fire! fire!" resounded from pit to dome. There was Screams, oaths,

a general rush towards the doors.

mad ejaculations, went up, mingling with hundreds of voices repeating the awful words, "Fire! fire ! fire!" Some even fancied they saw the flames, and were becoming stifled with the smoke. The theatre was cleared in front; not a being was left behind the scenes; the fire-bells were ringing vociferously; the engines thronged the streets; the crowd waited without to behold the bursting flames that were every moment expected to dart from the windows of the building. None appeared.

"Where is the fire? Who gave the alarm?" asked Mr. Belton of a shivering group of actors, who, in their fantastical costumes, were huddled together on the sidewalk.

"I heard it from Mr. Finch! ""

"I heard it from Mr. Swain !''

"I heard it from Mr. Tennent!"

"Mr. Tennent-where is Mr. Tennent? Whom did you hear it from, sir?”

Mrs. Pottle was the first person who gave me the alarm," said Mr. Tennent.

"Yes, I started the alarm, that I did! Mr. Doran -I heard it first from Mr. Doran," said Mrs. Pottle, in a self-congratulating tone. "I gave the alarm on the instant. O, I took care to do that! I do believe it's owing to me that you are all saved!”

"You heard it from me, madam?" said Mr. Doran. "Never! I knew nothing of the fire until half the people had rushed from the theatre.'

"Yes, yes, I did! You knew it well enough. I

found you shouting out 'Fire! fire! fire!' to your daughter, and trying to warn her first."

Mr. Doran's emphatic but somewhat profane reply may better be imagined than set down on paper. An explanation ensued. Mrs. Pottle was driven about by a whirlwind of reproaches.

The actors returned to the theatre; only a portion of the audience could be lured back again. After a short interval the play proceeded, but its doom was inevitable. The performers were more unfitted than ever to personate their parts; the audience was out of humor. In the fourth act a solitary hiss made itself audible. More appalling was that snaky sound to the young author's ears than the terror-inspiring cry of "Fire! fire!"

The hisses increased. Some of the author's friends tried to drown them with laborious applause, but in vain. The disapprobation became general, and several of the company-unfortunate Mrs. Pottle among the number were greeted with cries of

"Off!” “Off!”

The manager ordered the curtain to be abruptly lowered. The dénouement of the play remained in mysterious obscurity.

The mortification of the maltreated author needs no description. A friend, who joined him in his private box, jocosely advised that he should join in the unanimous condemnation, a practice not unknown.

to

dramatists; but Mr. Percy had not learned worldly lessons sufficient to profit by the sage counsel. As the curtain began to unroll, he made his way out of the theatre, and betook himself to flight.

Two hours later, a wearied young girl, upon whose

brow a wreath of white roses slowly withered, stood for a few moments at her chamber window, before retiring. Whose was the muffled form promenading up and down on the opposite side of the street? Whose the countenance so often turned to that casement? It was too dark for the features to be distinguished. Possibly she was deceived, but a low, sweet voice within her whispered that it was the young author.

CHAPTER VIII.

Second Performance of Virginia. - Jealousy of Miss Doran. Impertinent Advances of Mr. Swain. Sabbath. Stella's First Recognition of its Blessedness. —Accidental Meeting with Mr. Percy. Kindred Spirits.-The Young Author's Dream. - Rehearsal of Much Ado about Nothing. Omission of Of

fensive Lines.—Miss Doran's Consequent Derision.— Stella's Failure in the Personation of the Sparkling Beatrice. Miss Doran's Triumph as Hero.-A Night of Torment. The Merciless Critique. — Bitter Reflections of the Novice upon the Life she has entered. Second Performance of Evadne. — Another Frightful Night. — Rehearsal of Juliet. Singular Change in Stella's Demeanor.- Alarm of Mrs. Fairfax. The Friendly Actress determined to snatch Stella from her Perilous Situation. - Sudden Bursts of Hilarity and Fits of Gloom. Perdita in Grief.— Stella's Thrilling Personation of Juliet.— The Audience and the Ballet-Girl. — Close of the Fourth Act.-A Horrible Accident. Sudden Death. The Stage-Manager's Cold-blooded Orders. Stella's Entire Loss of Self-Control. The Manager's Visit to Stella's Dressing-Room. An apparently Inhuman Request. Juliet's Tomb. Terror of the Young Actress. - Mrs. Fairfax concealed in the Sepulchral Vault of the Capulets. — A Novel Conclusion of the Tragedy. The Suffering Actress before the Foot-Lights. - State in which she is taken Home.— Mr. Percy.

ONE day without a rehearsal! one single welcome day in that toilsome week! Virginius was announced for repetition on Saturday night; and, having once been acted during Mr. Tennent's engagement, no further rehearsal was required.

The brilliant comedy of Much Ado about Nothing was selected for Monday night. The hours usually occupied at rehearsal Stella passed with her tutor.

Her second embodiment of Virginia was a more artistic performance than the first, yet characterized by equal freshness and freedom from mannerism. The evening would have been one of unalloyed exultation, but for the determined persecution of Miss Doran. Though she had no character to personate in the tragedy, she chose to remain behind the scenes, and sought in a hundred trivial ways to annoy the detested novice.

Mr. Swain enacted Icilius, as before. It was very obvious that he entertained a growing admiration for the representative of Virginia. The unfeigned jealousy of Miss Doran gratified his vanity. Stella was surprised and mortified by the preposterous airs that he now assumed, the insinuating tone in which he ventured to address her, his languishing glances and assiduous attentions. These impertinent advances were repelled with the most frigid hauteur. In that short week her character had developed with gigantic growth. Dark shadows were introduced into the picture, before all light, and by their sombre aid its distinguishing features were more strongly revealed.

Sabbath, the blessed Sabbath! Never had this day been so welcome to Stella. When life was but a pastime, existence a holiday, divided between the pursuit of pleasure and a struggle against ennui, she had too often looked upon Sunday as a period of weariness, an interruption to the amusements of the week. The rigid observance of the sacred day