"However, Mark, you are doing the right thing at the right time, and I have no doubt patients will come in crowds before the winter is over. As for Ada being the one woman in all the world for you, I have no doubt about that either; Polly is cut out for fashionable life, and would never have done for a doctor's wife. grande dame every inch, I assure you."

She is the

"I can quite believe it. And yet, what a regular country-girl she was, when I used to stare her out of countenance in church, and compose sonnets in praise of her beauty, instead of saying my prayers. And that reminds me that little Blossom has dropped in for a real good thing; he has been made Dean of St. Chad's. Only fancy that small meek man being Mr. Dean! He'll be bishop next, I suppose. His friends have interest, you know; and then his marrying Clara Balaam was a stroke of good luck. But it's a great shame!-a burning shame that such things should be. Blossom never had any brains worth speaking of, and now, because his people have wealth and influence, he is set up in a deanery. Ugh!"

When Mark got upon the subject of ecclesiastical abuses, there was no knowing where he would end; and as I scarcely shared his zeal, though I agreed with him in the main, I hastened to turn the conversation, by saying something about the wedding-day that was so close at hand.

"You will have to reply for the bridesmaids, remember, old fellow!" he said at once, not at all sorry to revert to the inexhaustible theme of his approaching marriage. "And I hope you will have a splendid speech ready for the occasion. You will be paired with Fanny Charlton-the beauty, you know! and the first bridesmaid; the two elder sisters are already married, and therefore ineligible."

"How many bridesmaids are there to be?"

"Four, I believe; her two sisters, Fanny and Julia, and two old school friends, Miss Macartney and Miss Browne. They both live near the Charltons. Though I am longing for the day, I wish it were over; I feel as if I were going to be shot or hung; on these occasions the bridegroom generally cuts a ridiculous figure. Fanny had the impudence to inform me that he was the person of the least consequence, and wholly uninteresting."

"No doubt! It would be awkward, however, if the bridegroom should fail to put in an appearance. Uninteresting as he may be, it would make all the difference."

"So I told Miss Fanny. But she has a sharp tongue, and so her beauty, which really is remarkable, has not got her a husband yet. I fancy she does not quite like my Ada, younger than herself, getting the start of her.

who is two years But then Ada is

a darling, and I am lucky to get such a sweet little wife; and

Fanny-well, she is ten times handsomer, I suppose, and much more brilliant; only, she has a temper! So, though her lovers are many, and her admirers countless, her affairs all hang fire, and she has never been properly engaged yet. Men are so afraid of a girl with a temper, and Fanny's sarcasm entirely frightens them away, just as they are getting spooney over her classic features and her wonderful complexion. Now, my Ada never said an unkind thing of anybody in her life, bless her! I say, Oliver, mind you don't go and fall in love with the first-bridesmaid on the day of days. She will look splendid, I know, and it is commonly said that one wedding makes many."

"Do not be afraid for me! Falling in love, though a perfectly legitimate recreation at twenty and a half, in most cases, is not for me. As I might as rationally think of the Premiership as of marriage, I do not mean to concern myself with the tender passion for many and many a day to come. In about ten years' time, perhaps, when I have made myself a position, either as physician or publisher I am undetermined, as yet, which line I shall ultimately follow-when I am thirty, say, I shall ask Mrs. Mark Rayner to find me a wife as good, and sweet, and delightful as herself. No, no! Miss Charlton will not prove man-traps,' as far as I am concerned. I dare say I shall admire her-I cannot help admiring beauty,-but I shall not be smitten."

"Don't be too confident, young man. And don't forget your speech. I have had mine at my tongue's end these three years and more."

I did not see Polly again before I went down into the country for the wedding, but I received a kind note from her and a morocco case, which savoured of Storr and Mortimer's, and which I was to present to the bride in her name, on the evening before her marriage. It contained a beautiful bracelet of considerable value, and in the very latest fashion. I saw Polly's gift on Ada's slender wrist, when Mark was putting the wedding-ring on her finger. Thinking of old times, it all seemed like a dream.

Mark and I went down to Aylesbury together by an afternoon train. Of course, Mr. Charlton's house was in the wildest confusion; the breakfast was partly set out in the dining-room; the bridesmaids were all busy as bees, and Ada herself scarcely found time to embrace her future lord. She gave me a very hearty welcome though, and carried me off at once, that I might be introduced to the bridesmaids. Yes! Miss Charlton was a very fine young lady, but she had not that excellent thing in woman—“ a soft voice." Miss Julia Charlton was pretty, and a good deal like the bride, but she was painfully self-conscious, and as one of the grooms unkindly remarked in an aside, "thought no little of her

self." As the married sisters were present, I could compare all five daughters of the house of Charlton with each other, and I quickly came to the conclusion that Mark had secured the flower of the family. Miss Macartney was a nice, gentle girl, not particularly good-looking, but as I was duly informed, “very well connected, and something of an heiress!"

The fourth bridesmaid was not forthcoming, and Ada turning to some one else said, "Where is Lily Browne?"

