for every sad and forsaken thing; cherry cheeks and a rosy mouth to make a lovely picture as your dainty eyes would wish to see. I shall have a bright dream of those little Messiahs this blessed night-if it's not wicked to talk so for the words in this book will open my sight on a dream."

"I am rather pleased with the thought," returned Julia; "and, considering that the soul will progress in perfection while God exists to attract it with his love, can it be irreverent to inquire if every little child may not possibly rise in heaven to the fullness of that stature which Christ in his humanity exhibited on earth?"

"O, the thought is too gracious for a body like me to soil with thinking. I would sooner look at it in an innocent dream," answered the beautiful Irish girl.

"The sleepy book has set me dreaming already," cried Arabella Puffit.

And Mercy Winthrop must have been put to her trumps to bring such a flat story here," added Miss Mumby.

"So I think," cried Bell. "I wouldn't give Charlotte Temple for a bushel-basket full of such books. It's dry as chips."

"I can understand Addison and Irving better," said Milbank, yet this is not a dry author, let me tell you. He has said some things that I held my very breath to hear." "I have learned a great deal by this conversation," said Julia Warden.

"And so have I,"-" and I," added a number, while Neal Derby gave the hour of the evening, and the circle

broke up.

XXV.

Ar this age, I was quite surprised, as I reviewed my life, to see how I had borne its trials and labors, and what attainments I had been able, by constant and difficult efforts, to make. Others could hardly have shared my sentiments, for they knew not the loneliness I felt, nor saw the clouds of despair which darkened the morning of my helpless orphanage. Few persons knew my trials, or saw the obstacles that I had to overcome before I could hope to conquer my discouragements and acquire the little education and independence which I thought would suffice my eager heart.

To others, no doubt, my attainments at this time appeared indifferent; with myself, they were the subject of no vain pride. Still, I was surprised by what I had attained in my vocation, in the resources of womanly independence, in the simple faculty of writing, in the knowledge of books, in friendships and enjoyments; for I remembered my sad childhood-I remembered the sloughs of despondency I had passed, and the flinty summits on the mountain-way of life that my tender feet had climbed.

I was mistress of my work. I had a good physical constitution, and had long received wages from which

I made handsome deposits in the bank. I had friends enough, after the neglect of some, and the desertion of others who could not endure my blunt ways, and with whom I would not mix my individuality,—I had friends enough, and most of them were of the kind that I could admit to the closest intimacy, and give the full confidence of my love. I had thoughts that were my companions, giving me happy days and a sense of self-reliance. I had a sight which admitted me into the very sanctuary of Nature, while many others, more fortunate in worldly possessions than I, appeared blind, and searched in vain for the door through which I entered. I loved books, and had that faculty which enables every true reader to go behind the words and commune with the very souls of authors, and appropriate a part of their own radiance to the light of his being.

I had one friend whom I loved even more, that he was a nature by himself, and did not absorb my identity while he attracted and won my heart. For Neal Derby -to tell the whole truth-my love at this age began to assume the character either of a very fine passion, or a full and fervent principle. I believed it was the latter. For, although I loved him with a feeling which I could not think of giving to another, and an eye which saw no scene of perfect beauty which his presence did not grace, yet, so well I thought I commanded my self-respect all the time, I would not harbor a suspicion that he was my superior. He was better looking of course, and knew more than I, but I did not feel that a union with him could exalt me in anything but happiness and a mutual

progress which he might share. I did not worship him, and would not have done so for anything he could render. I did not overlook his faults or errors; I thought I could analyze my sentiments, and know that if my love had passion for its rapture, it was on principle that it reposed.

Derby seemed to return my love with the warmest affection. Over and over again he declared that my image was the subject of his dearest thoughts and the bliss of all his pleasures. And I must believe that his love was earnest and sincere. Such attestations as he gave

could not have been feigned.

But all the while it seemed

a passion, and not a principle. Still we cherished our affiance as the most sacred tie on earth, and talked more and more freely of our happy marriage-day. We enjoyed the same visits with Nature; and the same authors, and read aloud to each other in the fields and in the house. We enjoyed the Book Society and the "Garden," and were glad to see the progress which each other made. We attended the Lyceum Lectures and sat side by side.

And this last privilege was most happy. To enjoy this we were willing to retrench the expenses of the wardrobe. We went with pencil and paper to carry away what we could retain of every lecture. The lectures toned up our mental appetites. They helped us to understand the times. More than any other institution, more even than the Pulpit or Drama, the Lyceum spoke out, reflected, illustrated the spirit of the times. I never knew one enjoy that privilege better than Derby did. He often expressed the wish that he might stand before such audiences and hold them suspended in such a

trance of delight as the eloquent lecturers did. For me it

was a sweet share of my happiest fortune.

We attended the same church. That also was a privilege. Derby had a firm and rational Christian faith, as it seemed to me, and he was well esteemed in the Church of the Mediator. I attended there occasionally, at first, because I liked the minister, and though I was not satisfied with some of his doctrines, and my Quaker tendencies recoiled from so many ceremonies as were observed in the service, and I combated some of Neal's opinions, yet I found that they agreed with mine in the main, and finally from choice I went there all the time, while several of my friends attended with me.

I began to enjoy Mr. Snowden's ministry as much as I admired the man. I liked his appearance, and yet there was nothing about him of that smooth, fancy finish, which has given so many success. Some persons, nay, all I may say, who judged him at first sight, or when he was not animated, or without entertaining his thoughts and sympathies, called him plain and homely. He was tall in stature; he had a pale face and spare features, with a jutting forehead and bushy eye-brows. His hair was gray, and he looked like a soldier who has performed long marches and survived deadly battles. But he looked well enough to an actual acquaintance, who was in sympathy with his life and ideas, and especially so, when emotion lighted up his benignant face. He was a noble, natural, warm-hearted man, accepting his sacred office, to become useful to mankind, and not to gain a character which he did not possess, and a position which he could not other