, 1898-11-04
p I.

tended me for one"
Mature has made you a queen by right
of divine grace and beauty" was the earn
est reply, and Nature, Violante, is a lady
who never makes Mistakes"
But" cried the rich voice again, "a
lady, Vivian, to nave a title to my name,
to live at a grand castle, to have servants
and carriages, jewels, and all kinds of
grandeur! Why, Vivian, | should not
even know myself"
but l should know you, and that is
more to the purpose" he replied.
Better any pain now" she said, than
that hereafter you should repent; and,
Vivian, we are so far apart, our lives
have been so different. You would re-
pent, l am sure"
I'VE are not far apart" he replied, hast
lily. IF you mean by that that l have
thousands a year and your father one
hundred, | maintain hat you are quite
wrong. Your father is a gentleman, a
scholar, and a man of honor. What am ]
more-even if l nave SO much"
She made the most charming little cour.
fesy, full of mock Difference and win.
ming grace.
"You, m~onsignor,'' she interrupted, "are
Lord Vivian Selwyn, of Selwyn Castle,
Knight of the Order of the Garter, Baron
of Hulstone in Yorkshire, and of Craigh-
ley in Scotland. You see, l know you
name and titles by heart"
He smiled amusedly.
Never mind my titles" he said. "You
are the daughter of a gentleman; you are
a lady by instinct, by nature, by training,
by education, in manner, in thought, word
and deed. What can l desire more?'
There was still some hesitation in heI
lovely face.
"Violante," he whispered, "do you see
how the flowers bloom, and how their
leaves send out fragrant messages to their
ardent lover-the sun? Do you hear how
the birds sing? Do you hear the wind
whispering among the trees? Shall flow.
ers and birds and trees be more happy
thar II"
For the first time she turned and looked
at him, her beautiful eyes met his, and
rested in them. In that quiet, serene
glance, the destiny of their lives was set
tied.
The world is full of beautiful pictures.
Some hang on the walls of grand old gal.
leries; some on the walls of palaces whose
very names are rednlent of fine art; some
brightenvhunbler hbmess- some are placed
IN old cathedral aisles-over the affairs OF
churches; some have never been framed
or painted, save by the land of the Great
Creator-pictures whose beauty makes
earth so fair; pictures of white, feecy
clouds sailing over a blue sky; of golden
sunshine falling in soft rays; of pale,
pure stars, making more solemn the sol.
emn night-tide; such pictures as touch
mems hearts with a sense Of the sublime,
bringing deep, holy rapture into the soul,
and tao PC of aornact 0ro tit1da ~ auaa Iona
dry.
And surely the f~airest, the sweetest,
The purest picture of all was this one
upon which the sun shone like a smile
from heaven. The picture of a long green
lane where the grass grew soft and thick,
where the banks presented one mass OF
bloom, and the hedges were white with
hawthorne green, shady, fragrant lane,
such as one only sees in Old England.
There was the quaint, picturesque town
Of WOodeaves lying in the Leicestershire
hills, half buried in green foliage, sur
rounded by thick woods, by rich green
clover meadows, by golden cornfields, by
fertile pasture lands, lowery gardens and
fruit-laden% orchards, stretching out to the
purple hills as to an unknown land.
There was a grand old church whose
spire pointed like a slender hand to heav-
en-. 1t was covered with ivy, and inclos-
ed by tall oak trees, under whose shade
the lead slept so quietly and so well. The
houses were pretty and stood embowered
In trees.
That was the picture one saw from be-
tween the trees; and then, turning to the
stile at the end of the lane, there was
another picture even fairer still.
Behind a cluster of golden laburnums
and purple lilacs, there stood a pictur.
esque, gray old house, frightened by scar
let creepers, by purple wisteria, and climb.
ing w%oodbines; a house with large, bright
windows, framed in trailing flowers and
roses Of white and red, with quaint old
gable ends and deep, ~overhanging caves,
where birds built their nests and sparrows
ehirped.
A house that stood in a most bewilder.
ing garden-not square and trim and laid
out as the Dutch like to see-but full of
hooks and corners; full Of trees, whose
roots were hidden in great masses of
mignonette and Glove carnations: full OF
old-fashioned flowers such as poets loved
long years a~go-sweet peas and sweet
williams, southernwood and pansies, lilies
and roses. Every path had a charm OF
its own, leading either. to fragrant rose.
bushes or beds of white lilies Or plots of
rope-red strawberries or raspberries run
ming wild. At the end of the garden stood
the pretty rustic old stile; golden labur-
nuns dropped over it, and tall lilacs stood
proudly near; and here the sunbeams fell
us though they loved to linger, for they
frightened the fair head of one of the
fairest girls who ever looked up to the
summer skies.
She, Yiolante Temple. stood by the stile,
with the laburnums dropping over ner.
Her lover had pushed aside the %boughs,
and they made a frame for her lovely,
6iquant face. He was bending over her,
Matching the play of her beautiful lips,
Thinking in the eyer-changing beauty OF
Ter eyes.
She was Il fair picture. No artist ever
painted, no poet ever sung of a fGirer. Sh
eauld not have been more than seventeen.
H. nirlish clnndnr Gnnrp u-nc ft1l Of