aise her fuchsias, and you
were the most excellent of men; pass them by unnoticed, and you might be
capable of committing the worst sin in the decalogue.

Is it not curious, how particular scents of flowers and their appearance
will call up old scenes and circumstances to your memory? To this day,
the mere sight of a fuchsia will bring back to my mind Lady Dasher's
little drawing-room; and I can fancy myself sitting in the old easy-
chair by the window, and listening to that morbid lady's chit-chat.

Presently my lady came in, pale and melancholy, as usual, and with her
normal expression of acutest woe.

"Dear me, Mr Lorton! how very ill you are looking, to be sure. Is
there not consumption in your family?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Lady Dasher, thank you," I replied; "but how
well _you_ are looking, if one may judge by appearances."

"Ah!" she sighed with deep sadness, "appearances, my young friend, are
very deceptive. I am _not_ well--far from it, in fact. I believe, Mr
Lorton, that I am fast hastening to that bourne from whence no traveller
ever returns. I would not be at all surprised to wake up some morning
and find that I was dead!"

"Indeed!" I said, for the fact she hinted at would have been somewhat
astonishing to a weak-minded person. I then tried to change the
conversation from this sombre subject to one I had more at heart; but it
was very hard to lead her on the track I wished. "We had a good
congregation to-day, Lady Dasher, I think," said I; "the church seemed
to be quite crammed."

"Really, now; do you think so? _I_ did not consider it at all a large
gathering. When poor dear papa was alive, I've seen twice the number
there, I am certain. _You_ may say that the falling off is due to the
hot weather and people going out of town, but _I_ think it is owing to
the spread of unbelief. We are living in terrible times, Mr Lorton.
It seems to me that every one is becoming more atheistic and wicked
every day. I don't know what we shall come to, unless we have another
deluge, or something of that sort, to recall us to our senses!"

Fortunately at this juncture, before Lady Dasher, could get into full
swing on her favourite theological hobby-horse--the degeneracy of the
present age--Bessie and Seraphine entered the room. The conversation
then became a trifle livelier, and we discussed the weather, the
fashions, and various items of clerical gossip.

I discreetly asked if they had seen any new