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" ' I' '' " .. . .L ." " ' ". . 7.. , 'u';: .n/~ -o ,, " .- . . " . . YoKE] I. .- " - NEW- SRENý ý NUR , oRC ýQr.= 188 ý NMBEncis, [wldeeNI fr Iestseals sar.l _ E MOTEWR!3 ROW D. nsu . Rash aight; whe Sleep in fted embrace 'the ohldrena's hobas geotly bound, The moths seeks their resting place, And makes her lobvig, olas roundt Paeuag fem bed tobed with watobhhl eare, P ireX in metherlove bath equal saehm Arecious burden to her life! A eri·shed care by night and day 1 Yet through the dreary years of strife Sweari es met n.e trns awayt lepinl that when the palsn ad wrk ame pat. Their hands may bring heroy middrest at last! a. bhemdsab,, her babt,'s mst, The blraag o. the hoeuehold and And feels that o'er that duless tst Is spr.eadsutsese, ba agel's and. Ieady teelaim hr Heaven's respledesat throne The darling child she thrink is all her own. She bstaBs beside her esly son, The boy who bear's lfetthename-.. And prays that while t i anmes air one Their virtues too, . may be the same. Yet sighs to think bhw ,baoo' distat yeare Ma try his heart awring her own with fears els h~er daughter's couch she kneels. Her eldest, wisest, gentlest, best ! Those eyes stall watch abeve her rest, Those hands, so small sndnelpless now, shall cheer Her own dark nilht whebn ge and grief draw near ! And now she thinks of other beds That need no mother's tender care The weeping willow only spreads Its meosatfl arms in silence there, but Faithatil mrmur. whil the the sad tears fall, " Deny not Him a Pert who gave thee all!" __e tlhbnhts go-ae hence te-eher-homes-- All dreary, desolate, and bhre, beside whose beds no kind-mee-emes To watch the children sleeping there, Io prayer as mid, no token ever given - To teach their hearts that God looks down from Heaven Sob fancies thrill her heart withlove- To Slm who makes her home sekMLt 'Whb, bending from His throne abeve, Defends and guards it day and night ; And turming now to seek her needed rest he knows wheae care Is truest, surest, best! " Oh, bless them all," she softly cries, " The children Thou hast lent to me, - - And with my apngels i the skie -nite tbam freagh etern$y. Relllnghem, when Death!- dark night stll eams Fros mother's arms, dear PFather, to Thy lhomer' (Irem he Cathe o Wodl.]. THEI DOUBLE-MARRIAGE. ROaer r' nsasa or -a aSIm oFr arnoy. sIAPT X. J. Just before veqpers, as Icame in rom a hritS to the hotpital, Mother Frances, our superiormess calledme to her,and said: S"lear sister, you have been out nerly da day, andwece up lastevanl g; youenn So lsto the church for vespers, and then you had better gto yotar oell." - ..Mter the scrrices *ereeneddl. remaine-d I fiwe snmiites to say my tpreyer. When-4y tisejhad xpised, I went through the clostrs toa ,oeli; and, just as I .pened 4e door, I herd from the gate-bell.a ld peal -that rang Sthrou the silent house. I heard the door opee Ud a hurrled message delivered. ' Anotsr eall," .thought, and then came .a quiet t.taºt sdoor. I opened It quickly, and Mother Ernuo. s tmL ysa b"I m " r i 1eilsr, toloiaMrbyon y ~r on; but that peerjtdiWltMy_ Ma L.tetiying.at the hoe ital, a .t lqtNs moot eaasetly to 'Is she indeed 8pag ys,-I left her so much better." "Yes; but a Iheal oalge as takena place, and ahehas not lsg te "v:. There was no time %ktMnke my anchling head and wearised itbs . j again hastily andtogether wa the Rooa At the einrance of the Marai lay I met the nure. " Oh! Gad bet, that you'r.ooene at It! Poor ry is for you." This Mary MaaNesl Wa a who had been brought up in our soosandAer ward nnintaiad herself by d ee al toil, poor fare,.aml want ef etke ros work; And l-ry.lay dying i the lh .s eonsumption. -he was a god tl . been long un4er ns espeda .sternom asie h aimdpIored me to be wth her during her last moments. Wheo I resnesd her bed .a alm, happy emile weloosme me, and the feeble, faint roie spoke a few weans of greeting, "'adye'n fay the remry aister-!' I knolt down and complied with Q raquaat. t When we said the last gloria, Father