ness and distinction for the paltry fear
that death may cut him short."

"Oh, if you regard it in that light! I should not call it a paltry fear.
There are more ways than one to distinction--this, for instance,"
dropping her hand on Harry's paper in the review. "Winged words fly far,
and influence you never know what minds. I should be proud of the
distinction of a public writer."

"Literature by itself is not enough to depend on unless one draws a
great prize of popularity. I have not imagination enough to write a
novel. Have you forgotten the disasters of your heroes the poets,
Bessie? No--I cannot give up after a year of difficulty. I would rather
rub out than rust out, if that be all."

"Oh, Harry, don't be provoking! Why rub out or rust out either?"
remonstrated Bessie. "Your mother would rather keep her living son,
though ever so unlucky, than bury the most promising that ever killed
himself with misdirected labor. Two young men came to Abbotsmead once to
bid grandpapa good-bye; they were only nineteen and sixteen, and were
the last survivors of a family of seven sons. They were going to New
Zealand to save their lives, and are thriving there in a patriarchal
fashion with large families and flocks and herds. You are not asked to
go to New Zealand, but you had better do that than die untimely in foggy
England, dear as it is. Is not life sweet to you?--it is very sweet to
me."

Harry got up, and walked to an open lattice that commanded the purple
splendor of the western sky. He stood there two or three minutes quite
silent, then by a glance invited Bessie to come. "Life is so sweet," he
said, "that I dare not risk marring it by what seems like cowardice; but
I will be prudent, if only for the sake of the women who love me." There
was the old mirthful light in Harry's eyes as he said the last words
very softly.

"Don't make fun of us," said Bessie, looking up with a faint blush. "You
know we love you; mind you keep your word. It is time I was going back
to Fairfield, the evening is closing in."

The door opened and Mrs. Musgrave entered. "Well, children, are you
ready?" she inquired cheerfully. "We are all thinking you have had quite
time enough to tell your secrets, and the doctor has been wanting to
leave for ever so long."

"Bessie has been administering a lecture, mother, and giving me some
serious advice; she would send me to the antipodes," said her son.
Bessie made a gentle show of denial, and they ca