By and by, as the shades of night gathered rapidly around us, the yet distant but familiar bells of a caravan aroused us from lethargy to a keen sense of curiosity and pleasurable anticipation. Not that a caravan was by any means a rare event with us. On the contrary, caravans, both of mules and camels, were of daily, nay of hourly occurrence in Alexandretta; but then this particular one had long been anticipated, for the monthly mail from Europe had been some days overdue, and by this opportunity letters and files of papers, books, and boxes of seeds, and other necessary trifles were expected; and of their safe arrival at Aleppo we had already received intimation by Tartar post.

lights, abandoned ourselves to the enjoyment of the upon my side, and with a deep-fetched groan en-
latest news from London.
deavored to compose myself again for slumber.
We were three brothers at that time, living in the | About this period invariably there used to be a
same house; and to give the reader an exact idea of blessed freshness in the atmosphere, which, though
what eventually follows, I must here say, that we not amounting exactly to a zephyr, was sufficient
lived in a two-storied house, built in a square, the to alleviate our suffering frames; and if ever we
whole length of the centre forming one vast room, had a chance of a couple of hours sound refreshing
which, by two doors in either side, led into four sleep, it was just about this period.
rooms. Upstairs and downstairs were alike, ex-
cepting the difference that, as soon as night set in,
we secured all the doors and windows below, while
all the doors and windows upstairs were left wide
open, so that any chance breeze stirring about on
these sultry nights might find an entrance and fan
our feverish frames. The front door of the centre
room upstairs led into a vast wooden balcony, sup-
ported upon wooden pillars, and which stood cer-
tainly twelve feet above the ground.

Under these circumstances, and considering our isolated situation and entire lack of amusement, it is needless to say that we hailed these epochs in Scanderoon life with intense relish; and, on this Nothing interrupted the intense stillness of that occasion, it required only a brief period for us eventful night save the occasional dismal howl of a languid invalids to start up from our chairs, and hungry troop of jackals, or the melancholy hoot of with agility scamper down the steps, and along the night-owl. Mosquitoes and fleas, those insufthe sea-side, towards the approaching muleteers. ferable eastern plagues, had long since died off, or The cattergee bashee, or head mulcteer, well else, possessed of more liberty than ourselves, had aware that he was possessed of the key to our betaken themselves for the summer to some pleasant happiness, galloped up to meet us, and speedily and healthier mountain retreat. Even the rats, that dismounting, took from his own saddle-bags huge used to keep us awake half the night during the bundles of letters and newspapers. The greater winter, by charging like a regiment of cavalry over mass of the former were, as usual, from mer- the platform of our roof, or executing squeaking chants in Aleppo, and, of course, related solely serenades, even these, having a decided objection to to business. These we used to call lettri disgos-ague, had migrated to their country seats or holes tosi (Anglicè, disgusting or disagreeable letters), somewhere amongst the neighbouring villages. So because they invariably contained complaints, rewe read our letters uninterruptedly, only occasionmonstrances, and threats, from perhaps a hundred ally pausing to communicate to each other some and fifty petty Arab merchants, some of whom startling piece of intelligence, such as, "John received on an average about a bale and a half of Jones dead! poor fellow railway accident;" and goods per annum, because we, unhappy factors, so on. could not satisfy all their wants by despatching nearly three thousand bales of manufactures on the backs of the only fifty camels obtainable for love or gold. These were, therefore, our lettri disgostosi; but on the present occasion an extraordinary quantity of groups (little parcels containing gold and silver, pearls, or other valuable jewelry) had arrived from Aleppo for shipment to Alexandria and Smyrna; and, until these were safely embarked, and the bills of lading signed by the captain, the responsibility rested upon our shoulders from the moment they were delivered into our charge by the head muleteer. This was an onus we were always glad to be rid of. Not that we had any fear of thieves in Alexandretta, for theft, even amongst the villagers, had been of rare occurrence during our long sojourn in this hot and feverish and as for a European consul's house being entered and robbed, the thing was unheard of. Rob a consul! why, the act would be tantamount to high treason! So argued the veteran Europeans at Scanderoon, and so we began to think ourselves. But the sequel will show that, for once, though only once, we were all deceived.