Borpgd came, and Mary received the last aemientls. I I have stood b many a death bed; I have see the stong man hi4 -ezpr; I hr saen the atheist. ft im deadin G die, with despain hi lila h ir' eye and faitbies e heart; veseen wie wth the emile of I an angel on their little faces; in every form I I have met with death; but I never knew a soul I leave this world that seemed more At for heaven than that of this young girl. The romaryin one land, the crucifix in the other, shabe law so calm and still. Ever and ano*, asl'wiped the death damp fom the e pale brow, she lift~ed r eyesau though to thank me. -She seemed desirme to speak. I stooped over to catch the fw atr.g gling woxrs, audtrey were: I, *Thireeki~itee lhkarithve" : er~ilddinbale i Mothe; she is with me nw." And she mar mfr tte swts names ehos an sd Marl. M• ff plpeU tae . I loesed the eyes, still weang_ thdi look of - gratitude a and love LI ro d 11 uds, and t.iinedthe .1 :beads areund them, and then knelt. down and I said the lltany ar the dead. I was Inow pre- I pring t leave the lhospital, when the nurse came, sad eskeda me if I would step for a I minute into the next ward, just to speak to a poor old woman who -seemed to be getting worse. This ward was quite full; but I noticed I a bed.I had seen empty in themoaing, occu pied; when Ihad fiisded talking to the old i woman, I asked who the new comrer was. "Ah f sister, she's .in an awful wary, let her i be who she may. I asked her this afternoon if ( she would see yu or the priest, and I- dgolare the look of her frightened me-it was so wild I and fere. But she's a lady, I am sure; for, though the poor feet of her were bare and t bleeding, Wie eiw ragged clothes she hadon were of the finest, and when she is in her c senses, she speaks so lady-like; but she went c on in dreadsfl way, and told me not to talk to her of sisters or priests, but to do her the I only kindness I could, and let her die alone; so there she lies, and not one bit or drop can I get I down her." "But, nurse, I must see her, poor thing! Per- I hap I can help to soothe her." 4 Iapproached the bed carefully, shading the I lamp with my hand. I set the light down on 1 the table, and drew chair to the bedside, and t down it. Loud, h -vybresthin, and quick, frightened starts, told me the patie slept. I gently drew aside the sheet,wi which shead covered her face and head, started at the picture that met my gare. wa •I ominn, seemingly about twond-twen yeqrs of age; her face and neck were oo ith a perfect mnpn of thick, glossy hair; " spread its rich profusion overthe pilltow and t -the bed-clothes. I took one of the tresses in my hand, and wondered at its length and I softaess. One small white hand was throirn i above her h hui o tightly that I col not move it, est I I should wake her. Before I hadl sat -many miaates, the aleeper awoke with a loud, piercing I scoeam, and a quPick fearful start. lald my hands on her to mesthe her.' . t tt "Do not be frightened," I said; "yo are d quite safe." - "Who are you F' she eplied ahrnptly ind " am a Sister of Mercy, and I am anxious to s assist yo.". "I don't wont you.; go away; you only tor- y ment me." She trnedl from me, and onceulea her face. "I am afraid yeou mistake me," I said very gently; " indeed; I only wish to do you good." "Do me good t You cannot; leave me alone! r Let me die asI haelived." - - "GOd is good, and very merciful, ny lpoor t, sister." " Dsn't mention his name to me. Leave me! a Let me be forgotten by God and man. Let me c die, and do not torment me." c "God loves you with an infinite love-a love v more tender than ou can imagine." . "Itell you to gofl .I am cursed, hated! I a want no good; J Iwill listen to none. Your I wordsare all in ain; save them and go " a Witthese wordsoehe resolutely turned from h it me, and covered her face with the clothes, so e a, thatebe could neither hear nor see me. I took a my reoasry, and knelt down, and said it for her; o I and ardently did I pray that the poor heart o might be turned to God. When I had knelt y r above an hour, she turned fiereely round, and o said: r a -" A you still there what are you .doing" d 7 "Lam praying for.on, my sister." a n " ý for me!" and a wild fearful lagIh a I sosndetrugh the quiet room. " ing a g for me; mlyname laro tten in hearea. t d ,r do that.. mother Is in heaven.