on a clean shirt; anil look at his coat; it 
must surely be a heirloom in his family. 
Anil only think he was going to take my 
hand in his great red fingers! We shall 
have such fun with him, Agnes; he is capi¬ 
tal ?” 
“ Who is your tailor?” asked Mathilde, 
later in the evening, when they were sitting 
round the table. 
“ Who is my tailor?” 
“ Yes, I think your coat looks so old- 
fashioned.” 
“ 1 will certainly tell you,” answered the 
Student; " his name is Petersen.” 
“ Petersen ?—where does he live?” 
“ He lives next door to shoemaker Jen¬ 
sen." 
Matjiilde understood that he was making 
fun of her, but her courage did not forsake 
her. 
“ You should go to tailor Geldscheury’s ; 
it is unpardonable of a gentleman to wear 
any but his make." 
“ Indeed—I will think it over; I am 
quite of your opinion that it would b<> a 
crime to go any more to tailor Petersen." 
Agnes could not help laughing as she 
looked at the Student’s serious face when he 
said this; but MATnu.DEcontinued :—“ Yes, 
Lieutenant Kart.son always orders bis 
clothes there, and so one may be sure that 
he is the best tailor in town.” 
“ Is Lieutenant Kaulbon. then, the model 
for all dandies of the present day ?” 
“ Do you know him r” exclaimed 31 a- 
thilde, delighted. “Is lie not charming? 
Yes, he is really a model for all men. How 
well he dances and converses, and only think 
what a fine figure he has!” 
“ Yes, 1 think if one were to use a tailor’s 
measure, he would be No. 1. Hut I thought 
lie iiad lost some of his virtues since his 
marriage ?” 
“No, he is quite the same; witty and 
amusing in society. You should have seen 
him at the Consuls last ball! lie had twelve 
decorations in the cotillion.” 
“ It is well that our Lieutenants can wear 
stars some where, when they cannot do so in 
tlie battle of life,” said the Student. “But 
docs Ids wife accompany him on all his con¬ 
quering expeditions?” 
“ No, she is mostly at home; she does not 
like going out, answered Mathilde. “ But 
he does not minil that, but goes everywhere 
when he is invited; and he gets invited every¬ 
where.” Mathh.de stopped, for Agnes 
made a sign to her. 
“What is it?" she exclaimed. “You 
should have seeu how he courted Agnes,” 
she added, turning to the Student. 
Agnes whispered to her, “ Are you mad— 
don’t you remember—•” 
“Ah, very true, the Student’s former 
flame 1” and she was at last silent. 
“And so he courted you, Miss Agnes?” 
he began, and looked at her sharply. 
“ He might have spared himself that 
trouble,” Agnes answered, disdainfully, at 
the same time looking angrily at Matihi.dk. 
“ What are you Lhiukiug of?” asked the 
latter. 
“ I was lhiukiug how happy and content¬ 
ed with his past life that person must be, 
who, when lie is asked, ‘What have you 
done during your whole life?’ can answer, 
like Lieut. Karlson, * I have courted !'—and 
how happy that woman must be who has 
such a husband." 
“Then you think that we women like 
those who look as though they stood on pins 
and needles when they enter a drawing¬ 
room ; who get red and bite their nails when 
one addresses them; and who tear our 
dresses in the vaiu attempt to dance?" 
The Student could not forbear smiling. 
“ I see you have sharp eyes, anil your de¬ 
scription shows that you do not spare your 
victims. If it was a question of dancing 
well, I should doubtless prefer the others; 
but we spoke just now of living well, and 
there, I think—excuse me—but I think, in 
your place, I should prefer the nail-bitcrs, as 
you call them. Indeed, I have great conli- 
deuce in these nail-biters; they live for some¬ 
thing higher tlu.n dance and play, and when 
it is a question of lighting the warfare of life, 
they no longer stand on pins and needles, 
but figbi their way with a strong arm. But 
you must again excuse mu, if I should hurt 
your feelings. I have, on the contrary, very 
little lailh in these dancing masters who 
have no other aim in life than to gaiu deco¬ 
rations in a cotillion. You laugh, but I am 
talking seriously now. I know these butter¬ 
flies well; they flutter about from one flower 
to the other, with their vain flatteries. Those 
so-called ‘ refined men,’ who, in the drawing¬ 
room, talk of the coarseness of the Norwe¬ 
gian country people, but who afterwards, 
wheu together, cau joke aud sing the coars¬ 
est songs at the expense of the very people 
at whose house they have just shown them¬ 
selves so agreeable* But these are they who 
are set up as models, whom the world ad¬ 
mires unci seeks, and whom mothers deem 
desirable husbands lor tlieir daughters. 1 
thought women had greater pretensions than 
that their husbands should dress and dance 
well.” 
