. 2

ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS.

 

CMRP TER I.

“THERE they go!” exclaimed old Mrs. Myles,
looking after two exceedtngly beautiful children,
as they passed hand in hand down the street of
the small town of Abbeyweld, to the only school,
that had “ Seminary for Young Ladies,” writ-
ten in large hand, on a proportionably large
card, and placed against the bow window of an
ivied cottage. ‘There they go!” she repeat-
ed; ‘‘and though I’m their grandmother, I may
say a sweeter pair of children than Helen Marsh
and Rose Dillon never trod the main street of
Abbeyweld—God bless them!’ She added
earnestly, “* God Almighty bless them!”
‘““Amen!” responded a kind voice; and
turning round, Mrs. Myles saw the curate of
the parish, the Reverend Mr. Stokes, standing
just at the entry of her ownhouse. To curtsey
with the respect which in the “ good old times”
was customary towards those who “ meekly
taught, and led the way,” and invite the minis-
ter in, was the work of amoment; the next be-

Ea ae Se ee ie NS ORR ae ee Le ee