- Dea'n et my name beeard there, or she will know biut a a go-sway, and leave me. Heaven and earth d have abandoned me; why need you care. forh me?" .i ; The delirium and fever seeed to increase aso ut rapidly, thatI feared my longer stay would be a useless. A torrent.-of words were pouring a quickly from the pamrched lips r now a wild ap 0 e fearfui eryt't GOa for mercy; then ad -eadthl· outburst rflepseehes and contempt a I, against aven; then a wild nautch of son&g, li anda hlaugh hoamrty,it almost chilled the 14 g bloeinm tonce, Od once only, the I a iIsud'w oiogew calm and. ebet, eand a quiet o n leok cameaponsn the flushed face when she t lseied she was a girl at home again, and her y .mether was speaking to her. g r, e home, for I was of no ee, and-the a v the poor seierer an opiate before I a could not restm; that wild, beautiful a o was befae me, an those pitlthl cries rang it i, F.ears l. ag.ht. The following morning el SI a ned to the 7ospital. I found my patient fa n, more let, ands good deal exhausted. hi i I pacured as isn otfold Water, and wetting tc h a hat derehief, placed it upon her burning e Shbrow. o t celes seemed to revive her; for A r after I'k d bathed her forehead for some min- gi r uteas,.ahe eind her eyes and said, in a faint at d rq "Is that yea, mother bless you, thank hi lf .' bu.tafar earnestly at me, she Il turned awa with a despairing h I nevet B ab fore . after I had well bathe her face as I and hea I thered the long hair and ar r aithetls netade a cap. how beautiful s a she lskedl the ed lash was goee, and her p Sface was air sad white as marble. The lihtb i eyebrosna wae:m; aked so clearly and are a so beautifll, and the noble open brew was so E f fair, I ceouldditllanish every ein. Again my fa I tera.fell upon erface as I stooped over her. . I She _vo a quick ar - "Who are as I yolkr S"I aam a Sister of Meky, one who loves you." S- "Lves me i and is that tear for me ?" di a "Y,--notf only one, but many more I have as a shed fao-yoe." > "O Sister " and she turned and threw her- so self on my breast, "that is the first tear any J one has shed over me since my mother died. m 4i x eiithas ! ase e ai tiR of bateor r- ayaadlhe, ted, it nething, coole ever gain sofety ttSfear was a dew-drop ie frm -eaven..:A sw tne sineel fantein he Ju as heram d she used to ceaae, a night-after night, and, bless me; just as it did SIeaib sgrh before I left her. O aisterrdo noet 4 letne. in your arm yea are so good, and I s hve b en asawleked and aiiuL". a "Nay, rest here; aseisare so sinful but there a is love and mrey left fe* thli a "Mercy c ane dare I, hope for it t" g "Hua my c , am ate tiring yeraelfonut; now.aes. a- "And deyo promlse never to leave me fill & Il46-1. , will w you stay with me T" " I wl indeed doall I an ; for the present I r mut go. ;Will yon let me plt this around y ouT S(It wasam' dal of the Immaculate Conception.) e "Yea," she replied, and took it with a trem ld ing hand. r, "Are you a Catholic?" I asked, startledby i the hste with hinh she seized it. a ': am, aister,"-And then a burning blush came r over her face. "I ame, but a guilty, ungrateful it one." k "Then will you any some short prayers, while e I Io and visit my other patients T" o I will, but it is long since I have said a t prayer." At the end of an hour I returned, and found - her weeping bitterly. -She- took my hand and kissed it. I tried to quiet her excessive grief. e I said, "Do not cry, my child. Tell me, can I n help you--can I do anything for you? My na sameiisster Magdalen; whatshall I cll yoI a T" is Eva. "Well then, Eva, Lie omfo have sinned, there is mercy and hope for if you are unhappy, there is comfort. at this;" and I gave her my erucifix not this, teach