upon the lounge, Mr. Sutherland turned to Mr. Bolling, and said

"And now, Uncle Billy, can you excuse me, and make yourself comfortable, while I run down to Rosalie and prepare her for your arrival?"

"Eh? Yes; all right! Certainly! The child always was fond of me, and it might give her too much of a shock to meet me suddenly, after so long a separation! Very considerate of you, Mark, certainlyvery !"

"Is there anything else I can order for you before I go?"

"Eh? No, nothing; I am much obliged to you, nephew."

"Well, if you should think of anything after I am gone, you can ring for it, you know."

"Yes-yes."

"Good afternoon for the present, I will come and fetch you at tea-time."

"Yes; very well, I shall be ready. Hark ye, Mark break my arrival to your wife cautiously, do you hear? Joy kills sometimes."

"I shall be careful not to endanger Rosalie's life," said Mark, smiling as he left the room.

No sooner had the door closed behind his nephew, than, with a sigh of profound satisfaction, Uncle Billy arose and sat down in the easy chair, and drew the table towards him. In addition to everything else on the table, there was a tall, black bottle, which Mr. Bolling took up, uncorked, and put to his nose with a look of delightful anticipation. He sat it down suddenly, with an expression of intense disgust

"Tomato catsup, by all that is destestable, and I thought it was port wine! Here, waiter!—(where the devil is the bell-rope?) Waiter, I say!"

A man in a linen apron put his head in at the door

"Did you call, sir?"

"Yes; bring me a bottle of your best port wine."

The man withdrew, and after a while returned with a black bottle of the villanous drugged compound which is sold and bought as the best port wine, and which bon vivants like Mr. Bolling imbibe with perfect faith.

We will leave Uncle Billy to the enjoyment of his beloved creature comforts, and follow Mark Sutherland to his "sweet home."

CHAPTER XXIX.

FAILING HEALTH.

"Tis shadow'd by the tulip tree-'tis mantled by the vine; The wild plum sheds its yellow fruit from fragrant thickets nigh, And flowery prairies from the door stretch till they meet the sky."

Bryant.

On the outskirts of the town, embosomed in a grove of trees, stood Rose Cottage, the pleasant home of the Sutherlands. It was named partly from Rosalie, and partly from her favourite flower-the rose-of which every variety had been collected and cultivated to adorn her house and garden. The house itself was

simple and plain in its structure-just an oblong twostory frame building, painted white, with green Venetian blinds, and having four rooms on each floor, with a wide passage running through the centre from front to back, and with an upper and lower piazza running all around the house.

The grounds were unpretending, too-behind the house a kitchen-garden and young orchard; in front and at the sides a spacious yard, where single great forest trees were left standing, with rural seats fixed under their shade. In that rich and fertile soil the favourite rose flourished luxuriantly. Rose-trees adorned the yard, rose-bushes hedged the parterres, rose-vines shaded the arbours and climbed the pillars of the piazza and gracefully festooned the eaves, and the fragrance of roses filled the air. What gave a tenderer interest to these beautiful roses was, that they were all love-offerings from the young girls and children to their beautiful and beloved teacher.

Mark Sutherland approached this sweet home. Every care and sorrow dropped from his spirit as he opened the little wicket-gate that separated his garden of Eden from the wilderness. He walked on through the shaded yard to the house, and went up to the piazza, and through the front door into the hall, or passage. Here two doors, opposite each other to the right and left, opened-one into their parlour and dining-room, and the other into the school and classroom. He paused a moment, and listened, with a smile, as the low murmur of girls' voices revealed to him that the school was not yet dismissed.

He opened the door and entered.

Surely, there never was a school-room so pleasant

as this, from which the aspect of dullness, weariness, restraint, and irksomeness, was so completely banished, as there certainly never was a teacher so lovely and so beloved. It was a spacious, airy apartment, lighted with many windows, shaded at a little distance by the rose-wreathed pillars and eaves of the piazza. The furniture was of bright cherry, in cheerful contrast to the white walls and floor. Maps and pictures, of rare beauty and appropriateness, decorated the walls, and shells and minerals and mosses adorned the tables.

The young girls and children-some engaged in study, some in pencil-drawing or penmanship, and some in needlework-looked cheery and very much at their ease. They left their seats, and spoke to each other without infringing any rule, but all was done quietly and gracefully, as under the influence of a beloved mistress, whom they obeyed with no forced eye-service, and whom they would not for the world distress or annoy.

And there, at the upper end of the room, on a platform raised but one step above the floor, on a chair, at a table, sat the young school mistress-the wife of four years' standing-scarcely turned twenty-one, and with the loveliest and most delicate face and form in the world, yet by the power of her soul's strength and beauty keeping in willing subjection a miscellaneous crowd of girls, of all ages, sizes, and tempers. There she sat, with her sweet, fair face, and pale, golden, curly hair, and white muslin wrapper-looking the fairest girl among them all. When Mark entered, the quiet light of joy dawned in her eyes, and she arose and came softly down to meet him. There was a

subdued gladness in the manner of both, as they clasped hands.

"My dearest Rose, you are so much better than when I went away," said Mark, looking fondly at her, as the bloom deepened on her cheeks.

"I am better-I am well," replied Rosalie, smiling round upon her girls, several of whom left their seats, and came fluttering forward to welcome Mr. Sutherland with saucy pleasure. He had a merry jest or a loving word for each affectionate child, but soon sent them gaily back to their places, as the hour of dismissal had come. And Rosalie, accompanied by Mark, went back to her seat, and called the school to order, and gave out and led the evening hymn that closed their exercises.

When the song was finished, and the girls all gone, Mark Sutherland turned to his young wife, and with a smile of joy drew her to his bosom. But in moment a shade of anxiety clouded his face; and, still clasping her close to his bosom, he asked

"Rose, what makes your heart throb so violently?"

Rosalie raised her eyes to his face, and he noticed that a sorrowful shade dimmed their lustre for an instant, but vanished before the smile with which she replied

"I am so glad to see you."

"But your heart knocks so forcibly?"

"Come in the parlour, and let's sit down there and talk-I have so many things to tell you, and to ask you about," said Rosalie, evading his remarks; and gently withdrawing herself, she led the way into the