"No; she don't want any. There, we all know that such things don't come without good reason-not that I wish to say anything about a broken heart, or anything of the kind." Geoffrey's own heart felt inconveniently large just then. He went to the staircase and ascended to his daughter's door. "Fancy!" "Come in, father." To see a person in bed from any cause whatever, on a fine afternoon, is depressing enough; and here was his only child, Fancy, not only in bed, but looking very pale. Geoffrey was visibly disturbed. 66 Fancy, I didn't expect to see thee here, chiel," he said. "What's the matter?" "I'm not well, father." "How's that?" "Because I think of things." "What things can you have to think o' so martel much?" "You know, father.' "You think I've been cruel to thee in saying that that penniless Dick o' thine shan't marry thee, I suppose?" No answer. "Well, you know, Fancy, I do it for the best, and he isn't good enough for thee. You know that well enough." Here he again looked at her as she lay. "Well, Fancy, I can't let my only chiel die; and if you can't live without en, you must ha' en, I suppose." "Oh, I don't want him like that all against your will, and everything so disobedient!" sighed the invalid. "No, no; 'tisn't against my will. My wish is, now I d'see how 'tis hurten thee to live without en, that he shall marry thee as soon as we've considered a little. That's my wish, flat and plain, Fancy. There, never cry, my little maid! You ought to ha' cried afore; no need o' crying now 'tis all over. Well, howsoever, try to stap over and see me and mother-law to-morrow, and ha' a bit of dinner wi' us." "And-Dick, too?" "Ay, Dick, too, 'far's I know." "And when do you think you'll have considered, father, and he may marry me?" she coaxed. "Well, there, say next midsummer; that's not a day too long to wait." On leaving the school, Geoffrey went to the tranter's. Old William opened the door. "Is your grandson Dick in 'ithin, William?" "No, not just now, Geoffrey. Though he've been at home a good deal lately." "Oh, how's that?" "What wi' one thing, and what wi' t'other, he's all in a mope, as m't be said. Don't seem the feller 'a used to. Ay, 'a will sit studding and thinking as if 'a were going to turn chapel member, and then 'a don't do nothing but traypsing and wambling about. Used to be such a chatty feller, too, Dick did; and now 'a don't spak at all. But won't ye step inside? Reuben will be home soon, 'a b'lieve." "No, thank you, I can't stay now. Will ye just ask Dick if he'll do me the kindness to stap over to Yalbury to-morrow with my da'ter Fancy, if she's well enough? I don't like her to come by herself, now she's not so terrible topping in health." "So I've heard. Ay, sure, I'll tell en without fail." A PARABLE. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. [JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: An American poet, critic, and scholar; born in Cambridge, Mass., February 22, 1819; died there August 12, 1891. He graduated at Harvard (1838), and was admitted to the bar (1841), but soon abandoned the legal profession for literature. In 1855 he succeeded Longfellow as professor of modern languages at Harvard; was editor of the Atlantic Monthly (1857-1862), and of the North American Review (1863-1872) with C. E. Norton; United States minister to Spain (1877–1880), and to Great Britain (1880-1885). His chief poetical works are: "A Year's Life" (1841), "The Vision of Sir Launfal," "The Biglow Papers," "Commemoration Ode," "Under the Willows," "The Cathedral," "Heartsease and Rue." In prose he published: "Conversations on Some of the Old Poets," "Fireside Travels," "Among my Books," "My Study Windows," "Democracy," and "Political Essays."] WORN and footsore was the Prophet, "God has left the earth," he murmured, "God of all the olden prophets, Wilt thou speak with men no more? Have I not as truly served thee, As thy chosen ones of yore? "Hear me, guider of my fathers, Bowing then his head, he listened But the tuft of moss before him And, from out the rock's hard bosom, "God! I thank thee," said the Prophet; Looking to the holy mountain "Still thou speakest with thy children Freely as in eld sublime; Humbleness, and love, and patience, Still give empire over time. "Had I trusted in my nature, And had faith in lowly things, Thou thyself wouldst then have sought me, And set free my spirit's wings. "But I looked for signs and wonders, That o'er men should give me sway, Thirsting to be more than mortal, "Ere I entered on my journey, |