to my mother's home, and with her, and from her, have learned those lessons of love more truly evangelic than all the volumes of theology that the world contains. I tell you, there is more gospel in a true woman's heart than any man ever yet found skill to write. But she was the only daughter of a titled nobleman, and rank was a barrier that love might not oppose. I revolved my relative standing over and over. again in my mind, till my brain grew dizzy. To claim her, I must be enrolled with the great. I looked within. I challenged my spirit's strength, and bade it say what it could not achieve for this rich boon of love. It answered: Nothing is too great for my might to accomplish in the name of love.'

I returned and

When the time of my departure came, I sought her, and in the frenzy of despair poured out my heart. Her angel nature saw nothing insuparable between us; but I pledged myself never to claim her hand till I stood upon the same platform where she was born. More frantic than sane, I tore myself from this scene of idolatry. found my father dying. A sudden cold had resulted in pleurisy, and in a week from his first symptom of illness, he was laid in the grave. My mother was prostrated by the shock, and her strong affections soon burst the gates that barred her from her beloved. I was with her when my hands, and bade

she ascended to glory. She placed that Bible in me follow its sacred teachings. I could have done it but for that demon, ambition, that then possessed me.

To Anna I did not even name my loss, for I felt that it would draw upon the tenderness of her nature, and lead her to dissuade me from attempting to carry out my plan. A few months after, I was introduced to a gentleman who proposed me for an appointment in India. I accepted, I came. One thought, and one only, ruled me a desire for glory, that I might win a title to nobility. Through all the chicanery of politics, through all the blood and horror of war, I carried myself with a skill and energy that won for me gold, and, what was more to me-renown.

I returned to England, and the proudest bowed their heads and uncovered them at my approach. From the hand of my sovereign, I received a title that placed my name higher on the escutcheon than the name she bore, and then I hastened to lay all my trophies at her feet.

I met her at her brother's in London. I knew that I had changed, but I did not dream of the full extent of that change till she entered the room, and seemed to hesitate whether to recogize me or not. The cold, passive hand which I clasped in mine, the colorless cheek that turned to meet my burning lips lest they should press hers! O! had I fallen on the field of slaughter, transfixed by ten thousand lances, it would not have cost a pang compared with this. But I would be heard. She should know through what I had waded to win a name for her to wear; so I seated her beside me, and poured out the history of blood that I had shed for her sake. She swooned at the recital. I caught her in my arms and screamed for help. I strained her wildly to my burning heart, and pressed my fevered lips again and again upon her icy brow. The entrance of the servants recalled me to myself; but I would not relinquish her. There she lay upon my bosom till the life-tide flowed again, and then she struggled to be free. A long sickness followed.

I saw her once more, and gave her back her plighted vows; but it wrung my heart as no agony ever before had wrung it. I returned to India. My idol was shivered. I had forgotten God, and I made gold my trust. O how unsatisfying. I would give more for the look of kindness and love from a heart that responded to my own, than for all the gold of India. I am a poor wretch in the midst of this squalid splendor-too beggarly to have a friend on earth-too sinful, I had felt, to have one in Heaven. But you have come to me with the voice of heavenly love, and I almost hope that it is not too late to cast my sinful soul at the feet of Jesus. Tell me, is there-is there yet hope for one so old in guilt-so hardened against all the light of early truth?"

Vinton assured him of the free love of God; but bade him remember that he must also do works meet for repentance. When he had enjoined rest, and felt that it would be safe to do so, he told him how the prayer of love had ascended daily for him from the altar of that pure heart-how his repentance would have won her loving soul to his, and made his life a foretaste of Eden, -how she even now mourned that he should grow old in sin, with no gentle spirit to guide him to the Lamb of God.

Tears gushed from the eyes of the veteran warrior, as he listened to the story of her fidelity to his better nature, and he accused himself of having thought her changed, when she had only grown more angelic, while he was treading the road to death.

Nothing could exceed his gratitude to Vinton for thus seeking him out, and pointing him to Heaven as the yet attainable goal. But with what loathing, with what self-abasement did he look upon the past! The blood of Jesus could alone wash the stain from his soul; and his own untiring efforts could hardly now hope to avail to blot out the effects of his misguided life. But he promised to use the little that might remain of his probation, to bless humanity as much as he had hitherto cursed it by his ambition.

[CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.]

SOME men of a secluded and studious life, have sent forth from their closet or their cloisters, rays of intellectual light that have agitated courts, and revolutionized kingdoms; like the moon, that far removed from the ocean, and shining upon it with a serene and sober light, is the chief cause of all those ebbings and flowings which incessantly disturb that world of waters.

THE plainest man who pays attention to women, will sometimes succeed as well as the handsomest man who does not. Wilkes observed to Lord Townsend: "You, my lord, are the handsomest man in the kingdom, and I the plainest; but I would give your lordship half an hour's start, and yet come up with you in the affections of any woman we both wished to win; because all those attentions which you would omit on the score of fine exterior, I should be obliged to pay, owing to the deficiencies of mine."

BUNKER-HILL MONUMENT.

Translated from the German of Myer's Universum.

BY MELANIE.

[CONTINUED.]

"But all perfection has its antithesis."

YES, this is true of our world also! There can be nothing fully perfect upon this earth. With all the good that earth brings us, we always find something lacking, -a something which the soul's desires call for most loudly, and the want of which turns everything else into painful regrets.

Endless monotony, cold as ice, hovers over the prairie, thousands of miles long. Tired of flowers and gay colors, the eye grows wearied without it chances to rest upon some distant mountain top. Long days' journeys through forests of hickories and walnut trees of a gloomy dark color, never opening their closely crowded boughs to admit the sunlight, are surely wearying. There are no variegated shade trees, no adorning meadow grounds and clear gushing rivulets that wind among gently sloping hills; there are few choirs of singers in that crowded, leafy vault; nothing of all these, only deep, dark, silent woods. There is no Rhine, with its picturesque shores, no Danube, with its quiet, gentle banks-nothing but monstrous streams, whose turbid waters roll through endless cane fields, or submerge the low lands.

And these majestic manifestations of nature pervade the interior of our continent also; and although we often find fresh, sunny glades among the wild rocky mountains, yet these are entirely different from the physiognomy of the wide whole.

The inhabitants are like the country. They are continually moving from the North to the South, from the East to the West, without finding a place wherein to rest entirely contented. The great multitude of people seem moved by one impulse-agitated by one nerve of feeling.