The other, living fuller life,
Had fled the haunts of worldly strife,

And fill'd his soul with purpose high
And wisdom of the earth and sky,

But had not gather'd golden store,
To scare ill-fortune from his door;

Nothing but Courage, Hope, and Faith,
And Love, the conqueror of Death.

The rich man, with a mournful smile,
Said to the poor, and sigh'd the while:

"Oh, friend! thou'st dream'd thy life away,
And now that thou art old and grey,

"Hast not a penny for thine age,
Or for thy children's heritage."

The poor man cheerily replied:
"What matters? Life and joy abide.

"My children, sporting in the sun,
Can do at least what I have done.

"I've had my pleasure as I went,
And known the riches of content.

"Thou hast thy treasures—I have mine—
My heart my judge, men's verdict thine.

"But, friend, who'st chosen other ways
Than those I've trodden all my days,

"When comes the hour, as come it must,
When thou shalt mingle with the dust,

"Whose treasures shall the best endure—
Those of the rich man or the poor?

"Thine cease at portals of the grave,
Not even their shadow can'st thou save!

"But what I've won with heart endeavour
Is mine for ever and for ever.

"I take it with me through the tomb,
And find it when I pass the gloom!"

       SIR JOHN'S TROUBLES

  IN FOUR CHAPTERS. CHAPTER III.

WANTED A GOVERNESS. Must be a
Roman Catholic. A French lady with a good
knowledge of English preferred. Unexceptional
references required; and a liberal salary given.
Apply by letter to J.M., the Oriental Club,
Hanover-square, W.

"What a very singular place for a governess
to apply at, "said Lady Milson to her husband,
as she read the above advertisement in the
Morning Post at breakfast one morning. "What
a curious place for a governess to apply at.
Why, the initials are the same as your own,
John."

It was fortunate for Sir John that two walls
of paper intervened between him and his wife,
for he sat reading the Homeward Mail, and
Lady Milson the Morning Post, as they sipped
their tea and made inroads into their toast. Had
it been otherwise, his better-half would have
certainly seen that there was something wrong
with her lord and master. Poor Sir John's
troubles had begun, as he thought, in earnest,
but as yet it was only the beginning of evil.
He had written to tell his old friend that he
would do all he could for his daughters when
they arrived, and would have a home ready for
them by the time they arrived. But what to
do, or how to do it, he knew no more than a
babe unborn. Already he had been more than
suspected of wanting a house for some person
for whom he ought not to find either house or
home. He had gone to a West-end house-
agent, and told him that he required, somewhere
in the neighbourhood of London, a villa
with three best bedrooms, a dining-room and
drawing-room, and suitable for a small
establishment. The agent "yes, Sir Johned," and "no,
Sir Johned," and "you may depend upon my
getting you the very thing you require, Sir
Johned" him, until he felt inclined to knock
him down upon the spot and run away. But
when poor Sir John began to give very
particular directions that all letters on the subject
of this villa were to be sent to him at his club,
and not to his house, the man's countenance
spread into something as near a grin as a
respectable tradesman could allow himself to
indulge in. "You may trust to me, Sir John,"
he exclaimed. "I perfectly understand, Sir
John. You may rest assured that your confidence
shall be respected." And with this there
came over the fellow's eyelid something
approaching so near to a wink, that Sir John felt
in a greater rage than ever, and walked off
muttering anything but prayers, "for all the world
as if he were a Hindian bashaw," as the house-
agent expressed himself afterwards when
speaking of the interview to a friend. At last—and
with the utmost secresy, as if he really was
doing something which he ought not—he got
a suitable house in the new part of Kensington,
which he took at a rent of seventy-five pounds
a year. Of course the agreement for the
house had to be made out in his name, for he
had not yet engaged the governess who was to
rule over the establishment. Sir John had been
a householder in London for four or five years,
and his name was, of course, in the Blue
Book, the Court Guide, and the Post-office
Directory. A reference to any of these books
showed that he lived in a house for which he
must pay at least four hundred per annum rent.
From what he told the house-agent, the house
he hired was intended for another person or
persons, and yet it was to be taken in his name.
Moreover, he wore such a very decided air of
being ashamed—or, more correctly speaking,
perhaps, of being frightened—of what he was
doing, that it was hardly to be wondered at
if house-agents thought there was something
out of the way—something that was anything
but all right—in the transaction. One of these
gentry, in fact, as good as told him as much.
"You see, Sir John," he said, "I don't mind
speaking out. The landlord of that house don't
want, he don't, to let any promiscuous party
like, 'ave 'is 'ouse. The neighbourhood is most
'spectable, and you see, Sir John, as how if he
lets any party live in that house, which is a