HE SENDS HIS VALENTINE. THE next morning at the vicarage, when Mr. Trevor lounged down an hour late for breakfast, he found his future tutor in a curious state of bewilderment. "Considerably knocked out of time," commented that shrewd youth, when Mr. Vy. ner answered his apologies by saying in an absent way, "I believe it is only self ishness." And then perceiving by Trevor's face of astonishment that he must have said something very odd, he got up from his untouched breakfast, and went into the garden, pleading a headache. This is what had happened. On coming down that morning, he saw on the mantelpiece, in the spot where his letters were always placed, an envelope with his name written across it. Being the most careless of men he never noticed the "A. T." written above, tore open the envelope, flung it behind him, and to his surprise, found in his hands a card, bearing on it a gracefully executed bunch of primroses, while underneath was pencilled in a lady's hand: — In the spring a young man's fancy, Lightly turns to thoughts of love. His first thought was to examine the envelope: he turned round to pick it up, but, alas! he had thrown it into the very heart of the fire, and nothing remained of it but a sheet of black ash. After all, there would be nothing in this to account for the vicar's mental disquietude. The reception of a valentine from an unknown hand would hardly disturb the equanimity of most young men. But Kate's seed had fallen on fruitful ground. It was so singularly apposite (when opened by the wrong person), and chimed in so well with many of Mr. Vyner's thoughts dur ing the last year or two, that, while the valentine in itself, or its sender, never cost him another thought, the tempest of recollections, wishes, self-reproaches, and plans for the future that it raised in him were more than he could at once allay. The reflections that had so engrossed him at the breakfast-table, and which he was now attempting to reduce to order, by walking up and down the garden puffing furiously at a big pipe, ran briefly something like this: "Why don't I marry? Is it, as I tell myself, because I do not wish? Because I am too poor? Because no girl would marry a slovenly object like me? Or is it because I am too selfish? Because I should have to sacrifice so much that has now become second nature to me? My bachelor's ease; my summers on the Continent; my untidy habits; and, sensual wretch that I am, my claret, cigars, and novels? Do I do my duty here? Not a bit: I know no one intimately; I care for no one's opinion; I hate the place. With a wife, all that might be changed. A pleasant companion and a comfortable home are surely worth the surrender of a few of my special self-indulgences. I should be a better and a happier man. Besides," he thought, with a touch of selfishness on the other side of his argument, "she could do that horrid visiting: I absolutely dare not. I should resent anybody coming here and telling me I was leading a wretched and godless life. Why should anybody else be better pleased if I drop in at their cottage, and tell them so? Women do that kind of thing much better than we do." Thus the result of Miss Kate's valen tine was that, for his own good and the good of his parish, the Rev. Paul Vyner decided to take unto himself a wife. During the afternoon of Valentine's Day, Miss Grey started out for a walk, and we blush to state that she stopped the first rustic she met, and asked the way to the vicarage. "It will amuse me to see him, and please him to see me," ruminated the young lady. "And after all, where is the harm so long as we un derstand each other?" With which very stale apology for flirtation she comforted herself, and strolled on until she came to the vicarage. The house, a handsome, old, red-brick building, stood in extensive grounds surrounded by a high fence. On one side, between this fence and the adjoining fields, ran a narrow lane, and down this lane Kate made her way, trying to persuade herself that she went there because it was pretty, and a likely spot to find primroses, and not because it was now possible for her to see into and be seen from the vicarage grounds. So she dawdled listlessly down the lane, half amused and half angry with her own folly; at one minute wishing to see Trevor, at another, hoping she should not; poking the end of her parasol into the banks as she passed, with a vague sort of idea that that was a recognized way of hunting for wild flowers. Suddenly she was brought to a full stop by a voice right above her, inquiring if she was looking for anything. Kate turned her eyes up, and mentally decided that she had seldom seen a handsomer man than the one now leaning over the hedge, and in whose eyes she was quick to detect no little admiration of herself. And certainly the parson in his lawntennis costume was a goodly sight. Six feet high, long in the leg, broad in the shoulder, and flat in the back, his loose flannel attire displayed as much as his dilapidated clericals concealed his personal advantages. His handsome, cleanshaved face, glowing with exercise, small head, and closely cropped dark curls, surmounted by a shooting-cap, which he had pushed back as far as was compatible with its remaining on his head at all, formed a tout ensemble that was undeniably pleasant. But before going any