And Christian is smiling too, but her smile is like the first April sunbeam, whose fleeting brightness tells of tears at hand. Her thoughts are solemn; this evening is sacred to the dead, whose image floats before her pensive eyes, and whose cherished memory hangs about her inmost heart. She sees the worn and weary frame, so long since laid down in peace, to sleep and be at rest within the bosom of its mother earth. She holds communion with the immortal nature so long since perfected. She is alone amid that mirth, surrounded by mournful remembrances; among _them_, but united to the dead. But “James is to be married to-morrow!” and there are household preparations to make, and when these are finished the hour has come for their usual evening worship; a pleasant hour at all times to Christian Melville. Her father has chosen his Psalm appropriately this night, and the solemn and simple melody swells up, full and clear, through their quiet habitation. “Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place In generations all, Before thou ever hadst brought forth The mountains great or small; Ere ever thou hadst form’d the earth And all the world abroad, Ev’n thou from everlasting art To everlasting, God.” How vivid is the realisation of Christian, as she sings the words of that solemn acknowledgment of God’s power and man’s dependence, and, in true heartfelt appreciation of the Lord’s providential loving-kindness on the closing night of the year, recognises and gives thanks for His great goodness. And there is a quivering aged voice blending with the sweet youthful accents in the song of gratitude; Christian knows right well that it comes from a heart, a very babe’s in godly simplicity, which, in the meek confidence of faith, is enabled and privileged to take the inspired words of the Psalmist for its own. It is old Ailie, her dead mother’s faithful and trusted servant, and her own humble friend and counsellor. The reading of the Word is past, the voice of supplication has ceased, and, gathering round the warm fireside, they wait the advent of the new year; happily and with cheerfulness wait for it,--_for it_, for the breath of praise and prayer has driven away the gloom from the calm horizon of Christian’s gentle spirit, like a cloud before the freshening gale, and the young faces that know no sorrow are shining with the very sunlight of happiness. Robert’s eye is on the time-piece, watching its slow fingers as they creep along to midnight, and Mary has clasped Christian’s hand in her own, that none may be before her in her joyful greeting, and the father lingers in his seat half disposed to melt into momentary kindness, and half ashamed of the inclination. Twelve! Listen how it peals from a hundred noisy monitors, filling the quiet midnight air with clamour, and followed by a storm of gratulation and good wishes in this cheerful room, and out of doors from so many human tongues, and so often insincere.