L L peace and intelligence, is but an endeavour of the one great law for its own fulfilment; as the lashing surges thrown up by the howling storm are but the struggles of the water to maintain a level. The savage who kneels upon the burning sands, and who pours forth his soul in the worship of the noon-day sun, is moved by the self-same influence as that which prompts the more refined, but less fervent piety, of his civilized brother. The native of the solitary wilds and luxuriant forests of the south, looks for another world teeming with fruits and stocked with deer, beyond those blue mountains where he sees the sun go down in majesty at night; and that burning desire in his breast, is but a parallel for the yearning in us, for a bright world of glory and joy beyond the azure brink of those eternal shores. Then why this outcry against superstition and idolatry? | All men worship the same God. Is it not a sacred thing to see those fierce and barbarous men kneeling fervently and humbly like little children, and imploring the blessing of God upon their endeavours? What if they make their orisons to the rising sun, or to the sentinel stars that keep watch over them by night, or to the flowers that bloom on their own native wilds, and which breathe a holy language to their hearts; if their souls are truly uplifted, and inspired with reverence and awe? What marvel if the people of Egypt should become imbued with lofty aspirations, when they saw their broad rivers covered with magnificent flowers? When the waters were skirted by gorgeous beds of white water-lilies, sometimes edging the shores with a deep waving border of flowers and foliage, heaving with every undulation of the stream; sometimes running up in broad alleys, between the flags and reeds, and making the sacred river a fit abode for its presiding deities? They dedicated these glorious flowers to the moon. They were emblems of purity and chastity. The bands of virgin priestesses who ministered in the temples, wore them wreathed in their hair, on solemn and festive occasions, as their most appropriate ornament. The blossoms of the lotus were gathered with great solemnity by the Egyptian priests, and the altars of the temples adorned therewith. The flower was made the resting place of Gods. Pictures were painted, in which the deities were represented sitting on the lotus flowers; and these were held over the dying to animate their souls with the hopes of heaven. The priest ministered to the inward intuitions of the expiring sufferer, and so became to him an angel. The Egyptians were imbued with the poetry of the beautiful, and mingled the objects of external nature with their superstitions and religious observances. So were the ancient Britons. They worshipped God within the vaulted avenues of his own wide-stretching forests, beneath the shadows of his own trees. What a glorious temple for human worship -with the giants of the forest, the mighty oaks and beeches, for its walls; and the blue dome of the sky for a roof; and the winds making solemn music among the high tree-tops, in harmony with their hymns of praise. Talk not to me of temples made with hands; if the well of thy heart is not yet dry, go out into nature and seek her sacred impulses, and like Adam in Paradise, thou shalt hear the voice of God among the trees. It is an interesting fact, that the word Druid was derived from the Greek opus "oak," from the custom of the Druids teaching in forests. This is supported by Pliny, Salmasius, and Vigenere. Bovet obtains the word from the old British or Celtic derw, "oak," whence he takes us to be derived. It matters little now which language should have the priority. The Druids considered the oak a sacred plant; it was the emblem and token of the Almighty's presence, and all that grew upon The Nymphoa nelumbo, closely allied to Nymphæa alba, or white water lily of Britain, is the lotus of the East; the theme of legend and song in every age of oriental literature. it was hallowed, and considered as coming direct from heaven. They adorned their heads with chaplets of its leaves and fruit, and the altars were strewed with it and encircled with its boughs. The misletoe, which grew upon the oak, was considered the most sacred gift of heaven; it gave fertility to man and beast, and was a specific against all kinds of poison. It was solemnly sought on the sixth day of the moon, and when found, was hailed with the most rapturous joy. Then preparations were made for performing the sacrifice. Two white bulls were brought and fastened to the tree by the horns, and the Arch-Druid, robed in white, and attended by a great concourse of people, ascended the tree to crop the misletoe with a golden pruning-hook, while the people shouted their joyful acclamations. Having secured the sacred plant, he descended the tree, and the bulls were sacrificed, and the Deity invoked to bless his benign gift, and render it efficacious in those distempers in which it should be administered. The people of Gaul and Britain devolved the care of their health on the Druids, and these priests were gifted with the power of curing all diseases; and in such high esteem were they held, that the most implicit faith was reposed in them to accomplish things utterly impossible. It was the prevailing opinion of the nations of antiquity, that all internal diseases proceeded from the anger of the gods; and that the only way of obtaining relief, was by applying to the priests to appease their anger by religious rites, and