Year: 1863

I am an old man; yet it only seems a
very short time since | climbed the tall
poplar tree that grew before the Vicarage
in search of t e staring's nest. | can
| fancy hear the Shout that greeted my
descent with the long coveted prize, and
ieel again the crimson mounting t. my
cheeks, ;ts it did when, turning to the
Vicarage, | saw an expression of pain on
the pale face of my father. as he stood at
the study window.


Il seems to me but yesterday since l
stood in the centre of that group of lads.
| and now-


''They are all gone, the Old familiar faces"
Dick, the surgeons son, died many years
ago in India. Harvey Vernon, the brav-
est of them all, was slain on the field of
Waterloo; and when the village bells rang
for the victory, the rudest fellow in the
village was touched as he passed the
Grange and saw the blinds down, and
knew of the breaking heart of old widow
Vernon.


1t was a sad day for us at the Vicarage,
especially for Emily. My father staid in
his library all day; though I do not think
he read page in any of his books-even
in his tavorites, Sophocles and Horace.


Emily and my mother were in my moth
er's chamber all the day. From that day
Emily gradually dropped and faded. Her
beautiful face grew more exquisitely
beautiful-her dark, deep eyes became
more full and lustrous, but they wandered
restlessy, as though seeking some missing
resting place; her golden hair q have
still thick lock of it amongst an old
mans memories of other days, the "days
of auld lang syne y hung more carelessly
about her shoulders, and her pale cheeks
were sutfused with rosy tint that gradu-
ally deepened into burning crimson,
whilst her sweet voice sunk almost into
whisper. AS looked at her, her start
ling beauty reminded me Of the language
of the book my mother used to read to
her as she lay on the couch in the draw
ing room. Her face was as the face of
an angel


All, me! how am wandering from the
circumstance l sat down to write about;
but you must forgive an old man, for
whenever | think Of Emily it is always
so. Let me see-yes, / remember per-
fectly.


1t was Christmas Eve in the year 1891,
and the snow had been falling heavily all
the day, blotting out the hedges and walls
which surrounded the Vicarage, and bu
rying the sun-dial that Willie and l had
carved with great pains during the long
winter evenings.


I had come from my fathers study,
where I and Willie had been having our
usual lesson in Latin. Willie was high
spirited lad, of very loving and atfec-
tionate disposition; though when excited
or in a pa assiOn, his temper was fearful to
behold, and his eyes flashed with strange
light that made US all tremble except my
father. 1t was some time before my fa-
ther came down, but when he did we
heard him lock the study door after him,
and he came down alone. He looked
very stern and angry; he was in one of
those moods which sometimes took pos
session of him when he was disturbed.
Though my father was always silent when
| in these moods, yet always thought there
was vivid resemblance between them
and Willie's outbreaks of passion.
"Willie will not come down tonight, "
said he; 81 have left him in the study
with lesson that will keep him all night. -
| thought | saw tear start from my
mothers eye, as she turned her face to
the window and looked out upon the snow
which still continued to fall heavily.


1t was the anniversary of Emilys birth
day, and we were expecting party of
young friends (chldren of the neighbor-
ing gentry,) to pass the evening at the
Vicarage


1t began to grow dark about 4 O'Clock,
; and then our company began to arrive.
There were, first, the children of Squire
! Harcourt, who came wrapped in soft turs
and shawls, in the old-fashiOned cozy
family carriage, with its couple of docile
! greys. Then came Harry Vernon, and
his sisters, Emily and Agnes; and, as the
time wore on, about score OF young
people were assembled at the Vicarage
1t was a merry party. My father, whom
it would be an injustice to represent as an


unkind man, threw himself into the spirit


of our merriment as though he had been


one of us. The furniture, excepting the


old-fashioned piano, had been removed


from the drawing room, and it and the


sitting room had, by the removal of par


tition, been thrown into one, making a


large and commodious room, which had


been plentifully hung with holly and other


evergreens. The red berries cleaned like


tiny masses of fire beneath the dark green


glossy leaves, and here and there my Sis


ter's hands had gracefully arranged bunch


es of many colored ribbons.


Many inquiries were made for Willie,


and tor moment or two shadow seemed


cast upon the pleasure of the children


when they were told that Willie, the pre-
siding spirit of fun in every juvenile party,


would not be with them; but all feeling