your wounded mind (I replied); for you know, Gervase, it is the duty of man thus to act towards his fellow man.”

"You are kind, very kind (answered Gervase), but my disease is past relief."

"No grief under heaven is so great (I exclaimed), but may be mitigated in some degree."

"You are mistaken (said Gervase pathetically): Time, it has been said, allays all sorrows-mine it rather increases. (And laying his hand upon his heart, he added)-Death only can give me ease.' "May a gracious heaven forbid it!" I replied fervently.

"I should say Amen (rejoined Gervase), but I cannot thus reply." "And why not?" I asked.

"The secret is within my own breast (he answered despondingly) -I shall go mourning all my days."

"What! Gervase (I exclaimed), shall the sun shine in vain upon your path all your days? And shall the birds, whose notes now fall in sweet cadence on our ears, sing for you in vain? And this rippling brook, shall it play at your feet; and the murmuring breeze, shall it play in the branches that grow on its margin, in vain for you? These, Gervase, are all blessings poured from the hand of our beneficent Creator to afford us delight."

"I know they are (replied Gervase), but know you not these words of the poet :"

"This glassy stream-that spreading pine,

Those alders quivering to the breeze,
Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please if anything could please;

"But fix'd unalterable care,

Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shows the same sadness everywhere,
And slights the seasons and the scene.

"For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess'd these silent bowers,
Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauty and its powers.

"The saint or moralist should tread

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This moss-grown alley, pacing slow;
They seek, like me, the secret shade,
But not, like me, to nourish woe.

Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste,

Alike admonish not to roam;

These, tell us of enjoyments past,

And these, of sorrows yet to come."-Cowper.

More than ever interested in the sorrows of Gervase, I importuned him to disclose them; but it was all in vain, until I thought it probable that if he knew what the villagers said of him, he might be

Chaste

induced to free himself from their aspersions. This, therefore, was my next resort, and it had the desired effect. Glowing with indignation, he replied" Not such deeds have been mine. as new fallen snow I stand before my Maker, with reference to their conjectures." Then bidding me draw near, he added—“ And now I will tell you the cause of my sorrows. I have loved, and as you may see, truly-but I have loved in vain."

"So then, Gervase (I exclaimed), a faithless fair one is the cause of the wreck of your noble nature!" I felt disposed to utter a severe phillipic against the offender, but recollecting that some of her sex loved as faithfully as Gervase, and as much in vain, I subdued my emotions, and reasoned with him on his folly." But (I continued), do you not wrong, Gervase, to love a creature thus ardently, and that I fear, to the exclusion of One who should be the highest object of our affections?"

"If it is a sin (replied Gervase), it corrupts my whole nature; but it is not a sin. Love was implanted in our breasts by Heaven, and can we avoid its flames?"

"We can chasten them (I replied), so as not to let them devour our earthly comforts altogether."

"How?" asked Gervase.

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By intercourse with the world (I answered), and by submitting to the holier influences of religion."

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Impossible!" cried Gervase, somewhat petulantly.

"No (I replied with a feeling heart), it is not impossible, Gervase. I knew one whose damask cheek was faded by the withering touch of love, who nevertheless attended to her daily avocations and her devotions, in both of which she found a charm to dispel her griefs." "She never loved!" answered Gervase emphatically.

"That she did love (I replied), was proved by her going down to the grave, as she was aptly termed, a widowed virgin, for the sake of him she loved in vain.'

"She never loved as I do," answered Gervase. "More wisely," I replied.

"Less truly," rejoined Gervase with earnestness.

"Be it so, then (I resumed); but do you not wrong, Gervase, in thus impugning the ways of Providence? The Eternal Father is so tenderly solicitous for our happiness, that, had it been good for you to have possessed the object of your choice, it doubtless had been thine. He knows what is best for us, and nothing is withheld but that which will harm our souls."

"That confirms me in my conviction that the Indian philosopher is correct in his notions," said Gervase.

"May I ask what they are?" I interrogated.

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They are thus depicted by the poet," exclaimed Gervase :

"The mighty power that form'd the mind
One mould for every two designed,

And bless'd the new-born pair:
This be a match for this (he said):
Then down he sent the souls he made
To seek them bodies here.

"But parting from their warm abode

They lost their fellows on the road,

And never joined their hands."-Watts.

"Now I contend (continued Gervase, in an impassioned tone), that the mind of Stella was moulded with mine for a future reunion, but some cruel fate has torn them asunder."

"That cannot be (I replied), for what the Eternal designs to be, that surely comes to pass."

"Why then (asked Gervase), were our views so much in unison? Our heart and our soul seemed to possess our bodies, but they were doomed to be separated. Oh! if I could open your eyes so as to behold the secret of the invisible world, I could point out many evil spirits waiting around my path, intent upon doing us harm." "And so you might (I replied), but their power is limited. to man has defined to them bounds which they cannot pass.' "But you will allow (said Gervase), they can do us harm." "Not (I rejoined) in the common affairs of life. They may tempt us to sin, but they cannot deprive us of earthly joys."

Love

"You are mistaken (exclaimed Gervase); no other but the invisible powers could have so poisoned the mind of Stella as to make her reject my suit long accepted."

"Was not the breath of malice or envy capable of doing such a deed? (I interrogated). And was it not in the power of gold to harm you ?"

"Neither (answered Gervase). It was the work of some evil spirit. True, she is united to one possessed of greater wealth than I possess; but her's was no mercenary soul, and her faith was too pure to be thus corrupted."