propitiatory sacrifices. Indeed, the Gauls and Britons frequently sacrificed one man as the most effectual means of curing another. "Nobody doubts," says Pliny, "that magic derived its origin from medicine, and that by its flattering and delusive promises, it came to be regarded as the most sublime and sacred part of the art of healing." The well known plant, the vervain, was a Druidical plant. By certain mystical performances with it, they were enabled to predict future events. After libations of honey had been poured forth, it was gathered with solemn ceremony at the rising of the dog-star, on a moonless night; for its virtue could not be obtained if gathered when either the sun or moon looked upon it. In digging it up, the left hand only was used. It was then waved aloft, and the leaves, stalk, and root, dried separately in the shade. It is described in their writings, as "cheerful, placid vervain, which has been borne aloft, and kept apart from the moon." From it they prepared an ointment, which was efficacious not only in curing all diseases, but in conciliating friendships, and procuring the accomplishment of every wish. "Yes, wrapped in the veil of thy lowly flower, They say that a powerful influence dwells, And that, duly culled in the star-bright hour, Thou bindest the heart by thy powerful spells." The hypericum, or common St. John's wort, was another Druidical plant; and is still looked upon with superstitious reverence in many rural districts, as peculiarly fitted for a spell or charm. Many curious ceremonies are still performed in villages on Midsummer-eve, and the succeeding morning, distinguished as the day dedicated to St. John. These performances have a peculiar interest to young maidens and bachelors, and like those of Halloween, in Scotland, are believed by the superstitious observers, to lift the veil of futurity for the coming year, and enable the inquirers to prognosticate their lot for married or single life. These practices still prevail in many parts of the continent. In Lower Saxony, the young girls gather sprigs of St. John's wort, on the eve of St. John, and secretly suspend them on the walls of their chambers, with certain mysterious ceremonies. The state of the plant on the following morning indicates their future fate. If fresh and undrooping, it foretells a prosperous marriage; if fading and dying, the The plant is influenced by the condition in which it is placed, and those who have damp walls are reverse. the more likely to nave prosperous marriages than those "The young maid stole through the cottage door, If the coming year shall make me a bride." And the glow worm came With its silvery flame, Through the night of St. John; And soon as the young maid her love-knot tied, To her chamber she sped Where the lovely moon her white beams shed. And when a year was passed away, All pale on her bier the young maid lay! And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame And sparkled and shone Through the night of St. John that at Midsummer-night the witches hold their revelries The stubble is yellow, the corn is green, GOETHE. If thou fearest the witches, reader, go and find the fern-seed, and render thyself invisible. Nay, do not smile, there are witches now tormenting the wicked and the idle. Man's very heart is torn asunder by them, when he forgets to do his duty. Bovet tells of one who went to gather fern-seed, and the evil-spirits whisked about his ears like bullets, and sometimes struck his hat and other parts of his body. And, although he believed he had secured a quantity in papers, and a box full besides, he found all empty. If he had gone with a true heart, and walking upright in God's sunshine, they could no more have dared to check him, than to assail an angel. That this power of invisibility may be obtained by means of fern-seed, we have the authority of the great poet himself, through whose mighty heart the Universe rolled its everlasting tide, and who knew all the mysteries of As they closed the cold grave o'er the maid's cold clay."heaven and earth. "We have the recipe of fern-seed— A very large class of superstitions have had their origin in the love of analogy, which forms so prominent a characteristic of the human mind. The leaves of the lungwort are spotted like the animal lungs; hence its name and the faith in its curative powers in pulmonary complaints. The lichen, called oak lungs, has been so called from the same supposed resemblance to the structure of the lungs. It is remarkable how many plants were included among the remedies for bites of scorpions and snakes in the old treatises on Herbs. The Echium vulgare was formerly known by the name of "viper's bugloss." The spotted stem resembles the skin of a snake, and the seeds are each like a viper's head; and our forefathers, who looked upon these marks as signs of corresponding virtues, inferred that the plant must prove the best remedy for the bite of a viper. Gerarde says, the sight of the viper's bugloss would drive vipers away from the spot, and the seed of the larkspur had a still more powerful influence. "Its vertues are so forcible, that the herbe only thrown before the scorpion, or any other venomous beast, causeth them to be without force and strength to hurt; insomuch that they cannot move or stir until the herbe be taken away." In old times it was universally believed that King Solomon had impressed his seal upon a plant, known to botanists as the Convallaria multiflora, and hence the plant was called Solomon's