you to love and hope '" re was no answer, nothing but bitter sobs. I knelt down, and said the Memorare, tand then, d taking Eva's hand, I was about to speak, when e she said, "Sister, siater, when I am better, and d have strength to talk, I will tell von my his a to and you shall teach me to be better." e ont, a e becate.so I ill that we thought she must die; but God so 7, willed it that sheiegan to inprove, and, at g last, was able to speak and think rationally r gai. One@ eveiL g lsat by. her bed. saying the rosary while she slept, when, looking and e denly at her, I found her eyes open, and fxed upon ne intently. . " 8iste senn she said," I want to tell you my history; itis a very sad one. Ihave i sinned and suffered-will you hear me. " " With pleasure, beeaune when I understand you, I can the better help you." i And as she told it to me, I here give it. c- CHAPTr H. Il need not trouble you with the history of any ,ihildhood; it was spent alone-with my dear 11ther, in a-pleasant littlevllagenear Bristol, r antd wau a ve}ryGappy and innocent one. My fatter died before I was born, nut he left an t ample fortuneto my mother. I was her sole a e care and treasure; next to me she loved and cared for our little ehurch., The mission in our a a vill aiwas buta poor on~; my mothea was its chief support. To our care was gvet I sacristy, the chapelthe El icItabn, and flowers. r I used to spend hours.in dressing the altar and I arranging the flowers. The memory of those I hours has never- died; it has lived with me s ever ; and even amid scenes of vanity and pee t sioi, it has hang about me like the fkao e of a flower. - w t "My mother was the aweetest a' most t gentle of -women the early leset of her hts- i I rand gave her a shook from whleh she never t recovered; and she made a resolutien at his " death to devote bar whole lifs to my educatioin - and to works of charity. I eannot think of her I 4 witheMoltrs; abe was so patient and dd, g mar did ever hear ane unkind or hasty wor t m her. - ' "~I grw up-iwellkilediall the ascomplish- I t meate my mother loved and taught. One I was I t psinately fondeto and that was painting. I r ad talent for it, ndsa cultivated taste. 1 S" Imagine, sister, the .*arse of streamlet., a with carely a ripple upon it, glittering in te 1 ra iht sunlight, ever lowing calmly anfgently, ani you have a perfect image of my hildhood. r "This lated until I was sixteen. A few t daps after my birthday, a letter came from my 1 t mother's agent. a solicit in London, request- a ung her immediate peenee. Not liking to t e leave me behiund lest I should be dull, my t a mather offered to take me with her. I we t t oveeyed at the proposal. London was a die- v e tant fairyland to me, and I know no rest or t peace until we started. We were to stay at 'ii Mr. Clinton's, a distant relative of my father's, t e who kindly offered us the use of his house. He [i [ was married, but his-wife was dead, and he had a Saone only daughtr, with whom I soon became a intimatly acquainted. Bells Clinton was an a elegant girl, and foremost among the leaders of K ason. I had not been there long before I a began to blush for my country dresses, and as tonished my gentle, yelding mother by the' . extravagant demands I made upon her purse. I Ah I there I learned the fatal truth that was I gifted with beauty. I had heard strangers say fi at home, 'What a handsotie child! how like ti her father;' but I never realised the fact until a I stood ready dressed for my first ball, where 0 Bells had persuaded my mother to accompany a as. - - a. ' Bells had chosen for me a robe of pale pink e satin and a 6ieh laie skirt- she twined pale pink flowers in my long blaik hair, and goklden y braceletwareund' my arma, and then led me to sa her mirror, and said, 'I am almost jealous, hi Eva! Ah the face pictured there was very w fair, the eyes were flashing with light, the sheek was tinged like arose, the white neck le sad arms shamed even the pearls that gleamed upon them. Beautifkl; brght asnd sparkling