KIDD'S JOURNAL. 



317 



MAN AND WOMAN; 

 A Romance of Real Life. 



Frailty ! thy name is woman." — Shakspeare. 



There are very few of us who know any- 

 thing of human nature, that will not enter at 

 once into the spirit of the subjoined most 

 interesting sketch, which we have abridged 

 from one of a series of papers, called the 

 " Fly," in our excellent and useful contem- 

 porary, the Family Herald. These papers, 

 we have before remarked, emanate from a 

 lady — one every way deserving the title, and 

 one thoroughly versed in the ins and outs of 

 society at large. The parties represented 

 are — a gentleman lover, and his fiancee ; also 

 some of our domestic gossips. The picture 

 altogether is so good, that it deserves a 

 place in the public's Own Journal. What 

 a lesson does it not teach us, if we be wise 

 enough to " take ! " 



There is something about the appearance 

 of a lover going to visit his " heart's idol " 

 that betrays him to an observant eye. His 

 step so elastic, his eyes so bright, his dress 

 so spruce, his " chin new-reaped," his hair 

 so elaborately brushed and perfumed — in 

 everything his feelings and his errand are 

 manifest. I saw such a one mount nimbly 

 to the outside of an omnibus one afternoon, 

 so I resolved immediately to accompany 

 him. The omnibus went out into one of 

 those quiet regions where semi-detached 

 villas try to look countryried in the midst of 

 their little nebulous gardens, in which the 

 grass bears evidence of having been recently 

 transported from some ill- cultivated field ; 

 and a few saplings, like aspiring Cockney 

 boys, who ape the manners of men, do their 

 best to look like trees. The suburb into 

 which we were carried was in a state of 

 greater maturity than this. By constant 

 care the coarse and weedy grass had become 

 respectable garden turf, and the trees were 

 nearly as tall as the houses, affording shady 

 nooks that were really refreshing after the 

 noise and dust of London. 



" Is Miss Winton at home ? " asked my 

 gentleman, of the smart damsel who answered 

 his summons at the gate of one of the villas. 



" No, sir, but I expect her in very soon ; " 

 and she opened the gate wide, inviting him 

 to enter. 



" I will wait, then," he replied, after a 

 momentary hesitation, as though undecided 

 whether to stay or to go away, and punish her 

 at the expense of both. He was evidently 

 much chagrined, for the brightness had left 

 his face, and his brow was darkened. The 

 girl opened the door of an elegantly-fur- 

 nished room, and he went moodily in, and 

 threw himself into a chair. " How is Mrs. 



Winton ? " he asked hastily, as the girl was 

 quitting the room. 



" Much the same, sir, thank you. She 

 never leaves her chamber now. Shall I take 

 any message, sir ? " 



" My kind regards, and I am sorry to hear 

 she is no better," he replied. 



The servant withdrew, and he was left to 

 his own thoughts, in the quiet of that 

 almost rural apartment. No sound broke 

 the deep hush of the summer's afternoon, 

 except the slow flapping of the window- 

 blinds as the faint breeze stirred them ; and 

 the monotonous hum of a stray bee, that 

 was busy among a vase of fresh flowers. He 

 took up a book, and threw it aside — another, 

 and another — all seemed vapid and dull. 

 Then he walked to one of the windows, and 

 looked out into the small garden at 

 the back of the house. It was well kept, 

 and full of flowers ; and by the wall that 

 divided it from the next garden, there was a 

 pleasant seat, shaded from the sun by thick 

 evergreen shrubs. He stepped out of the 

 window, which opened to the ground, and 

 ensconced himself in this comfortable place. 

 He was annoyed and vexed at Miss Winton's 

 absence, but the perfect stillness and the 

 heat of the weather overcame him ; he 

 was beginning to yield to a sensation of 

 drowsiness, when a voice on the other side 

 of the leafy screen fell upon his ear. He 

 turned his head, and saw that the speaker 

 was the same girl who had admitted him into 

 the house. He seemed about to move or 

 cough, to warn her of his proximity, but the 

 first words she uttered held him breathless. 



" Polly ! Polly ! " she cried, leaning over 

 the low wall, and calling to some one in the 

 neighboring garden, " he's come ! Miss 

 Fanny told me she expected him ; and she's 

 gone out on purpose to make believe that 

 she's not too anxious to jump into his mouth 

 the moment he opens it." 



'.' Where's she gone, then ? " demanded 

 another voice. 



" Only to her cousin's. She can see him 

 pass the window ; and then, when she thinks 

 he has waited long enough, she'll come in 

 and tell him she has been out on business 

 for her ' poor mamma,' and was detained by 

 the lawyer." 



" What a lark ! " said the other gossip. 

 " Lor, how I should like to see him." 



" Well, keep on the look-out, and I'll let 

 you know when he's going ; or perhaps 

 they'll walk out here in the evening, and 

 then you can have a good look at him." 



" It's him that wrote them letters, isn't 

 it?" 



" Yes, that's him. She met him at her 

 uncle's, at Maidstone." 



" What lots of lovyers she have had ! 

 Haven't she?" 