Seal; and of course possessed innumerable virtues. From these exalted opinions of the qualities of many plants have arisen the many strange names by which they are known-as holy herb, honour and praise, Paul's betony, fluellin, scorpion grass, palsy wort, saintfoin, holy-hay, wicked herb, &c. Not the least interesting are those methods resorted to by cur ancestors to keep evil spirits at bay. The mountain ash, or rowan of the rock, was a famous plant for this purpose; it was planted near to houses, and, together with the admirable plan of nailing a horse-shoe over the door, would certainly preserve the inmates from witches. It is still believed by the Highland peasantry, that a branch of the rowan carried in the hand will defend the bearer from charms of witchcraft. The dairymaid, as she drives her cows to the pasture, carries a branch of this tree to preserve them from danger, for witches are mightily fond of tormenting cows and spoiling the milk; but verily they turn pale, and tremble from head to foot, when they behold the rowan-tree. Do you know, reader, we walk invisible." A similar illustration occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher-" Why, did you think that you had Gyges' ring, or the herb that gives invisibility?" And Ben Jonson says-"I had no medicine, Sir, to go invisible; no fern-seed in my pocket." If the fern was gathered on the night of St. John, no end of mysteries might be performed by it; diseases might be cured, evil influences prevented; witches utterly quashed, and the future destiny of the individual rendered most certain. Dioscorides esteems it the best of all charms against witchcraft, and Bovet expresses his firm conviction that these "are of the devil's own contriving; that having once ensnared men to an obedience to his rules, he may with more facility oblige them to a stricter vassalage." Pliny tells us, in a mysterious manner, that it must be extremely valuable against the bites of serpents, for those creatures are seldom, if ever, found beneath it. One species of fern, Polipodium vulgare, was considered by the old writers on herbs, as a certain specific against melancholy; and children placed upon a bed of green fern would certainly be cured of the rickets. Beautiful indeed, and teeming with rich poetry, are those superstitions of the East, by which lovers hold unseen communion with each other by means of flowers. They breathe a lofty spirituality, and flow direct from the fresh and inexhaustible springs of the human heart. Maidens, whose lovers are far away, gather certain plants, and cast them upon the surface of a flowing river, with various mysterious ceremonies. They believe that they thus convey their remembrances to those distant friends whom they hold most dear. And by watching the plants as they float away, they obtain an omen of the fortune which has befallen the adventurer, and a prescience of his destiny. Thomas Moore (God bless him) has given a graphic account of one of these ceremonies. "As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank, whose employment seemed to them so strange, that they stopped their palanquins to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream, and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. LA LA ROOKH was all curiosity;-when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges (where this ceremony is so prevalent, that often in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-tala, or Sea of Stars), informed the princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up their Vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued burning till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain."-LALLA ROOKH. "One sends a vow to him afar Oh! never can the heart A thousand things are then recalled, Ah! love takes many shapes ; at first That bear the lightnings on their wings, Has long, too long been flown. And she, amid her gladder friends, L. E. L. If any mortal man could become a participator in the prayers and soul-breathings of these Hindoo girls, when about to commit their flowers to the stream, he would be incomparably blessed. The same superstition prevails in Russia. There they collect certain plants, and watch their decay, to obtain omens of the safe return of absent friends. Von Teitz tells us, that, after the feast of Whitsuntide, the young Russian maidens seek the banks of the Neva, and fling in its waters wreaths of flowers. These are tokens of affection to absent friends. Our own modern Anacreon thus addresses the river in which his supposed wreaths are cast : "Flow on, thou shining river; But ere thou reach the sea And who shall say that there are not kind angels ever hovering above us to bear these missives, and to breathe our hopes and wishes, and dearest aspirations into the souls of those we love, and surrounding them with sweet images and recollections; and bringing in return the sighs they heave, and the tears they shed for us. Truly, the visions that sometimes surround us, and the voices that sometimes whisper in our ears, would seem to be wafted from afar, and to come to us laden with sweet odours, and holy breathings of love and affection. Faith is the prevailing idea of all superstitions. Faith, implicit faith. And who shall dare to say that these charms are of no avail? Who shall dare to put aside the power of faith? Let a man have faith, and bolts, and bars, and granite hearts, and stubborn wills, shall yield before him! He shall possess a charm; a mighty unseen influence to work