“Before I take my leave,” said Mr. Mellis, rising and addressing his hostess, “I want to say that it would be a kindness if you would call upon the Heritages. They have not been long in this neighbourhood, and are rather lonely. Their old friends live a good way off, and they themselves used to have a big place out near Huntsford; but six months ago Mr. Heritage died suddenly, a great deal poorer than was anticipated; in fact, it became evident that he had been living beyond his income for some years past, so that instead of being well off, his widow and daughter have only a tiny income on which to subsist. So Miss Marielle Heritage decided to make a practical use of the fine vocal training she had received. She has already appeared at the ‘Thursday Classical Concerts,’ and her appearance was followed, fortunately, by a fair number of pupils. She meets them at Forman’s, she tells me” (naming a large music-shop in the city), “and it is in order to be handy for the trams to town that they have taken up their abode in York Road. Number twenty-seven is the house. There now, I really must go!” wound up the Rector, and a few minutes later the hall door closed behind his retreating footsteps. When all the paraphernalia of afternoon tea had been removed, Magnus recounted to his mother any little incidents in the day’s work which he thought would interest her. Dr. Duncan, senior, had been called away into the surgery to see an old friend and patient, so mother and son were alone. Time passed quickly away, and it was a surprise to both when the clock chimed the half-hour after six. Mrs. Duncan bustled away to change her toilet, leaving Magnus still lying back in his easy-chair, gazing into the fire with his hands clasped behind his head. The subject of his meditations might have been guessed from the following words, had anyone been there to hear them. “Marielle Heritage! What a pretty name!” said he softly to himself. Then rousing himself with an impatient shake, he rose out of his chair, and in his turn went upstairs to get ready for dinner. (_To be continued._) SELF-CULTURE FOR GIRLS. PART III. “Of making many books there is no end,” said the Sage of old. What would he say could he re-visit the world at the present moment? The very multitude of aids to self-culture is, as Frederick Harrison remarks, a serious drawback in the way of those who attempt it. Books may be cheap, free libraries may abound, but where shall the eager student begin? On every hand voices call to her, urgently claiming attention, until at last, distracted by the various appeals, she is fain to cover her ears with her hands and remain deaf to all alike. Or to change the figure, those who wish to tread the path of self-culture are like wanderers in some vast unknown forest. Paths cross and re-cross one another in every direction, and industry in plodding forward is vain without a guiding clue or sign.