justify her father's pride and hopes; for Edna, a girl of seventeen, had a graceful figure, a cheek as delicate as a rose-petal, soft steel-blue eyes with dark lashes and brows, hair the hue of ripe wheat, and that indescribable sweetness of expression in which American maidens surpass all others. Her plain, black dress, relieved only by a white collar and wristbands, did not in the least detract from her appearance, but, on the contrary, enhanced her clear complexion to brilliancy. So her father thought, and his heart swelled with new-born pride in the possession of such a child. There was an unusual tenderness in his voice when he questioned her, "Edna, what are you going to do this morning?"

It was a purposeless question, meant simply to attract her attention towards him.

Edna turned her face towards her father with an inquiring look, for the query was a very unusual one. "I intend to call on Ada Mumbie; I left my crochet-work there on Monday, and am going after it. Have you any errand for me, sir?"

"No, daughter. Crochet-work is certainly important business, and should not be neglected," replied her father with a smile. "I hope, however, you have other and better ways of employing your time."

"I trust so, sir," said Edna.

"I wish, my child, you would adopt the plan of writing me a letter every day, or every other day will do. It matters not how short it may be—a few sentences will suffice. But I want it done as well as you know how, and have you bestow thought upon it. Let it consist of a criticism on some book you have read, or some picture you have seen. For instance, you might begin to write criticisms on the pictures in the gallery in succession, varying them, however, with such opinions of other matters, persons, or objects as may strike your fancy. But what I want are your ideas and none other, expressed in the best language you are capable of. You will do so, will you not?"

"Certainly, father, if it pleases you."

"Well, but I don't want you to do it solely because it pleases me. I want you to acquire a taste for such employment. I was looking over some of your letters from school the other day, and I was very well pleased with the style, but I noticed a lack of thought. True, you are still young, and can hardly be expected to evince much of that, but I want to cultivate your mind in that respect, and now is the time to begin. Bear in mind, skill in epistolary writing is a great accomplishment; especially so in a woman," continued Mr. Heath; then turning to his daughter-in-law he said, "Mercedita, I have an appointment at the bank at ten. I shall be back at eleven. Tell John I shall expect to find him in the library waiting for me at that hour. I have business for him. I want some copying done. Mr. Frisbee has more than he can attend to now;" and Mr. Heath rose to leave. As he opened the door to go out he stopped for a moment, reflectively, with his hand on the knob, "Edna."

"Yes, father," replied the young girl, rising and going towards him.

"When you return from your visit, come up into the library. I shall select some works I wish you to read. Don't fail, my dear;" and Mr. Heath, before leaving, imprinted a light kiss on his daughter's forehead. She received it with an expression of pleased surprise. It was the first time he had ever favored her in that way. So unwonted a demonstration of tenderness on the part of her brother even caused Mrs. Applegate to pause in the act of pouring out her fourth cup of tea, and stare at the scene. "Edna seems to be in favor this morning," she remarked when Mr. Heath had left, "but John, I am afraid, Mercedita, has greatly offended his father, and is very much in disfavor."

"O Mercedita!" added Edna, "do beg him to apologize to father at once, and try and make amends. Just think how troubled father must be at grandfather's death, and that Jack should add to his grief is too bad. Do, please, entreat him, Mercedita, to—"

"I do not pretend to have any influence whatever over John. I might have, if he had any consideration for my feelings; but as I am sure he has never shown the slightest, of what use would my remonstrances or pleadings be? He may follow the path he has chosen without any interference from me," answered the young wife with an affected indifference.

"Father expects him at eleven," said Edna, "and I hope Jack will be punctual. I wouldn't have father continue angry at him for the world. I wonder if James has told him? I'll go and see;" and she hurried off, in her anxiety to reconcile her father and brother.

"I think, Mercedita, if you took John in the right way," said Mrs. Applegate, "you might do a good deal with him. He is as good-hearted a person as ever lived. He's whimsical, to be sure, and perhaps we all indulged him a little too much when he was a boy. I'll not deny that. But then, you know, a little coaxing will go a great ways."

A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply the young wife deigned to make to this advice, and Mrs. Applegate continued: "Now, I've had a good deal of experience in these matters, and I recollect very distinctly, when Mr. Applegate and I were first married, he was as full of whims and notions as could be, and naturally it was a source of trouble in more ways than one to me. Mr. Applegate utterly detested cats for one thing—couldn't bear 'em; indeed, he had such a great detestation of them, that I verily believe it actually affected his system; though, to be sure, he was consumptive, and subject to constant attacks of dyspepsia. I've heard of many such cases. Not long ago I read in the papers an account of some distinguished person—I forget the name, now, though it's a familiar one—let me see, I think it was Alexander the Great, or it might have been Luther, I won't be certain which; but at all events it was some well-known and distinguished person who was thrown into convulsions every time he saw a black rabbit—no, not a black rabbit, but a drawn sword. It was another well-known person who was affected in a similar way by a black rabbit. Now this goes to show—"

What this went to show we are unable to say, for at this point, Mrs. Applegate's instructive, though somewhat irrelevant discourse, was interrupted by the entrance of Jack Heath, who was evidently in no amiable frame of mind, and under the influence, probably, of the whimsical state alluded to by his kinswoman. He took his seat in sulky silence, and then began to scold the waiter. He found fault with everything—the steak was too cold, the eggs too hard, the tea too hot, the toast too dry, etc. The two ladies looked on without venturing a remark. From the dull, sodden look of his eyes, and his carelessly brushed hair, Jack's rest and peace of mind had evidently been badly disturbed. He was large and unduly corpulent for so young a man, being barely two-and-twenty, although he might have passed for ten years older; and on his fat face the freshness of youth had given place to the inflamed flush of the toper. After a few mouthfuls he could contain himself no longer, and vented his spleen in a grumbling tirade. "Seems to me there's a devil of a row here about nothing. Can't have a bit of comfort in this house. Come home tired and want to have my sleep out, and along comes James drumming away at my door as if the house was on fire; says the old man sent him—then Edna, she must come bothering me to get up. Confound it, some of you women are at the bottom of it all, I'll bet. Been complaining to the old man, have you?"

This last was directed with a scowl to his wife, who, without condescending to reply, arose from her chair and wrapping her shawl close about her, swept out of the room indignant, leaving Mrs. Applegate to confront Jack's temper alone.

"A young feller's a fool that gets married," continued Jack, addressing no one in particular.

Mrs. Applegate, feeling this apothegm to be rather a reflection on her sex, and one which ought not to pass unchallenged, ventured a mild qualification. "Well, John, it depends very much whether the fellow, as you