miracles. Where is the hero, the patriot, the reformer, the conqueror, who has been successful without faith? It is the soil in which laurels must be grown for victors. Oh! so dark and dread are some of these superstitions, that I have not dared to tell them! But God so willed it when he made the world, that the soul of man should pass through many phases ere this light should dawn upon it. Then let us look on these mysteries with all humility, and thank God that there is philosophy at the bottom of them. Better for men to have faith in oracles and miracles, if that faith lead them into green fields, where they may hear the voice of Nature. Better to be cured of their ills by faith, than to become the victims of villanous quacks and howling empirics, for man, after all, is but a bundle of prejudices. Go thou into the sweet solitudes of nature, where the trees wave in the golden sunshine, and the earth is enamelled with flowers of every dye, and where there is glad music to soothe the heart; go and gather fern seed, or holy herb, or whatsoever thou wilt, if it but lead thee to commune with nature in her own temple,-the everlasting cathedral of the living GOD; and thou shalt become the possessor of unknown joys and glorious impulses. For these are truly medicines for the soul. Yes, if the pressure on the mind has been more than its strength, if the frame is wasted by disease or anxiety, the "joy that bringeth no sorrow," the balm for the wounded mind, are only to be found in the sunny glades, the green canopies, and the life-imparting breezes of nature. When the joys of youth are fled, and life is waning in its course, let the sufferer but gladden his heart with a sight of the wooded hills, and the dread magnificence of heaven, then a new lustre comes upon the eye, and a young perception on all the senses, and the flame of life, that was withering and expiring in the socket, bursts forth again in glory and joy, under the holy impulses which flow from nature's teeming bosom. The out Why is man the inheritor of thoughts which encompass the universe? Why is he gifted with a God-like majesty and strength, and with power to drag nature, time, space, and eternity, into his vassalage? ward fact and the inward idea correspond. The roots of all things are in man. All the outward appearare solid facts in the human soul. ances of nature There are spiritualities in astronomy, botany, chemistry, and geology, for the material and the spiritual, when rightly understood, are one. And truly there is a mighty influence in this, struggling to bring us, by imperceptible means, into higher views of our life and destiny. Are we not admonished in all this out-lying eternity, that all time and space are entombed in man's living heart? That the universe rolls its everlasting tide through his throbbing bosom. That to be men, we must live in this life. That we must grasp the everlasting present,—the granite fact which stands palpably before our eyes. That we must tread upon the cursed materialities by which we are surrounded, and which, ever and anon, keep tugging at our heart-strings; for every light flashed out of the abyss of God is sent for a wise and holy purpose. The laws of the earth and the sky are the laws of the soul. Let us greet the inflooding of God and stand uncovered in his sunlight!-THE FUTURE! Reader, wouldst thou seek to know the future? Wouldst thou unravel the mysterious web of fate to find the chord on which thy existence is suspended? Wouldst thou go forward into the unknown and unexisting to know it and to feel it? Wouldst thou stretch forth thy arm to grasp that shadow, even at the peril of thy soul? Oh! go not to gather mistletoe or St. John's wort; thou mayest work thine own enchantment without their aid. I will tell thee how to know thy future destiny, and I will tell thee how to make it a glorious future of happiness and joy. This yearning to grasp the future is the great characteristic of all superstitions. You and I are equally weak here. Every man has a prescience of his destiny in his own heart. Good to yield to the inspiration of the time, when we are prompted from within. To-morrow cannot come till to-day is past; all that is produces that which is to be. Let us perceive that our true mission on this rolling orb is to cast our light upon its darkness, and to urge forward, by shoulder and brain, the slow revolving cycles of progression. Let us not forget that the present is; that the past and the future are equally dreams of imagination, the present is the only fact to us. Let us then no longer sit moping as doomed slaves, as shadows on the wall, or as straws blown about by the wind. But hoping and loving like pious souls, and knowing that we are men, let us gird up our loins, and dash forward with manly hearts to accomplish the cycle of this everlasting Now-the destiny of to-day, the eternal present by which we are enwrapped and surrounded, and which alone ever can exist. We should count life by heart throbs. He most lives HEALTH. WHO shall tell the worth of Health? Who can prize the valued blessing? Better than the untold wealth, All the miser's soul possessing. Wealth will bring its weight of care, Doubts and dangers are its share, On the weary spirit pressing. Oh! how priceless is the boon! Nothing its delight can measure. Let it be denied-Low soon Man will tire of scenes of pleasure! Ialth alone can give them zest, All who feel its power are blest, "Tis itself, the heart's one treasure. Look at him who toils for Fame! Ere