the freshly-lighted lamp "cast reflec-
tions"
upon burnished plate and neat
china. There was no lack of plenty on
the board, or of elegant comfort in the
room; and books, pictures, and piano
gave evidence that a female deity pre-
sided over this pleasant abode. Stretched
full length on the sofa was a gentleman
of, perhaps, four or five and twenty, under
middle height, having a pale face and
blueish grey eyes, shaded by long lashes
many hues darker than his hair. A news-
paper had fallen out of his hand, and he
was evidently half asleep. Not so his
twin brother, who moved about the room,
now taking up a book, now going to the
window remarking on the weather, now
running his hands idly over the keys of
the piano (not making melody by so doing),
till the occupant of the sofa, springing
up, cried, "I do wish you would sit still,
Race, you fidget a fellow to death!"
Horace Whittaker-who had been de-
nominated "Race" by his companions,
partly for brevity, and partly because he
was always in a hurry, always on the
move-came to his brother's side, and
laying his hand upon the other's arm,
whispered-

"You know, George, when anything affects me I must move about. I cannot be calm and still, like you; I feel this separation deeply, though, perhaps, you may not give me credit for it. Until the last few months we have never been apart, and now I am going for yearsGod knows how many-to a foreign land, where I shall have no brother, no home comforts. Dear old fellow, don't ask me to be quiet; remember I must be gay for Aunt Millie's sake; she sits there so outwardly serene, but I know her heart is shedding bitter drops at the thought of losing her boy."

before his quieter, but not less worthy, companion. He left the sofa and, crossing the room, knelt down by the side of a lady who was working-or pretending to work-for, as she looked fondly at her nephew, her eyes were dim with gathering tears.

Come, dear auntie, give us our tea; we will not allow you to do anything to-night but talk." So while they turn their attention to the tea-table, we will give ours to the lady thus addressed.

Aunt Millie was indeed

"A sweet old maid, pensive, and good, and kind,
Her great soul chasten'd in refining fire;
Lovely in form and face; saint in mind;
A very angel in each pure desire;
A brave, true woman, doing duty here,
And looking higher!"

No better description would it be possible
to give of the gentle being who now put
aside her own sorrow at the coming
parting, in order that those she loved
might be spared as much as possible.
There were no lines or furrows on the
smooth brow, no threads of silver in the
dark glossy hair; but a compression of
the lips seemed to speak of passions over-
come, affections crushed back, to say "I
have suffered" (the placid expression of
the clear grey eye finishing the sentence),
"but I have been more than conqueror
through Him who loved me!"

The meal finished, the trio drew to gether, and in loving converse the evening passed. Race, from his post of favourite, and upon the strength of his approaching departure, winning from his aunt looks and words fraught with perhaps a deeper tenderness; and before separating for the night she laid her hand upon his head, breathing a fond prayer that his future might be under the care and guidance of the Divine love which had hitherto watched over his path. "Remember, my Horace!" she said, in conclusion, "You are no longer a boy, but possess man's feelings, purposes, and ambitions, a man's opportunities and influences, see that they are led into the right channel Upon your own endeavours, under God, now rests your success in life, and it will be a happy day for your Aunt Millie when she hears her dear absent one spoken of

There was something infectious even in the forced gaiety of the young man, and George returned his smile and pres. sure warmly. "Race" was very unlike his brother-taller, more slender, with prominent, clear blue eyes, shining from under a broad, high forehead; hair of that warm tint, politely termed "auburn," but fading into brown upon the face; and his frank open countenance and pleasing manners won him friends long as a good and an honourable, as well as a

a

"Horace came to his brother's side, and laying his hand upon the other's arm, whispered, 'You know, George, when anything affects me, I must move about.""- Page 142.

prosperous man. Riches are not the sole same evening he returned to his young end and aim of life, my darling boy; they wife; and she, the dear, kind aunt are but the means to accomplish a great-the "sweet old maid" was left alone. end; and if to gain them you barter one Yes, alone: she had no kindred to whom iota of your soul's truth and integrity, she could turn in her loneliness; but as they will prove but as the dead leaves in she sat in her little parlour, after parthe fable; for, choking all the avenues to taking of her solitary meal, she bent her your holier aspirations and affections, they head upon her clasped hands, the first will form a damp and mouldering winding- tears she had shed falling from her eyes, sheet about all that is pure and good in and murmuredyour heart. Let your prayer ever be, 'Give me neither poverty nor riches."

CHAPTER II.

"Oh, 'tis one scene of parting here.

Love's watchword is 'farewell I'

"Thank God I have done my duty to those dear boys: may He grant to my efforts success! Spirit of my sainted sister, look down upon me, and whisper to my heart thy blessing!"

Five-and

And now to turn back. twenty years before Mildred Charles had been a lovely and loving woman, above whose head but twenty summers had shone. Herself and one sister, who was married, were the sole survivors of a numerous family. Until her father's death, twelve months' previously, she had been his constant companion; then she took up her abode with her sister, and found there a happy home, surrounded by every loving tenderness such as near and dear friends could bestow.

