stowal of my affections, but then the object must be suitable. Suitable in her eyes, meant-quiet, easily led (by herself), retiring, a lover of needles and thread, rather than of millinery and self-decoration-whose views of pleasure should be of the teachers' tea-meeting or 'improving the mind' order. From my shy nature, and early nurture on Dr. Watts, I, too, had the sort of idea that a pretty bonnet betokened a love of the world in the wearer, and a sparkling manner, an undue lightness of character; and yet, and yet -these were the ideas instilled into me. The time might be coming when views of 'my own should do combat with my mother's views-which would be conqueror? At present there was no such conflict. I saw an elegantly-dressed young woman with worldly sentiments. I saw two plainly-attired ladies, who might each have been cut out to order (one was rather old to be sure) for a Mrs. Williams. Might it not be that the hand of Providence had planted me here to choose a wife from these two? Time would show.

The afternoon service was equally as unsatisfactory as the morning one. There was the same small congregation, the same pew full, the same tendency on the part of Miss Lizzie to hurt my self-love, if nothing else, by falling asleep during the sermon, and afterwards my lonely meal and evening in my cottage.

A week had nearly passed away. I was beginning to get some knowledge of my parishioners, but-human nature is only human nature after all-I was also exceedingly dull.

My mother's circle at home, though a restricted one, was a circle. It took in one or two young men who had never shown any disposition to forsake the ways of their fathers; it took in divers young ladies; they weren't beautiful, or clever, or distinguished in any way, still they were young ladies, and twenty-three requires something of

the kind.

Here was I, the sole moving orb in my own circle. I might gaze at and revolve round myself, or Mrs. Spinx, but I required more.

I had, two or three times during that week, fleeting visions of the ladies who sat below the readingdesk, but fleeting visions are unsubstantial. One morning towards the end of the week, as I was meditating getting a dog as a companion, there came a note which roused my pleasurable emotions, the purport being that Mrs. Bingham, of Beech Grove, would be glad if I would give her my company at dinner at five o'clock.

I must have been lonely, for I recollect I had a feeling of satisfaction that it was for this afternoon instead of to-morrow.

I was just finishing my toilet when a remembrance flashed into my mind. Bingham was the name of the lady who fished! I almost wished I weren't going; but then was any credit to be placed on Mr. Parker's statements?

After obtaining from Mrs. Spinx the route, I made my way to Beech Grove. A narrow lane behind the church brought me to some white gates. Beech Grove did not belie its promising sound. There weren't many beeches, certainly, but there was a nice neat lawn, and a few flowerbeds, and a verandah, and a carriage drive devoid of weeds. You might see Beech Grove in ninetynine parishes out of every hundred, and live there comfortably. Cela dépend.

(I

A man on arriving is at once on the scene of action. None of those mysterious paper boxes, out of which come we know not what to be put on at the house of entertainment, before wax lights and a mirror. believe if there are many ladies and but one mirror, this is a work of time.) A man being not so easily put out of order in the transit, has not one minute for reflection from doorstep to presence chamber.

'Mr. Williams!' and then, following up my name, I was shaking hands with a long thin ditto, appertaining to my deaf travelling companion. Not masculine to look at, keen-eyed and severe, but correct to a degree.

'My daughters,' said Mrs. Bingham, Jane and Elizabeth.'

Having a vague idea that Providence was in some way connected

with my acquaintance with these ladies, I surveyed the Miss Binghams with interest. They weren't attractive (I mean to the eye). Jane was her mother over again, as the saying is, without the deafness, and with an acidity of manner that might perhaps have been due to her passed stage of youthfulness-and spinsterhood. Elizabeth was considerably younger, shorter, stouter, with curling hair, and a more amiable expression.

True, her face was not distinguished by much beauty. Her nose was neither a delicate vivacious retroussé nor a statuesque Grecian; but why proceed? Elizabeth was the sort of young person to whom I had been accustomed. Elizabeth had the outside characteristics of 'suitable.' If Providence had led me to the Miss Binghams, Elizabeth was the Miss Bingham, and the presence of Elizabeth made me more at home.

As the one man, I had to be entertained. Miss Bingham tried to draw me out on church architecture. Miss Bingham deplored the poverty of the parish in preventing the restoration of the church. Mrs. Bingham knitted, and threw in a word here and there, while Elizabeth bent over her work and was modestly silent.