"Alas! (I exclaimed) why is love blind? I fear, Gervase, that you are too fond, and that money, which is the root of all evil,' has seduced your Stella from the path of rectitude. And I am the more inclined to suspect that this is the cause, from the daily practice of the youth around. Gervase, the age in which we live is one of pounds, shillings, and pence, not of love. There may be a few genuine lovers like yourself, but the majority seek for money. A man is estimated according to the wealth he possesses, and not according to the extent of his love. No, Gervase, the language of the world iswe are wiser than those of whom poets write, who loved each other for themselves alone. They were visionaries! For what is love? it cannot feed or clothe you.'

"But it can make you happy," interrupted Gervase.

"Not (I replied) if it meets with such a return as yours." "I know it," said Gervase.

"And knowing it, do you not err (I asked) in feeding its flames?" "I feed them not (replied Gervase), but they are fed by all nature. Move where I will, I meet with something that reminds me of my loss. Your own placid face, although I can read in it love to myself, tells me that I might have been happy had Stella been mine; and the thought of lost happiness serves but as fuel to the fires of my grief."

"Alas! Gervase (I cried), your supposition might have been a visionary one. Such is the nature of sublunary joys, that often, when we expect pleasure from the possession of an object, we receive sorrow. Witness the proverbial strife of hearts bound in holy wedlock. Had Stella been faithful-"

"Faithful! (interrupted Gervase)-was she not faithful? I tell you, our separation was the work of some evil spirit, and who can withstand their power?"

"Gervase (I replied with warmth), that evil spirit was certainly gold! And she who can be corrupted by gold is not worthy of your regard. A partner with a sordid mind be her portion !"

"Say not so," exclaimed Gervase pathetically.

"It is truth, and her desert (I replied; but the love of poor Gervase burned too ardently to let him believe me, and therefore, I continued); but as for you, Gervase, you deseve a better fate than to be led captive by such fetters as the charms of Stella has thrown around your soul."

"It is a pleasure to wear them (answered Gervase)—a pleasure to feel pain for those we love."

"I grant this much (I resumed), if the object be worthy; but it is ignoble to wear them for one who has in the face of heaven shown her contempt of you. Besides, Gervase, you were made for nobler ends than to adore the creature. And if I may be allowed to advise, I would adopt the sentiment of one who knew too well the enervating effects of such a retirement as thine :

"Post away swiftly to more active scenes,

Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans ;
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part—
No longer give an image all thine heart:

Its empire is not her's, nor is it thine,

"Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine !"-Cowper.

At this moment the face of Gervase was lit up with something like a resolve to endeavour to free himself from his thraldom, and I entertained a hope that I might yet see him a useful member of society. But I soon discovered that my hopes were illusive, and that,

"lovers of all creatures, tame or wild,

Can least brook management, however mild;"

for the countenance of Gervase soon settled down into its former melancholy. Seeing this I changed the subject; but it was only to receive monosyllables and half sentences in reply, as before. Gervase could still talk on the one subject that engrossed his thoughts, and it was in vain to talk with him on that. His passion had gained so complete a mastery over his intellect that it was beyond the reach of human skill to emancipate it. Many a time did I attempt it, but I found that it was vain to grapple with the giant power-love.

The fact of my visiting the gentleman in Dale Cottage was soon known to our villagers, and many a time was I importuned by them

to disclose the secret concerning his retirement. I promised I would when I had become acquainted with it, and accordingly, soon after meeting a group of the slanderers, I observed-"I have often told you that I thought the gentleman at Dale Cottage was an innocent man, and now I am happy to clear him of your foul aspersions. The cause of his solitude is love!"

"Love! (they reiterated)-what a strange thing!"

TO ONE IN DESPONDENCY.-BY ANNA SAVAge.
WHY dost thou mourn in hopeless grief, and cast
Thine eyes below for peace the world ne'er gives,
With gloomy thoughts still turning on the past,
And weeping that remembrance only lives?
Is there not yet another, happier sphere,

Where the weary hearts may seek at last a rest;
Hast thou no home, then, but thy dwelling here,
Where the sad thought reposes in the breast?
Is there no clime, which peace her haven makes,
Where tears are dried, and sin is pardoned-none;
Is there no friend deceives not, nor forsakes,

Or leaves us when all carthly pleasure's gone?
Yes! there is One who yet unchang'd will live,
Though time may with thy brightest treasures fly,
Who gives the peace none else hath power to give-
Unmoved, remains to all eternity!

Has guilt (and who is guiltless?) bow'd thy heart,
Binding thy spirit with its iron chain?
Then to that friend, oh! hasten to depart,

For He doth raise thee with his arm again.
When has He broke the bruised reed, or turned
A deafen'd ear to murmur'd breath of prayer?
Nor yet the suppliant, though slowly, learn'd
That mercy, hope, and comfort-all were there.
Maybe in sorrow thou, unsoothed, doth weep
O'er cherished ones, till life itself seems dim,
Oh! He will pity o'er such earthly sleep--
The sympathising tear was shed by Him.
Betray'd, forsaken, has thy wrung heart bled
In bitter anguish, till e'en hope was gone?
In that dread hour all his friends were fled,
Left in His agony to die-alone.
Has the arch tempter, in some lonely hour,
In fearful tempest struggled in thy breast?
Despair not, He has proved that direful power,
And prayed it might pass from Him-be at rest.
Seek thou His face who sees thy earthly grief-
Still to the home that offers shelter flee;
Mercy is His-he offers thee relief;

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Turn not away-think-He hath died for thee!