The lecturer on Antiquities, in the Citizens' Star List, did not give the Parlor Course in the town of Hamlet. He and Mrs. Martin B. Hallowell compromised upon a single lecture, his famous "Legends of the Sphinx," to be read in Mrs. Hallowell's drawing-room upon a day in April-a severely selected day, when Hamlet had no Church festivals, Shakspeare Club, sewing circles, private theatricals, prayer-meeting, or rival lecturer upon its mind, and Mr. Hogarth was not pre-engaged to enlighten the rural New England intellect upon the matter of Antiquities in any other direction.

In the interval between Antiquities and the Sphinx he wrote to Mildred thus:

“DEAR MISS MILDRED,-I have decided against the course on Egyptology, very reluctantly; but shall visit Hamlet once more by a special business arrangement with the committee of ladies who were interested in the matter. I thought I should like you to be the first to know of my decision. It seems, on the whole, to be the wisest and best thing. I wish to do the wise and right thing if I can.

"I hope you are suffering no more than usual. "I shall be your mother's guest again for this last time.

"I am, most sincerely, yours,

"HENRY HOGARTH."

But when he came, all that broke down. The man meant to be prudent-cruelly prudent, perhaps. But he had not seen her for two weeks.

She was out on the piazza roof when he came, in her invalid's chair, looking very sweet and calm and happy, trustfully gazing over the railing at the thin and pale grass that sprang below-the grass she could not yet set her poor feet upon.

A mad impulse came to him to snatch her in his arms and carry her down into the throbbing spring, and say, "I'll hold you here till you, too, live again!"

For it might be-who knew? Love had raised the dying. Mildred was not dying. Joy was God's great healer. What if joy were all she needed! If happiness could

cure

tender and tremulous with buds; the soft air stole by; it was growing green in between the irregular stones of the old flagged walk.

"What do you expect," he cried at length, impatiently-"what do you expect of a man in just my place?"

"I expect nothing," replied the woman, quietly.

"But what would you do if you were I?" A superb light shot through and through her face.

Never mind what I would do if I were a man. I am not."

"Such acquaintances, such friendships, ending nowhere, meaning nothing" he began. But at this, for the first time, Mildred winced. He cried out then, hating himself, angry, tender, wise, and mad at once-a man!

"Oh, forgive me! I meant, nothing to the world-nothing to other people." She was silent.

"You despise me!" said Hogarth, between his teeth.

He came to bid her good-by when the lecture on the legends of the Sphinx was over. It was late, for Mrs. Martin B. Hallowell had invited some of our best people to meet him. And in the morning he took an early train for-Omaha, Mildred believed.

Mrs. Snowe was present. They talked of Egyptology and the Jessops, Mrs. Hallowell, and the Swedish Movement Cure.

Then they shook hands, and he closed the door softly-he had always closed it

But Mildred answered, "Hush!" They sat together for a little, quite silent. Mrs. Snowe and Mrs. Hallowell were chattering down stairs about the Sphinx. Mrs. Hobson, in the blue room behind them, trundled to and fro. The

one in the house. And then Mrs. Hobson came in, and rolled up the round stand, brought the ice-water, wrung out the wet towel, set the milk behind the Cologne bottle, and the crackers on the chair, measured off the Life Food, put the chamomilla within reach, and fixed the fire.

fort in this charming New England town. Where is it? Ask almost any one familiar with the picturesque boroughs of the Housatonic, and this village will be among the first to be described.

From the platform of the car we step into the midst of a motley assemblage. rustic peasantry and fashionable aristocracy intermingled. Anxious faces and eager gazes meet you at every turn. For a few minutes the air fairly rings with kisses, as children welcome fathers, and fathers children. Strange vehicles crowd the dépôt-vehicles of all sizes and descriptions, from the veritable "onehoss shay" to the dainty basket-phaeton of fashion. One by one the merry loads depart, while I, a pilgrim to my old home, stand almost unrecognized by the familiar faces around me. Leaning up against the porch near by, stands a character which, once seen, could never be forgotten. His face is turned from me, but the old straw hat I recognize as the hat of ten years ago, with brim pulled down to a slope in front, and pushed up vertically behind, and the identical hole in the side with the long hair sticking through. Yes, there he stands-Amos Shoopegg. I step up to him and lay my hand upon his shoulder. With creditable skill he unwinds the twist of his intricate legs, and with an inquiring gaze turns his good-natured face toward me.

"Is it possible that you don't remember me, Shoop?"

I

With an expression of surprise he raises both his arms. "Wa'al, thar! swaiou! I didn't cal'late on runnin' agin yeu. I was jes drivin' hum from taownmeetin', an' thought as haow I'd take a turn in, jest out o' cur'osity. Wa'al, naow, it's pesky good to see yeu agin arter sech a long spell. I didn't recognize ye at fust, but I swan when ye began a-talkin', that was enuff fer me. Hello! fetched yer woman 'long tew, hey? Haow air yeu, ma'am? hope ye'er perty tol'ble. Don't see but what yeu look's nateral's ever; but yer man here, I declar for't, he got the best on me at fust;" and after having thus delivered himself, he swal lowed up our hands in his ample fists.

"Yes, Shoop, I thought I'd just run up to the old home for a few days.'

"Wa'al, I swar! I'm tarnal glad to see ye, and that's a fact. Any body cum up arter ye? No? Well, then, s'posin'

he unhitched a corrugated shackle-jointed steed, and backed around his indescribable impromptu covered wagon-a sort of a hybrid between a "one-hoss shay" and a truck.

"Tain't much of a kerridge fer city folks to ride in, that's a fact," he continued, "but I cal'late it's a little better'n shinnin' it." After some little manoeuvring in the way of climbing over the front seat, we were soon wedged in the narrow compass, and, with an unfragrant horse-blanket over our knees, we went rattling down the hill toward the village and home of my boyhood.

Years have passed since those days when as a united family we dwelt under that old roof; but those who once were children are now men and women, with divided interests and individual homes. The old New England mansion is now a homestead only in name, known so only in recollections of the past and the possibilities of the future.

"Wa'al, thar's the old house," presently exclaimed Amos, as we neared the brow of a declivity looking down into the valley below. "Don't look quite so spruce as't did in the old times, but Merchant's a good keerful tenant, 'tain't no use talkin'. I cal'late yeu might dig a pleggy long spell afore yeu could git another feller like him in this 'ere patch."

In the vale below, in its nest of old maples and elms, almost screened from view by the foliage, we look upon the familiar outlines of the old mansion, its diamond window in the gable peering through the branches at us. "Skedup!" cried Amos, as he urged his pet nag into a jog-trot down the hill, through the main street of the town. The long fence in front of the homestead is soon reached, a sharp turn into the drive, a "Whoa, January!" and we are extricated from the wagon.

"Wa'al, I'll leave ye naow. I guess ye kin find yer way around," said Shoop, as with one outlandish geometrical stride he lifted himself into the wagon. Cordially greeted by our hostess, with repeated ur gings to "make ourselves at home," we were shown to our room. The house, though clad in a new dress, still retained the same hospitable and cozy look as of old.

Hometown, owing to some early local faction, is divided into two sections, forming two distinct towns. One, Newbor