further, let us just account for the vicar's presence and his pupil's absence. “Then, if you'll excuse me," said the young gentleman, turning rather red, “I think I'll run over there." Certainly," replied the vicar, surprised at finding himself so sympathetic. And so it came to pass that while Mr. Trevor hurried over to X-as fast as his legs would carry him, his preceptor took a stroll round the vicarage grounds, and coming to a railing in the fence overlooking the lane, leant over it lost in reverie. "And as in uffish thought he stood," he was startled by the apparition of a young lady strolling slowly down the lane towards him. "Surely," said the parson, "you are a little too early; they don't blossom till May." Then seeing by Kate's extreme discomposure that she was meditating a hasty retreat, he deceitfully added: "At least, most of them. Of course there might be a few early ones about, but they are rather difficult to find. I'll come and help you hunt for them, if I may." The next minute he was on the path by her side, looking rather ashamed of his own alacrity. Though of late he had abjured female society, he was not one of those unfortunate men who cannot open their mouths in a lady's presence; and in a few minutes he had set Kate at her ease by a few commonplace remarks. Introducing himself as the vicar, he expressed a belief that she was not a resident in his parish. Miss Grey faltered an apology for her trespass, said who she was and where she was staying, and in a very little time had completely recovered her equanimity, and was chatting affably with her new friend. After lunch Mr. Vyner had suggested A very pleasant change the vicar found a game of tennis. Both being expert, it from his ordinary afternoon's employthey had no difficulty in keeping them- ment, to saunter down a lane with a pretty selves warm, even in February, and were and amusing girl. There was a spice of just playing the deciding game of a hard-romance about the suddenness of their fought set, when suddenly Trevor remarked, "I say, isn't this Valentine's Day?" "Yes," replied his opponent, thinking that it was the first time for ten years that he had had any special reason for recollecting the date. "Yes; why?" "Well!" said Trevor, "I ought to send a valentine. I'm afraid I'm rather late about it; where can I get one?" "I don't know much about that kind of thing," returned the parson; "but I should say not in Glendale." "I think X is your nearest town. How far is that off?" inquired Trevor. About two miles." acquaintance that just suited his present state of mind; while the mischievous Kate almost laughed outright, when she remembered that she had come out to look for the pupil, at finding herself strolling about in a confidential manner with the tutor. But all good things must have an end, and when they had walked to the top of the lane and back once or twice, Miss Grey said she must be going. "I hope I shall see you again shortly," said he, as they parted." "I must furbish up some excuse to call upon Miss Foster." And then he leant over the gate, and watched her graceful figure to the corner in the road, where she turned back and smiled. The vicar, forgetting alike his manners and his cloth, kissed his hand to her, then bolted down the lane as hard as he could go, blushing like a girl; until he was suddenly pulled up in his stride by a thought so ridiculous that it first made him laugh, and then made him downright angry with himself for being such an idiot. That thought was: "I have decided I want a wife: why won't she do?" On reaching the house he found Trevor just returned. He held a parcel in his hand and asked the vicar if he had a small box that he could pack it in, as he wished to despatch it by post. "Come into my study," said the latter, "and we will see what we can find." After a few minutes' rummaging about, Trevor found one to suit him. It was a small card box that had lately come down from London with some fishing-tackle, and still had the vicar's address upon it. This box Trevor carried off: and placing the parcel within it, despatched it to Miss Grey, astutely remarking to himself that "it would be a pity to scratch old Vyner's name out, as then she won't guess who it comes from; but knowing I am at the vicarage, and seeing the parson's name on the box, I shall get the credit of it." he told himself he had only seen her once; in vain he tried to persuade himself that what he had seen he didn't like; he was haunted by the idea, and at the end of a day or two he made up his mind to see her again at all hazards. Having arrived at this decision, he was prompt to act upon it. Making as an excuse a subscription for a Christmas treat to the poor children of the parish, he called the very next morning upon Miss Foster. That good lady received him in a manner peculiarly her own. "Good morning, Mr. Vyner," said she; "it is a very long time since I have seen you. I suppose you want some money." Mr. Vyner explained the object of his visit as well as he could, remarking that the idea only occurred to him that very morning; that the third week in February was late for a Christmas treat; but that he supposed children could eat cake at any time in the year. Kindly Miss Foster told him that he was the worst clergyman both in the church and the parish she had ever met with, and