so report the progress of events. Indeed the whole village was in a state of intense excitement as to the result.

And now May had come in all its beauty, its softness and its inspirations, and the master missed his scholar from her seat; and though the day was bright and beautiful, he was restless and irritable. Nor did he recover his sobriety of manner while the week was thus passing, and no Julia Jones. He inquired, 'Is Miss Jones ill? No one had seen her; no one knew any thing about her. He fully believed he should see her at meeting; but her seat was unfilled. Until now he had restrained himself from ever calling at her father's house: this would be changing their relations; and when all other barriers had been prostrated, this stood firm. And Miss Julia well knew it. She knew his term would end in the next month, and something must be done to make him change his position. The master said, 'She must be ill!' and it was his duty to go and inquire. Prudence said 'No!' but his heart was lightened as he conceded so much to his wishes as to say he would go after school. He set out so soon as the school was dismissed; and yet he was strangely moved on his way out of the village to the farm, about a mile's distance, and sometimes paused as if to return. But he went on; and reaching the homestead, he knocked at the door, while his heart was knocking at his breast-bone; and when the door opened, there stood Julia, dressed in all the attractiveness which book-muslin can be made to wear-and who has not owned its power? His look spoke his joy and admiration, and her smiles and welcome were full of sweetness. The parents received him quietly and kindly; and he talked with the father while he looked at the daughter, as she sat attentively engaged in sewing near the window. She looked as if interested in all they spoke of, but spoke not; her time was not yet. The father was a sensible man, and glad to find one with whom he could converse on topics ranging beyond his farm; the mother was occupied with the supper, which was excellent, and so admirably conducted that he felt quite at home among them.

It was near seven when they rose from the supper-table. The air was soft and warm; the moon, near the full, was seen ascending through the trees, and in the west lay heaps of crimson clouds. Julia, stepping out on the green, pointed to a hill near the house, from which she said she loved to look at these beautiful sunsets. It was as natural as it was necessary for the master to invite his pupil to show him the spot. She threw a slight shawl over her arm, and with her pretty white bonnet held by the strings, was ready in a moment to go. They reached the hill; the scenery was beautiful; but beyond was a bolder hill, and before this was ascended the twilight had faded away, and the moon and stars were shining. It was certainly a very dangerous position to be placed in, and the master should have thought of it at the time; but he did not, for he was talking of the stars; the discoveries of Herschel; the nebular theory of La Place; of the binary stars, and stars with complementary light, and of the glorious Universe, which

VOL. XXVII.

18

though so vast and magnificent, was yet all unconscious of its grandeur; this,' said he, is the prerogative of the Soul; and though they (he and JULIA !) were but as atoms in its infinity, yet they could comprehend the CREATOR.' It is certain he felt very eloquently, and JULIA seemed as if she had been following his flight with untiring attention; and looking up to the moon, which took the usual liberty of casting her brightest beams into the sweet face so fondly gazing upon her, and shedding a flood of light upon the white dress, which looked as if made of threads of silver, in tones soft and sweet, she said: 'I wonder if the beings who inhabit these worlds above us are as bright and beautiful as we picture them?'

She paused; and I will venture to say that the Earl of Rosse, with his famous telescope, if he had at that instant taken in the range of the nebula in the Sword of Perseus, would not have seen any thing half so bright as the face of this lovely girl. The master, quite beside himself, exclaimed, 'Nothing in heaven can be more beautiful than the angel I hold in my arms! And following the admirable rules given by Hamlet to the players, 'he suited the action to the word and the word to the action, and so o'er-stepped not the modesty of nature.'

Now if any of my fair readers should think the modesty of Julia was impinged upon, and that being alone on that heaven-kissing hell she cried out to the stars for help, I can assure them, that though the stars once fought in their courses against Sisera, and if there be any truth in the theory of Pythagoras, caused sad discord in the harmonies of heaven, they went on singing and shining, undisturbed by any outcry, which was the last thing Julia thought of making. Indeed I have been assured by some young friends of mine, who were assisting Professor Olmstead in some observations at the Observatory of Yale, that they all remarked at the time, that the stars were winking at each other very knowingly; and moreover, that that good-natured gentleman, the man in the moon, wore even a more smiling aspect than usual. We shall not go on with the scene. It opened with the master's accustomed energy and earnestness. This much is certain, they did not return till near nine o'clock; a very late hour, thought the parents, for their only child to be out in the night air; and when their steps were heard, they were very slow. At the gate the master took his leave of Julia, who entered the house with a buoyant step and beaming countenance, though she said she was weary and would immediately retire - and did so.

The next afternoon the master came, avowed his love for Julia, and asked their consent to an immediate union. Her parents, taken by surprise, asked for some months' delay, but the master could brook no such delay. They then appealed to Julia, to whom so great a step must, they were sure, require time for thought; but like most young ladies similarly situated, she had been thinking a great while; and though she did not share in the eagerness of the master, and felt a real shrinking from the consummation of her own wishes, yet as most young ladies do, took a very common-sense view of the subject. It must come sooner or later; it would be wisest and

safest and best; there would be no slips between the cup and the lip; she should be settled for life,' and so she reconciled herself and her loving parents to the compliance of the wishes of the master; and so soon as the preparations could be made, they were married; and Mr. Smith felt, perhaps, more truly than ever did Mark Anthony in the arms of the fatal Cleopatra, that if he had lost the world he was content to lose it.

