mon that day
was not in vain, albeit not perhaps written in the very best of moods.
There was no poetry, no overheated enthusiasm no display of eloquence,
but the plain, straightforward announcement to rich and poor alike, that
to enter God's kingdom the spirit must become even as that of a little
child.

Perhaps this is the least understood, and least palatable of all
subjects, and when brought before a congregation, and well discussed for
half-an-hour, must make many of its members pause to consider whether,
on such terms, 'theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'

Miss Gwynne was one of those who paused so to consider, and acknowledged
to herself that she had never looked upon our Lord's Sermon on the
Mount, as so practically and so particularly addressed to herself
before. She did not for a moment believe that the sermon was intended
for her, more than for the rest of the congregation, but she felt, for
the first time, that she had been proud and overbearing in her conduct
to the preacher, as well as to many others whom she chose to think her
inferiors.

She left the church, resolved to make such amends as were in her power,
for the hasty and haughty way of her rejection of Rowland, and to strive
to be less proud for the future.

When she was without, her father said to her, that he must go into the
vicarage to congratulate the vicar on his nephew's preaching, and to ask
Rowland to dinner. Miss Gwynne endeavoured to dissuade him from doing
so, but Lady Mary Nugent expressed her intention of performing similar
civilities; consequently the whole party, Colonel Vaughan and Miss Hall
inclusive, walked across the churchyard to the vicarage, which lay just
the other side of it.

The vicarage was a snug little cottage, with a rustic porch, adorned
with the Virginian creeper, which, together with the massive ivy, also
nearly covered the house. Red and cheerful looked the tiny dwelling
beneath the autumn sun; and very pretty was the garden which surrounded
it, still bright with dahlias, fuchsias, red geraniums, and monthly
roses. It was here, years ago, that Rowland, Miss Gwynne, and Netta had
often played together; and it was here that Rowland had passed the
principal part of his holidays when at home from Rugby or college. It
was here that Mrs Jonathan had done her utmost to make a gentleman of
him, and had succeeded to her heart's content. Rowland had been very
happy with his uncle and aunt, and loved them almost as well a