body consigned to the grave.  He sleeps in the village churchyard at Elmwood, and a marble slab marks his resting-place.  When, after the funeral, his will was read, the large amount of the property left was a matter of wonder to many.  In his will he gave largely to several benevolent and religious institutions, and to me he left the sum of one thousand dollars.  I could see no reason why he should have done this, but as his will was drawn up in legal form and properly attested I thought it right I should accept of the generous gift; and, indeed, it was but a small sum out of the large property left by Mr. Judson.  Besides his liberal gift to me, he also gave largely to different benevolent and religious causes.  Half the remainder of his large property was to go to his surviving widow, and the remainder was to be equally divided between the two sons.  Before his death it was settled that Reuben, the youngest son, was to remain on the home place to care for his mother in her old age, while the eldest was to return to their former business; and thus Mrs. Judson’s declining years were rendered happy and contented through the care and love of her favorite son.  And so Rose and I at length bade adieu to our friends, after a protracted visit, and returned to the city, where, by my direction, a pleasant and tasteful house already awaited us.  Rose liked not to reside in the noisy city, so our home is in one of the most pleasant suburbs in Montreal.  Should any of my readers be curious enough to enquire if Rose and I are happy, I would cordially invite them to pay us a visit, and judge for themselves, the first time they pass our way.  The evening before we were to leave Elmwood, I was seated beneath my favorite tree in my mother’s garden, and leaning backward against its grey trunk, with its thick and wide-spreading canopy of green branches above my head, I indulged in a long and deep reverie.  Memory ran backward over the careless happy days of my childhood, the struggles of my youth, and the exertions of mature manhood; and although bereft, at a very early age, of my earthly father, I could not fail to observe the guiding hand of a Heavenly Father who had smiled upon my youthful efforts to assist my widowed mother, and had prospered my undertakings, and crowned my mature years, by giving me, as a life-partner, the one who had been my first and only choice, and almost unconsciously to myself, I repeated aloud the following verse from what was Grandma Adams’ favorite psalm:  “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass.”

So busily was my mind occupied that I failed to notice the approach of my sister Flora, till she seated herself close to my side, and leaning her head upon my shoulder said in a constrained hesitating voice:  “There is one thing I must tell you, Walter, before you go away:  Charley Gray has told me he loves me, and asks me to be his wife.”  This did not surprise me much for I had noticed with secret anxiety the growing