"Why not?" returned the old verger. "Old age should not be miserable, but the contrary. The inevitable cannot be painful and was never intended to be anything but a source of consolation; I have heard the Reverend Father say so more than once. Shall you come and hear him preach next Sunday? The whole place will be thronged. He spoke to me about you this morning--it must be you--I have just been to the Eveche for his commands--and said that in case you came I was to reserve two places for you inside the choir gates--quite the place of honour, sirs. You will see and hear well; and when preaching, it is almost as good to watch him as to listen. Ah! I have been here fifty years, but I never saw his equal." "And the Bishop?" "I never make comparisons; they must always be to the disadvantage of one or the other," replied this singular old man. "And now I must away to my duties." "One word more," said H.C. hastily. "Will those picturesque ladies come again to Confession to-night?" "To-night!" he returned reproachfully. "Do you think those virtuous creatures pass their lives in sinning--like ordinary beings? No, no. Besides--enough's as good as a feast, and they were well shriven last night. They are now reposing in the odour of sanctity. Au revoir, messieurs. I see your hearts are in the cathedral, and I know that I shall meet you here again before Sunday." He departed. We watched his stooping figure and his white hair moving slowly up the aisle, so fitting an object for the venerable building itself. He disappeared in the sacristy, and a few moments after we found ourselves without the building, standing in the shadow of the great towers, under the grey skies of Quimper. TO MY SOUL. _From the French of Victor Hugo._ You stray, my soul, whilst gazing on the sky! The path of duty is the path of life! Sit by the cold hearth where dead ashes lie, Put on the captive's chain--endure the strife. Be but a servant in this realm of night, O child of light! To lost and wandering feet deliverance bring; Fulfil the perfect law of suffering; Drink to the dregs the bitter cup; remain In battle last; be first in tears and pain-- Then, with a prayer that much may be forgiven, Go back to Heaven! C.E. MEETKERKE. SO VERY UNATTRACTIVE! "Yes," meditated pretty Mrs. Hart; "I suppose it would be invidious to pass her over and ask the other three, but I would so much rather have them." "Cannot you ask the whole four?" suggested her sister. "Does it not strike you as being almost too much of a good thing? You see, our space is not unlimited." "Ask the three eldest," said Bertie Paine decidedly. "But I do not want her. What use is she? She can sing, certainly, but you cannot keep her singing all the evening; and the rest of the time she neither talks nor flirts. And she is altogether so very unattractive," ended Mrs. Hart, despondently.