THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM.


"Justice has never been done to the month of months," said Hugh,
coming in to the breakfast-table one morning, bringing a spray of
roses with the dew shining on their fragrant petals. "I propose we
celebrate the day, the fifteenth of June; the most perfect day of the
most perfect month of this most perfect year of our lives. Who knows
where we shall be before another June comes round? 'We have lived and
loved together through many a changing year; we have shared each
other's pleasures and wept each other's tears.' But _tempus fugit_,
oh, how fast! and before we know it we shall all be old! Friends, fill
your coffee-cups to the brim, and let us resolve to celebrate."

"A picnic!" said Gem.

"A torch-light procession and fireworks!" said Tom.

"A croquet-party!" said Sibyl.

"A dance!" said Bessie.

"An editor's sanctum," said Hugh.

The novelty of this suggestion made a favorable impression. "Explain
yourself, Hugh," said Aunt Faith; "I am afraid your project is too
large for the field."

"Oh, no, Aunt Faith, it is not so large as you fancy. There is a store