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THAT JUNE. due to her to tell her, first, of our intention. Let-us do nothing underhanded.”

“Then shall I call her?”

“I suppose there is nothing else to be done,” said Mr. Vivian, wearily, but as if he only half assented to the proposition.

Mrs. Vivian moved toward the door, but before she had reached it, her husband started to his feet.

“Stop,” he said. “I have it.”

His whole face had lightened up.

“I have it,” he said. “My dear, have you never seen mice about? They generally infest every house.”

“Mice!” Mrs. Vivian laughed. “Why, my dear, are you crazy? Mice don’t eat twenty- dollar notes.”

“But have you ever seen mice in this room?” persisted Mr. Vivian.

“I have heard them, at night, occasionally, but I have never seen them. But what can that have to do with the money?”

“I am certain now. I should have searched everywhere, in any event; but now I feel sure the mice have done it. Don’t look so incredulous, my dear. A mouse wouldn’t eat a bank- note, she would rather have a bit of cheese, but she might think the note’ would make a very nice nest for her little ones. We must have the carpets up.”

“Oh! Mr. Vivian, what do you mean? Take up the carpets, and have the room to clean again, and everything upside down——”

“My dear, I will begin at the most likely place: by the hearth, say. I will take out the tacks myself, aud very carefully: there shall be no dust made, I assure you. Perhaps we will not have to look far.”

“Mrs. Vivian knew, when her husband spoke in this mild, yet decided manner, that there was nothing to do but to yield gracefully. She went, therefore, to a closet, and brought out the tack- hammer.

Mr. Vivian, clergyman as he was, did not disdain to get on his hands and knees, aad begin to draw the tacks. He had loosened the carpet for about a yard, when he cried suddenly,

“Ah! here is a mouse-hole, at any rate.”

Mrs. Vivian, by this time, began to catch the infection of his excitement. She leaned over him breathlessly.

“I will feel down the hole,” said her husband. “The handle of the hammer is thin, and this iron at the end will catch the note, if it is here. Ha! there’s a rustle; gently now. Bless my soul, if this isn’t the very note.”

Sure enough, there it was! A crisp, twenty- dollar bill, with the ink-stain on one end. A bit of one corner was gone, about a quarter of an inch, but otherwise the note was perfect.

“Mistress Mouse: found she could not drag the note to her nest, it was too stiff, it has stuck half-way, she has torn off the end, you see, in her struggles,” said Mr. Vivian, rising to his feet and triumphantly holding up and shaking the crisp, rustling note.

Mrs. Vivian burst into tears.

“To think,” she said, at last, “that I came so near discharging Jane unjustly. I never again will believe my own eyes.”

“My dear,” answered Mr. Vivian, “we were both to blame. We ought to have had more faith in Jane, It will teach us, I hope, never to be hasty in forming opinions. Especially should we be careful not to condemn others, without, at least, ample evidence.”

THAT JUNE.

BY MARION WINSLOW. Through cloudy years the glow comes back, OF nat bright June day's mellow light; I watch the sunlight’s golden trek, The happy swallow's Eastward flight.

Around me floats the azure haze, The carne eott, Meecy, elltory sheen, That robe those happy, careless dayn Of blue-eyed Juve aud sweet sixteen.

We wandered on, dear—you and I Our light laugh broke the quiet air: We went, see scarce know where of why, Save that the June-woods were so fair.

Up sunny slopes, through silent glade, Along the river's mosay bounds, Until we reached the woodland shale, With all its marvel of sweet sounds.

Oh! humming bes! Oh! einging birds! Tne-Wells that ring yonr life away? Bring hack ta me ths loving words That God with you that Summer day.

Ah mek A Gels geeevard ee Just whore we walked that golde doy; And burning tears from comttesa eyes, Have washed the lue-belts’ bloom away.

Yet these a little while doth parts From these green mounds sweet hopes are born: But this oad grave within my bonrt Hath never resurrection-worp.

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