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almost nine o'clock, and no quick step broke the stillness outside. "No one thinks of me, or cares for me," she said to herself. She stood up impetuously, walked to the fire, and poked it noisily. "How on earth can you sleep, mamma?" she said, with touch of bitterness in her voice.

"Was I asleep, dear?" replied the Madam, stooping for her ball, which happened to be near. "Ah! pussy, see what you have done. Here, Ethna, she has it entangled in the leg of the chair." "That kitten is a nuisance," said Ethna, giving it a smart slap; "she sticks in everything."

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Well, my dear, it was yourself made a pet of her," answered the Madam.

"One must make a pet of something for company in this outof-the-way place," said the girl with an impatient sigh.

The Madam looked up.

"Something has put you out, dear; what is it?"

"Oh! nothing, mother, only I feel ill-tempered and lonely now and then. I suppose everyone does except they are saints." "These dark days have a depressing influence on some people. I have been remarking, my dear, that you are not looking so bright as usual lately. Would it not be pleasant for you to go to the Taylors for a week ?"

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Perhaps I am growing faded," thought Ethna.

She was nearly twenty-two, four years older than Miss Butler.
"Am I beginning to look old, mamma ?" she asked sadly.
"Old at one-and-twenty," replied the Madam.

counting your age already, Ethna ?"

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"Are you

The Madam was silent for a time and then continued.
"Have you heard lately from Vincent Talbot, dear ?"

"I had papers as usual. Why do you ask?"

"Well, my dear, I suppose it is only a foolish fancy of mine, but it occurred to me lately that, perhaps, you had more than a friendly feeling for him."

"Indeed I had not," answered Ethna, quickly. "I like Vincent very much, but it would not break my heart if I never saw him again. What put such a thought into your head, mother ? "

"I do not know, my dear; because you knew him best, and seemed to like him best, I suppose. You could have been well married if you liked, you know."

"I do not want to be married," said the girl.

"You have time enough, dear. I'm no advocate for early marriages. I like a girl to enjoy her girlhood, and not to bring the cares of the world on herself too soon."

"That's an idea married people have-that the young and the unmarried have nothing to trouble them," said Ethna. "It often provoked me to hear women saying, 'Oh, never marry. You don't know what a bother it is to have a house and children.' And I knowing right well they were never satisfied till they had them."

"A woman ought to thank God for having them," answered the Madam. "Still the Holy Book tells us such as marry shall have tribulations of the flesh."

"And the unmarried have tribulation of the spirit, perhaps," said Ethna. "I wonder which is the storm of married life or the stagnation of a single one to be preferred ?"

"The happiness of each depends on the persons themselves, my dear. Where one is content, and does the best she can, she will find happiness."

"It would be a very tame sort of happiness," said the girl. "You are always forgetting, mother, that everyone is not as amiable as you are. You must make allowance for those who have a more ravenous appetite for the things of this world than you have."

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Those appetities must be checked, dear, if we wish to save our souls."

"Oh, I know that," said Ethna, wearily. "But I wonder how many do it? I sometimes think the good and bad mean those who have a large appetite and indulge it and those who have a small one and indulge it, too, but in a lesser degree.'

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"My dear Ethna, those are not Christian sentiments," answered the Madam, gravely. "When is Vincent to return ? " "I don't know. He is looking after some business in the Dublin office."

"I used to think Vincent was fond of you," said the Madam. "He seemed to like me very well before he went to Dublin," replied Ethna. "I suppose when he got there, he contrasted me with others and found I would not do credit to his taste. So it was fortunate I had no weakness for him."

"I think you could bear to be contrasted with most girls,', said the Madam.

Ethna gave a hard laugh.

"If I had a red head and a hump, mother, you would think the same way; parents never can judge fairly where their offspring is concerned. Because they are their's, they fancy they are finer than anyone else's children. But Vincent's giving me up as first favourite wouldn't surprise me. I should think no man would care for me very long."

"Why not, my dear?" said the Madam. "I am sure you would make an excellent wife for any man; you are prudent and sensible, he need not fear you would waste his substance."

"Oh, if that's all he looks to, mother, he could get a housekeeper, which would be a cheaper investment than a wife."

"But a man likes to marry and settle, my dear, 'tis only natural, and see his children growing up about him; and a woman needn't have a larger ambition than to make his home happy for him."

"Happy for him," echoed Ethna,

"What slaves women are to men, to be sure! Dancing attendance on them, hiding everything that would disturb their tempers, thinking of the way they'll utter every word lest it give offence; 'tis sickening."

"My dear, there are disagreeable women, too, who nag and worry their husbands; don't take one-sided views. But what do you say to going in to the Taylors for a week?"

"I wouldn't like it at all at present," cried Ethna, horrorstricken at the idea of removing farther away from her lover. "There is nothing going on in town; it would be worse than home. Once I used to like home best of any place; I suppose because I was thought more of in it "

"Well, we must call at the Lodge," said the Madam. "I wish they took notice of you; they are all young people, and that is a nice agreeable girl."

"I don't want their notice," answered Ethna. "We can live without them, as we always did. They never noticed us, and are not going to begin now."

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Well, my dear, we did not come much in their way, and Philip has been very agreeable since he came."

"Very agreeable," said Ethna. "He came to us because he had no place else to go, I suppose; he has not come very much since his brother came.”

"Very naturally," answered the Madam.

"He is more

occupied, and very likely he has some idea already of that nice girl. Such a good thing for him."

Ethna stood up, and flung down the kitten which had clambered into her lap. Nora ran to the rescue, and, folding it carefully in her pinafore, leaving the small head out, sat on a stool and made the kitten and pup exchange kisses. At that moment the porch door opened, and Philip Moore entered.

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VOL. XXV.

0

HYMN TO SPRING.

I.

EARTH, awake from thy slumbers!

She cometh to thee o'er the hills.
From the chambers of the south-wind,
From glad reaches of the sea.

She had breathed on brown mosses,
And lo! a star shines there;

She hath touched the gnarled branches--
They are pearled and gemmed with buds,
And where black boles strike deeply,
A coronal of purple flowers,

Shy, and sweet, and incense-breathing,
Leaps to the laugh of the south-wind,
Shakes the warm dew from their cheeks,
And sets birds and men dreaming
Of days gone by, and of childhood,
Shy, and sweet, and love-enchanted.
O earth, awake from thy slumbers!
Spring cometh to thee.

II.

Hearken, O Earth! to thy Psalmist,
Spring singeth to thee!

From the tawny throats of bird-minstrels,

Muffled and shielded from cold,

Lest one faintest chord should cypher,

Or one sweetest melody falter

In her psalms and wood-litanies

From the gurgle and murmur of streamlets,
That spring into laughter and song
Through the broken shackles of ice-floes,
And the curved domes of the snows-

From the clapping of hands in the woodlands,

And the buds leaning o'er to each other

To whisper the glad gratulations,

Or echo the glad hallelujahs

In symphonies soft and majestic,

In cadenced and resonant anthems,

And wild and unmeasured voluntaries.
Listen, Earth! to thy Psalmist :
Spring singeth to thee!

No. 285.

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