Is it not curious, how particular scents of flowers and their appearance will call up old scenes and circumstances to your memory? To this day, the mere sight of a fuchsia will bring back to my mind Lady Dasher’s little drawing-room; and I can fancy myself sitting in the old easy-chair by the window, and listening to that morbid lady’s chit-chat.

Presently my lady came in, pale and melancholy, as usual, and with her normal expression of acutest woe.

“Dear me, Mr Lorton! how very ill you are looking, to be sure. Is there not consumption in your family?”

“Not that I’m aware of, Lady Dasher, thank you,” I replied; “but how well you are looking, if one may judge by appearances.”

“Ah!” she sighed with deep sadness, “appearances, my young friend, are very deceptive. I am not well—far from it, in fact. I believe, Mr Lorton, that I am fast hastening to that bourne from whence no traveller ever returns. I would not be at all surprised to wake up some morning and find that I was dead!”

“Indeed!” I said, for the fact she hinted at would have been somewhat astonishing to a weak-minded person. I then tried to change the conversation from this sombre subject to one I had more at heart; but it was very hard to lead her on the track I wished. “We had a good congregation to-day, Lady Dasher, I think,” said I; “the church seemed to be quite crammed.”

“Really, now; do you think so? I did not consider it at all a large gathering. When poor dear papa was alive, I’ve seen twice the number there, I am certain. You may say that the falling off is due to the hot weather and people going out of town, but I think it is owing to the spread of unbelief. We are living in terrible times, Mr Lorton. It seems to me that every one is becoming more atheistic and wicked every day. I don’t know what we shall come to, unless we have another deluge, or something of that sort, to recall us to our senses!”

Fortunately at this juncture, before Lady Dasher, could get into full swing on her favourite theological hobby-horse—the degeneracy of the present age—Bessie and Seraphine entered the room. The conversation then became a trifle livelier, and we discussed the weather, the fashions, and various items of clerical gossip.

I discreetly asked if they had seen any new faces in church. But no; neither of them had, it was evident, seen my ladies in half-mourning, about whom I was diffident of inquiring directly.

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