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ften fathomed those abysmal deeps of personality, the recognition of which is a necessary element of marked individual growth.We have, therefore, no materials for forming any vivid picture of Seneca's childhood; but, from what we gather about the circumstances and the character of his family, we should suppose that he was exceptionally fortunate. The Senecas were wealthy; they held a good position in society; they were a family of cultivated taste, of literary pursuits, of high character, and

you up? asked Lady Elspeth.He is very good company, I am told.Oh, Charles is excellent company. If we didn't see him now and againthe house would be like a tomb. But he's not there all the time, andwe have relapses. He has his own rooms elsewhere, you know. And I'mreally not surprised. It taxes even him to lighten the deadly dulnessof Melgrave Square. It must be a great comfort to Mrs. Pixley to have you with her, mydear. I can't make up for all she lacks in other directions, saidMargaret, with

st tone I sing to them; yet they are never quite satisfied with me, but beat their wings, and stretch out their heads, and cannot be happy until they hear their father.The squirrel, who lives in the hole where the two great branches part, hears what I say, and curls up his tail, while he turns his bright eyes towards the swinging nest which he can never reach. The fanning wind wafts across the road the voice of the old horse- chestnut, who also has a word to say about the birds'-nests. When my

ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbe Rose, againmistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs andwas bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. Is notthat your brother? asked the old priest.Pierre had not stirred. Yes, it is my brother Guillaume, he quietlyresponded. I have found him again since I have been coming occasionallyto the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been livingfor more than twenty years, I think. When we

sioner at Mammoth Hot Springs.[Illustration: So Maw, dear, old, happy, innocent Maw, knelt down with her hatpin and wrote:--p. 19] You see, the geysers rattled Maw, there being so many and she loving them all so much. One day when they were camped near the Upper Basin, Maw was looking down in the cone of Old Faithful, just after that Paderewski of the park had ceased playing. She told me she wanted to see where all the suds came from. But all at once she saw beneath her feet a white, shiny