you would never know how I loved you, I felt as though my heart were breaking."

"Hush, dear! you must not grow pale over these memories. How could you tear me, when you knew I worshipped the ground you walked upon." "Ah, it is all over and gone! Now I shall never doubt you again-never Guy;" then looking at him with all her soul in her eyes, "You must not do all the worship."

"Why not?" stooping over her and kissing the broad white forehead.

"You must leave a little of that to me."

Guy Chichester did not go to London that night. Just before midnight he and Kelpie made their appearance in the library at Ingleside, startling William Elliott from a fireside meditation.

The clergyman dropped his hand wearily from his forehead as Kelpie rushed in with his rousing bark, and began describing circles on the rug. Guy thrust his hands in his pockets and whistled nonchalantly as he took his usual lounging attitude against the mantelpiece. Will's look of astonishment baffled description.

"What, you have not gone after all, or has the train broken down?"

"Not to my knowledge. A man is allowed to change his mind, I suppose? Latimer's cubs may take care of themselves. My days at St. Luke's are over."

Will stared at him. Then he put on his spectacles and regarded him fixedly for a minute, took them off again, and said, "Oh !"

Guy Chichester stroked his beard with a conscious air.

"I have not hurt your feelings, have I, Elliott ?"

"Not at all."

"It is not good to be neglectful of one's own parish."

"True."

"Kentish Town may be a stronghold of the Philistines, but there may be heathens very near one's hearth. My head gardener Crouch has a strong savour of Calvinistic doctrine about him. He told me the other day that he knew he was predestined to eternal torment. I ought to have it out with him. Charity begins at home, eh?"

"I don't know. I think it too often stops there," growled Will, who for once chose to be in a perverse humor.

times. Why can't you be more tender over 2 returning prodigal? It is better by far to tik old Humphrey; he would not hedge up a ma' good resolutions in the way you are doing."

"Humph! it is never too late to merd. S. you are going to reform, are you, squire? Har you found a cure for your restlessness ?"

"I have a great mind to keep my own course. to punish you for your irony."

"Why do you disappoint a man's expectations, then? I thought you were going to be a second Mungo Park, or Captain Cook at least; that y would discover some inaccessible mountain r navigate some untraversable lake. Who quen s the godlike spirit of enterprise within you? Hi ha! Prometheus chained! Guy Chichester bind in the Happy Valley!"

Mr. Chichester smiled grimly.

"By the fates, you try my patience too far. Is that all your priest-craft can do for a repent."! sinner, terrify him with a nightmare of vu? To the winds with such sorry prophecies! I a whole Arcadia framed and glazed in my min. 1 eye."

"Pipe on, then, to a chorus of Phyllises and Corydons," muttered Will drowsily. But Guy Chichester was too much in earnest to heed his satire.

"I have asked too much of life. After all, a man has only to limit his desires to reap content I don't think that my notions are utopian, „fter all."

"That depends on common sense being one of the ingredients," was the somewhat uncivi, n But Mr. Chichester went on undaunted by the

sarcasm.

"Amen, and all honor to Miss Nethecote." Guy started and turned red. "Who told you? I mean, how did you guess

it ?"

"Do you think it needed any telling when one could look at your face? There, let us cease this fencing. I congratulate you with my whole heart;" and as Will held out his hand Guy Chichester caught it and wrung it fervently.

"You are a good fellow, Elliott. God bless you! She has told me all about it, and how you stood my friend; and I am happier than I have ever been in my life. And, Elliott, is she not an

angel?".

She is what is better still, a pure loving woman. Will you take it amiss if I say a word to you?"

"Of course not."

"Heaven is granting you a treasure. You have lost it once; be careful how you guard it for the future."

"You have every right to say this to me," returned Guy impatiently; "but do you think such advice is needful? I have suffered too much to peril my happiness again."

"He that thinketh he standeth," repeated Will solemnly."Forgive me if I seem to be preaching; but I do not believe that any earthly motive-any affection, however strong-can avail us in an hour of temptation. Sometimes when I look at you I tremble, for you seem to stand alone."

"My good angel will always be near me," replied Guy Chichester softly.

"They are always near us," returned Will, with a sigh, "mine as well as yours; and yet we have our falls sometimes. When our hands are down, the Amalekites prevail; when we least expect it, our Philistines are upon us."

"I am not worthy of her; I feel that." "She would love you if you were ten times as unworthy. I only want you to prove your armor. You see, I am claiming my rights of friendship in speaking so openly. Well, and so your days at St. Luke's are over?"

"Yes, thank Heaven; but I hope to be a good friend to it still. What do you think Honor says? That some day I must take her to see all our old haunts."

"I shall bring my wife to see you. Oh, Elliott, does it not seem strange to think the old lonely life is passed away like some bad dream-the restlessness and fever gone, and love, work, reality, replacing it? Honor has such a large heart; if I let her she will be the good lady of St. Luke's as well as of our village.

