became familiar with the Prayer-book, he found that it was an aid rather than a hindrance to devotion. The end of the session drew near; and the April sun shone clear and fair through the smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Alec determined to console himself for the loss of a long walk, for which he could not afford time, by putting a book in his pocket, and taking a stroll in the park. Those who are most attached to the country care least for parks. A piece of enclosed and tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or small, always affects the lover of nature with a sense of restraint, of formality, of the substitution of an imitation for a reality. Trim gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a grass-grown lane; a neglected hedgerow, a bit of moorland, or even a corner of a common, will hold more that is beautiful, more that is interesting to one who loves the open country, than acres of park, with all their flower-plots and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for in a thorn hedge or a mound of furze one recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature only possesses when she is left to work by herself. Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth having. They are, at least, infinitely better than the streets. So, at least, thought Alec Lindsay this April afternoon, as he wandered along the deserted pathway, under the budding trees. Glasgow is fortunate in at least one of its parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but then it is not merely a square of ground planted with weedy young trees and intersected by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the Kelvin; and it includes one side of a steep rising-ground which is crowned by handsome houses of stone. The little river itself is always dirty, and in summer is little better than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from a little distance it is picturesque, and lends variety to the scene. Alec was wandering along one of the pathways, watching the sunlight playing in the yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat himself into the idea that his mind was filled with Roman history; when suddenly he found himself face to face with--Laura Mowbray. She was dressed, not in winter garments, though the air was cold, but in light, soft colours, which made her look different from the Scotch damsels whom Alec had seen in the streets. She seemed the impersonation of the spring as she slowly approached Alec with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped to speak to her. ‘I have come out for a turn in the park, for I really couldn’t bear to stay shut up in the house on such a glorious day,’ said Laura. ‘Uncle wouldn’t come with me, though I teased him ever so long. He said he was very busy; but I think people sometimes make a pretence of being studious,’ and she glanced at Alec’s note-book as she spoke. Alec laughed and thrust the book into his pocket, and turning round walked on slowly by the girl’s side.