. Twice she was faint, good doctor-God bless him!-never lost his courage. He gave her some stimulant, and she recovered. Her hand that she laid in mine was cold as marble, and I could not warm it; and the cold of it struck to my heart. She It was pitiable to look at Matilda. did not talk; and whenever she had a chance she wiped her eyes. She was always a good mother, but never so gentle as now. Oh, it was very pitiable to see her staring in the face of the doctor, trying to find out what he thought about her child. The rooms that Dr. Bungay had hired for us were near the sea; and when the window of Janet's room was opened, we could feel the fresh breeze and hear the rolling of the waves, and the voices of the children playing on the beach. Next day the doctor returned to London. Other patients needed his care, and he told us that the physician could do nothing for our child-that we must be prepared for the worst, whilst we still hoped and prayed. When Dr. Bungay left us, we felt alone and helpless. For more than a month my darling child was lying on her bed, and no change for the better. Still no pain whatever, only weariness, only the craving to rest, and to rest for ever. No crying, no complaining, and weaker every hour. When I think of that time, the nest-egg comes into my throat. Nearly the whole day long I sat by her, holding her hand. Not a tear, not a murmur. She was still and patient as a dying flower. One afternoon she was sleeping. The sea breeze that came in the open window played with her hair that hung loose over the pillow, and her face was never more beautiful. She had become so like an angel: the |