Agnes had listened attentively; not a 
word bad escaped her. Mathilde leaned 
back in her chair, clasping her bauds iu 
mock reverence. 
“ You are studying to take holy orders, 
are you not ?” she now said, with a mock¬ 
ing smile. 
“Yes, if that interests yon; I did not, 
however, think that religion was much to 
your taste,” said the Student, bowing. 
“No, indeed; but I could see very well 
that you were getting yourself ready for 
sometliiilg of the sort,” she said, as she 
played with a bit of paper which lay on the 
table. “ Now, Agnes, you must sing us 
something, or we shall all fall asleep aud 
finish with a psalm and an amen." 
Agnes went to the piano. She looked a 
little while among the music books, and at 
last found what site looked for. It was a 
song by Oscar Ahnfelt; she sung it with 
much feeling. “ Oh dear,” was heard from 
the sofa. It was Mathh.de yawning. 
“ Wait a little, my dear," aud she flew to 
the piano. “ Now we shall have something 
lively, aud not that miserable thing. Have 
you' not Helene’s song, in ' La BeUe 
Helene'Y' 
The Student gazed at the Pastor in aston¬ 
ishment; the latter bad a newspaper in liis 
band, and, although he looked sad, said 
nothing. Agnes sat. at the piano letting 
Mathilde turn over the music without say¬ 
ing a word. The Student looked round the 
room; it was much changed, and not half 
so pleasant as before. He no longer fedt that 
pleasant home feeling; there wa» something 
heavy; something he had never felt before. 
And there, on her chair, reclined that little 
town doll, quite at home, and doing entirely 
as she liked. Mathilde had a! hist found 
what she wanted, and placed it before 
Agnes, but she took it, quietly and put it 
back in its place. She then began one of 
her old favorite songs. 
“ Did you ever hear of such a thing?" said 
Mathilde. “1 am tired to death with those 
peasant songs! You do nothing but sing 
them from morning to night. Sing some¬ 
thing worth listening to.” 
“I intend now to sing what I like,” an¬ 
swered Agnes iu a determined tone. 
“ Very much obliged,” said Mathilde, 
courtseying; “ 1 call that being very polite to 
your guests”—and saying these words she 
drew herself up in her chair, and sat. there 
with a most injured expression on her face. 
When he returned home that evening the 
Student walked for some time up and down 
his room before going to bed. He took out 
the old portrait and looked at it. “ How 
strange that these two should both fall into 
the same net. That the same man should 
have tempted her, but she is—. T wonder 
when I shall understand her! That she 
can live with this Mathilde, call her her 
friend—. No, it is quite impossible to un¬ 
derstand woman.” 
Mathilde uow began to feel tired of the 
Parsonage and the Parsonage of Mathtlde. 
She could uever remain quietly at home a 
single day, but must constantly have some 
new amusement, and if people did not come 
to the Parsonage she would go to them. 
Yet she complained of their stupidity, and 
laughed constant ly at them, but still she con¬ 
tinued to visit them just as assiduously. At 
last, she got it. into her head that she would 
go and see the Student, Agnes said that 
they could uot, that it. was not ro/nme ilfaut ; 
but when once Matihi.dk, had resolved upon 
doing a thing, it was no easy task to dis¬ 
suade her from it. So one afternoon they 
set out in the direction of Lis house. Agnes 
had not promised positively to go in with 
Mathilde, but they could, at any rate, go 
aud look at the house. And so they met 
the Student. 
