"Because I love you," said the low sweet voice of Vivian Standish, as he
paced very slowly, with Honor Edgeworth, by his side, up and down
through the crowd that had assembled on Carder's Square, to enjoy the
excellent music of the Governor-General's Foot Guards' Band which was
filling the evening air with its dreamy strains.

These two, were like every other couple present, in a crowd and yet
isolated: the "band night" is one, so full of generous encouragement, to
the growing sentiment of our young city, that one is forced into an
appreciation of its benefits, whether one is inclined or not.

Long before the appointed hour for playing, animated couples form a
solemn procession, along the streets and grounds which surround our
dignified "Drill Shed," but it is just as the twilight begins to draw
itself into the corners of the far-off sky, and over the half distinct
gables, and chimney tops of the imposing buildings that rear up their
solemn spires, against the sky, that the suggestive strains of a "Blue
Alsatian," or "Loved and Lost" act, powerfully as a third agent of
affinity, in bringing the hitherto shy and reticent couples nearer than
ever, and in linking the obstinate little hands of a moment before,
firmly in that of the love-sick adorer.

Every one goes to hear the band, big and little, men and women, young,
and old, though, what old people, and little brothers or sisters want
there, is more than half the "grown up" sons and daughters can tell.

It is all well enough to coax your uninteresting little brother of
fifteen, with a double supply of sponge cake at tea, if you have no one
else in view to escort you to the "band," but why in the name of all
that is provoking, does he not know, that his duty is done, when he is