HE WHO CARETH FOR SPARROWS.

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viding sufficient for its sustenance, if the proper means be taken with diligence and faith. Of course, such an assertion will set the tongues of our would-be philosophers waggling in scornful cachinnation; but, in spite of that, I do believe that if a man have faith, and a strong heart, and common sense, he may depend upon it his children will not starve. Some of the very happiest people I know are to be found among the large families of country clergymen. Besides, very often the children succeed in life, and improve their father's position. I haven't the shadow of a doubt that I am doing the right thing. I only wish, Hugh, that you would follow my example."

"Perhaps I shall some day," said Lillyston.

"And meanwhile you will be my bridegroom's man, will you not?"

"Joyfully-if it be only to see Miss Kennedy's face

again."

"And do you know that Kennedy is to be married to Violet the same day?"

“Is he? happy fellow ! As for me, I am going to resign my fellowship, and to make myself useful at Lillyston Court. When is the wedding to be?"

"Both weddings, you mean, Hugh. On the tenth of next June at Orton-on-the-Sea-the loveliest spot in the world, I think."

"So in due time Julian packed up all his books and prizes, and bade farewell to his friends, and turned his back on Camford. It is as impossible to leave one's college without emotion as it is to enter it, and the

418

GOOD BYE TO CAMFORD.

His

tears often started to Julian's eyes as the train whirled him off to Elstan. He had cause, if any man ever had, to look back to Camford with regret and love. course has been singularly successful, singularly happy. He had entered St. Werner's as a sizar, he left it as a Fellow, and not

"With academic laurels unbestowed."

He had grown in calmness, in strength, in wisdom; he had learnt many practical lessons of life; he had gained new friends, without losing the old. He had learnt to honour all men, and to be fearless for the truth. His mind had become a well-managed instrument, which he could apply to all purposes of discovery, research, and thought; he was wiser, better, braver, nearer the light. In a word, he had learnt the great purpose of life-sympathy and love to further man's interest-faith and prayer to live ever for God's glory. And not a few of these lessons he owed to his college, to its directing influence, its ennobling associations, its studies-all bent towards that which is permanent and eternal, not to the transitory and superficial. To the latest day of his life, the name of St. Werner's remained to Julian Home an incentive to all that is noble and

manly in human effort. He felt the same duty with regard to it as the generous scion of an illustrious house feels towards the ancient name which he has inherited, and the noble lineage whence he has sprung.

The few months which were to elapse before his marriage, Julian spent in preparing the vicarage for

his young betrothed, and he stored it with everything which could delight a simple yet refined and educated taste. There was an indefinable charm about it-the charm of home. You felt on entering it that its owner destined it as the place around which his fondest affections were to centre, and his work in life was to be done. Julian had not the restless mind which sighs for continual change; happy in himself and his own resources, and the honest endeavour to do good, the glory of the green fields, the changes of the varying year, supplied him with a wealth of beauty which was sufficient for all his needs, and when-after some long day's work amid the cottages, reading to the sick at their lonely bed-sides, listening to the prattle of the children in the infant schools, talking to the labourers as they rested at their work-he refreshed himself by a gallop across the free fresh downs, or a quiet stroll under the rosy apple-blossoms of his orchard or garden, Julian might have said with more truth than most men can, that he was a happy and a contented man.

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Oh from out the sounding cells.

What a gush of euphony voluminously swells!”

EDGAR POE.

MERRILY, merrily, rang out the sweet bells of Ortonon-the-Sea; more merrily than they ever rang before; so merrily that it seemed as if they would concentrate into every single clash and clang of their joyous peal a tumult of inexpressible happiness greater than they would ever be able to enjoy again. If you look up at the belfry, you will see them swing and dance in a very delirium of ecstasy, such as made everybody laugh while he listened, and chased away the possibility of sorrow, and thrilled the very atmosphere with an impression of hilarity and triumph.

All Orton is astir. Mr. Kennedy is the squire of the parish, and the villagers may well love him as they

do. The son and daughter of the squire are not often married on the same day; and besides the double wedding with its promise of an evening banquet, and dance on the hall lawn to all the people of Orton, Eva and Edward are known well to every cottager, and loved as well as known.

The hall is quite full, and the village inn is quite full, and all the neighbouring gentry who are invited, are hospitably entertaining such members of the two families as can find room nowhere else. Never had Orton seen such grand doings; the very stables and coach-houses are insufficient to receive the multitude of carriages.

Several St. Wernerians are invited; and (as both Julian and Kennedy prefer to be alone on that morning) Lillyston, who has visited the place before, is lionizing them in the neighbourhood, and with Willie, Kennedy's orphan cousin, rows them over to the little islet in the bay. As they come back, the hour for the wedding. approaches, and Lillyston says to Owen

"How I wish De Vayne were here!"

“But he is in Florence, is he not?" says Owen.

They have hardly spoken when a carriage with a coronet on the panels dashes up to the Lion Inn; a young man alights, hands out a lady, and enters the inn.

"Surely that must be De Vayne himself," says Suton running forward. Meanwhile the young man, after taking the lady into a private room, asks if he may see Mr. Home or Mr. Kennedy, and is shewed up to the parlour in which they are sitting.