own day.

"Good morning, my dear Miss Merryheart," said Jacques, removing his
glove and holding out his jewelled hand.

The girl laughed artlessly, and gave him her hand, saying:

"Good morning, sir; but you have mistaken my name."

"Mistaken your name?"

"Yes, sir; it is Martha."

"And not Merryheart; but you are not responsible. Merryheart is your
real name--not Martha, who was 'cumbered,' you know."

"But I _am_ 'cumbered,'" replied the girl with a laugh.

"How, my dear madam?" asked the courteous Jacques.

"By my satchel."

"Ah! let me carry it for you."

"No, no."

"Why not?"

"I won't trouble you."

"No trouble in the world--I shall leave you in a street or two. Come!"

And he took the satchel, and passing his cane through the handles,
gracefully deposited it behind his shoulders, as a beggar does his
bundle.

The girl laughed heartily; and this seemed to afford the melancholy
lover much satisfaction.

"Do they teach laughing at the Reverend Mrs. White's?" he asked.

"Laughing, sir?"

"Yes; I thought you had been taking lessons."

"Oh, sir!"

"Come! no fine-lady airs. I never compliment--we are too intimate."

And Jacques shifted his packet to the other shoulder.

"Just go to the ball and laugh in that way," he said, "and you'll slay
all the hearts in a circle of ten feet."

The girl repeated the fatal ceremony with more energy than ever. The
street echoed with it.

"I'm going to the ball, sir," she said; "Bathurst--you know
Bathurst--he says he will go with me."

"Little innocent!"

"Sir?"

"I was reflecting, my dear little friend," said the melancholy
Jacques, "upon the superiority of your sex before they reach the age
of womanhood."

"How, sir?"

"Why, thus. Suppose I had addressed that question to a fine lady--'Are
you going to the ball, madam?'--what would her reply have been?"

"I don't know," laughed the girl, pushing back a stray lock from her
forehead.

"I'll tell you," continued Jacques. "With a negligent and careless air
she would have said, 'Really, sir--I do not know--I have scarcely made
up my mind--if I decide to go--I shall not go, however, I think--if I
go, it will be with Mr. Blank--I have half promised him;' and so
forth. How wearisome! You, on the contrary, my little friend, clap
your hands and cry, 'Oh! I am going! Bathurst says he'll go with me!'
Bathurst is a good boy; isn't he your sweetheart?"

The girl blushed and laughed.

"No, indeed, sir