UNOPENED PARCELS. 117.

thus you see, Honor, the words of the poet are no
fiction. And it is possible, that

‘—. men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things ;’

that even a fault repented of may lead us to a
deeper feeling of right and wrong than we had
before.”

“Do you really think so, papa?” I asked; for
the doctrine seemed to me rather different from
the tendency of many pretty story-books I had
read.

“T hope so, at any rate, Honor,” said my father ;
“but it is too large a subject to begin now. We
have sat the fire out.. Let us go up to mamma
to tea.”

# # * * ¥

“* After all, there is one thing you have not ex-
plained, papa,’ said I, breaking a silence just
before bidding good-night. ‘When I called the
walnut-shell with the gloves inside ‘wonderful’
the first night, you said, ‘H’m! not so wonderful as
when the walnut was there.’ Do you remember ?”