her." Thus they parted excellent friends. Men of the world have a great advantage in dealing with their fellow-men; especially with the younger, and, therefore, the thinner-skinned.

The next day Arthur, Aunt Elizabeth, and Amabel started on their long journey west. Amabel had regained composure and her thoughtfulness for others. "I fear it must be very inconvenient to you both," she said gratefully, as she joined them in their fly, and they drove off to Waterloo Station.

"There are times when one does not think of inconvenience,' answered Arthur; whilst Aunt Elizabeth gently stroked the hand that had so quickly found its way to hers.

They went to lodgings already recommended to them. The next day, and perhaps another, must be spent in waiting. They all went down upon the pier. "We must try and get a little colour into your cheeks, Amy! You are a good sailor, shall we have a sail ?" She agreed, seeing what a real holiday, in spite of the nervousness of waiting, this spare day was to Arthur. And then she thought, William would like to know she had been upon the sea, and had seized the very first opportunity to do so since they parted.

They were not upset, and caught no colds, although both wet with sea-spray when they rejoined Aunt Elizabeth. In the afternoon they all drove together; in the evening wrote various letters. So the day passed. Quicker perhaps with themselves than with Dulcibella, who was living it out hour after hour at Hereford, in heart at Falmouth.

Thursday they took a drive in the morning, because Amy would thus get air without any exertion. So those who loved her planned it. The Hibernia-whose proper port was Irish-had been signalled to touch, and drop her extra passengers; at three Arthur drove down alone to take a boat out to meet William Lawson; the carriage waiting at the end of the pier to bring them back to the poor waiting women. There are some moments of life which must be lived through to be known; and can never be revealed to those who have not known them. But they pass. For, even of such hours it holds true that, "be the day dreary, be the day long, at length it ringeth to evensong." And it was considerably later than aunt and niece had conjectured before they saw the white horse of Arthur's fly returning, a sailor on the box, and another within the carriage, in addition to Arthur and Will Lawson. "These are two of the other three; we must give them their first

English meal,” cried Arthur hurriedly to Aunt Elizabeth, for Amy was still waiting patiently upstairs.

"No, dead;-after effects of starvation," whispered her nephew, hurriedly. “Yes, I have brought him; but you two women will have a deal of feeding up to do before he goes a step further upon English ground. Will my arm be enough, Lawson ?"

Helpful Arthur! bearer of how many another's bodily burthens! He made his arm enough to sustain the weak half-fainting fellow up the steps, and then into the lower sitting-room, and then up unto the sofa. Then left him for a moment with Aunt Elizabeth, whilst he ran for the beef-tea which he had ordered to be ready, to meet Amy in the passage. “Wait one moment, dear! He told me I should find him nearly as weak as a baby! and it's all too true, now the first excitement that gave him unnatural strength is over. He knows you are well,-here. Let him have this before you meet.—Oh, it is very unromantic, but 'tis too true that the corruptible body presses down the soul.'-Just see to these two poor fellows, will you? Give them some welcome to old England, order them something good to eat."

She drew back and tried to smile, and let him pass; although, perhaps, that was the bitterest five minutes of waiting of all the long five years. But he was glad that he had been cruel enough to resist her natural wish to be herself the bearer-feeder-when he returned to find Aunt Elizabeth bathing the fainting man's forehead, and rubbing his cold attenuated hands.

"It was the sun-the motion of driving," he murmured, trying to open his and smile; eyes but you must not let me give you so much trouble; and Amy-?"

Amy bids you drink this, and then-and not till then-she will come in to you. But she is just outside. And you'll find her just the same, Will,—just as she will you,-you two royal as well as loyalhearted people!" so he coaxed and rallied him. And when, five minutes later, he opened the door-tray in hand "to get rid of all the mess"—and summoned Amabel, and she entered, did Will Lawson find himself deceived? or she herself mistaken? Ah, no! and here, itself, was bliss.

ALL SAINTS.

REV. XV. 2, 3, 4.

On the sea of glass and fire they stand, crowned with Victory,
Having the harps of GOD, JEHOVAH's Name to Glorify,

And the Lamb's Song they sing-the Chorale of Eternity.

Supernal King of Saints,-Thy works are marvellous and great,
Who shall not fear Thee ?-all the nations coming shall relate,
Thy judgments just and true-Mysterious and Immaculate.
Stifled by sin and folly, in this dying world of woe,
Unheard is the Eternal Hymn by jarring crowds below,
Which yet floats through the centuries, and ever shall be so.
In hidden Sanctuaries alone of quiet, humble hearts,
The harmony of that entrancing Music ne'er departs,
Though false Apollyon strives to mar it by his subtle arts.

They realize on earth a blest communion with the Saints,
And see from Beulah's heights, nathless the trembling spirit faints,
That full radiancy of Glory which Inspiration paints.

Yet many weak and weary pilgrims often fear to mount,
The Hill of Difficulty steep, for every step they count

Too painful-though new strength is promised from the Purest Fount.