“Are you going for a walk?” he said, 
coming tip to them. 
“Yes,” answered Mathilde, “and do 
you know where we are going ? We were 
uti our way to you!” 
The Student gave her a look, in which 
doubt aud astonishment were mingled. 
“ Really,’ ho said, “ it is very good of you. 
Is it true, Miss Agnes? Why do you pull 
your friend's dress? You have lived so long 
in the neighborhood, and yet have never 
seen my house. Will you come iu now ?” 
Agnes did not know what to say. She 
thanked him timidly. They walked on, and 
the Student began to talk to Agnes as 
though Mathilde were not there. 
“ Excuse me,” said Lite latter, with an in¬ 
nocent look, “ but you have a white spot on 
your elbow.” She raised Lei- hand in order 
to remove the spot. “Ah-! I beg your 
pardon, but it was only a mistake of mine,” 
she added, smiling, aiid turning away her 
face timidly. 
The Student looked at his elbow. There 
was a hole, through which the lining was 
visible. He was somewhat perplexed at 
first, but regaining his composure, said to 
Mathilde: —•“ You see, I am not prepared 
to receive fine visitors. But if 1 bad dreamed 
of this honor, you should uot have seen any 
spot. And here in the country- 
“ Yes, here in the country one sees many 
strange things; but they are, perhaps, fash¬ 
ionable here,” said Mathilde, impertinently. 
“ One may, at least in the country, use the 
proverb that 1 clothes do not make the gen¬ 
tleman,' " said the Student. 
They had now arrived at the gate which 
led to the garden. Agnes’ heart beat 
strangely as the gate closed after her, and 
she walked along the avenue of bending 
trees. It seemed as though they murmured, 
“ Now we have caught you, and you shall 
not escape." She. would have liked to have 
examined the garden move minutely ; if she 
had been alone, she would have done so, 
but now the Student and Mathilde were 
there. She therefore, only cast an inquisi¬ 
tive glance around her. But. how strange it 
all wasl The old, mossy stone bench; the 
sea god who stood blowing his pipe, but 
from wdiicli the water no longer trickled; 
the sun-dial with its rusty bauds, and the 
great gray building itself, which stood there 
like an old weather-beaten tree,—it all spoke 
of a time that had been; a lime when all 
was gayety and life; when nut the old cat 
only sat on the wide steps, but when song 
echoed from within, and servants moved 
about amidst gayly dressed Indies offering 
wine in sparkling crystal. Within doors, 
the old portraits of men with wigs ou their 
heads and swords by tbeir side, seemed _ to 
welcome her, and the ancient dames with 
lace ruffs and bouquets in tlieir hands 
courtesied to her. She went thoughtfully on, 
looking all about her. Mathilde chattered 
like a magpie, following close upon the Stu¬ 
dent. who showed them everything, from 
kitchen to cellar. At last, he bade them sit 
down in the drawing room. 
“ Well, wlmt do you think of my house?” 
he asked. 
“ The house itself is very well, but one 
thing is wanting," said Mathilde. 
“ And wlmt is that?” 
“ You should marry.” 
“ Indeed 1" he answered; “ why is that so 
necessary ?” 
“ Why, you see it is so empty and dismal. 
A wife would soon brighten it up and ar¬ 
range things; and then you might invite 
people here, instead of sitting alone the whole 
day long. That chair, for example, is all on 
one side ; that table should be there. Will 
you help me to move it ? Does not that look 
better? You see these are the things a wo¬ 
man understands.” 
“I bow to your superior wisdom,” re¬ 
marked the Student, jestiDgly, “ and I think 
no one would be fitter than you to procure 
me one.” 
“ Oh, she may be nearer to you than you 
think," answered 31athii.de, shaking Iter 
head, and looking at Agnes. The latter 
turned away, and pretending not to hear 
what was said, was attentively contempla¬ 
ting an oil painting. It was also easy to see 
that the Student did not approve of the con¬ 
versation. 