be the picture was; but would to heaven I had w died as I stood there, for I wae t!;s. ienucnt Ie and good. -.... " You, perhaps, sister, never saw or cared to Ir see a bll-room; on me the effect waselectrios. re Just as we entered, the sweet, ascinating I melody of a ppularn walt was floating rounan Es r the.r ooelte'e th ldit'tlt was Ac twl rrtlms i light an4 ttF;:jwelb wrashing; fesathers waving, rich. atin were. glemming. aend the. warers to y vice's gse were ebeing S." Miss Cllotoi w'as oo' sUriii aded with I friends, mid I Itezted with tatonisihnt toher t *itt' separtses i&h& anisatea cniiersation. I [ was untednaed'to msany of her' fLeiiti;s our gep or partty? a I eourldiawfs 'to perceive, the. ma erselet in ti<bmn. Lsmtb myhmothe endeavoring to give mattestieon to some offer who was dotai a_ ng adventure, when a face and forn s -t-as t my atten tion; it was th noble looking man, with ia head remarkable the extreme beauty of , t contour and the richnes of its dark -arls. -Tbe fae oo; though not exactly handsome, was irresi attractive, tfrom its aristocraetic mould of feate and melancholy expression. 1 His evee were inglarly dark y shaded withl'oangtyolashea; they had a irL, listless look. I watched this gentleman some few said: 'Can yon toll me who is that distin I guished looking man standing just beneath the chandelier!' "' Lord Montford. He is a clever man; but a very reserved, haughty character; he is known by the name of Le Grand Seigneur. I know him well. intimately ; but I never can 1 penetrate the veil of melanoholy that hangs i over him.' "'Perhaps he is unhappy,' I said'simply; ' is 1 Shlie married r' "' No; he is one of the beet parties of the-se- 1 son. Some say an early disappointmont-i the 1 hassa distatete for the societyof your charming sex.' And my infokmant made a low bow. "A dozen more questions trembled on my lips; but not liking to continue the converea tion, I remained silent. Suddenly looking up, I saw Lord Montford's eyes fixed upon me. I .blushed, feeling like a guilty ttprit. In a few minutes Miss Clinton came to nie, and said: "' Eva, you have made a splendid conquest. I Here-is Lord Moutford asking to be introduced "" Indeed I cannot,' I replied, shrinking, s scarcely knowing why. "' Mrs. Leasoni, make her come,' said Bellsa, smiling to my mother. " 'Go, Eva,' my mother said ; and I went. My first mpulse was to run away when I saw that tall, stately form bendig-before-me; bu* he looked at me with so kindly an expression of interest and admiration that I acsepted the I -invita-i fon-r th . qadriile- with less of I fear and restraint -than I had hitherto felt. When the quadrille was over, Lord Montford I took me into the refreshment-room. n'It is no idle complinlent to tell o, Miss Lesson, that I enjoyed that dance more than I 1 hae done anything for years.' "'Whyr I answered innocently, looking up with astoninhment. He smiled and answered: " ' If I wished to flatter you, I should saye- I cease you are more-beautiful and grscefal than any lady I have Veen for some tie- but the real truth is, that I esan perceive this is your first ball, and the freshness of your idea. is I something novel to me.Y "'Are not mny ideas like other peopl~af I "Far rom it.' - - i ' I am very sorry,' I began, half heitathi ly; 'indeed, I wish to be like every h. else.' j ' Never 'wuih so again, Miss Leoeon; wish I always 4t besut as yom amt new.' : Jiustat. his momrt my motherand Bells I joined us, and h relinquished my arm. . Why,Evs,' said_ _Mls Clinton, Surely you c have some chrm. I halre known Lord Mont- f ford for years, and I never sawhim so animated 1 or so happy before.' I "ButI need net d'efl longer on this part of my life. ' Dy after day, evening after evening, z Lord Montford was by my side; and' yet so 1 quietly were these meettigs conducted, that it o always seemed that chance directed them. As t Bella cased jesting, my-mother his attentions. I soon began to look upon seeing I him as the only thing worth lilng for. I had h no-thought save for him. As