than even I did,-modestly as I have expressec
my wishes.

It is a rather pleasant thing to tell a poor young
woman, whom one has contrived to win without
showing his rent-roll, that she has found what the
world values so highly, in following the lead of her
affections. That was an enjoyment I was now
ready for.

I began abruptly :-Do you know that you are a
rich young person?

I know that I am very rich,—she said.—Heaven
has given me more than I ever asked; for I had not
thought love was ever meant for me.

It was a woman's confession, and her voice fell to
a whisper as it threaded the last words.

I don't mean that, I said,-you blessed little
saint and seraph!—if there's an angel missing in the
New Jerusalem, inquire for her at this boarding-
house!-I don't mean that! I mean that I—that is,
you-am-are-confound it!-I mean that you'll
be what most people call a lady of fortune.—And ]
looked full in her eyes for the effect of the announce-
ment.

There wasn't any. She said she was thankful
that I had what would save me from drudgery, and
that some other time I should tell her about it.-]
never made a greater failure in an attempt to pro-
duce a sensation.

So the last day of summer came. It was ou

choice to go to the church, but we had a kind of
reception at the boarding-house. The presents were
all arranged, and among them none gave more plea-
sure than the modest tributes of our fellow-boarders,
-for there was not one, I believe, who did not send
something. The landlady would insist on making
an elegant bride-cake, with her own hands; to which
Master Benjamin Franklin wished to add certain
embellishments out of his private funds,-namely, a
Cupid in a mouse-trap, done in white sugar, and
two miniature flags with the stars and stripes, which
had a very pleasing effect, I assure you. The land-
lady's daughter sent a richly bound copy of Tupper's
Poems. On a blank leaf was the following, written
in a very delicate and careful hand :—

On the eve ere her union in holy matrimony.
May sunshine ever beam o'er her!

Even the poor relative thought she must do some-
thing, and sent a copy of "The Whole Duty of
Man," bound in very attractive variegated sheep-
skin, the edges nicely marbled. From the divinity-
student came the loveliest English edition of
"Keble's Christian Year." I opened it, when it
came, to the Fourth Sunday in Lent, and read that
angelic poem, sweeter than anything I can remem-
ber since Xavier's "My God, I love thee."---I am
not a Churchman, I don't believe in planting oaks
in flower-pots, but such a poem as "The Rose.