“ Perhaps you w ill excuse rae a little,” he 
said, and went out. He had scarcely shut 
the door, before Agnes turned round and 
took Mathilde by the arm. 
“ You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” 
she said, “ to say such words, and here—” 
“ Wlmt is the matter with you V—ashamed ? 
You mean, perhaps, to deny that you wish to 
become his wife.” 
“ Mathilde, if you—” Agnes had not 
time to say more, for just then the Student 
entered, in a new coat, followed by an old 
servant, carrying a tray upon which was 
some cake and wine. 
“ This is all I have to offer you,” he said, 
filling the glasses. “ Welcome to my house; 
welcome Miss Agnes!” he said, heartily, to 
Agnes. 
'* Yes, and Agnes, should wc not at the 
same time wish that the next time we come 
here, we may meet a young and pretty mis¬ 
tress.” 
“Thank you for your good wishes, Miss 
Kaon,” said the Student, bowing. But Agnes 
drank her wine silently. 
“ Well, ami bow' do you like the country ?" 
he asked of Mathilde, iu order to turn the 
conversation. 
“ Oh, it is very well for a short time; but I 
would never live here altogether. There is 
nothing new, either to be seen or heard, and 
one so seldom meets people with whom one 
can associate” 
“ Miss Agnes said the same once; I know 
not if she still thinks so. But shall we take 
a little walk in the neighborhood, and 1 can 
then show you some tilings which are Inter¬ 
esting to see, and people with whom one may 
associate.” 
“ Oh, yes 1” said Mathilde, “ let us do so. 
It will be so amusing, aud we have nothing 
else to do.” 
“ If it will not make us late home, aud 
cause papa to wait, for us," said Agnes. 
“ Oil, he can’t be iu such a hurry,” said 
Mathilde. “ Let us go directly.” 
They walked first along the high-road, and 
then turned to the left into a field. A man 
stood digging up potatoes. The Student 
stopped. “ How is your work getting on, 
IIans?” he said. X Uo w are you, to-day ?” 
“ Thank you, very well,” answered 
Hans, resting on hits spade. “ You are not 
alone to-day, lie added. 
“No; but have I not fine visitors with 
me V ” 
“ Yes, there is much that is fine in this 
world.” He put bis hand into his pocket. 
“ Look here, Student, what I found to-day," 
he said, after a moment’s pause." He 
showed Inin an old silver coin which lie had 
found in the ground. “ That was also once 
bright and shining, but yet it was buried in 
the earth.” A strange expression passed 
over his features as lie said this. 
“The earth swallows up our greatest 
riches,” said t he Student, “ but some day she 
will return them to us.” 
“ Yes, they say so, “ answered Hans, push¬ 
ing his spade so deeply into the earth that it 
sank quite up to the handle. 
“ Did you notice him ?” the Student asked 
of Agnes, wheu they passed on. 
" Yes." 
“ Did you understand him ?” 
“ No; but I saw that he suffered some 
great sorrow'.” 
“ He was engaged to the prettiest peasant 
girl in the village. She fell ill just before 
the wedding, and died. We are now going 
to his mother’s.” 
Mathilde looked impatient.; she had 
gone ou when the others stopped. 
“ 1 suppose you heard something really 
wonderful now?” she said, to Agnes. “1 
am afraid you will not have time to show us 
the wonders you promised, if you stop to 
speak to every peasant,” she said, in the 
same breath, to the Student. 
" But yon see he. was the first of wonders,” 
said the'Student, smiling; “and here comes 
the secondhe pointed to a little cottage 
standing near the highway. 
“Are we to go in there?” asked Ma¬ 
thilde, in astonishment. 
44 Yea; and why uot?” 
“ Into that wretched hole, where there is 
scarcely a mouthful of fresh airl" 
44 1 have been there more than once, and 
there is not so much danger of being suffo¬ 
cated as you imagine,” be said. 
3lATHti.DE cast a doubtful glance at the 
threshold; but at last, taking up ber dress, 
she walked on tiptoe over the stone floor 
of the entry. The Student knocked at the 
door, and they went in. It was an ordinary 
cottage; the ceiling was much blackened by 
smoke, but otherwise everything was very 
clean, and the atmosphere not at all un¬ 
pleasant. 3IATHLLDB looked as though 
some one held a piece of horseradish under 
her nose. 
