Thomas À Kempis was right in saying that next morning would be a sad one—not on account of previous merriment; but, as I drove home alone, the separation from Father Letheby me keenly. He had, to use a phrase, grown into my heart. my own feelings, as I jogged along the country road, I found that it was not his attractive and polished manners, nor his splendid abilities, nor his that had impressed me, but his open, character, forever bending to the weak, and scorning everything dishonorable. It was quite true that he "wore the white flower of a blameless life"; but that is expected and found in every priest; it was something else,—his , his truth, that made him  
"—my own ideal ,
Who his conscience as his king,
Whose glory was human wrongs;
Who spake no , no, nor listened to it.
... We have lost him; he is gone;
We know him now; all narrow
Are silent; and we see him as he moved,
How modest, , all-accomplished, wise,
With what of himself,
And in what limits, and how tenderly!"
My poor boy! my poor boy! I thought he would be over me in my last hour to hear my last , and place the sacred oils on my old limbs, and compose me decently for my grave; but it was not to be. Vale, vale, longum vale!
 
There was a letter from the , and a large brown parcel before me when I reached my home. I opened the letter first. It ran thus:—
 
My dear Father Dan:—The prebendary stall, vacated by the death of the late Canon Jones, I now have much pleasure in offering for your acceptance. I suppose, if the το πρεπον always had force in this world, you would have been canon for the last twenty or thirty years; but at least it is my privilege now to make compensation; and I sincerely hope I may have the benefit of your wise counsel in the meetings of the Cathedral Chapter. It will also give you a chance of seeing sometimes your young friend, whom I have so suddenly removed; and this will weigh with you in accepting an honor which, if it has come , may it be your privilege to wear for many years
 
I am, my dear Father Dan,
Yours in Christ,
——
"Kind, my Lord, always kind and thoughtful," I murmured.
 
Then I cut the of the parcel. It contained the rochet, mozzetta, and biretta of a canon, and was a present from some excellent Franciscan , to whom I had been chaplain, and who were charitable enough not to have forgotten me. So there they were at last, the dream of half a lifetime. God help us! what children we are! Old and young, it's all the same. I suppose that is why God so loves us.
 
I took up the dainty purpled and ermined mozzetta. It was soft, and beautiful, and . I could fold the entire rochet in the palms of my hands, the lac............