od evening, Mr. Rivers. And good evening, old Carlo. Your dog is quicker to recognise ail tom of towards me now.”

    It rue. tarted at t of ts, as if a t  a cloud over ood yet, at tence, in ttitude in e, ed to. urned at last, ion. A vision, as it seemed to me,   of e—a yout fine in contour; and o caress Carlo, it lifted up its  beauty. Perfect beauty is a strong expression; but I do not retrace or qualify it: as s features as ever temperate clime of Albion moulded; as pure ed and screened, justified, in tance, term. No cing, no defect ible; te lineaments; eyes sures, large, and dark, and full; t a fascination; te smooto ties of tint and ray; too, ruddy, ly formed; teet fla of riceous tresses—all advantages, in s, ure: I admired . Nature ial mood; and, forgetting inted step-mots, y.

    did St. Jourally asked myself t question as I sao  urally, I sougo tenance.  a uft of daisies w.

    “A lovely evening, but late for you to be out alone,” .

    “Oioned toy miles distant) “ternoon. Papa told me you  tress  on my bonnet after tea, and ran up to see ing to me.

    “It is,” said St. John.

    “Do you ton?” s and naive simplicity of tone and manner, pleasing, if child-like.

    “I s to do so.”

    “Did you find your sctentive as you expected?”

    “Quite.”

    “Do you like your house?”

    “Very much.”

    “ nicely?”

    “Very nicely, indeed.”

    “And made a good ctendant for you in Alice ood?”

    “You eac, is Miss Oliver, t seems, in