pain. She lets me rattle on at my own pace-don't you, dear?'

With this she drew her mother toward her, gave her a tender kiss, and smoothed down her hair.

What could a parent do with such a child! She folded her arms around her, and fondled over the prattler of nonsense.

'Indeed, mamma! you spoil that girl,' said Julia, almost in anger. 'You may be making a rod for your own back.'

'Then I'll come and kiss the place to make it well,' the wilful sister said.

'My children!' now spoke the mother. 'Bear with one another. Different as you may appear to each other, you are the same in my eyes. I know you are both truthful and loving. I may at times have fears from, Annie, your vivacity, and from, Julia, your morbidity. But I can see honest principle under the gaiety of one, and cheerful tenderness beneath the sombreness of the other. You are both affectionate daughters, and dutiful in your service to the Good One.'

The sisters tenderly embraced, and laughed away any lingering doubt of each other.

CHAPTER XX.

TOM'S COURTING.

'Why, Tom?' said one of his companions, 'What is the matter with you? You look like Samson shorn of his locks.'

'Or like strained cream,' said a second.

'No,' added a third, 'I have it. He has been jilted by his sweetheart, and takes on.'

'Look here, lads,' answered Tom, now put on his metal, 'you are all wrong. I have lately been putting on sackcloth and ashes, less on account of your sins than for the loss of your senses.'

'Bravo!' they sang aloud. 'Tom is himself again.'

In truth, a change had come over him. Those at home observed it. His mother said that if he had been much younger, she might have thought measles were coming on. As it was, she recommended something good for a cold. There must be one thing or the other the matter with him, for he had not half his usual appetite. 'Poor Tom!' She had not said 'Poor Tom' before.

His sisters observed it. At first a little uneasy, they soon fell to roasting him terribly. No-it was not the cholera, the lumbago, nor even the office. Nothing but love could possibly be the cause. They were sure of it. They commanded him to clear his

conscience, and so get rid of his fever; to admit them as confessors, and enjoy his steak once more.

The brothers were less critical than the girls, but were quite at a loss to know why Tom did not go in for exercise and fun as he did before. When told by the sisters it was from love, they devotedly hoped they should never be stricken down with that malady. Tom stoutly denied the charge. He was quite well, never better. He was as jolly as a sandboy—never jollier. How could a fellow eat that weather! But he did eat, and as heartily as ever. Grave, eh! That was a joke. But was he to be always grinning? The fact was, he told them, he found his mouth getting so large with previous laughing, that he was fearful girls looking into it might fancy a cavern, a shark's maw, a pudding bag, or any other monstrous idea; and he had resolutely determined to shut up a while to get a bit less ugly..

Folks shook their heads at this, and spoke of Sham Abraham and other distinguished tricksters.

It was all perfectly true. Tom had changed. Some went so far as to talk of the loss of three stones' weight; but that was an exaggeration of the fact. One declared the young fellow's face was as long as his arm; but that was a mere figure of speech. Another ventured upon the assertion that Tom's last joke had interfered with his digestion; but Tom's jokes were not accustomed to be as low as that.

Horace had not been unsuspicious of the affair. He

noticed the obvious change in his friend's deportment to date from the evening when they together first went to Woodbine Cottage.

And so it was. The association might have been taken nearer than to Woodbine Cottage; even to a certain conversation with a certain person on a certain evening, near or within the said cottage.

But what had made the change? Had he, with his usual dash and daring, plunged into a matrimonial difficulty? Had he, plump and plain, made an offer right off the reel, without a moment's pause to see if the lady had thought at all of him? And had he, as the result of this ill-timed precipitation, got a pointblank denial, and sent adrift with, or without, the traditional flea in his ear?

No-Tom had not proposed, had not given way to impetuosity, had been guilty of no rashness, and had obtained no repulse from lady fair.

On the contrary, he had been on his good behaviour, was thoroughly satisfied with himself, and by no means displeased with ladies in general, or Julia in particular.

Then, what was the change, if any,—and how had it been brought about?

He was more thoughtful and less selfish. Once he had only cared how to add to his own comfort, to his own pleasure. If he laughed with others, it made him merry. If he played with others, it stirred up his blood to pleasurable excitement. He now suddenly

felt his mind drawn to another beyond his own immediate self, and yet not wholly foreign to himself. This made him more thoughtful.

Once again, he lived for the present. In sport and labour, in joke or tattle, he lived in the present, and for it. Now, somehow or other, he was seriously awakened to the thought of a future. That period of prospective happiness was, somehow or other, associated with another, and that took off the awkwardness of a mere selfish policy on his part.

And a lady was the cause.-No-not exactly; but the lady as brought into contiguity with circumstances or feelings with which, or in which, he was personally interested.

Tom had continued his visits to Woodbine Cottage. He sometimes went with Horace, but he sometimes went alone. When he went alone, he did not always face the three ladies there, for he had grown somewhat more timid than formerly; but he sought one, as being sufficient, or, perhaps, less burdensome to a nervous temperament.

It was singular how the Fates favoured him in this search for this unit of the family. At times he felt so confident of his good fortune, that he boldly walked right up to the door, and entered without hesitation. But then it so happened that no one was at home but Julia. When he was more hesitant, and did not get rapidly along the lane that led up to the cottage, he was lucky enough to meet