e as his father of other people's conduct, but
you felt that Mr Bradshaw was sincere in his condemnation of all
outward error and vice, and that he would try himself by the same
laws as he tried others; somehow, Richard's words were frequently
heard with a lurking distrust, and many shook their heads over the
pattern son; but then it was those whose sons had gone astray, and
been condemned, in no private or tender manner, by Mr Bradshaw, so it
might be revenge in them. Still, Jemima felt that all was not right;
her heart sympathised in the rebellion against his father's commands,
which her brother had confessed to her in an unusual moment of
confidence, but her uneasy conscience condemned the deceit which he
had practised.

The brother and sister were sitting alone over a blazing Christmas
fire, and Jemima held an old newspaper in her hand to shield her
face from the hot light. They were talking of family events, when,
during a pause, Jemima's eye caught the name of a great actor,
who had lately given prominence and life to a character in one of
Shakspeare's plays. The criticism in the paper was fine, and warmed
Jemima's heart.

"How I should like to see a play!" exclaimed she.

"Should you?" said her brother, listlessly.

"Yes, to be sure! Just hear this!" and she began to read a fine
passage of criticism.

"Those newspaper people can make an article out of anything," said
he, yawning. "I've seen the man myself, and it was all very well, but
nothing to make such a fuss about."

"You! you seen ----! Have you seen a play, Richard? Oh, why did you
never tell me before? Tell me all about it! Why did you never name
seeing ---- in your letters?"

He half smiled, contemptuously enough. "Oh! at first it strikes one
rather, but after a while one cares no more for the theatre than one
does for mince-pies."

"Oh, I wish I might go to London!" said Jemima, impatiently. "I've a
great mind to ask papa to let me go to the George Smiths', and then I
could see ----. I would not think him like mince-pies."

"You must not do any such thing!" said Richard, now neither yawning
nor contemptuous. "My father would never allow you to go to the
theatre; and the George Smiths are such old fogeys--they would be
sure to tell."

"How do you go, then? Does my father give you leave?"

"Oh! many things are right for men which are not for girls."

Jemima sat and pondered. Richard wished he had not been so
confidential.

"You need not