"You must not leave us entirely; I can ill spare you," returned Will with some emotion. I love to think of those old days, when you came over and helped us." "Poor Elliott! I always said the work was too hard for you. Your sister little knew you were on the brink of illness when I fetched you away. But these two months' rest will set you up, eh? ' "Yes, I am getting well and hearty again; but I doubt if this idleness agrees with me. I feel restless out of the traces.'

"Nonsense! By-the-by, Elliott, I have something to ask you. What is your opinion of Latimer ?"

"Of your cousin, do you mean ?"

"Well, Lat's a good fellow, if Kate were not too much for him. You are better off without a helpmeet."

Will winced. His friend's words touched a sore place. In his younger days he had had pleasant visions of a happy home and wife and children, before poverty and his infirmities had debarred him of this hope. His was a nature keenly alive to the pain of loneliness and want of sympathy, though few guessed what the renunciation. had cost him. Silent and many were the victories that his quiet endurance won. Stern only with himself, he was uniformly gentle with others; and he had learned not only to sympathize with the sad and suffering, but, what was far harder, te rejoice in their joy.

For one moment something like bitterness crossed his mind as he contrasted himself with his friend; the one revelling in health, strength, full of vigor, rich in intellect, laden with the

session of a loving heart; the other, young, yet

strangely conversant with pain, bound by infirmity, an object of pity even to those who reverenced him, his great intellect earning for him the merest pittance, his hearth cold and lonely, no woman's face within his home, no child to come creeping about his knees.

But as though he felt the cold touch of some demon, he shook off his sadness with gentle

sarcasm.

"You are wrong. I have a grimmer helpmeet than your cousin. Long years ago I wooed her and she came to me. She keeps my hearth clean, but not warm; her embraces are as chaste as snow and as cold as ice."

Mr. Chichester made a grimace.

"If I read your riddle aright, Elliott, I should sue for a divorce."

"For shame! I will not have you deride my mistress! You only see her homely features; she keeps all her beauties for me. No, I have honestly won her, and shall keep her till death."

"Mark my words! In a few months you will change her for a richer bride."

"Rank heresy! What! abjure poverty?" "Moderate wealth would add to your means of doing good."

"I prefer my present stewardship. What can be nobler work than the cure of souls ?"

"Pooh! there are souls as valuable to be saved up here. Did I not tell you about my gardener Crouch? Would you have the poor man spend his life in terror of eternal perdition? He has worsted Latimer in an argument already."

66

'My dear Chichester, what have I to do with Mr. Fortescue, or Crouch either?"

"You may have plenty to do with both if you will. You have given me advice, and I shall take the liberty of repaying it with interest. There are stronger men needed at St. Luke's."

"Granted; but where could you find one more willing? St. Luke's is my life."

"Lythe is the very man for it."

Will looked mystified, he repeated, “I tell y I have settled it all with him."

"I am quite as much in the dark as ever." Mr. Chichester gave one of his hearty laughs "To be sure. I have never explained myse Well, I don't know whether it is Kate's fa es or whether Latimer is really delicate on the chest: anyhow, my mother, Grey and Kate, have agined it between them, and Latimer is to spet the next two or three winters at Mentone. Sune one has offered him a chaplaincy there." "I really think he is delicate."

"I suspect it is a bit of overcaution-a bit of remorse on my lady's part for nearly worrying him into an early grave; or most likely she 5-s the vicarage dull as well as damp in the winter, these dark-eyed women are so artful."

"You are too hard on Mrs. Fortescue. I think her a charming person."

"My dear fellow, your charity is so universa. that I believe you would extend it to Mea herself. You would ask her so prettily to avert bor death-darting glances, that her Gorgon soul wo! be charmed. If there is anything I detest, it s charity."

Will smiled resignedly.

"Charitable people are so slow. If everybody were to agree with you, the world would not be worth living in. Depend upon it, Adam and Eve were dreadfully tired of each other before Eve conceived the brilliant idea of eating the ple."

"Do you know you would shock any one who did not know you as well as I do ?"

"Kate's name always rankles. I believe I hate that woman; she is sheer humbug, and Lat belevs in her. So you like my lady, eh ?"

"She has been very good-natured to me. Da rather dislikes her, I believe."

"Bravo, Miss Dym! Well, Latimer being oà duty half the year, it is quite indispensabe to have a good resident curate, who can take charge

light, the pay good as such things go-two hundred

Will was silent.

"My dear fellow, I have arranged it all with Latimer. He has his faults, I allow, he is confoundedly proud, but he is a very jewel of a vicar. He will leave you to all your vagaries." And as

said."

"Indeed, is it usual in these northern pan for the squire to add another hundred to te curate's stipend ?"

Mr. Chichester looked disconcerted.

"A hundred and fifty being nearer the mark."

"What makes you so sharp to-night? I suppose I may do as I like in my own parish?"

"Indeed, are you the lay rector?"

"You are very good, but I am not what you think me," murinured poor Will.

"What do you care what we think of you?" returned Guy testily. "Just when I want to make every one as happy as I am—not that that is possible," he added hastily. "I always thought it was your wish to provide a home for your sister;

"If you will undertake this charge, the two hundred and fifty a year will be yours; if you refuse, it will go to another man."