An old woman sat there; she was over 
seventy years of age, but with a calm, even 
bright expression on her countenance, which 
seemed to express that her past file had been 
peaceful and sunny. She rose to greet them. 
The Student took lier hand. 
“ Thank you for your late hospitality,” he 
said. 
“Thank you,” she said. “You have 
strangers with you to-day.” 
“It is the Pastor’s daughter, Karin; and 
her friend from town. They have come to 
see you.” 
“They are very welcome,” said the old 
woman, at the same time giving her hand to 
Mathilde, who was obliged to take it, how¬ 
ever, unwillingly. “ Welcome," she said to 
Agnes, taking her also by the hand. “ I 
ought to recognize you ; hut they grow up 
so soon that one cannot remember t hem. I 
was at church when you were christened. 
But now you must sit down and rest a little.” 
“Thank you," said the Student, seating 
himself on a bench. Agnes sat down be¬ 
side him. Mathii.de looked in vain for a 
chair, and placing her handkerchief on the 
bench sat down upon it. Karin went to a 
shelf and poured some milk into a cup; 
having tasted it herself to see if it were 
sweet, she presented the cup to 3 L\thildk. 
“ You must be thirsty,” she said. 
Mathilde could scarcely contain lierself. 
“ No, I thank you,” she answered will) as 
much amiability as possible. 
“ The cup is clean," said the old woman, 
kindly. 
“ No, thank you," repeated 3 Iathtlde, 
and Agnrs took the cup aud drank; the 
Student followed, her example. 
“ Well, Karin, how are you getting on 
now,” asked the latter. 
“Thank you, l am comfortable; and my 
health is good, thank God,” she answered. 
“ I met Hans ou my way here; how is he 
now ? does his wound begin to heal?” 
“No; a deep wound leaves a lasting 
mark, and it is not easy to make a violin 
sound when the strings are broken," an¬ 
swered Karin, calmly. She turned away 
and passed her hand over her eyes. 
“ But God can heal what man cannot,” 
said the Student. 
“ Y’es, lie can and he will, if it be His good 
pleasure,” answered Karin. 
She spoke so calmly and mildly; there 
was nothing bitter either in word or look. 
The Student talked with her for some time, 
but Mathilde sat uneasily on her bench, 
looking at him impatiently, and wishing be 
would stop talking. At last lie rose. Karin 
again shook hands and thanked them for 
tlieir visit; she asked Agnes to come again. 
They were scarcely outside the door be¬ 
fore. Mathilde began shaking- her dress, and 
exclaiming, “I never saw the like; to give 
us milk in an earthenware cup, in which she 
had drank lierself! WhaL was there to be 
seen there?” she asked of the Student. 
“ You have seen what there was to be 
seen,” he answered. 
“ If there was nothing more than that old 
woman, who was so wonderful, then I hope 
to be delivered from such wonders.” 
“ Did you not perceive that t his old woman 
had a face and manners which a queen might 
have envied her? Did you not notice what 
dignity there was in everything she did and 
said ?” 
“ Thank you very much, but," answered 
Mathilde, " 1 would rather not see any 
more ; you are so imbued with your sympa¬ 
thy for peasants, aud peasant ways, that you 
will, l dare suy, soon tell us that the very 
best thing we could do would be to scrub 
floors and cal porridge at every meal." 
The Student laughed. “ My other wonders 
are not any better,” he said, “ so that if—” 
“ Thank you, I have seen enough," she 
answered,.." and now I am going home. Are 
yon coming Agnes ?" 
“ You will at least accompany me?” said 
the Student, looking at Agnes. 
“ No, when Mathilde—” 
“ Oh, please don’t trouble about me; I can 
find my way liomealone, ifyou like to go on.” 
“ You have walked with ineso often before 
that—” 
“ But—■” said A ones. 
“This isall nothing but affectation, Agnes,” 
interrupted Mathilde, “go now.” 