climate;

It was too dark when the caravan arrived and was unladen, to hope for any means of communication with the ships in the roadstead; so for that night the valuable parcels were deposited in one of our own bed-rooms. Having been counted and found duly sealed, and reported correct, we gave the muleteer his expected backsheesh, and ringing for

At last the night had waned deep into to-morrow, and our lamps began to burn dimly; a yawn or two proclaimed bed-time, and we all rose to take a turn or two in the balcony, just before turning in, in search of some stray breath of wind to cool our fevered brows. Oh! but it was a silent, sultry night; the moon shone brightly enough to read print by, and the sea was like a calm mirror; but there was no air stirring anywhere, and the very mules, which were picqueted close beside our house, rang their bells, restlessly shaking their heads from side to side, as much as to say that sleep on such a night was altogether impossible; and they were not far wrong. To go regularly to bed was quite out of the question, and what we seldom did during the greater heats of the summer. We lay down upon three different couches; one brother sleeping in the large centre room, facing the door to the balcony; another in a small room to the left upon entering; and myself in the room just opposite. One door from where I was sleeping led into the room where all the groups were heaped up upon a table.

Another person, it appears, besides ourselves, was aware of this fact; but, instead of availing himself of it in a proper manner, he put it to another and very blameable account. I think I was just about turning the last corner and falling off fast asleep, when my quick ear caught the light and almost imperceptible footfall of some one evidently approaching the door of the room where I lay. Slowly and silently as possible it crept along. Now, it was an every-night occurrence amongst us three to turn out, sometimes half-a-dozen times during the night, either in search of water or a lucifer match, being driven to the resolution of abandoning sleep altogether, and adopting a newspaper, or some book in its place.

ment as

Under these circumstances, I was not at all surprised or alarmed to hear the footfall gradually come nearer and nearer, and finally pass through the door; but, somehow or other, it banished sleep for the moment. I lay wide awake, intently listening. At first, I chuckled to myself at the extreme precaution adopted by this my supposed brother, and was mischievously reckoning upon the quiet little start I should occasion him upon suddenly and unexpectedly screaming out his name in the intense stillness of that quiet dark night; little dreaming that I myself was about to receive about as smart a shock of astonishever fell to my lot. I knew that my brothers, even blindfolded, could pick their way easily all over the house; so I could not imagine why he kept fumbling at the head of the divan. I lay with my head towards the door by which the footstep had entered. By and by, in the intense darkness, and to my utter mystification, I felt perceptibly the warm atmosphere of something approaching my head; and then!--shall I ever forget the shock-a huge clammy, greasy, human hand leisurely, but lightly, passed over my features, from the forehead downwards, carefully feeling its way; then it passed to my neck. A thrill of horror now shot through my veins. Then it felt lower and lower, till it reached the region of my heart, and there that dreadful hand seemed to pause, and to seek to feel, apparently, the throbbing of that palpitating organ. All this occurred in far briefer time than occupies me in relating the eircumstances. It is astonishing to think how swift is thought, for within this brief period my imagination had pictured up twenty different causes and results, and had travelled far into the north and into the east.

Despite heat and everything else, we were soon overcome by excessive lassitude and weariness, and I was aware now, beyond a doubt, that the hand fell into a kind of restless, half-awake, half-sleepy belonged to a robber, and I thought, most probably, ever and anon we awoke an assassin. Yet such a thing as murdering an doze, from which About two hours before European in cold blood had never been heard of with a feverish start. day-break, or 3 o'clock A.M., the moon set, and the for years in these parts. I remembered that in intensest darkness seemed to envelope the place. Spain jealous hidalgos had often perpetrated this I also recollected that in EngI have a distinct recollection of half opening one foulest of crimes. eye and discovering this fact, as I turned heavily | land and in India, fierce highwaymen and thugs,