"I trust you will find one to your liking," replied Will, gently.

"What! you decline?" “I fear I must do so.”

"You call me your friend, and refuse the first favor I have ever asked you! Do you know I have set my heart upon this?"

it."

"You tempt me sorely," returned Will in an agitated voice. "If it were for her good-but no, I cannot reconcile it to my sense of duty. Mr. Benedict is getting old. I have become almost like a son to him. He has just stinted himself to add another fifty pounds to my salary. You are wrong when you pity me. I have more than a sufficiency for my needs."

but I cannot leave St. Luke's."

"Tut, man! your reasons?" "I have given them."

"None that I recognize as such. Do be reasonable, Elliott, and look at this in a sober matter-of-fact way. Does not common sense tell you you are not the man for a dense over-populated parish like that?"

"I am not much to look at, certainly," returned Will with a faint smile; "but I am young to be superannuated and set down to do nothing in a country village. Hitherto my strength has been like the widow's cruse, it has never failed me."

"Don't boast, it may give way to-morrow. Do I not know what work at St. Luke's means? I hate to think of you in those close squalid streets."

"Such as it is, it is the very breath of my life. Take me away from St. Luke's and I am nothing." "You used not to say so."

"No; six months ago I should have thought differently. I have learnt to know myself and St. Luke's better now. Don't ask me to leave my people."

Mr. Chichester walked up and down the room hurriedly.

"Such Quixotic nonsense, such a lamentable want of common sense!" he muttered. "I have

set my heart on this. We want you near us. It would have pleased Honor-I know it would. She always says our drowsy parish wants waking up. You are just the one to arouse us."

"Do you think I have forgotten her? Poor little Dym! No; I am not quite so selfish as ! that. It is partly for her sake that I refuse." "Your reasons?" again demanded Guy. "Pardon me if I keep some of them to myself," returned Will with a look of pain. His friend's generous persistence distressed him beyond measure. "Probably if you had offered me this last. spring, when Dym was with me, I should have accepted it joyfully. I think now that it is better that she should continue independent of me."

"Why so? Her brother is her natural protector. I do not yet know Honor's wishes, but if she leave us would you turn her on the world again?"

"No, no. Ah, how you harass my resolution! It is hard enough to do one's duty; but if there be a doubt which is one's duty! Give me a few days to think over this. I will speak to Dym herself."

"Do so by all means," returned Guy joyfully, who took this hesitation for victory. "I have not a doubt of what Miss Elliott will say."

I was a sort of radical preacher in the town of Southwell. The leading spiritualists of the place used regularly to attend my ministrations. In fact, their eloquent lecturer, Mrs. Etheredge, generally honored me with her presence on Sunday mornings, and has been known to say, more than once, that she caught from me the inspirations of her brilliant evening discourses. But quick, lucid minds readily catch inspirations from insignificant as well as from more important things and beings, and I never counted much on the compliment either way. I only refer to it to show in what estimation I was held by the parties whose faith and practices I am about to speak of in pretty plain terms. In fact, the mediums who came to town, and their and my warmest admirers (for all preachers have admirers of course), constantly insisted that I, by right and nature, was a medium, and ought to cultivate my latent, perhaps slightly dormant, powers. I admitted all they said. It flattered my vanity a little; for most preachers have some vanity, too, but I constantly persisted that the highest uses of men were to be reached by conquering and assimilating the ghosts, that enter into or hover about us, according to the average total sense of our own being; that to control the spirits instead of allowing the spirits, of whisky say, or our forefathers or grandmothers, or dead sweethearts to control us, was the highest and only true aim of a rational human soul. Hence, for one, I intended to keep awake as long as I could, as wide awake as possible, to discourage day-dreams and night-dreams, and when anything was to be

submitted to my senses, judgment or faith, to keep the lights all burning; the first step in any tr investigation and progress always being to get as much of the devil's darkness out of the way, and as many sunbeams as possible into the way, betore attempting anything like a judgment on the ques tions at issue.

But they were right as to my native mun ability. Many a night in my early boyhood an! young manhood, after long strolls in the ev twilight, while snugly seated by the edge of a 5: old English woods, have I seen the spirits,-f."', lovely shadows and resurrections of the past, naterializations of old loves and dreams-omie?? is slowly, and as it were cautiously vaporize cut of the woods and linger in my sight, as if wragedia thoughts they longed to reveal; sometimes q take shape and flit across the vision, as if pass g me perhaps for nearer communion with more 125 genial souls.

And as for ghosts, witches and witcher it mi was used to it all from a child. An old w lived within a few doors of our home who left her house in the daylight; but, always promis, the streets at night. She had a shrivel peekey and peering, starved-rat-looking fice, # sent a chill as of midnight ague oozing three blood. I firmly believed that she could t through the keyhole of my bed-room door we da with me just as she pleased when I was asleen, and more than once in my youth I awoke during t midnight hours and saw her old haggard fae a the foot of the bed.