She endeavoured to repay herself for this forced and painful silence, by the copiousness and fervor of her private devotions but the endeavour failed. In vain she hastened to her apartment when the family assembled to read the bible of Luther; in vain, when they repaired to their church, she congratulated herself on being beyond the reach of disturbance. Her thoughts wandered as she repeated her prayers; her heart was cold, her intellect was dull, her whole spirit was troubled. She wept, but she could not pray as formerly. In the midst of her selfAt first she supposed it

reproach, she sought for reasons. was the novelty of place and circumstance which disturbed her for she could not wholly escape the murmurs of a busy city. Then she thought it must be the lack of opportunity of confession which imposed a heavy weight on her spirit; and at times a feeling of horror came over her as she imagined that she might be dwelling in an atmosphere tainted by the Evil One, who had so many disciples at hand. One thing only she was sure of,- - that she was wretched in her loneliness of soul.

All endeavours to induce her to leave the house had failed. It was not that she did not love free air and sunshine as well as Helena herself; but her more confirmed convent habits had occasioned a timidity and indolence which she had no motive at present strong enough to overcome. Besides, she could not yet think of changing her monastic dress; and to appear in it in the streets of Nuremberg would have been to provoke insult. The only object she could have in going out, she said, was to see Helena ; who, she hoped, would spare her the effort by coming first. Helena came not, however. Liese waited patiently, saying to herself how natural it was that her young sister should be engrossed by objects whose revived interest must be so strong. She remembered how she sprang from her horse

into the arms of her old nurse, and what transport was in her eyes when she waved her hand from the door to the departing escort. "It is but natural and just," thought Liese, "that I should give way for a time to older friends. I will wait." When she was well nigh tired of waiting, tidings came that Helena was ill, and had long been so. Here was a rousing motive. Liese changed her dress, and went out with her cousin Laura, avoiding every eye as she walked, and shrinking at the approach of every casual passenger. When they reached the fields and were alone, she looked up, she looked round, and a thrill of joy, such as she had long ceased to feel, ran through her frame. Fragrance from beneath her feet, beauty around, the music of the woods from afar,—all came at once to touch the springs of her loftiest sensibilities, and she was in a moment satisfied that her devotional feelings, however repressed, had not been destroyed. Now was the time, as Laura perceived, to invite their first religious sympathy; and the occasion was not lost. A few words from Luther's bible, which Liese had nowhere heard before, sank into her awakened mind, and were never afterwards forgotten. On a review of the day, she convinced herself that the renewed vigor of her piety was not so much owing to the satisfaction she had had in seeing Helena in a state of recovery, as in the new effort made, and the healthful associations revived by it. Henceforth she went out more and more frequently, finding comments on her breviary in the lilies of the field, and enshrining her homage in the evening and morning cloud.

With a happier state of the conscience came greater activity of body and mind. In a few months, it was not enough for Liese to saunter by the river side, or meditate in the fields for a certain time every day, and to go through the stated offices of devotion in her chamber. In propor

tion as grief retreated, ennui encroached and this ennui was attended with no small portion of shame; for Laura — the lost, the heretical Laura - was free from this visitation. The zeal of this reformed family led them to read all the works of the reformers that they could obtain; and their studies supplied them with a perpetual flow of ideas, banishing the dulness which had till now brooded over the interior of a German home. Hour after hour of every day did Liese hear the steady voice of Laura reading to her mother, interrupted occasionally by exclamations, or subsiding into a pause, to allow of a reference to Martin's bible.

"If they would but read something that I dare listen to!" thought Liese, as she sat at work by herself. The same idea had occurred to Laura; but the difficulty was to find in those days any book which the orthodox and heterodox could and would read together. The proposal was, however, made on both sides, consulted about, attempted, and very soon given up. The readings were broken off by disputes so often, that in order to preserve peace, which was equally the wish of both parties, the plan was relinquished; not, however, before the question had been asked why Liese should not study for herself. Here the accomplished Laura was ready and fully able to assist her friend. It was no disgrace to Liese that she could read little, and write not at all. Few nuns could; and fewer women in any station were so cultivated as Laura.

Helena was invited to join the party, and a considerable time was devoted each day to books and papers. The ci-devant nuns read apart, and a frequent intercourse of notes exercised them in their new accomplishment, in which they advanced with all the rapidity which might be expected from persons of active minds who wanted an object.

"You read more than I, Helena, and you write better by far. Is it because you are younger, or have greater talent? And you enjoy books more than I, which I wonder at, because they are almost my only pleasure, while you have many, your bees and your garden, and old nurse Bohrla to take care of."

"I was going to say," replied Helena, "that I get on all the faster for having so many other things to do; and I enjoy books more because I have them in turn with other pleasures. I wish, Liese, you could be as busy as I have been lately. You do not know the pleasure of waking at dawn, and thinking, "I must be up and conning my task, or I shall not get it done to-day; for there is nurse's new boddice to be made in the morning, and a letter to be written to my uncle at Frankfort, Frankfort, and it takes a long time still to write a letter, and poor little Wilhelm, who is so ill, to be looked to before dark, and my plants to be watered at sunset. O! it is such a pleasure to feel that the day is too short for what is to be done, and to lie down at night hoping to do more to-morrow! When I was in our convent, I learned every thing more slowly, and took less pleasure in all I did every day. You know I told you then that I could not govern my mind like you, and be equally good in different places. Now I am in the way to be as good as you were there; for the more I have to do, the better I do it: and the more pleasures I have, the more I enjoy them every one."

Liese looked grave while she warned her young companion of the enticing snares of the world, and asked whether she did not find her time too short to perform her devotions properly.

"If you will believe me,” replied Helena, "I love God much more than I did when every body thought my whole time was spent in loving him. I have so much to thank him for now!"

"Do you mean that you use the same prayers as often and as devoutly as in our convent?"

"I do, indeed: and do you know, I think I will tell you, whatever you may think of me, I have found out another way of praying, which makes me all the more devout when I pray in the old way. I make prayers of my

own."

Instead of blaming Helena, Liese colored crimson, and hid her face, murmuring,

"O, Helena, so do I. I should have died, if I had not. If we both wanted it so much, if we each found out the way, surely it cannot be a snare, as I have sometimes feared it was."

"It cannot be a snare, Liese, or it would not make us love God more, as I am sure it does me."

"But Father Gottfried would not have allowed it." Helena lowered her voice as she replied,

"It was allowed by some who must have known as well as Father Gottfried. Give me Martin's bible, and I will show you where I learned this. You have not thrown it

away, have you ?”

Not, Liese! She went, making no objection to Helena's offer, and took her bible out of its corner of the press, where it lay wrapt in its silken covering. When Helena took it, she looked full at her friend, who colored again, and shrunk from observation, as if she had been guilty.

"This book has been read, Liese, much read. It has been more used than mine. O, why have we not told one another every thing as we used to do?"

"I will tell you now, Helena. My cousin Laura repeated something out of this book, one day long ago,the first day I went to see you. I wished to find it again, but something always stopped me. There was always something else that I wanted to read, wherever I opened;