Year: 1869




remained lauguidly wrapped up in self
! indulgence forever are reused to gener'
GUS exertion and self.forgetfulness by the
same close relation.


A few years ago there came to little
county town OF England lady whom we
shall call Miss Jennings. This was not
her name, indeed, but her story is true
one, and that is the only matter of inter-
est in this case. She came to take pos
session of little house and hundred q
year; both of which she had inherited
through the death of au uncle whom she
had never seen, and who had never done
her kindness. She tried to mourn Tor
him and she could not. She also tried
| in her consciousness to be grateful to
him, but she soon found out that her
gratitude to the deceased was all for his
dying just a. she was worn out with ID
Dor. Miss Jennings was too honest to
make believe that she was grieving; she
was too good to rejoice; so size put on
black clothes, took little maid-servant
| to wait upon her and keep her company,
and settled down in her own house for
| the first time in her life.


There is an age when sel6shness is o
delicious feeling, whatever moralists may
say. Miss Jennings had been tossed
about in London till home had lost its
meaning for her. And now she had her
own home, and she could live and die in
it. For years she had gone out early snd
come in late, and now she could sii
within the whole day long if it 80 pleased
her. Instead of the three plants in
fiower-pots, which the first frost always
killed, Miss Jennings had her own gar.
den. And to make her happiness com


plete, Miss Jennings could now indulge
! in what had been the day-dream of her
latter years--a painted glass window
IL is all very we'll to deride such simple
Ion gings, but you see they often come
when others depart. Miss Jennings had
had brighter dreams oncs--dreams Of
husband, home and children, and when
these withered away before the chill
breath of old Father Time, she took re-
fuge in harmless fancies. OF these the
painted glass window was the last, and
Miss Jennings was proud and happy
woman when it was put up in the land
ing, and gold and ruby aud sapphire
hues fell on her Gtaircase carpet. II
shall always think of my poor uncle
when / look at the window" thought
Miss Jennings in the warmth of her
gratitude to the dead. And so she did
think of the old gentleman, faithfully, if
not tenderly, and thus the little landing
window got to be a sort of memorial
window, and perhaps it was as true and
as religious in its way as many of its
more ambitious brethren, displaying
their dim gorgeousness in solemn old
cathedrals.


This pleasant, selfish little life had
lasted through the summer time, and
winter was beginning with new series
of delights under the shade of cozy eve
nings by the freside, bright lamp on
the table, and three -volumed novel in
the fat white hands of plump Miss Jen-
nings, who leaned back in the most com.
Portable of arm-chairs to read it, when
next door neighsors stepped in and
blotted out the fair picture. On dreary,
snowy evening, when the wind, blowing
so gustily without, made the comfort
within doubly pleasant, Miss Jennings,
who was gently nodding over a love-
scene, was reused by the intimations
conveyed by her little maid that ME.
Brown, the poor gentleman next door,
whose wife was so i'll, asked to speak to
her. Mr.. Browns errand was sad one;
his dying wife wanted to see Miss Jen-
nings, whom she had never spoken to,
and for whom she had conceived q sick
woman's fancy. Such wishes are not to
be resisted; Miss jennings at once put
by her novel, rose and followed Mr..
Brown to the next house. She never
forgot the scene that awaited her there
"a disordered household, seven woe
begone children, most melancholy
looking husband, aud a dying woman,
whose eyes burned like fire in her wasted
face. At once she seized Miss Jennings
hand, and held it fast.


al knew you would come" she whis-
dsred 81 knew you would. l sm going
10 die. You know we are strangers
here; my poor husband is clerk at the
bank. you know, and my poor children
are all going to ruin. / know you will
take care of them when am gone you
are good know you viii"


MY g0OdneSsl Cfcu Aiss VCuulneot
looking around her in dismay, But the
sick lady did not mind her. She kept on
saying II know you will' as if it were
the burden Of a song; and still uttering
those words she died as ten struck that
night. The Ere was not out when Miss
Jennings came homeI tho lamp still
burned brightly; the open novel still lay
ON the table; the chair seemed to await
its mistress, bat Miss Jennings sighed
drearily as she sank into it. Seven chill
dren however, would that poor nervous
Mr.. Brown, who was out all day, aud did
not know a soul in the place, how would
he manage2 Miss Jennings had not the
least intention OF accepting the dead
lady's legacy, but still :how would be
manage, you kuow7 BE managed tol-
erably well, thanks to Miss Jennings.
You see there WAS more tenderness than
the paiuted-glass window could absorb.
At first she only went in to direct Mr..
Browns one servant, until be should
get some one;" but that some one never
coming, for many excellent reasons, Miss
Jennings gave up that illusion, and said
10 herself that she must give lock 10