they knew not whither — when the children's exclamations
suddenly burst forth, as they came out upon the Sunday-school
place again. They were glad to sit down and rest. It was just
sundown, and the light was glistening, crisp and clear, on the
leaves of the trees and on the distant hill-points. In the
west a mass of glory that the eye could not bear was sinking
towards the horizon. The eye could not bear it, and yet every
eye turned that way.

"Can you see the sun?" said Mr. Dinwiddie.

"No, sir," — and "No, Marmaduke."

"Then why do you look at it?"

"I don't know!" laughed Nora; but Daisy said: "Because it is
so beautiful, Mr. Dinwiddie."

"Once when I was in Ireland," said the gentleman, "I was
looking, near sunset, at some curious old ruins. They were
near a very poor little village where I had to pass the night.
There had been a little chapel or church of some sort, but it
had crumbled away; only bits of the walls were standing, and
in place of the floor there was nothing but grass and weeds,
and one or two monuments that had been under shelter of the
roof. One of them was a large square tomb in the middle of the
place. It had been very handsome. The top of it had held two
statues, lying there with hands upraised in prayer, in memory
of those who slept beneath. But it was so very old — he
statues had been lying there so long since the roof that