and malice-bearing Malays, had perpetrated dark noise of jackals and owls combined, and which deeds of blood, on dark nights, upon the hapless proceeded from the chamber of our third brother, victims of their vengeance; but I was happily who had taken no part in this affray. So soon as conscious that no man in Syria could say that a match could be got—and, as usual on such occaI had injured him by word or deed. Strange sions we hunted everywhere for them but in the to say, the real motive for the presence of that right place-we proceeded to investigate the clammy hand over my throbbing heart-the groups causes of this noise, and, on entering my brother's of valuables in the next room-had never once room, we found him sitting up in bed laboring occurred to my mind. As I said before, however, under the effects of a nightmare, giving utterance all sorts of fancies flashed through my mind like to the most lamentable howlings. On being lightning; and with almost equal rapidity and thoroughly roused, he declared that he had been wonderful presence of mind, I displaced the in- dreaming in some wild, fantastic vision, that we truder's hand by placing my own left hand next to two had gone mad, and were shut up in a madmy heart (for I imagined that the deadly blow house, and being disturbed by the dreadful and would surely be aimed there), whilst with my right unusual noise, had supposed his dream verified, and I firmly grasped the wrist of this unknown and so, before being properly awake, gave vent to his unwelcome intruder. I ne ed hardly say that the sorrow. few seconds that succeeded were moments of in- Next morning we carefully examined the room tense anxiety, for I made certain that the assassin where the scuffle had occurred. and there, attached would instantly strike with deadly force, and it to the handle of the door, was a bit of rag, which was hard to calculate where the cold steel might had evidently been detached from the thief's scanty force an entry. At the same moment that I seized clothing. The chiefs of the village were assemthe wrist of the intruder, my tongue was loosed, bled, and a search instituted, and very speedily a and I shouted out to my brother in the centre clue was obtained to the thief, who turned out to room to warn him of my position. The sudden- be a stranger-a groom travelling with a Turkish ness of my movements, and the alarm occasioned gentleman who was sojourning at Alexandretta for by the cry I raised, perfectly paralysed the thief for a couple of days. The fellow had watched the A powerful struggle then ensued be- groups carried into our house, and had come to the tween us, for I had leaped up from my couch, and desperate resolution of robbing us. Had he not was endeavoring mightily to secure his loose mistaken the room, he would probably have been hand. All my efforts, however, were vain. The successful. As it was, his sin had "found him intruder, in accordance with the general practice out." Not only did we detect him from the rent in of all oriental robbers, had greased himself, and his clothes, exactly agreeing with the piece we had was consequently so slippery that it was next to found, but the poor wretch had so injured himself impossible to get a firm grasp of him; and as for by his flying leap, that he died, in the course of a clothes, save a scanty girdle round the waist, he few weeks, from the effects of the internal injuries When the hand first passed clammily he then received. So sin, early or late, invariably over my face, save the throbbing of my own heart, carries its own punishment with it. I could hear nothing to interrupt the stillness of the hour; but the moment that I leapt up and gave the alarm, a tumult almost as hideous as any that was ever heard in bedlam ensued.

a moment.

had none.

In our

struggle, chairs and tables were upset, crockery,

glass-ware and lamps smashed, whilst I was all thd time bellowing out "thief" in every language and dialect I could remember. "Thief," cried I; "Voleur! Ladri! Harame! Hursees! Choor! in English, French, Italian, Arabic, Turkish, and Hindostanee; this song being kept up with a sort of running accompaniment of smashed tumblers and overturned chairs.

Meanwhile, my elder brother in the centre room having been fairly roused from slumber, started up from bed, and in the confusion had rushed into every room but the right one in search of this roguish adventurer. The thief was too slippery a customer for me. He finally disentangled himself, and rushed towards the balcony, pursued by my brother and myself, for we had both caught sight of him in the obscure light which came through the doorway. Our chase was vain. The fellow never hesitated a moment to take a flying leap over the rails of the balcony, and down to the ground, full twelve feet below; and, though we looked over, and shouted to the camel-drivers, the thief was gone and nowhere to be traced or found. During this interval, our ears had been assailed by the most appalling howling, worse than the

THE

HELEN GRAHAME.

