Tyrrel and Ethel should make a
swift, though silent, comparison between this feast of sensation and
flow of human attraction and the still, sweet order of the Rawdon
dining-room, with its noiseless service, and its latticed win-dows open
to all the wandering scents and songs of the garden.

Perhaps the latter would have the sweetest and dearest and most abiding
place in their hearts; but just in the present they were enthralled and
excited by the beauty and good comradeship of the social New York dinner
function. Their eyes were shining, their hearts thrilling, they went to
their own apartments hand in hand, buoyant, vivacious, feeling that life
was good and love unchangeable. And the windows being open, they walked
to one and stood looking out upon the avenue. All signs of commerce
had gone from the beautiful street, but it was busy and noisy with the
traffic of pleasure, and the hum of multitudes, the rattle of carriages,
the rush of autos, the light, hurrying footsteps of pleasure-seekers
insistently demanded their sympathy.

"We cannot go out to-night," said Ethel. "We are both more weary than we
know."

"No, we cannot go to-night; but, oh, Ethel, we are in New York again!
Is not that joy enough? I am so happy! I am so happy. We are in New York
again! There is no city like it in all the world. Men live here, they
work here, they enjoy here. How happy, how busy we are going to be,
Ethel!"

During these joyful, hopeful expectations he was walking up and down the
room, his eyes dilating with rapture, and Ethel closed the window and
joined him. They magnified their joy, they wondered at it, they were
sure no one before them had ever loved as they loved. "And we are going
to live here, Ethel; going to have our home here! Upon my honor, I
cannot speak the joy I feel, but"--and he went impetuously to the piano
and opened it--"but I can perhaps sing it--

"'There is not a spot in this wide-peopled earth
So dear to the heart as the Land of our Birth;
'Tis the home of our childhood, the beautiful spot
Which Memory retains when all else is forgot.
May the blessing of God ever hallow the sod,
And its valleys and hills by our children be trod!

"'May Columbia long lift her white crest o'er the wave,
The birthplace of science and the home of the brave.
In her cities may peace and prosperity dwell,
And her daughters in virtue and beauty excel.
May the blessing of God ever hallow the sod,
And its