THE morrow came, and with it the hour of parting. On board the good ship Alexandra the three stood George, quiet and undemonstrative, feeling his brother's departure more, perhaps, than he cared to show; but then he had a home of his own and a young bride to welcome him. Other cords than those fraternal bound him; so that he could hardly be expected to miss his brother so much. All was bustle and confusion: sailors calling; passengers hurrying to and And one dearer still had made her fro after their luggage; groups gathered young heart his own; their marriage only here and there, many bidding adieu to all being delayed until he had completed they held dearest on earth: but at length arrangements that would facilitate his the signal was given, the steam-tug re-settlement in business. Time passed on, ceived its load of returning passengers, and a new love came to Mildred's already the sails spread their white surface to the loving heart-her sister's twin boys breeze, and the monotonous chant of the claimed a place in her affection, and sailors as they weighed anchor sighed dearly she loved the fair, helpless babes, over the waters like a mournful requeim! in their bright, innocent beauty. But, A last look from the swiftly-receding alas! the hand that gave those two sweet tug-boat, the glisten of a white handker- buds to earth had already grasped the chief, and Horace and many more were parent stem, and was gently drawing it "lost to sight," but, oh, "to memory, to the paradise above. Gradually the how dear!" mother faded away, and Mildred watched with yearning gaze every change in the face of her precious sister-the only home-tie remaining. But the fiat had gone forth: Death had marked her for

Aunt Millie and her remaining nephew (with whom we have little to do), drove slowly home, for her abode was not far from where the blue waters washed the shining beach, and daily-nay, hourly-his own, and she must obey. bore upon their bosom all sorts of craft, from the leviathan steamer and the "trimbuilt wherry."

But little conversation passed between the two. George was naturally taciturn, and Aunt Millie had her own grief to subdue-her own heart to quiet. That

At length the hour of separation came, and kneeling in anguish by her dying bed, the faithful sister bent to catch the farewell accents of the departing spirit.

"Oh, my little ones-my little ones!" moaned the sinking young mother; "how can I leave you? The tender little

flowerets God gave to me will droop and wither in this cold earth, deprived of a mother's care. Father of love! let them come with me, that within Thy sheltering arms we may all be gathered!"

"Sister-beloved sister!" cried Mildred; "do not grieve for your dear ones. I will watch over them-I will be their mother."

"Millie, darling!-can you, will you promise this? I am happy indeed if I leave them in your charge!"

and branch the tree of happiness under whose shade she had reposed, whose blossoms she had gathered, and whose fruit she had fondly hoped to enjoy for many years to come.

The last sad services over, Mildred set about fulfilling her self-imposed task, the first, most painful trial being an interview with her lover. Poor girl! she had to listen for hours to powerful and eloquent pleadings, poured forth from a heart full of passionate attachmentThere was silence-a painful silence-to arguments that well nigh overcame for a few moments; then Mildred raised her bowed head, her face pale as marble; for a sea of anguish had rolled over her soul in those few quiet moments-there had been a mighty struggle between two great loves. But her resolution was taken, and her voice never faltered as she said

"Hear me, my best-my precious sister! By everything I hold sacredby the deep affection we have always had for each other-by my own hopes of happiness hereafter (poor girl, she could not say here!)-I vow to you never to leave your darling babes; they shall be to me as my own children-their happiness my first care; and may God do so to me as I fulfil my vow!"

her resolution; but with her to resolve was to act, and though the strong man besought her with all his soul breathing in his words, she, the weak woman kept her solemn vow-at what a cost!-and left him, saddened indeed, but even in his sorrow proud of the noble being who thus sacrificed all the bright hopes of her youth.

These love-links broken, the worst was past; but it was not until "after many days" that Mildred attained the peace and tranquillity that characterised her more advanced life. She took her place at the head of her brother-in-law's house, until, in time, another wife came to preside over his home and heart; then she departed, taking her young and loved "Dearest Mildred-my own sister-charges with her. Fondly and warmly may He bless you for this, and reward you as you deserve! One kiss, my own; -take care of my-I die- -God

The spirit had fled, and Mildred sank fainting to the floor, to be roused ere long to the knowledge of the great sacrifice she had pledged herself to make. With this knowledge she sought the solitude of her own chamber, and there, in its quiet seclusion, wrestled with the rebellious heart, whose swelling passions bade her trample on and set aside the promise made to her dying sister; but, no!strong even in her weakness, through the might of a great love, she conquered. It was no new lesson now taught the fragile woman; every day there are heart-struggles going on among our own sex-hidden struggles that the world knows nothing of: but it came to her fresh from the torture-chamber, cutting to the very depths of her soul with the keenness of agony, destroying root

they returned her affection; to them there was not a being on earth to be compared to their Aunt Millie, and she had her reward in the genuine worth and upright conduct of her nephews; they were not faultless-who is?- but she had implanted, lovingly and carefully, the good seed in their hearts, and to all human prescience it was bringing forth fruit abundantly.

Thus we find her at the opening of this story left alone after her long ministry of love, comforted by the sweet assurance that she had, indeed, "done what she could."

Oh! who, after reading such instances of self-sacrifice as these, can even cast an ill-natured sneer at these single members of society, who so often shine like stars amid a night of darkness, coming with words of comfort to the sick and sorrowing;-ministering angels, curtaining with soft wings much of the misery of life-