Did my ears deceive me? No. Again there was a cry for "Lily! Lily!-Lily Browne!" My heart began to beat, as memories of Giltspur Street involuntarily arose. But then, Brownes were as plentiful almost as Smiths, and Lily was becoming a popular female name. The conjunction was curious, certainly; but there might be a dozen or two Lily Brownes scattered up and down the country, for aught I knew. I waited with suppressed impatience till Miss Browne should appear.

By-and-by she came tripping downstairs, calling out, "Here I am! Ada, do you want me?"

"Yes, dear," said Ada. "I want to introduce Mr. Westwood to you. He is Mark's dearest friend, and, of course, mine too; and as you know, best man to-morrow, and so a person of importance."

"I used to know some one of the name of Westwood," answered a sweet, low voice, like the chiming of silver bells. And a pair of violet-blue eyes were shyly raised, and dropped again as quickly. Though it was going on for fifteen years since I saw those eyes last, there was no mistaking them; the pretty little girl had grown into a lovely young lady; but they were the same soft, laughing eyes that used to meet mine, when long ago we sat on the same bench on Sunday afternoons, in St. Paul's Cathedral. Yes; and the ringlets were the same, scarcely less golden, only longer, and perhaps of deeper colour; and there was the same rosebud of a mouth, and the same pink-and-white complexion, and the same tiny hands and feet, that seemed ready now for the dance. I do not say I should have known Lily Browne, had I met her promiscuously; but introduced by name, and seeing her conscious looks, I could not possibly be mistaken. Nevertheless, I asked, "Is it possible you are Miss Lily Browne, of Giltspur Street?"

"I am Lily Browne," she answered, smiling sweetly," but I have not seen Giltspur Street for many a day. Papa has retired. The air of London did not agree with him, so he bought a nice little place about a mile from this. It suits me to be near the Charltons, for Julia and I are immense friends. Oh, how nice it is to see you, and be able to talk over old times! Did you ever get my ridiculous letter ? "

66

Indeed I did! And you are not married to Master Lee?” "Master Lee? Oh, yes, I recollect; he was my special beau, when, at Miss Sims' instigation, I wrote to you. I am sure I do not know what has become of him. But his father never was Lord Mayor-he became bankrupt, and there were no end of unpleasantnesses, for papa lost money by him, and so did lots of people. Sam Lee went to Australia, I believe, I am not sure. I never think of him, except when I see the old garnet necklace he gave me, just before the crash came."

"I am afraid, Miss Browne, you set light store by your lovers. How many hearts have you broken since you and I parted in Giltspur Street?-let me see, how many years ago?"

"Oh, don't count them, it makes me feel so horridly old! How many hearts have I broken, do you ask? Not one! Hearts never break now-a-days; it is mauvais ton now, to go in for unlimited sentiment. I have had heaps of lovers, of course, but I am still Lilias Browne."

"How is that? I always thought of you as married long ago.' "So you have thought of me now and then? As to why I am Lilias Browne, instead of Lilias something else, I can hardly tell. I suppose it is because, though the name of my lovers is Legion, the right person has never asked me. And though I don't believe in hearts and blighted affections, I should like, I confess, to care a little for the person I marry."

Just then Lily was called away, but she and I spent a great part of that evening-and a very pleasant evening it was-in each other's society. And I am afraid I made an enemy for life of Miss Charlton next day, for I culpably devoted myself to the wrong bridesmaid. The wedding was pretty much like any other wedding. Ada went through the ceremony charmingly, and Mark did his part manfully; Mrs. Charlton cried, as mammas always do when they marry a daughter, and the bridesmaids cried too, as in duty bound; and Mr. Charlton all but cried when he replied to the complimentary speeches of his guests. My speech, I understood, was quite a success, and the bridesmaids-even the basely neglected Fannywere satisfied. There was the usual handing of dishes and popping of corks, the departure of the happy pair, the throwing of satin slippers, and of some shoes that were not satin; and the merry dance in the evening, when everybody felt it to be a point of conscience to keep up the spirits of the bereaved parents.

Next day I returned to London, and to business. Alas! alas! in spite of all those sage assertions of mine, in spite of my wise resolve to eschew holy matrimony, and the love-making which precedes it, till a more convenient season, I did nothing but think and dream of Miss Lilias Browne! I hardly know how it came about,

but we had agreed to resume our long-suspended correspondence. And there was no Mrs. Wray now to bring me to book, even though I wrote and received billets-doux by the score. It might have been better for me if there had been.

(To be continued.)

A MESSAGE.

A message in the darkness,
A message from my Lord,
An answer to my prayers,
And yet no spoken word.
I cried for some great trial
To test my love for Him,
To prove if still I wavered,
If yet my faith were dim.

I longed for some great struggle,
To fight, and dare, and die;
Some foe to be o'ermastered,
From my strong arm to fly.

And He, my heavenly Master,
Saw all my foolish pride,
And sent His loving angel
To whisper at my side.

And in the still night watches
I hear His tender voice-
"I send to thee a message,
I bid thee now rejoice.

"Not in the path of victory,
Where glorious laurels bloom,
Not in the seat of triumph,
Nor in an honoured tomb.

"Not there shall be thy portion,
No martyr thou shalt prove;
This is thy Master's order-
Love, suffer, hope, and love!"

F. R.