Should you chance to walk past Nairn Cottage almost any Friday evening between eight and ten o'clock, the strains of music proceeding therefrom will be pretty sure to greet your ears, for the old quartete parties have by no means been allowed to fall into desuetude. There, as of old, Mr. Kittaway's puckered face stares at you over his high cravat, what time, with an antiquated flourish of his bow arm, he evokes the resonant accents of his beloved 'cello, which at his bidding seems to do everything but speak. John with his flute, and Clement with his fiddle, play as if they had one soul between them, while Hermia at the piano with deft fingers blends the whole into one rich, full, harmonious volume of sound. Dear Aunt Charlotte with a kitten on her lap and a piece of crewel-work in her hands, which, however, progresses but slowly, listens and looks on, placidly happy in the happiness of those she loves. Stretched at full length on the hearthrug may be seen a sturdy urchin intent on putting together a more than usually intricate puzzle picture, and thereby proving to all and sundry what a clever and important personage he is. But, as far as his mother and his Aunt Charlotte are concerned, no such proof is needed. They have been fully convinced of the fact long ago. FINIS.