Opening a Chestnut Burr

ggest the "rest that remaineth." Thinking of neither the past nor the future, Gregory for a little time gave himself up to the sense of present and luxurious comfort. With closed eyes and

y little lunch caught his appetite as exactly as if manna had fallen adapted to his need; but it soon stimulated him out of his condition of partial non-existence. With returning consciousness of the necessity of

nd the most of his time alone in wandering amid old scenes and brooding over the past. The morbid mind is ever full of unnatural contradictions, and he found a melancholy pleasure in shutting his eyes to the future and recalling the time when he had been happy and hopeful. In his egotism he foun

to prove himself an agreeable guest. Polite he ever would be, for he had the instincts and training of a gentleman, in society's interpretation of the word, but he had lost the power to feel a generous solicitude for the feelings and happiness of others. Indeed, he rather took a cynical pleasure in discovering defects in the character of those around

ing: "Supper is ready, but the ladies beg you will not come do

fire, and listless ease were much better than noisy children, inquisitive ladies, and the unconscious reproach of Mr. Walton's face, as he would look in vain for the lineaments of his lost friend. T

the design of Walter's polite message. Soon a bit of tender steak, a roast potato, tea, and toast were smoking

it heartily. Then incasing himself in his ample dressing-gown he placed his slippered feet on the fender before a ch

ton came up and courteously inquired if there wa

ll be able to make a better return for your hospi

aid kind Mr. Walton. "In order to derive full benefit from

f a visit at his old home grew still more inviting. When he was

ures, and the harsh, rough outlines which exist in every truthful portraiture of life were lost in the haze of distance. The gentle but steady light of mother love, and through her a pale, half-recognized reflection of the love of God, illumined all those years; and his father's strong, quiet affection made a background anything but dark. He had been naturally what is termed a very good boy, full of generous impulses. T

into distance, and his present life, dull and leaden, rose before him, and from regretful memories that were n

kened almost into a scowl. Outwardly he made a sad picture for a young man in the prime of life, but to Him w

s of prelude were struck upon the piano in the parlor

ages, cle

de myself

es of the place, but they reminded him more clearly than ever before that its most inseparable associations were holy,

f his childhood? Was there really anything beyond that gulf save what the credulous imagination had created? Instinctively he felt that there was, for he was honest enough with himself to

hould be, the hymn went forward in the room below, his memory

eyelids clo

r to world

alth as I have of late I shall know cursedly soon. That must be Miss Walton singing. Though she do

nd the monotone of

ng that is harder to endure than the absence of my own kindred and vanished youth. I doubt whether I can stay here long after all. Will not the mock

night and the deeper chill at he