Nothing was said, on the next day, by any one, on the subject of dancing; though Mr. Archer, especially, thought a great deal about the matter.  Some ideas had come into his mind that were new there, and he was pondering them attentively.  On the third day of his arrival, he had a severe attack of rheumatism, from which he suffered great pain, besides a confinement to his room for a couple of weeks.  During that time, the untiring devotion and tender solicitude of Grace touched the old man’s heart deeply.  When the pain had sufficiently abated to let his mind attain composure, she sought to interest him in various ways.  Sometimes she would read to him by the hour; sometimes she would entertain him with cheerful conversation; and sometimes she would bring in one or two of her young friends whom he had met at the Christmas party.

With these, he had more than one discussion, in his sick room, on the subject of dancing, and the old minister found these gay young girls rather more than a match for him.  During a discussion of this kind, Grace left the room.  In her absence, one of her companions said to him—­

“Grace is a good girl.”

A quick light went over the old man’s countenance; and he replied, with evident feeling—­

“Good?  Yes; I look at her, sometimes, and think her almost an angel.”

“She dances.”

The old man sighed.

“She is a Christian.”

“I wish there were more such in the world,” said he, unhesitatingly.

“And yet she dances.”

“My dear child,” said Mr. Archer, turning with an affectionate smile towards his young interlocutor, “don’t take such an advantage of me in the argument.”

“Then it is settled,” was continued, in triumph, “that if dancing is not a Christian grace, a maiden may dance and yet be a Christian?”

“God bless you, and keep you from all the evil of the world,” said the old man, fervently, as he took the young girl’s hand and pressed it between his own.  “It may be all right! it may be all right!”

Grace came back at the moment, and he ceased speaking.

From that time the venerable minister said no more on the subject, and it is but fair to believe that when he returned home he had very serious doubts in regard to the sin of dancing, which had once been as fairly held as if it had been an article in the Confession of Faith.

IS SHE A LADY?

“Mrs. Tudor is a perfect lady,” said my wife, Mrs. Sunderland, to me one day, after having received a visit from the individual she named.

“She may have the manners of a lady,” I replied, “when abroad; but whether she be a lady at home or not, is more than I can tell.  It is easy to put on the exterior of a lady; but to be a lady is a very different thing.”

“All that is true enough; but why do you connect such remarks with the name of Mrs. Tudor?  Do you know any thing to the contrary of her being a lady?—­a lady at home, as you say, for instance?”