The day had been one of oppressive heat; summer had newly re-assumed the sceptre of which she had been too long deprived, and seemed determined to make her subjects now feel the utmost extent of her power. But it was evening, and the heat and burden of the day added twofold charms to the coolness and repose that succeeded its departure. The air was heavy with the fragrance rising, at the cooling touch of the early dew, from a thousand hay-fields. The lingering glory in the west threw a soft rose-hued radiance over everything; and the light wind just stirred the topmost leaves upon the trees, without disturbing the peace profound that brooded over all.

The scene was one of surpassing beauty, grand from its extent, and from the bold outlines of the distant hills, now vividly distinct against the glowing sky, and yet softly lovely in the billowy richness of the intervening country, with its green pastures and waving woods.

From the hill where they sat, Mr. Grahame and his daughter could enjoy to the full this 'luxury of landscape,' and they both seemed absorbed in its contemplation. Immediately beneath them, at the foot of a long avenue, dim with the abundant garniture of leafy June, and fragrant with the thick hanging lime-blossoms, was their home: an old, old house-half-farm, half-mansion—to which the caprice of each successive owner had made some strange, fantastic-looking addition, till little of its original shape, or shapelessness, now remained.

How different the thoughts swelling those two hearts, as father and daughter sat there silent, handin-hand! Helen's was the bright outlook of a young but thoughtful spirit, at the period when first a deep and somewhat awful sense of the beauty and wondrousness of nature and life are awakening, before any distorting and world-gathered mists dim the sight; but also before that sight has attained its full strength, before it has been quickened by experience and knowledge. Mr. Grahame's was the calmly penetrating gaze of one who looks through life and nature to what lies beyond-of one who, with vision purified and strengthened by suffering endured and evil overcome, is able to discern, dimly and in part, that which lies within the opening gate to another existence-of one who knows that opening gate to be called Death, and, though feeling that it is opening for him, experiences no dread of passing through its mysterious portal. Though he felt now as if nothing could ruffle the clear calm of his soul, one matter for anxiety he certainly had, and the tranced expression which he saw on his young daughter's face, when he turned to look at her, did not serve to lessen that anxiety; he was confirmed in his conviction that a nature such as hers, so deeply sensitive and inwardly passionate, could not pass through even the easiest and most uneventful life without much mental suffering. But human life-now he stood near its end, and The time when emotion somewhat similar to looked back upon it-seemed so short, and that end, that which I have endeavored to describe was ex- to the pure in heart, so blessed and glorious, the perienced by my young dark-haired and earnest-presence of its Giver he knew to be so immediate, eyed heroine and her father-the time was evening, and his care so untiring, that even this could not an evening

HERE are some hours and some scenes that bring us more of beauty than we are able to receive; awakening in our hearts a painful intensity of emotion, causing soul and sense to dilate, and the whole being to expand with earnest endeavor to embrace and comprehend the whole of what is offered to them. And though we may banish everything worldly and inharmonious from our hearts, still every pulsation of mere earthly feeling, and wholly abandon ourselves to the contemplation of what lies before us, and to the comprehension of the deep thoughts it suggests, yet we are ready to cry, Too much, too much!' We experience an awful an unutterable fulness of feeling, in its nature far more akin to sorrow than joy; tears gather in the eyes, the smile fades from the lip; the infinite within us mourns over the material chains that limit its aspirations.

'When a grey and empty mist
Lies like solid amethyst

Over the western mountain it enfolds.'

long trouble him now. God keep her from the evil of the world,' he murmured; then, turning to her, he said gaily, 'Your thoughts, fair daughter

mine?'

"Of life! A difficult subject truly for the speculations of so young a philosopher. What may Lave been your thoughts concerning this dark question;' 'this unsolved enigma,' as people love to call it?" "I hardly know; I can't remember exactly; but partly I was wondering why people give it such hard names, and why they should ever call this beautiful world a scene of trial or a vale of tears."

'If you were asked, Helen, what you would live for; what would be your aim and object in life; what would you say?'

'I scarcely know, papa, for I don't think I have ever troubled myself about it before this evening; but I believe this earth is so beautiful, and life so pleasant, that I think I should say that life itself was worth living for.'