its time his head is hoary, That, through future years, his name Bright may gild his country's story: Yet, when all his toils are o'er, Health and Peace he knows no more, Such, alas! is Human Glory. When the light of Health has fled, Dark Disease its spell is throwing, When in sickness we have pined, Still to Health our hopes were clinging, Oh! how often to the mind We its scenes and joys were bringing! And we heard glad voices ringing. ΦΩΣ. B. J. HOWE. FILIAL WORTH REWARDED. "My tale is simple, and of humble birth, "You are too parsimonious, Henry," said Mr. Delancy to one of his clerks, as they were together in the countinghouse one morning. "Give me leave to say that you do not dress sufficiently genteel to appear as a clerk in a fashionable house." Henry's face was suffused with a deep blush, and a tear trembled on his manly cheek. "Did I not know that your salary was sufficient to provide more genteel habiliments," continued Mr D., “I would increase it." My salary is sufficient, amply sufficient, Sir," replied Henry, in a voice choked with that proud independence of feeling, which poverty had not been able to divest him of. His employer noticed the agitation, and immediately charged the subject. Mr. D. was a man of immense wealth and ample benevolence, he was a widower, and had but one childdaughter-who was the pride of his declining years. She was not as beautiful as an angel, or as perfect as Venus, but the goodness, the innocence, the intelligence of her mind, shone in her countenance, and you had but to become acquainted with her to admire and love her. Such was Caroline Delancy, when Henry became an inmate of her father's abode. No wonder then, that he loved her with that deep and devoted affection-and, reader, had you known him you would not have wondered that that love was soon returned, for their souls were congenial; they were cast in virtue's purest mould-and, although their tongues never gave utterance to what they felt, yet the language of their eyes told it too plainly to be mistaken. Henry was the very soul of honour, and although he perceived that he was not indifferent to Caroline, he still felt that he must conquer at once the passion that glowed in his bosom. "I must not endeavour to win her young and artless heart," thought he, "I am penniless, and cannot expect that her father would over consent to our union he has ever treated me with kindness, and I will not be ungrateful." Thus he reasoned, and he heroically endeavoured to subdue what he considered an ill-fated passion. Caroline had many suitors, and some who were fully worthy of her; but she refused all their overtures with a gentle but decisive firmness. Her father wondered at her conduct, yet would not thwart her incli nations. He was in the decline of life, and wished to see her happily settled before he quitted the stage of existence. It was long ere he suspected that young Henry was the cause of her indifference to others. The evident pleasure she took in hearing him praised, the blush that overspread her cheek whenever their eyes met, all served to convince the old gentleman, who had not forgotten that he was once young himself, that they took more than a common interest in each other's welfare. Thus satisfied, he forbore making any remarks upon the subject, but was not as displeased at the supposition as the penniless Henry would have imagined. Henry had now been about a year in his employ. Mr. Delancy knew nothing of Henry's family; but his strict integrity, his irreproachable morals, his pleasing manners, all conspired to make him esteem him highly. He was proud of Henry, and wished him to appear, in dress as well as manners, as respectable as any one. He had often wondered at the scantiness of his wardrobe, for though he dressed with the most scrupulous regard to neatness, his clothes were almost threadbare. Mr. D. did not think this proceeded from a niggardly disposition, and he determined to broach the subject, and, if possible, ascertain the real cause; this he did in the manner we have related. Soon after this conversation took place, Mr. Delancy left home on business. As he was returning, and riding through a beautiful village, he alighted at the door of a cottage, and requested a drink. The mistress, with an ease and politeness that convinced him that she had not always been the humble cottager, invited him to walk in. He accepted her invitation-and here a scene of poverty and neatness presented itself, such as he had never before witnessed. The furniture, which consisted of no The daughter was left alone. more than was absolutely necessary, was so exquisitely not for the world tell him so, he has never said it was clean that it gave charms to poverty, and cast an air of returned." comfort all around. A venerable looking old man, who had not seemed to notice the entrance of Mr. D., sat leaning on his staff; his clothes were clean and whole, but so patched, that you could have scarcely told which had been the original piece. "That is your father, I presume," said Mr. D., addressing the lady. "It is, Sir." "He seems to be quite aged." "Henry," said he, entering the counting-house, "you expect to visit the country shortly, do you--I believe you told me so?" "Yes Sir, in about four weeks." "If it would not be too inconvenient," rejoined Mr. D., "I should like to have you defer it a week or two longer, at the least." "It will be no inconvenience, Sir, and if it would "He is in his eighty-third year-he has survived all oblige you, I will do