Thou, LORD, art pitiful and patient, and wilt ne'er deny,

Thine help to all who ask it with meek supplicative cry,

For Angels waft the prayers of faith, as Incense sweet on High.

Saints like Stars appearing-when cumbered with the flesh, all trod
The difficult and narrow way, and passed beneath the rod,
To find Eternal Rest and Peace, with Thee-O Triune GOD.

C. A. M. W.

JOHN KEPLER.

"Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: He calleth them all by names, by the greatness of His might, for that He is strong in power; not one faileth.”—Isaiah xl. 26.

THE sun of Galileo had scarcely set when a new dawn was seen glimmering into perfect day, and another sun fast arising to pour down fresh light upon the astronomical world. Tycho Brahé was in his last illness, faithfully attended by his assistant, who had first won his love and confidence by letters, and afterwards by being near him, and help

ing in the great work they both had at heart. The dying astronomer left his manuscript-treasures in the care of this assistant, who was no other than the renowned John Kepler.

Who has not heard of Kepler's “Three Great Laws?" How earnestly Kepler searched into the secrets of nature, and what important discoveries he lighted upon! Almost too important, as he feared, to be received and understood in his own time. “I am content,” he wrote, "to wait a century for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for an interpreter of His works."

John Kepler, who was twenty-four years younger than Tycho Brahé, and seven years younger than Galileo, who was also his contemporary, was born at Wiel, in the Duchy of Wurtemburg, on December 21st, 1571. He was a delicate child, almost lost during infancy; but being well taken care of, lived to teach the world. His parents, though cast down by poverty and sorrow, were, both of them, of noble descent: his father, an officer in the army of the Duke of Wurtemburg, was obliged to leave home five months after the birth of his fragile little son, whose mother followed quickly afterwards, leaving the young child in the care of the grandfather, who well fulfilled the trust he affectionately took upon himself. When the father returned, after an absence of some years, to enjoy peace and rest at home, he found misfortune awaiting him. He had, before setting out, promised to pay a large sum of money for one of his friends, if it should prove that the friend should be unable to pay it himself, by a certain day; but there had seemed to be no danger in this promise; the friend for whom he trustingly stood surety, being at that time, prosperous and honest. The first news the weary soldier heard when once more under his own roof was, that the friend had failed him ; either from misfortune or treachery, we know not which, the debt had not been paid on the appointed day; on Kepler's father therefore fell the whole weight. What was he to do? Where could he turn for help? The soldier of slender fortune and noble birth did not fail in his word; he sold his house and all his modest possessions; paid his friend's debt, and began life over again.

In order to make a new fortune for himself, and to support his family (the future astronomer included) he set up a wayside inn at a village called Elmendingen, by which means he contrived to make a scanty living. His son, still delicate in health, was taken away from school, whither he had been sent by his grandfather, who was kindly and carefully anxious for him to learn; the intelligent child, most

:

studiously inclined, was forced, by the unhappy circumstances which clouded his father's fortunes, to cast away all thoughts of books, and to work hard under the roof of the new home, which was unlike all to which he had been accustomed the poor boy worked well, doing his best to help his father, until he was twelve years old, when a change came. The Duke of Wurtemburg, remembering his faithful officer, and hearing of his misfortunes, resolved to lend him a helping hand; he would see that his son John should receive an education worthy of his noble birth and of his good father. How the good news was brought, we know not; but in any case we think the father must have had the happiness of calling his young son to his side, and announcing to him that it was the Duke's pleasure that he should quit his present humble work and enter the school at Maulbrun as a student; this school was one of those established in the sixteenth century, that the work of teaching might not cease with the dissolution of monasteries and the turning adrift of the monks. Although young Kepler's studies were much interrupted by illness and by troubles at home he did not fail to graduate with high honours. His father, meanwhile, died abroad; but his mother lived to a good old age.

Kepler, having studied first at Maulbrun, then at the College of Tubingen, made such progress, that at the age of twenty-two an astronomical professorship was offered to him at the University of Grätz; he thought himself unworthy of this, and was inclined to refuse the honour; but his tutor, named Maestlin, entreated of him not to refuse, but rather to give himself to the study of astronomy, more especially than he had done yet. Maestlin was greatly beloved and was always obeyed by Kepler, who consented to undertake the professorship at Grätz, and worked hard at astronomy, faithfully treasuring all that his dear Maestlin had taught him.

"Everything I had learned from Maestlin," Kepler writes, "or had acquired myself, I found of great service."

Maestlin was a very learned astronomer and highly valued in his day. Kepler loved him to the end, never ceasing to mention him with gratitude. Maestlin encouraged him during the first years of his professorship, and subsequently inspired him to write astronomical works. Kepler remembers Maestlin as being one of the few who dared openly to teach the doctrines of Copernicus.

"Maestlin," wrote Kepler, "was delighted with Copernicus, and was frequently in the habit of mentioning him with great respect."