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 that she scarcely realized the absence of Ernest, who surprised her late in the evening, lost in reverie over the mystic shades of the Past, which seemed as unreal as the joys of the Present, yet fascinating from their strange power of inspiring Reverence for what has passed away. Before her on the table lay an open writing-book in which she had completed the translation of an English story into French, and written at the close, "Voila la fin de cette histoire! and Puss has nodded her approval of every word of it." Beneath was written in her father's hand-writing, looking so familiar that it seemed to bring him before her as if it were but yesterday, "Et tu l'a ecrit a merveille, ma chere; but think not that I shall accept the testimony of a stupid cat to decide its merits." How freshly it brought to mind the old gray cat whose presence was such a painful reminder of scenes that could never be recalled, but whose death had been mourned as if she were a thinking member of the household from her association with those scenes. She rested her face on her hands and gave herself up to reflection, in which position Ernest surprised her. She looked up with an exclamation of joy as he removed her hands. "What!" said she, "home so soon?" to which he replied laughing, "The time cannot have seemed very long if you call this soon, nearly midnight."

"It has been a very busy day with me and a pleasant one too, I confess, though mingled with much that is sad; and I was so still in my closet looking over some books in a trunk that Kate did not hear me, and thought I was out when Mrs. Lane