'Jane,' said Mrs. Bingham, suddenly, 'I hope nothing has happened to Lizzie.'

'She is always late, mamma,' responded Jane; and knows, being a visitor, she will be waited for, which I call taking advantage.'

'I am thankful she is no child of mine,' said the deaf lady, heaving a sigh. As it is, she is a great responsibility.'

Two minutes afterwards the door opened, and the 'great responsibility' came in-the young lady who fell asleep during my sermon-in a toilet that aimed at something above neatness, and that floated about her, a cloud of pink and white, something that might, like a jam tart to a sick child, be very good to look at and very bad for you. I had eyes and saw, but I was a man not to be led by my eyes-prudent beyond

my years.

'Lizzie, my dear,' said Mrs. Bingham, 'you're very late.'

'I'm sorry for that, aunt,' replied Lizzie, at the top of her musical voice. I met Charley Langton, looking so wretched, that I went farther than I intended, and he has come back with me in to dinner.'

'Lizzie,' said her aunt, 'how'He has lost his father, poor boy, never got over it, and I thought

'Yes, yes,' said Mrs. Bingham, waving her hand, 'no one is more glad to see him than I; but it's the principle of young ladies inviting young men.'

Lizzie's lips curled. 'Young men!' she said to her cousin, Miss Bingham, 'why Charley's only sixteen.'

'You know mamma's rules, Lizzie;' and Lizzie turned away in a manner that made me jot down temper as another failing in this very faulty young person.

The entrance of Charley, a languid, delicate-looking boy, put an end to the discussion.

Mrs. Bingham certainly gave him as cordial a welcome as if she had asked him. Even the two Miss Binghams greeted him with more demonstration than is usually bestowed on boys of sixteen. Very kind,' I thought, but it was a kindness Charley did not seem to appreciate, as he moved away to Lizzie in the window, and stood by her there in a languid yet easy way till we went in to dinner.

I found myself between Mrs. Bingham and her daughter Elizabeth. Miss Bingham took the foot of the table; their cousin and Charley were opposite me. Mrs. Bingham conversed a little with me about my mother and home, and loneliness here sympathetically; so that what with hot soup and the startling loudness of my replies, I became very warm indeed.

Elizabeth was retiring. She wanted setting off on a subject; even then she did not go any extreme way, but replied modestly, and retired again. Miss Lizzie, too, was silent, and again offended my taste at the beginning of the meal. (I had many particular notions about young ladies.)

'I am so hungry,' she said; 'riding round Drayton Hill, with all that delicious heather out, is beneficial to me. May I have some beer, Jane?'

You can have what you like,' said Miss Bingham, acidly.

And Lizzie's glass was filled. To drink beer seemed to me as masculine as a coquettish bonnet looked worldly.

I looked at Elizabeth's glass. Pure water! and felt thankful.

The dinner was quite a plain one. After the soup, chickens and a shoulder of mutton. I trembled at the chickens, but Mrs. Bingham declining my aid, I was feeling able to converse with Elizabeth, when Miss Lizzie's clear voice came out for the benefit of the table.

'I've been offered two tickets today for the Beaconfield ball; it's in a fortnight.'

Mrs. Bingham, busy with the chickens, did not hear. Miss Bingham exclaimed

'One doesn't hear a sensible word there.'

'Doesn't one,' said Lizzie; 'well, I must be indifferent to sensible words, for I want to go very much. Do you recollect, Charley, the ball last year, and how you got spoony on Miss Brett, and quite deserted me?'

'No, I don't, Lizzie. I recollect being sent off by Percy.'

'Hush,' said Lizzie, laughingly, but I was busy with my thoughts.

Spoony!! A young lady to use such a word. I felt electrified. I turned to the gentle Elizabeth.

'Do you, too, care for balls?' I asked, somewhat anxiously.

'No,' said Elizabeth, in a very low voice, and blushing; 'at least,' she added, 'I always like the school treat more.'

Here was a disciplined mind for you. The carnal nature conquered -desire under control.

Said Miss Bingham, 'You must regret the absence of your vicar, Mr. Williams.'

'I do indeed; he seems such a superior man. He was divided between his wish to stay and help me, and his anxiety to be with his sick child.'