yel no word of n love had passed his lips, though ould not but a perceive that he regarded me with no common g mterest. a "One day, as we were all in the drawing- ti room, my mother suddenly announced her in- si tention of returning home--alnajpt directly. I ii looked at Lord Montford, and saw an expres- h sion of pain upon his face. I rose au,dl went to e the window to hidetilit~irs that were starting n to my eyes. In an hour after this, a servant a brought me a note feom Lord Montfird, filled with expressions of love, and asking for an iins t4 terview, and praying that I would not mention a 'it to any one, even to my mother. I knew Ii this was wrong, 'and this was the first r false step in my career. I knew conceal- sl ment from my mother was, in such a case, bl wrn,mum; but stronger than the voice of con- at s.ic.me,stronger than the whispers of my angel t ;gu.nliaiestrenger than the proomptings of faith :mid obedience was the passion that reigned in may heart. I wrote a few words. My mother, 'Mr. Clinton, and Bell were going out'to dine. pI I Vlcaded indisposition sad remained at home. I promised in the afternoon to grant Lord Mont- of ford the interview Ise lesired. I went, when am three o'clock came, to the librairy, aid I left in a an hour the affianced bride of Lord Montford. I One thing surprised me, and that was, that he nied the most urgent entreaties tliat I would not mention oar interview, or its result, to any th one. Inmprudently I przmised. a "The day rnme whes we left London, and m yet no word would Lorm Montford suffer to be n spoken of our engagement. He stood in the hs hall as we passed troiu the house, and he hastily n whispered to me: tb, "' You shall hear from me soon. Eva, and my o letter shall explain alL' sp "I could scarcely bear the quiet, tranquil ai, beaty of home; my whole time was spent in gr wishing for, and thinking of the promised sa ietter. - n " At length it came, and I went with i tightly p held in myhand, to y own room. I cannot now a remembr all it said, but the concluding words I t I remember, and they were these: 'And now, som Eva, I haveo d" yon how dear you are ton, I d 1s I I 57 beome ad elhlmus eful Win -.... you in mer. ohpm thing mere. S-A-reason of the utmost mportsaeprevents me der from at present making publle our engagemlat I and marriage-a reason so poteat that,if iou or refase eereey, we mut prt. Iry,m Ea hall re, bhIs be-t WI you seriie my m love my hope, er. ay hppiness ferascrumple t r "A sowith a ppyer for m easent, the on letter ended; and tt I Ir it doit and wept m- eyeept-for there a calmer, hoier th fe in my hearttha I had knowan a of long time; and the struggle was hard.. My Is. mother, could I leave her ths How had she e, nursed me! loved me iand with what pleasure ie anid pride had she looked forward to my set n. tI ialifel ad er sweet fce came before me in all its od ues ad purity. Nol could not'eaoe e, I - aw ceuld not thus deceive sad diesppoint her. m, There was the church, too, with itj altars and n- flowers* who would tend them? I could nc r he go, and so I resolved-a resolution, alas! too soonmto be broken. Ut "At this moment a hand was gently laid upon is my shoulder, and looking up hastily, I saw my I mother. an "'Eva, are you ill, my darling, or unhappy? go Why are you here alone,. and-miserableP " 'made no reply, but laid my head upon my is mother's breast and cried aloud. Those were the last tears I- over shed there. I oven feel a- now her soft' hand caressing me, and drawing he back the hair from my brow2 whileshe soothed. a.e ..'iujdhIhu An. aliselsh iadu. Mg "'1 am adtlred, mother,' I said, at length. "'I see you are, Eva.' And she leidme down sy gently, and sat by me until I slept. Two days s- afterward I was out, and turning round the ip, road that led to the wood, Imet Lord ontford. II found he had arrived that day, and had been w .waiting many hours for a chanoe of teeing me; but he looked so pale and ili I searcely knew st. him., Let me tell the result in few words. I d promised him