'Life itself worth living for thought Mr. Grahame. Words lightly spoken often awaken a deep response; strings carelessly swept by an unconscious hard sometimes give forth solemn tones fraught with fulness of meaning. How different the sense the man and the child attached to the same words!

'But Helen, surely even you do not always find the world bright and beautiful! Summer passes, sweeping many glorious things away with the hem of her brilliant-hued robe as she goes by. The blush of autumn is only the hectic flush on a dying cheek, and it soon pales before the stern frown and the icy breath of approaching winter. What then? Where are the beauty and brightness for which you would live?'

'Oh, papa, winter does not last long; one can always look forward to the return of spring. Besides, there is beauty even in winter-time. Only think of the pure white snow which hides the dark ground, and looks so lovely; and, if there's no snow, in the winter we can see the curious and beautiful framework of trees and bushes that was quite hidden by the leaves all the summer.'

'Yes,' thought Mr. Grahame, there is always the hope of spring, of the coming of the everlasting spring, that follows the winter of death. The approach of death too often covers the dark ground of life with a softening veil, while it reveals much that is beautiful and wonderful that was quite hidden by the heavy drapery.'

Full of such thoughts as these, he said, 'It is my prayer for you, my darling, that, living, you may always find life worth living for; and that, at the close of your earthly life, you may be able to say, that your life has been worth living. I know that you will not always see exactly the same mean ing in the word; time and experience will show you a higher significance in them. This lesson may be sternly taught, but, believe me, it will be worth the learning.'

A long silence followed; Helen was awed by the seriousness of her father's manner; perchance the solemnity of his words made some deep chord vibrate. At last she said, "It is getting very damp, papa, the dew is falling heavily; had we not better go home, or I fear your cough will be worse tonight? That would be a pity, just as you are beginning to look better, too!"

*

Many seasons have brought their various expressions into nature's ever-beautiful face, since that evening when, in high summer-time, amid beauty and fragrance, Helen had walked with her father down the avenue leading to Elm Grange.

"Yes, we will go home, my prudent little nurse." the Slough of Despond. My life worth living for! So saying, he rose and walked somewhat wearily, No! it is very dreary, and I am sadly weary of it. his arm resting on his daughter's shoulder, down | Oh, if anything would ruffle its stagnant waters, the hillside and the long dim avenue, between those which lie so still and calm outwardly, and which trees which would never again throw their fantastic bear nothing but weeds and rottenness beneath! lights and shadows on his pale face, never again God forgive me if it is sin, but I could often pray "whisper wisdom" to his inner ear, that had ever for storm and suffering-anything but this dread so intently listened for their teaching. Never again! dreadful calm—anything to make me feel I live! Oh, the mournful human music of those words! Oh ye men and women of the world, who glance Never again! with superficial sight, with cold, unsympathising eyes, at the material and the outward, never penetrating beneath the surface of things-who, seeing no bodily want, no hunger or thirst, cold or nakedness, pronounce all well-read no farther! You know nothing of the inner life, of its hunger and thirst, of its continual craving, of the maddening importunity with which it demands some unknown good, of the unutterable yearning with which it stretches forth arms into the surrounding darkness, only to bring them back empty, and fold them so over an empty breast! You, with your shallowness, your earth-bounded, earth-concentrated gaze, can see nought, comprehend nought of this. But you, O noble-hearted and deep-seeing ones! whose searching eyes can penetrate the clouds that so appal the young and timid-you who can now, from an elevation, attained, it may be, with pain and difficulty, but still attained, look down calmly into the abyss in which we struggle, and see the truth that underlies as well as overarches all-you who hold with steadfast grasp the unerring clue to the labyrinth in which we wander mazed,—oh, look on us tenderly, judge us gently; where you can, aid and counsel us; be merciful as you are strong! Do you, too, judge us pitifully, oh ye pure and gentle of heart, whose clear stream of life has ever flowed calmly through pleasant ways, giving and receiving blessings, mirroring in its bosom nought but flowers, that bend over it with downward-looking eyes of love, and light summer clouds, that playfully fit across it, throwing softened light, rather than shadow, upon its surface. Oh, be ye merciful, as ye have received mercy!'