Agnes was still undecided. The Student 
went up to her. “ I have seldom begged you 
to do anything,” lie said, seriously, “ but now 
1 beg you to go with tnc to-day.” 
“ Bui I am afraid I shall be late.” 
“ Good-by, good-by I” shouted 3lATirrLDE 
going hack* “ I wish you joy!” she laughed. 
“ Don’t regret me too much, Agnes !’’ 
And so the two old friends were again 
together; their torment had disappeared and 
all was quiet again. They walked on a little 
way in silence, almost embarrassed ; but they 
were both glad Mathilde had left them. 
“Did you notice anything uncommon in 
that old woman, Jliss Agnes?” asked the 
Student. “ Your friend wouudetl her sorely 
to-day." 
“ M athii.de is not used to country people’s 
ways," answered Agnes. 
“‘No, but a person of true refinement and 
education ought to understand that there are 
others who are also refined, although they 
may not show it in the. same manner. But 
when I think of those two faces, the worldly 
woman and the old peasant woman, I know 
which I prefer." 
“ Yes, she had an uncommon face; she 
must sureiv have suffered much." 
44 Yes, she has suffered. She had six sons, 
all flue, strong young men, but they all died. 
Two of i hern were drowned at. the same time 
as their father, one stormy Autumn night. 
One took cold in saving a friend from drown¬ 
ing, and died soon after. Two more fell a 
sacrifice to the small-pox last summer. Her 
only remaining son, IIans, whom we met, is 
the mother’s sole support, and lie is now 
rendered both powerless aud comfortless by 
the loss of her whom he loved best!” 
While they bad been talking they bad ar¬ 
rived at a little cottage. 
“ Here we shall find another woman who 
is a heroine without being aware of it.” 
They raised the latch and went in. An 
old man sat in a chair. He did not get tip 
as they entered, but only nodded to the Stu¬ 
dent. The latter went up to him. 
“ I have brought the Pastor’s daughter to 
see you," he said. 
“Ah ! the Pastor’s daughter," said the old 
man. Yes, he is a good man, a very good 
man, and he preached well when 1 heard 
him last; I have known him since he was so 
tall. And she is tbe Pastor's daughter?” 
The old man sat rocking himself and looking 
at Agne's. 
“Where is Ingrid to-day?” asked the 
Student. 
“Ingrid? She will come soon,” he an¬ 
swered. The Pastor’s daughter — and her 
grandfather—I knew them all—how the time 
flies—1 am ninety yearn old, ninety years 1 
Pastor’s daughter I 
While he sat thus talking to himself, In¬ 
grid came in. She looked about fifty, was 
very thin and small. Her nstonishmeiit was 
visible upon seeing Agnes. “What do I 
sec, tlie Student and 3Iiss Agnes 1 —that you 
will really take the trouble to come and see 
us. And the room is so untidy to-day. Sit 
down, pray sit down," she said, wiping two 
chairs with her apron. She then stirred tlie 
fire, talking all the time. 
“ 1 say, Ingrid, this is tbe Pastor’s daugh¬ 
ter,” said the old man, as if only just discov¬ 
ering it. 
“Yes; do you think I don’t, know her! 
But that she should really lake the trouble to 
come and see us!” and she repeated the 
same tiling. 
The old man talked of Agnes’ grandfath¬ 
er, always finishing with the same words, 
“ Is til is realty the Pastor’s daughter?” 
When they had come out again, the Stu¬ 
dent said to Agnes, “ You have done a good 
action to-dav. Did you not see how glad 
they were to set: you ? Believe me, that old 
man, who is nearly in Ills second childhood, 
will not forget vour visit so soon. He will 
have something to talk about for the rest of 
his days. And Ingrid, when you see her, 
you cannot notice anything uncommon in 
her; but she has done wlmt few would have 
done. She was alone with her old father, 
who is lame and could not walk; she re¬ 
ceived an offer of marriage from a rich peas¬ 
ant, lint on the condition that her father 
should uot reside with them. lie promised 
to pay a certain sum for his support in the 
village. She loved this man, but she chose 
rather to remain with her father.” 