to leave hod. ",d-al. - - Sgs, an to accompany him, wheiever he ig,would. " "'It is but for a short time, Eva,' said he la, 'and then we will return, and your mother will forgive us and bless us.' t. Why not wait for the short time V I said, for n hee burned where my' mother's team hrs u fallen. h" 4 n "'II cannot; you do not know thq ;easons, _ he Eva. But do not refuse me. You ar~'the last' of tie that binds me to life and-h..' It. "And he arranged that early the next mooh rd lug I should meet his carriage in the park; that we should go straight to London, and there l as quietl married; and then go on the iame day "That night, sister, I nevrr slept. tany taimes ip I half knelt to pray, and perhaps had I-j I: God would have heardme; lbut there-wathg e- In my heart that would not let me;. and so, in n wearily pacing my room, in bitter weeping sad o grief for my mother, in pisionate tears, when er I remembered my promise in hard struggle ad is indecision, did I pass my lat night under my mother's roof. When morning dawned, I tried to go and look:at my3 mother; twice, thwe es I hail tpp fhe dq6r, and, sbudde oglsed f it; and ltlih-tlas p half leaig sh from my hoem 91gult sgtlv% er ainei, willful child.- I went-out in tote puce, sweet, morn Slug air, and Jt (ained so oftly my burning face; the birds were singing such glorious in carols of praise; the flowers were lifting their t- fai heads, drooping with dew; peace, and d beauty, and joy were all around use;- but in my heart were darkness and sorrow, grief and re if- morse. Suddenly a strong arm twined around , me, and a low vuice, whose tones I knew and go loved too well, poured, into my ars a rapture it of love and thanks. And in a whirl of time Ls that seems to me now a dream, I was married an n aria. Immediately on our arrival at gParis, my husband-wrote tom mother, telling her of our marriage connug -er for a time if not to reveal it, and begging her forgiveness It and blessing. An answer came, and my mother's n gentle love spoke in every line, yet her heart seemed broken as she.wrote. Trusting that s- time would reveal the mysteryof my husrband's s- strange desire for concealment, I threw myself I into the vortex of pleasure and gayety. The a- hours passed like golden-aoments. I knew no o wish, no caprice, that my husband did not im g mediately gratify. The most devoted love a-lr Sardent afection were lavished upon me; he was df ver with me; if for oie hour we were separa -- ted, he flew to me the next. Smiles chased the a melancholy and languor from his broW, andthe - r light in his eyes was to me bright,.r than the t rarest jewel he loved to adorn me with. Itwas short but brillianWsthi~ dreamn of mine* its , bliss was dearly purchased. You will think the story that I am going to tell you strange, but 1 there are stranger in the world. I CHAPTER III. " I told you, sister, how devoted I was to painting; and this taste ty husband spared no pains to gratify. He took me, one da, to one of the most splendid piture llere in Paris, and there, amongst other ef ,vr I notloed Ia most beautifl piotmre of St. Mary isgdal e. I st d-entraned before it; it represented a Sgraceful, alenderlgura kneeling before a rustic I altar. The hands were clasped in prayer, and the face was slightly raised toward heaven; but anything so exquisite as the blended look of re I morse and love upon those splendid batures I never saw; it was as though the raining tears had softened the dazzling besaty and bright. r nees of the large, liquiteyes, and bad blanched the rosee on both cheek and lip, and had lef over the fair face a lingering light, soft and spiritual. Long golden tresses waved over her I shoulders, and lay (evel as she knelt) upon the i ground in theirpro alon and luxuriance. Hop L sad love were wlte on the noble brow, wh such humility, such self-abasement -'wr e x Spremed in the prostrate, kneeling, igare, that a ue glance the history was read, I forge time, place and all things-my whole soulb sorbed in the wondrous beauty of the pioture.