But soon the necessity of effort led Mr. Smith to the city of Babylon the Less, leaving his beautiful wife with her parents until he could in some way provide for her. He was eminently successful in obtaining business in the Broadway of that great city. Here his tact and energy soon wrought wonders, and the store became the favored resort of the fashionables of that city. Fortune seemed ready to repay him for the sacrifices Ambition had made to Love. His young wife soon rejoined him, and they became at first the happy tenants of a small house in L'Esperance-Place.

The only gift received from her parents was a large and beautifully-bound family Bible, in which, on those most interesting of all leaves to a young married couple in that best of Books, and which usually separate the old and new Testaments, under its proper head, was inscribed in the fair and flowing hand of her husband, the marriage of John Smith to Julia Jones, June 20, 18-. This then was the sole library with which Mrs. Smith commenced her married life; and shall I tell the whole truth? it was a Book she never opened, except to read the entry already quoted; she would then musingly turn over to the next page, and think of the names and the order of succession it would best please her to see filling up its two blank columns blanks, alas! never to be filled.

At that time it did not suit Mr. Smith to form any family acquaintances, being wholly absorbed in business; and Mrs. Smith did not desire the society of such as would have been her friends. She felt her husband would rise to affluence, and she was willing to bide her time. As she had little or no society, she sought from such books as she could obtain, to acquaint herself with the character and conduct of the circles into which she hoped one day to be admitted. But this she found a difficult task: such conflicting presentations of society led her into mazes of difficulty; and she was left to herself to find out the true from the false. Some authors she found had written à la stairs, whose scenes were of necessity the mere creations of fancy; and those writers who were members of the circles they pictured, seem to delineate society as it should be, rather than as she felt it was. Still however she gleaned some hints, and these she treasured up; and of all things, sought to acquire that serenity of features, so eminently possessed by Talleyrand, and could almost. have been willing to have had the Dutchess de Broglie's test applied to herself, could she but have had his powers of endurance.

Thus while Mr. Smith was absorbed in the pursuit of wealth, his wife was fully occupied in her studies of society. While thus intensely occupied, all unconsciously to themselves, they lost their young love. Not that they did not love each other as well as most

married folks do, but they knew not, (and how common is the mistake!) that love cannot live on the common courtesies of life and the discharge of every-day duties. No child comes into the world with a constitution so susceptible to change as Young Love; so liable to chills and fevers, which finally induce a fatal decline. Their Young Love did linger on, 't is true, and for awhile wore his pretty looks, and his sweet smiles were renewed from time to time for a day or two together; but then he was sadly neglected, and from want of proper care and nutriment, was stone-dead a long time before they, either of them, found it out. Alas! T is true, 't is pity, and pity 't is, 't is true,' that

'Love breathes in the first sigh, and expires with the first kiss."

THE Compiler of the 'Wise Sayings of the Son of Syriac' has told us (see Apocrypha,) that it is foolish to be long in the prologue and short in the story.' Now I beg leave to assure my readers that though my prologue has been so long, my story shall not be either as long as Ten thousand a Year' or the Wandering Jew,' though its length may to some extent be determined by the favor with which it shall be received.

6

Here rests she now;

Upon this spot a father's bleeding heart,
Strong in its grief, has struggled with itself,
To see the cherish'd idol of his hearth
Wrapt in the dreamless slumber of the grave.

A mother's trembling tears have wet this sod:
Oh, check them not! They are the precious pearls
Affection scatters on the hallowed mould
That clasps a daughter in its cold embrace;
And they are sacred. Would that when I die
Offerings like these may fall upon my grave,
And bless me with their voiceless eloquence!

Here too the love that springs in kindred hearts,
Whose early prayers around one mother's knee,
Are lisped to Heaven, saw the narrow grave
Throw its cold shadow o'er their wedded hopes.

A sister's trusting love lies buried here;
And when this mound was made, the doating eye
That's lighted with a brother's love, looked on;
But her sealed eyes saw not the tears they shed!

"Tis a cold resting place for one so young;
Yet from the shadowed gloom of this lone couch
She woke in sunshine, where the souls of those
'The just,' who sleep, 'made perfect in the Lord,'
Live in the glowing pleasures that 'make glad
The city of our God.'

Weep not for her,
For she has trod the path whose solemn way
Lies through the narrow valley of the tomb;
And she is blest.

But turn we from her grave
To the lone hearth where eyes were wet for her.
Weep for the mother on whose throbbing breast
A dying daughter drew her heavy breath;
For her who, from the bitter cares of life
Turning with deeper sorrow to the Past,
Weeps, that so rude a casket as the grave
Should hold the treasured dust of such a gem:
Weep with the stricken parent, in her grief,
For 't is an offering that angels love,