the pleasant rectories to be found in our quiet English country.-A long, low front, with casement windows, jessamine, clematis, and roses twining over it; a very bright flower-garden on a bank sloping towards the house was on one side, and a neatly mown lawn in front. Percy sprang from his horse, his uncle holding the reins with the hook of his riding-whip, and ran in to look for his father. He was generally to be found in his study all the morning, and was soon at the door. He spoke to Constance as affectionately as if she had been his own child, and then stood talking with his brother. He, too, was a widower; his wife had died about nine years before. He looked rather older than his brother, for streaks of grey mingled with his dark hair, which was thin on the temples, and displayed a high and peculiarly intellectual forehead.

Percy did not return with his father, it was some minutes before he reappeared, and when he did, an old lady was leaning on his arm, whom Constance welcomed with evident signs of joy. "Oh, here's dear Aunt Mabel;"-whilst Percy exclaimed, "Aunt Mabel is quite inclined to mount Count Robert, and ride with us, if he had only a side-saddle on."

Aunt Mabel only smiled at his observation, and turned to speak to Constance.-Dear Aunt Mabel! would that we could describe her as she stood there, her face turned up to the bright young face that looked down so lovingly upon her. She was rather a little old lady, dressed in a black silk dress, a cap and collar of Valenciennes lace, her gray hair smoothly parted on her forehead. She was the only sister of

Mrs. Montrevor, the mother of the present possessor of Elvanlees, and had come to live at the Rectory directly after the Rector, as he was generally called for distinction, had lost his wife.

It had been a trial to her to give up her own quiet little house near her childhood's home; yet when she came to visit her nephew after his wife's death, and saw the melancholy state of his home, with no one to be a companion to him, or to take charge of his motherless boys, and perceived that he had never troubled his mind about household affairs, and knew not how to begin, she made up her mind that it would be her duty to offer to remain, and do the best she could to lighten his load of care and sorrow.

Her offer was received with great thankfulness, and Aunt Mabel's visit, of which the boys had begun to dread the termination, was prolonged into à residence for life.

She stood talking to Constance for some minutes, and then, as the riders set off again, the Rector (we must be excused for calling him so, to avoid confusion,) gave her his arm to lead her back to the house; but they turned, and both sighed as they watched the young horseman.

"I suppose I did not expect to keep my sons at home all their lives," Mr. Montrevor said, as they moved slowly to the house; "but I do not know how to make up my mind to the loss of that merry one."

"The house will seem strange without him, and his holidays will not come twice a-year now, to wake us up; and yet I fully believe that there was never

a truer proverb than "God fits the back to the burden."

"You are right, indeed, Aunt Mabel; I have proved its truth," he answered, as they reached the door. Aunt Mabel went back to her own sitting-room, the Rector to his study.

CHAPTER III.

"I float along a summer tide,
With blessings crown'd on every side,
Enlivening scenes, a balmy breeze,
Responsive to a mind at ease.

Yet tribulation is man's lot."

SIR A. EDMONSTONE.

CONSTA

ONSTANCE'S invitation to Ada Sedgeleigh was gladly accepted. Ada's home was not happy; the word sympathy was little understood in it. She had but one sister, who was several years older than herself, and of a selfish disposition, with love of admiration as her ruling passion. Her mother was a weak, foolish woman; her father, a thoughtless, extravagant man.

Constance was first drawn towards Ada by seeing how far from happy she was in her own home, and yet how patiently she strove to submit to evils for which there seemed no remedy. And when poor Ada felt that she had found in Constance a friend who would understand her, it seemed to her as if a gleam of happiness were dawning upon her for the first time.

Mr. Montrevor set out for London by an early train, and in the afternoon Ada arrived. As it was still early, the friends strolled out in the park. The path which Constance seemed instinctively to take led to a prettily ornamented cottage, in the gay

garden of which a lady was superintending the watering of her flower-beds.

Constance walked to the gate to speak to her, and was welcomed, as usual, with much pleasure. As they turned homewards, after a few minutes' conversation, Ada remarked, How fond Mrs. Lester seems of

you!"

"And so am I of her," Constance answered eagerly: "she has been always so kind to me. sant to have her settled so near."

"I suppose she quite looks home."

It is so plea

upon

this as her

"Yes; for she has so few relations. She has only one brother. His history is rather a romantic one. He married, when quite young, a beautiful Italian girl of noble birth, the daughter of a refugee."

"And do they live in England ?"

"She does not. They had one little daughter, and after her birth, her mother returned to Italy, taking her child with her. I believe she was not at all happy; her husband was idle and extravagant; and Mrs. Lester fears they were in a good deal of distress. But at last her Italian relations urged her to return to Italy, where, under shelter of her English name, she could live unmolested. Mrs. Lester hears very little of them, or of her brother; but I think it often makes her anxious."

They reached the house as Constance's little history was finished, and went in to dress for dinner.

On the following morning they repaired to Constance's favourite sitting-room; and as Ada was desirous of copying a drawing of Elvanlees which Con