The old minister groaned in spirit.  His heart had been softened by the sweet influences of children and grandchildren.  He thought of a half-sized grave in the burial-ground, and the fine, brave, noble-hearted boy he laid in it thirty years before,—­the sweet, cheerful child who had made his home all sunshine until the day when he was brought home, his long curls dripping, his fresh lips purpled in death,—­foolish dear little blessed creature to throw himself into the deep water to save the drowning boy, who clung about him and carried him under!  Disguised selfishness!  And his granddaughter too, whose disguised selfishness was the light of his household!

“Don’t call it my view!” he said, “Abstractly, perhaps, all Nature may be considered vitiated; but practically, as I see it in life, the divine grace keeps pace with the perverted instincts from infancy in many natures.  Besides, this perversion itself may often be disease, bad habits transmitted, like drunkenness, or some hereditary misfortune, as with this Elsie we were talking about.”

The younger minister was completely mystified.  At every step he made towards the Doctor’s recognized theological position, the Doctor took just one step towards his.  They would cross each other soon at this rate, and might as well exchange pulpits,—­as Colonel Sprowle once wished they would, it may be remembered.

The Doctor, though a much clearer-headed man, was almost equally puzzled.  He turned the conversation again upon Elsie, and endeavored to make her minister feel the importance of bringing every friendly influence to bear upon her at this critical period of her life.  His sympathies did not seem so lively as the Doctor could have wished.  Perhaps he had vastly more important objects of solicitude in his own spiritual interests.

A knock at the door interrupted them.  The Reverend Mr. Fairweather rose and went towards it.  As he passed the table, his coat caught something, which came rattling to the floor.  It was a crucifix with a string of beads attached.  As he opened the door, the Milesian features of Father McShane presented themselves, and from their centre proceeded the clerical benediction in Irish-sounding Latin, Pax vobiscum!

The Reverend Doctor Honeywood rose and left the priest and his disciple together.

* * * * *

REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.

Autobiographical Recollections.  By the late CHARLES ROBERT LESLIE, R.A.  Edited, with a Prefatory Essay on Leslie as an Artist, and Selections from his Correspondence, by TOM TAYLOR, Esq., Editor of the “Autobiography of Haydon.”  With Portrait.  Boston:  Ticknor & Fields. 1860. pp. lviii., 363.