evil; he walks with God; and his wife is like him. Truly, Nellie, you fell on pleasant lines,' when you made their acquaintance; and, among many other things for which I am your debtor, the gift of their friendship is not the least." CHAPTER XXI. "Let no vain hope deceive the mind No happier let us hope to find To-morrow than to-day. Our golden dreams of yore were bright, Like them deca y . JORGE MANRIQUE. IN the following summer, after the London season, my Lord and Lady of Glynne decided to go abroad for a year. She had made the exertion. once or twice of coming down to visit us at our cottage, but we were inhospitable enough to wish no return of such favours. Though I said if she came to a cottage, she must live as the cottagers did, that did not prevent her being a very troublesome visitor, bringing so many servants, that I thought I should have to take up a permanent residence in the beech tree, as the only place left me. Then neither the age and infirmities of Mrs. Forest, nor the sad helpless condition of Captain Forest, made her see that she was somewhat in the way. Her ponderous presence was felt in more respects than one. My boy and Phebe stayed with us sometimes. for a month at a time, and proved of great use in amusing my guardian. But I grew sad at hearing he was to go abroad with his father and mother. I had hopes he would have been left with me. Phebe was, however, a host in herself in guarding him from all ills and disagreeables, and rather liked the idea of seeing "furrin parts." "I shall be as wise as father then, and mither will never be able to pit in a word." "The Lady" was very anxious to go abroad for the sake of her health, but she could not bear the idea of having foreign people about her. So she wished to persuade us all to go with her, that she might have proper people to consort with. She had had two or three companions to live with her. Few stayed more than a month. One, I believe, was dismissed peremptorily, because she was so indiscreet as to "capot" "the Lady" at piquet-a thing she never suffered either my Lord or myself to do. I wanted her to take Miss Seymour, but that lady was too conscientious to accept the situation: Nellie, I should be sure to tell her that I think her selfish and silly, so don't urge me." "But we must take people as we find them. There is no credit in living with people who are already better than yourself. You may do her good." "Pooh, pooh! I am getting old now, and have slaved hard all my life; I do not see why I should inflict upon myself a harder task than any I have yet undergone, and that is-the care of a selfish baby weighing sixteen stones. Besides, you did her no good, little fairy Uriel, and who would try after you failed?" "You credit me with too much influence." No, Nellie, I do not; for I look at the Lord of Glynne;' he was on that most dangerous pinnacle for a man's soul-a selfworshipper: his nature was great, in fact, sublime for one merely human, he felt himself capable of any grand deed. He naturally revolted from low, insignificant actions—his mind was, like his personal appearance, almost without flaw; his intellect powerful, keen, generally above all others that he met he felt independent of a God: you taught him the contrary." "I cannot think so, Miss Seymour." Little Nellie, you taught me a few lessons, also. If you wish to know how your conduct affected me, I will tell you the impression I observed it made on my Lord of Glynne. As I have said before, he knew no God but himself. He, therefore, placed himself above all other mortals. He looked on them, as the eagle might be supposed to watch the flies toiling up and about the window panes. Having nothing particularly to do, he watched the flies on one particular pane. There was a little one, so tiny he hardly saw her at first; but she had a purpose. She was diverted from that purpose by nothing. Others fell down, flew aside, went back; steadily did this little thing go on to the top-only pausing to help, with her little might, those who crossed her path. Nellie, he was struck, as I |