"The trees stand stiff and still at time of frost,
If no wind tears them; but, let summer come,
When trees are happy--and a breath avails
To set them trembling through a million leaves
In luxury of emotion. Something less

It takes to move a woman.

MRS. BROWNING: Aurora Leigh.

SWALLOWFIELDS had always been considered. a pretty place; it stood almost on the top of a hill, about a mile from Cleveden; and, perhaps, half a mile above the low-lying village of Stonebrig.

It was a picturesque little house, though not very old. There were tiny windows in

the pointed gables; there was a green verandah, with trellis work at the sidescreepers, with tender shoots and yellowing branches waving about in the spring breeze. The little lawn in front was newly mown, the borders were gay with flowers, the trees were in that stage that

"Goes before the leaf,

When all the woods stand in a mist of green,'
And nothing perfect."

And there were trees everywhere; trees that seemed to have grouped themselves afresh, to have taken newer and more graceful form.

Mrs. Anthony Rede standing at the bottom of the garden, was quite puzzled by the newness of the landscape. It was so strange, so wondrously beautiful, seen from the top of the hill. Was it possible that she had lived

somewhere down in that far-away valley all filled with golden haze; with the sparkling thread-like river flowing through it? Had she really walked through those ethereal woods, where greens, and greys, and yellows, and purples were intermingling so softly?

There were other things beside the landscape that had to be looked at from a new point of view; other things that faded into mist and beauty and harmony. The threads of life seemed to have gathered themselves together in one silken string. At last

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Good, right, and law were all summed up

In what was possible."

She was waiting there in the garden.

This had been the first day that she had

been alone all day; yet it had not been a long day.

How could any day be long when you had a pretty drawing-room to arrange and rearrange; and books and flowers and music; piles of new music, and a piano that brought tears to your eyes if you only swept a

chord ?

There were little rosy clouds floating about in the ether now. Anthony would be coming soon. Was Eliza getting tea ready? she wondered, tripping up the garden path, gathering her pretty pale blue dress together in the old dainty manner. Then she reappeared, standing suddenly still in a frame of hanging creepers. There were footsteps in the lane. A grey figure was swinging with strong easy gait up the garden path; a dear old face that was growing a little rugged. Then two big hands were laid tenderly on her shoulders :

"And what have you been doing, little

woman ?"

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Enjoying myself.”

"Without me?"

"Without you."

How he did love those glimpses of the old coquetry coming back to the sunny face. She had made his happiness, and it was a pleasant thought; but it was as nothing to him compared with the thought that he had made hers. And she had such wonderful capacity for happiness and brightness. The brown eyes never drooped, the pretty mouth gave never a sign of sadness or weariness.

She was always ready; in lighter moments with a smile, an apt phrase, some new prettiness of tone or gesture; in more thoughtful moods she sympathised, understood, or waited patiently till understanding