then got up to fetch her chequebook, remarking as she went out of the room: "That's my niece. Katie, dear, Mr. Vyner, our vicar." There was a very embarrassing pause when they found themselves alone. Then he said blunderingly, "You see, Miss Grey, I found an excuse." "I hope," said Kate, "you don't mean me to believe that this children's treat exists only in your imagination, for my aunt has gone to get some money to pay for it." IT was with considerably more consternation than pleasure that, next morning, when Miss Grey opened this parcel, she found herself the possessor of a very handsome locket and chain. Never doubt ing that the parson was the donor, she "No, not exactly," said the vicar, who argued that she had given him no right to felt himself on rather dangerous ground. take such a liberty. She grew angry with Because," continued the young lady, him for his want of tact; and then remem-"I should not think very highly of you, if bering her valentine to Trevor, and the such were the case." fact that she had taken that eventful walk solely to meet him, she grew angry with herself, and also was illogical enough to be angry with him for not meeting her or sending any answer to her missive; for which variety of reasons she avoided the side of the village on which the vicarage lay. Trevor, not seeing or hearing anything of her, decided he had offended her by sending her presents on so short an acquaintance, and cursed his folly for so doing; but of the three Mr. Vyner's plight was the worst. That ridiculous idea of his, that Kate, if he could persuade her, would make him the very wife he wanted, would keep recurring to him. In vain And then rapidly leaving the subject, she remarked in very chilling accents upon the state of the weather. Mr. Vyner, who was no fool, in spite of his infatuation, was quick to perceive by Miss Grey's manner that he had not found favor in her sight, and immediately there flashed across his mind a remembrance of the parting salute he had waved to her. Just then Miss Foster's step was heard outside. Determining to make the most of his opportunity, he bent down over her seat, and said, "Miss Grey, I owe you an apology for my conduct. At the risk of making mat ters worse, I'm going to beg of you to take a walk to-morrow afternoon in the lane where we met before, and I will try and remove the bad impression I fear I have made on you." Before he could receive any reply, Miss Foster, entering, handed him a cheque, and begged to know if it was enough. The vicar, who felt heartily ashamed of this part of the business, began to stam mer something about munificence, but was speedily cut short by the old lady, who said that now he had got what he wanted, he need not make himself miserable by stopping any longer out of politeness; that she herself was not amusing company; that Kate never flirted in her aunt's presence, whatever she did out of it; that doubtless his duties (strongly emphasized) in the parish required his presence elsewhere; and fairly drove the poor gentleman out of the house. The next afternoon the vicar, who was now growing old in deceit, gave Trevor a holiday, despatched him to X-on various pretences, and then went and sat on the railing, where he had first seen Kate, and smoked a pipe and waited. He had resolved that he would fall in love with her if she would let him (rather a gratuitous resolve on his part, seeing he had already done so, we fancy); and he was wondering how long she would consider he ought to cultivate her acquaintance before making any advances of that sort, when her slender figure came slowly down the lane. In another minute he was below, shaking hands with her. “I don't think I ought to have done this," said Kate, "but as you asked me, you must not think any the worse of me for it; and"-extracting the obnoxious parcel from her pocket -"I have brought you back your very kind pres ent." "Done what?" said the astounded vicar. "Brought back the chain and locket," said Kate. "I was so sorry you sent it: I have been very silly, but I never gave you the right to send me this." 66 But," said Paul, turning Trevor's luckless valentine over and over in his hand, "I never sent you anything. Hullo! this box is directed to me. Why! it's that young scamp Trevor who sent it you; I gave him the box. How came he to send you a valentine?" Poor Kate! This was turning the tables upon her with a vengeance. "I suppose because I sent him one first," said she defiantly. "Well!" returned the Reverend Paul, "this is most extraordinary. I suppose you sent it by a messenger. There was only one letter delivered at the vicarage on Valentine's Day, and that was for me." "Oh!" said Kate, glad to get a chance, however poor, of carrying the war a little into the enemy's country. "Is she goodlooking?" "Who?" said the vicar innocently. "Why, the young lady who sent you the valentine, of course." "I haven't the least idea who sent it. I burnt the envelope without looking at either writing or post-mark. Here it is," he added, taking a crumpled piece of card from his pocket, and handing it to her. "Why!" said Kate, "that's the valentine I sent Mr. Trevor." "Impossible!" cried Paul; "it was addressed to me." "No I am sure this is it. It was addressed, A. T., care of the Rev. P. Vyner.' You see," said Katie, "I knew he was at the vicarage, but