It is autumn now-not the calm, cloudy time of dying days, that seems pervaded by a spirit of meek resignation, that soothes all unquiet, and gives to memory the peaceful sadness that makes us welcome and cherish her-but the wild time of earlier autumn, when a mad struggle is carried on between the seasons, in which fading leaves are tora untimely from the trees, and rudely whirled about the sky, till, drenched with the tears nature has wept over them, they fall, and rot on the moist earth-a time that stirs the very spirit of unrest, and roughly awakens soul-harrassing regret.

At the close of one of the roughest days of this rough time, during a short pause in the war waged by the elements, but while a mighty gust of wind still ever and anon shrieked and howled among the trees, Helen walked restlessly up and down the avenue in the short twilight. Time has wrought a change upon her, but not the change it should have done. Her figure has gained stateliness, her face regularity of feature, but the charm and grace of childhood have disappeared, without being followed by the expression of thoughtful repose which should constitute the chief beauty of such a face as hers —a face devoid of the attractive power resulting from brilliancy of colouring, or vivacity of expression. But that face was, in more than an ordinary degree, the mirror of the soul, and never more so than to-night, when full of disquiet and cloudy, dissatisfied melancholy.

Helen had been thinking of that calm summer evening, long past, on which she had almost her last long conversation with her father. The subject of that conversation was full in her recollection, and what a bitter contradiction her heart now pronounced of the verdict she had then given, that life itself was worth living for! Again and again she recalled her father's words, his serious, tender look, when he uttered them; and she knew that all must be wrong within, while they seemed such a mockery of her own experience.

Yet again and again the purport of the answer her soul gave them was, 'No, no! my life is useless, aimless, joyless-a succession of never-realised aspirations; it is empty, barren, meaningless, bearing no fruit of the past, promising no blossom in the future. I am groping in a dark night, groping after I know not what. If any light is thrown upon my path, it is the evanescent, uncertain exhalation of my imagination, serving to show me alluring phantoms, which ever elude my eager grasp, and, leaving me still more bewildered, sunk yet deeper in

Do not many earnest minds go through such experience as Helen's, early feeling a tormenting sense of incompleteness and inharmoniousness in their existence; and being haunted and preyed upon by vague and blind aspirations, shuddering alike to look back upon the past, swarming, as it seems to them, with the ghosts of good intentions, of high resolves, of noble purposes, all pointing towards them their shadowy fingers, crying to them for the forms, the bodies it was theirs to give them, and which they gave them not; and into the future, which appears nought but a terrible darkness visible,' or at the most a scene of such dreary same-. ness, or of such clogged and impeded effort, that they shrink back appalled, ready to pray that they may reach it?

The apparent satisfaction of those around them, the way in which others seem to rest content on the inglorious present, finding in it a sufficiency of interests, and never caring to look onwards—nay, even shrinking from doing so, serves still more to bewilder them, leading them either to imagine themselves differently constituted, more highly gifted than the rest of mankind, and consequently to isolate themselves, and nourish vain and misleading ambition,

i

or to a tormenting belief that it is the sinful ingrati-ples" in "small duties" generally comes later in
tude of their natures, their peculiar proneness to life. Efforts at self-improvement require to be go-
murmur, that prevents them from finding satisfac-verned by system and method, to be brought into
tion in the outward routine of daily life.
subjection to some one dominant idea, to be entirely
pervaded and harmonised by that idea, before they
can produce any good and great results. This idea
Helen wanted, and consequently wanted the key-
note of life. All the earnestness and energy which
she threw into every new occupation deepened the
disappointment she experienced afterwards. For a
short time, she would pursue some new study, with
eager, untiring perseverance, but when the first dif-
ficulties which had engrossed her were overcome,
despair of obtaining any great depth, or attaining
any high perfection, would damp her application,
and then would come the mocking query, Cui
bono?'

"What shall we do?" 66
Why do we live?" is
the incessant, wearisome cry of these souls. And
what shall they do? Shun thought and self-com-
mune, and endeavour to "care for none of these
things?" Firmly close the eyes of the soul, lest
perchance they should see beyond the world-pre-
scribed and generally-recognised vista? Closely stop
the ears of the spirit, lest they should hear a small
clear voice speaking, disturbing things distinctly

audible above earth's turmoil?

