face, her figure, her youth, her grace, and her accomplishments are comparatively safe. So Mildred seemed likely to be a second edition of her aunt; and if truth must be told the prospect did not in the least alarm her. While this calm and uneventful life went on, unbroken by a single disturbing element, each of these happy, pure, and useful women making the world around them better and happier for her presence in it, and reaping in calm contentment the fruits of the good deeds they scattered lavishly, the sad calamity of Sir Martin Lee’s death suddenly fell upon them. Had their lives been hitherto spent in selfish enjoyment of the pleasures of the hour, the blow would have been heavier than it was; but though they were unfamiliar with great troubles of their own, their loving work amongst the poor, the friendless, and the sick had familiarized them with suffering in others, and they knew how to bow the head in meek submission when the storm passed over them, and scattered their hopes in its path. Resignation was now the virtue to be practised, and Mildred did not fail in the hour of trial. A few months after Sir Martin’s death her aunt took her for a long tour through scenes of travel which she was anxious to unfold to her. They had often talked of them, and it was soon resolved to take the St. Gothard route to Italy, and return home by Spain. From Naples they went to Sicily, and made a rather long stay at Taormina, under Etna. It was not till they reached this magnificent spot (perhaps, as has been said, the loveliest on the earth), that Mildred began to recover somewhat from her bereavement. On that lofty height, surrounded by mountain peaks, up which rock-hewn steps led to ancient cities and old-world castles and fortresses, with the great snow-covered volcano rearing its lofty head above the clouds, with the Straits of Messina dividing their shores from those of Calabria, whose purple mountains melted away into the dim distance, she could read the lines which Cardinal Newman wrote amid those scenes with a sweet conviction of their truth. “Say, hast thou tracked a traveller’s round, Nor visions met thee there, Thou could’st but marvel to have found This blighted world so fair? And feel an awe within thee rise, That sinful man should see Glories far worthier seraphs’ eyes Than to be shared by thee? Store them in heart, thou shalt not faint ’Mid coming pains and fears, As the third heaven once nerved a saint For fourteen trial years.”