'Did he leave you the key of his kitchen garden?" said Lizzie, irrelevantly.

'No, I replied, not seeing the force of the question.

'He has such nice peaches,' continued Lizzie. When I was here last year the bishop came down, and the bishop had as many of them as he liked to eat, and Dr. Walsh was so pleased to see the bishop eat them. Has Mrs. Spinx any peaches in her garden?'

'No, of course not;' but I said I was independent of peaches.

'Dr. Walsh says his have a peculiar flavour,' said Charley. 'Percy got a whole lot sent last year.'

'Don't you know the proverb, Charley, "Stroke me and I will stroke thee." Dr. Walsh strokes Percy with the peculiar flavoured peaches; Percy must stroke the Doctor with a pine. Dr. Walsh, my dear, is partial to stroking, and does not object to an English pine.'

I felt aglow with indignation, though the young lady opposite seemed quite unconscious of such a feeling being possible.

Mrs. Bingham observed (it was wonderful sometimes how she heard), 'It's a pity his eldest girl is so delicate.'

'Oh! Aunt Bingham,' burst out Lizzie, 'you know very well sho isn't. Dr. Walsh finds Marsden dull and Scarborough the reverse, and just because Emily hasn't a colour-'

I could not wait to the end of the sentence-I could stand it no longer. 'You seem to forget who you are speaking before, Miss D'Arcy. I am Dr. Walsh's curate. Am I to sit and listen to slander against my vicar? There is always some one to impute evil motives to the best of men and deeds.'

Mrs. Bingham looked pleased. Charley began

Mr. Williams, it's not slander; it's as well known-'

When Lizzie stopped him with a look, and then turned on me a straightforward glance out of her large blue eyes. She was certainly very pretty, especially with the flush on her cheeks they had now; but then, is not beauty deceitful?

She said nothing at first, to my

surprise; but after her steady look the corners of her mouth curled with smiles, and she said demurely

'I still think Dr. Walsh ought to have left you the key of his kitchen- . garden, Mr. Williams.'

Then she turned to Charley, and the two talked together for the rest of dinner, alone.

If beauty is deceitful, there was no deceit in Elizabeth; if placidity is estimable in a woman, Elizabeth was much to be esteemed. On principle I did like and esteem her; on principle, also, I disliked and thought little of her cousin. Our views on so many points coincided; indeed I might say on every point, about parish work, society, books, &c.

It was still daylight when dinner was over, and Lizzie said

Oh! let us have a game at croquet. Mr. Williams, shall we teach you?'

It seemed a veiled attempt at reconciliation. I had reproved Miss Lizzie in a way many young ladies might have resented, so I gave in to the croquet.

Then Elizabeth said she had work to finish.

'One of those everlasting flannel petticoats?' suggested Charley.

(Another virtue-she made flannel petticoats!)

'Charley, you're a goose,' said Lizzie. It is just because they aren't everlasting she makes them; but put them by for to-night, and be good-natured, Elizabeth.'

(Could she be anything else?)

So Elizabeth sacrificed the flannel petticoats at the shrine of croquet, and we had to choose our sides.

I have seen men linger over this,. as if preference in croquet showed preference in life. Charley, however, showed no such hesitation.

Come, Lizzie, I won't desert you to-night,' he said; so we began, and of course I was beaten. Elizabeth played in a tranquil manner, while her cousin's ball was like a shooting star, and a shooting star had far the best of it.

'Don't you think this rather a poor game to be made so much fuss about?' observed Elizabeth to

me.

(She had tried three times at one hoop, and we stood side by side.) 'I did not like the notion of it,' I said, but it seems harmless.'

'Oh yes, or I should not play, of course.'

And then Lizzie made a swoop down, and sent me to a laurel bush at the antipodes.

I was not near my partner again till just the end of the game. Lizzie was advancing to the stick, and Elizabeth asked me

'Do you think her pretty?' (How very feminine!)

Yes, I thought her very pretty, but I did not think it was the kind of beauty I admired the most.

'Oh! Mr. Williams,' said Elizabeth, with more animation than I had seen her display, you think exactly like I do. I call her pretty, only it's a pity she's such a flirt.'