By such a course, we may doubtless succeed in dulling for a time the troublesome sensibilities of our higher nature. We may thus administer an opiate to our souls, laying to rest their importunate It was just the same with her efforts at usefulaspirations. But what shall we have gained? Hap-ness to others; for a time, the poor were visited, the piness? No! Absence of care, forgetfulness of village children instructed with pleasure and dilimisery, slothful inaction, constitute neither happi- gence; but then the results seemed almost nought, ness nor rest. Then, some time the effect of the wholly insignificant and unsatisfactory; and though opiate must cease; there must be an awakening. a sense of duty and a fear of being charged with Some time a mighty wind will arise, overthrowing caprice would insure the continuance of these the carefully heaped up barriers from before the ave- offices for at least some time longer, her pleasure nues of thought, and a mighty voice whose sound in them was gone, and, therefore, their value also might awaken the dead will cry stern truths in our to herself and others. ears, and a terrible light will shine around us, showing us, with harrowing distinctness, the things undone that were for our doing; and then-God pity us! No! we must not thus play the coward; we must bravely, prayerfully, earnestly, wrestle with our own spirits; we must diligently search our hearts, and look their doubts and fears, and hopes steadfastly in the face. We must with our might do what we can, and bear where we cannot do. Learning to rest on the Lord, to wait patiently for more light, ever seeing matter for hope and gratitude in the very existence of these sorrows and aspirations, which cry "This is not thine abiding place," in a voice it were well for us we could always

hear.

It must be acknowledged that, after her father's death, Helen's situation was peculiarly trying. Sufficiently well off, as to the goods of this world, to be exempted from the necessity of labour, she lived on in her old home, without sufficient occupation, without congenial society. The relatives who now owned Elm Grange, and with whom it had, therefore, been thought expedient that she should live, were people between whom and herself no real satisfying sympathy could exist. Her aunt was shallow and worldly, her uncle as worldly; and both cold and sarcastic. They certainly never intentionally wounded Helen; they even tried to please as far as they understood her; but it is impossible that such uncongenial natures should be in daily, hourly contact, without continual pain being inflicted upon the more sensitive.

Helen had never indolently and consciously abandoned herself to regret and dissatisfaction; she had endeavored to overcome them by employment, and her friends often found cause for wonder and amusement in her restless activity; but how few employments there are open to a young girl, of a sufficiently engrossing character fully to occupy the mind, and of a sufficiently elevating nature to satisfy an aspiring spirit. The power of seeing 'great princi

Helen shrank with absolute pain from the idea of

this visit. To leave her quiet home and go among total strangers, was indeed a formidable trial for the shy, reserved, and now weak and suffering girl; and when she at last consented to go, it was rather because she was weary of her aunt's importunities, than because she expected pleasure or benefit from the change. Little as she loved her uncle, and little real sympathy as there was between them, she clung to him thoughout their long journey, and experienced a pain she could not have believed it could possibly give her, when she bade him 'goodby.' He seemed the connecting link between her and the dearly-loved home.

Pale and cold-looking more dead than aliveshe was when she arrived at the Ainslies'. Mrs. Ainslie's kind heart immediately warmed towards the weary, mournful-looking stranger, and her bright face, with its loving blue eyes, and the tender grasp, of her welcoming hand, sent a feeling of pleasure and security to Helen's heart.

There is an indefinite charm pervading some households, quite indescribable, and yet making itself felt by the most casual and unobservant visitor; it is the result neither of superior elegance and high-breeding, nor of the greater mental or intellectual acquirements of the inmates; it is the real refinement of pure goodness of heart, the presence of a self-forgetfulness, and of a delicate consideration for the feelings of others, which harmonise the whole domestic life.

