By the sweet mournfulness of many a hymn

Sung when the woods at eve grew hushed and dim,— By the persuasion of her fervent eye,

All eloquent with childlike piety,

By the still beauty of her life, she strove

To win for heaven and heaven born truth the love
Poured out on her so freely.'

Not in vain did she strive, for, to continue the words of the poet:

'Light followed on as when a summer breeze
Parts the deep masses of the forest shade,
And lets the sunbeam through.'

Indeed I think I have never seen a truer picture of the power of gentleness than in my once uncontrolable and high spirited cousin; and you would hardly imagine that the peaceful, happy looking gentleman that always accompanied Grace to church, and was so careful to help her grandmother up the steps, and so willing to tarry and teach the little children, was the identical cousin Fred, whom I first introduced to the reader.

And much less would you have recognized his voice one Sabbath afternoon when the little band of communicants tarried around the altar to receive the blessed emblems. O how his deep, musical voice struck on my ear and thrilled through my frame, as he poured forth strains of pure and heartfelt love for his Savior. That evening I returned home with them, and it seem

éd as if a new era was commenced in his life. I shall never forget his deep joy and enthusiasm as we talked of the blessed things of the gospel. He told us that he was now ready aright to mingle with the world, and he felt that his duty and relations called him there; he feared it would be hard for his gentle wife to part again from her home, but she must be willing that he should scatter abroad some of those rich truths that she had prepared his mind to receive. And Grace did go again from us with feelings as trustful and unselfish as when she first became a joyous bride. Though her husband never strove again for fame or renown, he has received it through his christian love and benevolence; and many a widow and orphan blesses the hour that they first knew the philanthropic Osman.

What are the troubles gained

By power alone, with all its noise and strife,
To that meek wreath, unstained,
Won by the charities that gladden life?

Niagara's streams might fail,

And human happiness be undisturbed;

But Egypt would turn pale,

Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curbed!'

CHAPTER VII.

Goodness.

'MARY! meek listener at the Savior's feet!
No feverish cares to that divine retreat
Thy woman's heart of silent worship brought;
But a fresh childhood, heavenly truth to meet,
With love and wonder and submissive thought.
Oh! for the holy quiet of thy breast,

Midst the world's eager tones and footsteps flying! Thou, whose calm soul was like a well-spring lying So deep and still in its transparent rest,

That e'en when noontide burns upon the hills,

Some one bright solemn star all its lone mirror fills.' I HAVE, in the fartherest corner of my most secret draw, an old Album, filled with school girls' poetry, rude rhyme, and odd selections, at which I often take a stealthy peep; for it is not placed there for its worthlessness, or because I have learned to love the polished style or smoother flow of verse, and look with scorn on those simple productions. O no! If I know my own heart, those little tributes, with all their imperfections, open as sweet treasures of thought as

the tome of the wisest lore; and it is because I fear the rude and unfeeling attack of critics on what is to me so precious and sacred, that I have thus secured the little volume, and am so miserly of its contents. In truth, I love not the album scorner; for to me there is little regard for feeling manifested in lightly running over the contents of one of these mementos, and curling the scornful lip, or casting the light jest at their literary faults, wounding the heart of the owner, who, perhaps, has treasured them as sweet and holy relics of by-gone days. And when I see the book thrown down, while a cold refusal is given to the request, Will you write in it?' the brow, though intellectual, and the voice and speech, though soft and refined, lose to me the charm of good nature, and affectionate feelings, and I involuntary say Give me a little of the warmth of romance, before all this cold and dignified indifference.' Perhaps the little volumes have been made too often the repositories of flattery, affectation, and deceit; but what is there sacred to young friendship and affection that is not corrupted by connection with fashion, vanity, and carelessness? Shall we cast aside our treasures when the thoughtless and ignorant tarnish their purity and beauty? Nay; rather let us watch them the more, and bless Providence that there

are some real gems among the mock pearls. Though rudely set, yet feeling discerns their beauty and brilliancy, and prizes them beyond computation.

But to my Album-and its contents. It was but the other day that I took a sly peep between its bright yellow lids, and I was carried back to the scenes and associates of other days. I was again treading the path by the locust and wild rose hedge, to the little school-house by the burial ground. I could hear the monotonous sound of our voices during the long sunny noon, echoing among the granite tombs and marble slabs, as we read again and again the epitaphs from very sympathy; and a tear stole into my eye as I thought of the good and true who had gone out from our homes to their narrow resting place beneath those sods; but the butterfly bursting from its chrysalis, as carved on many a stone, causing the innocent eye to look up with pure faith and trúst, gave a holy light to this sad scene; and not with a heavy heart did I leave it to visit the old wide-spreading elm, and again sit on the smooth green grass, gemmed with the delicate 'innocence' and bright-eyed 'cinquefoil', and repeat again the thrice told tale, while the curious ear was opened and the keen appetite indulging itself on the wholesome food which our lit