on the 30th of April twelve years ago, and I stood here then. All Nature, with her tranquil beauty, her sweet repose, seemed to mock my pain,-to whisper of peace, when for me peace had fled,-to tell of happiness, when nought but misery stared me in the face. Oh, how my heart ached then,-now, its pain is stilled, though there yet remains a void that nothing can fill."

Leaving the window he took a small casket from the dressing-table, and opened it, his hands trembling with emotion as he did so.

In it was a curl of golden hair, and a portrait, the portrait of a young girl of some eighteen years. The face was very lovely, the fac-simile of little Kate Melville, but for the difference in age, and also that the pure refined mouth was less marked in the picture. "Marion," said the doctor, and for some few minutes stood in sad contemplation.

Then, with an effort, he continued, "This will not do; I must not give way thus to my weakness. The past is past, and not all my longings can restore its brightness." He then closed the picture, and replaced it in the casket, saying, as he did so, "Farewell; the present and future I have now to do with. I must work in faith, striving after contentment, and subjection to His will, Who doeth all things well.'"

EVERAL days, during which the weather was very unsettled, passed away. Richard Melville, with all his pride, and all his follies, was respectably interred in the cemetery, followed only by the doctor, at whose expense the funeral was provided.

The children's sorrow, except an occasional outburst, had become almost a thing of the past.

One of the habits of Dr. Leslie was a very good one, that of early rising. He was often up by five when the mornings were sufficiently light. If his patients did not require him, a portion of the time before breakfast, which was on the table punctually at eight, was given to study, the other to out-door exercise when the weather permitted.

This morning, when returning from his constitutional, as he slowly paced the gravel path, the door hastily opened, a tiny figure stood on the stone steps, and tiny hands were outstretched in welcome.

"Katie, my darling," murmured he, clasping the little creature in his arms,' ," "are you pleased to see me?"

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Yes, so pleased," said she, "We awoke at seven, when Mrs. Overton called us, and I have been wishing to see

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you ever since. Mrs. Overton said you were out, so I stood by the window and watched until I saw you coming along the terrace."

They now reached the dining-room, where they found Arthur, who instantly came forward, and held out his hand to the doctor, wishing him "good morning."

After breakfast a discussion was held as to what they were to do.

"If you please, sir," said Arthur, "I should like to go to morning service at the cathedral, and I know Katie would also like to go. Will you allow us to do so?"

"Yes, my dears," returned their guardian, "I am agreeable to it; ten is the hour, so you will have plenty of time to come in the garden with me before you go."

The garden, situated at the back of the house, and retired from public view, was a very model of order and tasteful arrangement. Shaded by lofty trees, the cool grass looked very inviting to the two children, whom the wet weather had hitherto kept indoors.

"You may amuse yourselves as you please," said the doctor, only do not break off any flowers without asking leave if you want anything, apply to Calvert. Here he comes," pointing to a middle-aged man, who was carrying a load of garden tools.

"Calvert, come here a minute; this young lady and gentleman will be allowed to play here for the future; but I have charged them to touch nothing without your permission, as you are the presiding genius."

He spoke cheerily, and the man, touching his cap, smiled and said, "I am sure they are welcome, sir; I will

do my best to amuse them when I am not busy. Perhaps they would like to see my rabbits?"

"I should," said Arthur, and his wish being echoed by his sister, off they trotted. As they were going to the rabbit-hutch the cathedral clock chimed half-past nine, and Dr. Leslie turned his steps towards the scene of his daily work, the hospital.

Meanwhile the little ones were admiring the rabbits, four in number, two white ones, and the others, respectively, black, and grey.

Suddenly Arthur raised his head, and said, "Come, sister, it is nearly time to get ready for service. I don't want to be late, --it makes one look so silly to march in after all the rest."

"Very well, Artie," replied the little girl, and, taking his hand, walked to the house.

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They were soon dressed. In a brace of seconds," as Arthur affirmed, and on their route.

As they neared the cathedral the clock chimed the three-quarters, and the bells commenced to ring.

At the door they paused a minute to look at the ringers, then passed down the nave, admiring the beauty of the windows.

"Come here, come here, Katie ! Now look at the organ as we stand here, isn't it splendid! the pipes shine like gold, and the carving, oh, don't you admire it? I do ;" he continued, "Oh, look, Kate, there is a chorister," as a fair-haired boy in a surplice came down the stairs from the organ-loft.

"Do you know, Katie, I should so like to be one of them.

I love music and singing. There is the list,-let us see what the anthem is, Lord, for Thy tender mercies' sake,' by R. Farrant. I wonder whether it is pretty; but it must be, or they would not sing it."

As he was speaking, a voice behind arrested his attention. Katie was about to answer; but he pressed her arm to enjoin silence, and listened to what was being said.

The voice went on :

"The trial for a new boy is to be held a week to-day. I hope we shall be fortunate enough to get a good one. Percival's voice is quite gone, he can hardly sing a note now."

The speaker was the assistant-organist, who often took the week-day services; he was addressing a gentleman and continued, "I like Ellis, there is something truly good in him, and he is always willing to assist me in any possible way."

"So do I like him," replied the other, and I think anyone might, if only for his face; will he be headchorister now?"

"I expect so, and I believe he will make a good solosinger; his voice and style of singing are, at this early stage, very beautiful."

"Will he take the Veni Creator next Sunday?"

"Yes, of course; there is no one else in the choir capable of such a task.”

A boy approached as they were speaking, a tall graceful lad of about twelve years, apparently; with a sweet, modest face that would have been a passport to favour anywhere. There was intellect in the clear blue eye, and