I did not quite like this. I did not doubt Lizzie being a flirt, only the good-nature of Elizabeth in telling me so. Or was it that she had detected something inflammable about me, and so set up a fire-guard as a precaution. I would not believe that anything but good-nature could dwell in that Miss Bingham, whom I believed Providence had selected for me.

She has only an invalid father, and he spoils her so,' continued Elizabeth. I am very fond of her; but we are so different-she likes balls and things-and I-' Miss Elizabeth's autobiography was closed by Lizzie coming up.

There! we've beaten you, Mr. Williams, so now there's nothing left for you but to make the best of it by saying something polite.'

Was this flirting? It might be, yet somehow it seemed harmless, like the croquet. Then we went in, and had some tea and music. Elizabeth played, certainly not professionally, but nicely, and I did not like too much time devoted to music.

Now, Lizzie, sing something,' said Charley.

'Lizzie,' called out her aunt, ' remember your sore throat.' Lizzie said it was quite well. 'I'm responsible for you,' said Mrs. Bingham.

So Lizzie,with very flushed cheeks, gave up her own opinion, and sat down with Charley to a game of chess, over which they talked a great deal. Then Elizabeth drew a low stool near her mother's chair, and we made quite a little home picture, with Lizzie excluded-and yetand yet I wished (as Mrs. Bingham gave out her improving sentences, and Elizabeth sounded a gentle accompaniment) that if such a thing were possible, blue eyes, and pink muslin, and golden hair with pink ribbon in it weren't of this world, worldly. I wished it very calmly, but the wish was there, even as I felt safe' with my mother's views of safety, seated beside a girl in grey silk who was suited to me.

So the evening came to an end. Charley said he would go with me as far as the inn where his horse was, and we took leave together. We had just got to the end of the drive when pattering feet behind us made us turn round.

Ghosts are not in my category of beliefs, of course; yet I should as soon have expected to see one as Lizzie.

Charley exclaimed, 'Why, Liz, what is it?' as she stood panting, and I waited, supposing she had some girlish message to a friend.

I started when she began. 'Mr. Williams, I wanted to tell you I was sorry for what I said at dinner. I should not have spoken what I thought so decidedly. You were quite right in telling me every one may be mistaken, and I respect you for it. Good-night.'

She held out her hand (what a little white hand it looked in the moonlight!) and giving me no time to speak, she ran back to the house.

I could not help thinking about this. Was not the proceeding unusual? not quite in accordance with the Williams' rubric. That was true, but then-was the Williams' rubric infallible? A young girl running out to tell a gentleman she was in the wrong! It might be impulsive, but it was honest and genuine. What a pity she was so fond of balls! What a pity she dressed herself in attractive webs to

dazzle the eyes of foolish men! Was she a flirt? at all events she had not thought it worth her while to try me. Was I duly grateful? I could not doubt Elizabeth's word. If the Williams' estimate were right, she was all a shepherdess should be-while Lizzie was one who, with the crook in her hands, would lead the lambs all astray. I felt sure of this-almost sureand yet, as I fell asleep, I did wish jam tart was not so unwhole

some.

I did not see anything unwholesome for many days, though I often saw Elizabeth in the cottages, seated by the aged, like a ministering angel. Was it necessary that such angels should be clad in sober garments and the most unattractive of bonnets? I believed so.

I was sorry not to see Lizziesorry in a vague sort of way, when an old woman asked Elizabeth one day in my presence why Miss Lizzie never came now.

Elizabeth coloured, said she did not know, and soon after took her leave. So, there had been days when Lizzie, too, had been a ministering angel. I liked to think of those blue eyes bent on the complaints of the poor-those small hands busied. Johnny Williams, your imagination is wandering. The fair wordling had tried and gone back, while Elizabeth was daily at her post. Daily, indeed; and so I could not fail to carry her books sometimes, or see her to the Beech Grove gates, or put up her umbrella for her if it rained, and thinking what a good wife she would make on the Williams' principle. I tried to love her. The loving had not come yet, however, and I was surprised, and took my own heart to task about it. I was so taking my heart to task one afternoon when I met Charley Langton as I turned from the Beech Grove gates. I had declined entering, as somehow I felt as if Mrs. Bingham were beyond me. She was Elizabeth's mother, of course, but perhaps I had not got over that undiscovered report about her fishing-at all events, I did not seek her presence. I met Charley on a fine young horse, but