so with pleasure." his children but myself." "You have seen better days." "I have; my husband was wealthy, but false friends ruined him; he endorsed notes to a great amount, which stripped us of nearly all our property, and one misfortune followed another until we were reduced to poverty. My husband did not long survive his losses, and two of my children soon followed him." "Have you any remaining children?" "I have one, and he is my only support. My health is so feeble I cannot do much, and my father being blind, needs great attention. My son conceals from me the amount of his salary, but I am convinced he sends me nearly all, if not the whole amount of it." Then he is not at home with you?" "It will most certainly oblige me, for Caroline is to be married in about six weeks, and I would not miss having you attend the wedding." "I cannot stay Sir-indeed I cannot!" replied Henry, forgetting what he had previously said. "You cannot stay?" replied Mr. D., "why you just now said you could." "Yes Sir, but business requires my presence in the country, and I must go." "But you said it would not put you to any inconvenience, and that you would wait with pleasure." "Command me in any thing else, Sir, but in that request I cannot oblige you," said Henry, rising and walking the floor with rapid strides. Poor fellow, he had thought his passion subdued; but No, Sir, he is clerk for a wealthy merchant in Phila- when he found that Caroline was so soon, so irrevocably delphia." Here followed a succession of inquiries, which evinced an anxiety and a solicitude that a mother alone can feel, to all of which Mr. D. replied to her perfect satisfaction. "You know our Henry," said the old man, raising his head from his staff; "well, Sir, then you know as worthy a lad as ever lived; God bless him. He will bless him for his goodness to his poor old grandfather," he added, in a tremulous voice, while the tears chased each other down his cheeks. "He is a worthy fellow, to be sure," said Mr. D., rising and placing a well-filled purse in the hands of the old man. "He is a worthy young man, and shall not want friends, be assured." He left the cottage. "Noble boy," said he, mentally, as he was riding leisurely along, ruminating on his interview, "noble boy, he shall not want wealth to enable him to distribute happiness. I believe he loves my girl, and if he does he shall have her, and all my property in the bargain." Filled with this project, and determined, if possible, to ascertain the true state of their hearts, he entered the breakfast room next morning after his arrival home. Caroline was alone. "So Henry is about to leave us to go to England and try his fortune," he carelessly observed. Henry about to leave us!" said Caroline, dropping the work she held in her hand, "about to leave us, and going to England!" she added, in a tone which evinced the deepest interest. To be sure; but what if he is, my child?" "Nothing Sir, nothing-only I thought we should be rather lonesome," she replied, turning away to hide the tears she could not suppress. "Tell me, Caroline," said Mr. D., tenderly embracing her, "tell me, do you not love Henry? You know wish you happiness, my child. I have ever treated you with kindness, and you have never, until now hid any thing from your father." "Neither will I now," she replied, hiding her face in his bosom. "I do most sincerely esteem him, but do to become another's, the latent spark burst forth into an inextinguishable flame, and he found it in vain to endeavour to conceal his emotion. The old gentleman regarded him with a look of earnest ness. Henry, tell me frankly, do you love my girl?" "I will be candid with you, Sir," replied Henry, unconscious that his agitation had betrayed him. "Had I a fortune such as she merits, and as you, Sir, have a right to expect, I should esteem myself the happiest of men, could I gain her love." "Then she is yours," cried the delighted old man; "say not a word about property, my boy-true worth is better than riches. I was only trying you, Henry, and Caroline will never be married to any one but yourself." The transition from despair to happiness was great. For a moment Henry remained silent, but his looks spoke volumes. At last he said, "I scorn to deceive you, Sir,-I am poorer than what you suppose-I have a feeble mother and an aged grandfather who are--" “I know it—I know it all Henry," said Mr. D., interrupting him. "I know the reason of your parsimony, as I called it, and I honour you for it-it was that which first put it into my head to give you Caroline-so she shall be yours, and may God bless you both." They separated. Shortly after this conversation, Henry avowed his love to Caroline, and solicited her hand, and it is needless to say that he did not solicit in vain. Caroline would have deferred their union until the ensuing spring, but her father was inexorable. He supposed he would have to own a falsehood, he said, and they would willingly have him shoulder two; but it was too much-entirely too much-as he had only told Henry that she was going to be married in six weeks, and he could not forfeit his word. "But, perhaps," added he, apparently recollecting himself, and turning to Henry, "we shall have to defer it after all, for you have important business in the country about that time." "Be merciful, Sir," said Henry, smiling, "I did not wish to witness the sacrifice of my own happiness." "I am merciful, Sir, and for that reason would not put you to the inconvenience of staying. You said |