It was a perfect day. The clear sky, the tinted woods, the stream, the "rare blue hills," made lovely pictures on all sides. He had not the most remote idea that this noisy brook bounded Aunt Ruth's farm, and that the next bend in the road would reveal a charming picture that would make his pulses stand still with joy. A narrow footbridge spanned the stream, and leaning over the railing, intently watching the hurrying waters, her white dress fluttering in the breeze, stood Marian. He knew her in an instant, and came forward, his heart in his face. Marian looked up quickly, in a startled way, at the sound of a footstep, and the joyful radiance that lighted her eyes when he said, "At last I have found you," revealed the whole story. There was scarcely need of question and answer. And then? They sauntered along the bank of the winding stream, and began a walk that did not end till life ended. The express train went its way without the traveller, and they two came up through the lengthening shadows to the old farmhouse, where Aunt Ruth sat on the porch. They told the whole long story to her, and she listened, with now a smile and then a tear, and when it was finished she laid a hand on the head of each, and said sweetly and solemnly, "Children, the Lord bless thee and keep thee!" JUANA'S MASTER. ——— A PICTURESQUE object it was, this old Spanish-looking house, in the City of Mexico, with turrets and towers and balconies, set amid tall trees and clambering vines. The hot breath of the summer afternoon had sent most of the inhabitants to search out cool, dark retreats, and lose the sense of languor in sleep. Even the leaves and the flowers were drowsy, and universal silence settled upon all things, broken only by the plashing of fountains and the sleepy little songs of birds. In an upper balcony of the old house a young wife sat, her head resting on one hand, her eyes fastened on the distant mountains just discernible through a soft haze. She was not building pretty air-castles, nor absorbed in the dreamy, wondrous beauty of the scene before her; nor when she bowed her head on the railing, did her eyes close in happy forgetfulness. "Sleep seldom visits sorrow," and this sad heart was breathing out sobs and moans.