Agnes had listened to him attentively. 
She looked thoughtful. 
“ It is so strange that I should never have 
heard all this before.” she said; “ and yet I 
have lived here so many years. But how 
happy she must bo to have an aim in life; 
one to whom she cun devote herself—one 
for whom she may live 1” 
Tlie. Student looked at her. Her last 
words were so energetic that, one could see 
they hud long been shut up in her heart. 
Her eyelids trembled, hut she did not look 
at him, but far into the distance. 
“Have you no aim in life?" lie said, in a 
low tone, but kindly. “ There is nobody 
without one, and everywhere where love is, 
there is also an aim. The only thing is to 
be able to see it. Think how much you 
might do here, for example, in your own 
native place. For, believe me, all are not as 
those you have seen to-day. There arc dirty, 
ragged children, who only run wild all day, 
and fight and play because their mothers 
have nothing to give them to do. Their 
misery and ignorance is such t hat |you cau 
scarcely imagine it. There is much to do, 
3Iiss Agnes, but a woman’s hand is capable 
of more than a man’s. You might employ 
eomo of these children in your garden, or 
give them something to do. You might say 
a friendly word, now aud then, to the people 
about here, and that would be doing a kind 
action,” 
The Student stopped speaking and looked 
at Agnes, but she walked on without Buying 
a word. 
“But you roust not be afraid," continued 
the Student. “Courage is often required to 
visit a poor man’s cottage, or a sick person’s 
bedside; but it is worth while, I assure yon. 
In the face of death oue forgets all that false 
reasoning with which one is accustomed to 
clothe one’s thoughts. And what a happy 
thought it is, that of having been permitted 
to help to smooth the sick man’s pillow and 
ease his pain. I cannot imagine anything 
sadder than, on one’s death-bed, to look 
back on a life in which one can only see 
one’s self, and to be forced to acknowledge 
that it lias been a void—knowing, at the 
same lime that one must render an account 
of this misspent life. If. is terrible! and yet 
most people, when they begin life, think', ‘ I 
have a long life before’ me/ and they forget 
to live,— instead of always having before 
them that great teacher, Death, and the 
question, ‘What is Life?’ Do you under¬ 
stand me ? Can you uow say that you have 
no aim in life ?” 
Agnes had bent her head down, and lie 
could only perceive by her heaving breast 
that his words had gone to her heart. 
" This is the great tiling in Christian love,” 
he continued; “it not only embraces one 
alone, idolizing that one to the exclusion of 
all others, but it extends itself to all. Aud 
if it prefers one, be it husband, wife, or 
parents, its love is such that its heart be¬ 
comes, through it, softened to all.” The 
Student turned to Agnes aud said, “ I do 
not know if you will allow me to say what 
I am thinking.” 
“ Yes, say it,” said Agnes, in a low voice. 
“ You have also that one silting at home 
waiting for your love. I mean your father. 
Do you think he is really happy ? I may, 
perhaps, have misunderstood his expression, 
but I think lie seems to need n friendly hand, 
that delights in making everything around 
him pleasant; a lov ing eye always ready to 
read bis wishes; a heart which cun forget 
its own pains, iu thinking of his, even though 
it should cost something. He has never 
spoken of this; he is perhaps unconscious 
of it himself, but—do you not think you 
might be more to him ?” 
Agnes said nothing; but two tears, which 
she attempted to hide, fell on her hat strings. 
They continued their way silently to the 
Parsonage. The Student gave Agnes his 
hand. “ Farewell,” he said; “ thank you for 
to-day.” 
Agnes took his hand. She wished to say 
something, but could not. “Thank you— 
tfrauk you for all y r ou have said to me to¬ 
day, and all you have done for me,” she said 
at last, and so she hastened away. 
He looked after her; lie still felt the warm 
pressure of her hand iu his, for she had held 
it so tightly when she spoke. He looked to 
see if she would turn back—but no, she dis¬ 
appeared—and only the light in the dining¬ 
room was visible through the windows.—[1 o 
be continued. 
