for property has been cut up and lots sold cheaply. Father Underhill is
offered a great price for his, and sells it. It is no longer George's
ideal home.

Mrs. Eustis begs him to come up to Tarrytown. All the other Morgans are
gone, and she is left alone. The place shall belong to George if he will
give her a home her few remaining years.

He will not listen to this, but buys it, and builds on a new part. Then
he marries a nice girl whose youth is past, and who is delighted with
her kindly, indulgent husband. They have no children; but the nieces and
nephews flock hither for rest and recreation, and are always fascinated
with Uncle George's adventures.

Delia is at middle life when she writes her book, but then it is no
young girl's story with an imperious Rochester-like hero, that we used
to shiver over and adore. It is a serious, inspiriting woman's book, and
carries weight in spite of the flood of new literature.

Charles Reed has followed a manly, pure, and high-minded Christian
course, and left an impress on the hurrying world. Josie has grown
broader and more intelligent, and made a delightful household mother.
There have been children enough to satisfy Grandmamma Reed.

These old friends meet now and then, and talk as people will when they
begin to go down the decline on the other side of the hill that they
climbed with such a light step and high heart. How simple life was then
compared with the ramifications of to-day!

The old songs, the old poets, the old novelists are gone. "Jane Eyre" no
longer holds us spell-bound, though the three sisters in the bleak old
Haworth Rectory will never be forgotten; nor that strange "Rosemary,"
and Huntingdon's "Lady Alice," thought to be so unsettling to the faith.
We read "Robert Elsmere," and "John Ward, Preacher," and go our way
tranquilly. Education has become almost a synonym for genius.

The gold of the Pacific Coast, the oil wells, the rich spoils of the
earth, have been touched with the wand of industry and science.
Railroads run to and fro; vessels dot the ocean; we cross it now in less
than a week. Cables bring us hour-old news from everywhere. We go abroad
for seasons and touch elbows with royalty, and are not abashed. We
gather the beauty and wisdom of the old world. We build palaces, and
spend on an evening's entertainment what would have been a fortune fifty
years ago. We have private palace-cars, and luxurious yachts for
pleasure, and others for speed,