Helen had never even had the occupation of being, or fancying herself, in love, that common resource of the idle; indeed, she had a sober, though somewhat sorrowful, conviction that new life in love' would never kindle in her. The girlish vanity Such a charm purified the moral atmosphere of and love of admiration, which delights in bringing the Ainslies' home, and made itself felt by Helen, professed worshippers to the feet, had never deve-sending a peace and serenity into her mind which loped itself in her mind. To admire, and not to be had long been absent from it, making her wonder admired, she felt as a deep necessity of her nature. what had become of all the pain and embarrassShe knew she could never love, save where she ment she had thought must be consequent upon her could deeply reverence; never call one husband, at residence among strangers. Yet, in the very enwhose feet she could not in spirit kneel; and Helen joyment of this new found peace, she could not was far too clear-sighted and too deep-sighted to help being often tormented by the consciousness make to herself an ideal from but indifferent mate- that the demon who had so long made her heart his irals, and then bow down before the creature of her abode was lulled into a transitory slumber only, and sho felt that, when she would return home, resume own imagination. Such image-worship was not her old quiet, and be among the old scenes, the for her. And so, seriously doubting her own atdoubts and troubles, wants and longings, would tractive power for a nature high enough and pure enough to meet her need, she believed the gate of return with redoubled force, avenging themselves the earthly Paradise to be firmly closed against upon her for her short forgetfulness. her.

Happily for Helen, as for all suffering humanity,
Chatterton was right when he said,

This truth of old was sorrow's friend-
Times at the worst must surely mend.'

And at the worst and the darkest she thought her
mental horizon must be; there seemed nothing but
cloud and gloom enfolding her—

'The darkest hour comes before the dawn.'

*

Among Mr. Ainslie's most intimate friends, and the most constant visiter at his house, there was one in whom Helen learned to feel a deep interest. There was an earnestness and quiet enthusiasm, an originality, and, at the same time, a singular simplicity, about Mr. Grey that greatly pleased her. He seemed so strong and self-reliant in intellect, so straight-forward and independent in manner, so noble and true of heart, and was at the same time so tolerant towards the weakness of others, so patient with their folies and failings, not exercising Helen's friends, unconscious as they had been of towards them the condescending forbearance of conher mental suffering, having always thought her scious superiority, but the meek charity of brotherly a strange, incomprehensible, melancholy girl, could love, that Helen soon began unconsciously to long not long remain blind to the traces of failing health to lean upon that strength, to draw closer to that noon her haggard and worn face. They resolved to ble heart, to partake of that gentle patience and for. try if change-that panacea of all human ills-bearance. For a time she was deeply content unwould benefit her, and accepted for her a long-stand- noticed to listen to him; to hear him seemed enough. ing invitation to visit some friends in the North (the Ainslies) between whom and Mr. Grahame a long and dear friendship had existed.

*

*

Indeed, it spoiled much of her pleasure when his conversation was addressed particularly to her, for then a struggle always went on within her, between

her heart's prompt and true response, and the re-
serve, the fear, that seemed to make her tongue
utter none but ice-cold and indifferent words; and
once or twice she had the pain of seeing him turn
from her with a chilled, disappointed look, and seek
some more congenial companion. His was, how- Nay, not so! It is no light and trifling amount
ever, the quick eye for observing the soul's features, of thankfulness that any earnest being will feel to
and soon he began to comprehend Helen. He one whose helping hand they have grasped in their
found there was something peculiar and interesting utmost need, finding its grasp true and kindly, and
in her character; he saw something attractive in being by its aid enabled to mount some Hill of Dif-
its strange contradictions, its deep repressed feeling ficulty, whose summit without it they might never
and enthusiasm, and outward stillness and apparent have reached. Some are able, and therefore destin-
indifference. He set himself diligently to study ed, thus to help on those who are weaker; to
her, not from mere curiosity, in a cold, critical man- enlighten their darkness, and to supply some pecu-
ner, but in the hope of being useful to her, of liar want in their natures. The gratitude filling our
bringing out some of the valuable qualities that he hearts towards those who do us such service will
was sure lay beneath the surface.
ever be a religious feeling, in the highest sense of
the word. We shall never love God the less in
that we exceedingly love one of his creatures. Our
hearts, winged by gratitude, will rise higher through
the good gift to the all-bounteous Giver.