orld must not
pause in its regular routine of business and of pleasure. This is
natural and right. It was not intended that men should walk perpetually
in sackcloth and ashes because of the sorrows that surround them. But
equally true is it that they were never meant to shut their eyes and
ears to those woes, and dance and sing through life heedlessly, as far
too many do until some thunderbolt falls on their own hearts, and brings
the truth home.

The command is twofold: "Weep with those that weep, and rejoice with
those that do rejoice."

Come then, reader, let us visit good Mrs Foster, and rejoice with her
as she sits at her tea-table contemplating her gallant son with a
mother's pride. She has some reason to be proud of him. Guy has just
received the gold medal awarded him by the Lifeboat Institution. Bax
and Tommy have also received their medals, and all three are taking tea
with the widow on the occasion. Lucy Burton and Amy Russell are there
too, but both of these young ladies are naturally much more taken up
with Tommy's medal than with those of Guy or of Bax!

And well they may be, for never a breast, large or small, was more
worthy of the decoration it supported.

"My brave boy," said the widow, referring to Tommy, and taking him by
the arm as he sat beside her, but looking, irresistibly, at her son, "it
was a noble deed. If I had the giving of medals I would have made yours
twice the size, with a diamond in the middle of it."

"What a capital idea!" said Lucy, with a silvery laugh, that obliged her
to display a double row of brilliant little teeth.

"A coral ring set with pearls would be finer, don't you think?" said
Guy, gravely.

Tommy grinned and said that that was a toothy remark!

Lucy blushed, and said laughingly, that she thought Mrs Foster's idea
better, whereupon the widow waxed vainglorious, and tried to suggest
some improvements.

Guy, fearing that he had been presumptuous in paying this sly
compliment, anxiously sought to make amends by directing most of his
conversation to Amy.

Bax, who was unusually quiet that evening, was thus left to make himself
agreeable to Lucy. But he found it hard work, poor fellow. It was
quite evident that he was ill at ease.

On most occasions, although habitually grave, Bax was hearty, and had
always plenty to say without being obtrusive in his conversation.
Moreover, his manners were good, and his deportment unconstrained and
easy. But when