I didn't know his name." "I am so sorry," began the parson. “I quite thought it was addressed to me. Indeed, I hardly looked at it outside at all. It stood where all my letters are always placed, and I opened it, never doubting it was for me." "I am so glad he never got it," said Kate. "I have been ashamed of myself ever since I sent it. I am afraid you must be dreadfully disgusted with me." "I think she's very pretty," said Paul, smiling rather wickedly. "Who?" asked Kate. "Who? Why, the young lady that sent me the valentine, of course." "Oh!" said Kate slowly, and looking down on the ground. Then, as if anxious to change the subject, she suddenly asked, "What were you going to apologize to me about? As you didn't send me that thing, how did you think you had offended me?" "I was afraid you were angry because I kissed my hand to you when we parted last time," said Paul, stammering and blushing and hardly knowing what he said. "I suppose I ought to have been offended," said Kate laughing, "but the truth is I didn't think you quite knew what you were doing. I-I forgot all about it the next moment." There was a minute's silence, broken suddenly by Paul. "Kate, I may offend you in reality now, but I cannot help it. Will you forgive me? Nay, more: will "Your wife!" cried Kate. "Impossible, Mr. Vyner! I know nothing of you, and what you know of me is not to my credit. You cannot mean what you say.' "Listen to me," said Paul, quite in earnest now, and catching both her hands in his. "I have loved you since the first moment I saw you; I have tried to persuade myself that it was impossible. I have laughed at my own folly (as I thought it), but all to no purpose. Kate, I love What chance have I of winning your love in return? Not now I am not so foolish as to suppose you can answer me yet. But in the future?" you. "But I know so little of you," mered Kate. 66 From Macmillan's Magazine. A SOCIAL STUDY OF OUR OLDEST COLONY. Ir is a very singular thing that among the great number of English travellers who of late years have published books upon America, scarcely one has thought it worth while to turn from the beaten and hackneyed paths which habit would seem to have marked out, to those great unexplored regions lying south of the Potomac River. Many, too, of these publications, having the most comprehensive titles, bear no evidence on their pages of any consciousness in the author's mind of the very existence of that great group of States, which in his own lifetime dominated the Union, and may at this day be fairly said to represent one-third of its stam-integral power. There is seldom even any expression of regret that time and circumstances should prevent the narra tor from visiting the South, nor is there often any apparent consciousness of incompleteness in the labors of American exploration, as he or she turns sharp round at Washington, as naturally as if it lay upon the Gulf of Mexico, and strikes westward for the Rocky Mountains. "That, at any rate," said Paul, who was beginning to think he should have his own way, can easily be remedied. Sup pose, for instance, we walk up and down here once or twice, and cultivate each other's acquaintance." So they wandered up and down the lane for the rest of the afternoon. We have never learned exactly what passed between them, but they seemed to be perfectly satisfied with each other's company. Suddenly the tête-à-tête was broken in upon by a voice from the railing where Kate had first seen the parson. "Hallo!" said Mr. Trevor, "I hope you two are getting on all right. Good-afternoon, Miss Grey," Trevor, come here," said the Reverend Paul. "I wish to give you this back from Miss Grey. Don't take offence, my boy, you must see you had no earthly right to send it." "There's only one decent way out of this hole," said Trevor imperturbably; "and that is, that Miss Grey should keep it as a wedding present." And Miss Grey was graciously pleased to receive it on these terms. If the ordinary tourist thinks that his time is better spent over an unimportant and un-American social excrescence like the Mormon settlement, it is his affair; but in the case of those who travel for the purpose of enlightening their fellow countrymen as to the political, social, and material condition of our transatlantic cousins, there is something strangely incom plete in the programme into which they drift, rather from precedent, or perhaps from despair at the size of the country, than from any deliberate purpose. Such works are generally but the impressions of vacation tours, and not only that, but, as a general thing, the only two phases of American life with which the English traveller comes in contact are the compar. atively cosmopolitan society of the great eastern cities on the one hand, and on the other, the exaggerated crudeness of the western wilds. The great mass of the American people proper lying between these two extremes-knowing little of either, living on farms and in villages all through the older States are hardly recognized by this class of traveller. Tucked up in a Pulman car, he goes from city to city, and from wonder to wonder, and comes home to encourage the shibboleth that America has "much land but no country." An almost contemptuous ignorance of American and colonial history is not conducive to a sympathetic apprecia |