us. : and to go safely we must avoid jostling others, perceived a new and still lovelier one upor affording them the opportunity of jostling springing on his path. Since little Maggie It is not necessary for us to publish to had been placed at Madame V's, Time had the world our private histories; and so I flown by, if not on angel wings," at least have simply informed Madame V., that the on very happy ones, and now the last day of young lady I was about placing under her her last term at that august seminary was tuition was my adopted sister, and it remains drawing to its close, and with it the matinée, with you now Maggie whether I shall be to which had assembled the parents, guardians, you brother or Hugh." and other near friends of the pupils. This A sweet and beautiful smile came in the festival had been long dreamed of, much deeyes of the little girl. sired. None but a young, inexperienced Hugh," she said, almost in whisper, "if girl, can comprehend the conflict of feeling you please I like Hugh best." such entertainments can excite. Hope, joy, Then Hugh it shall be, but now my Mag-fear, disappointment, envy, malice, all ungie can you tell me why?" charitableness, seem to arrive with other invited guests. "Because it brings you nearer." "Nearer?" he asked, smiling and looking very happy. "I should have supposed Brother did." Among the youthful and attractive faces crowding the apartments thrown open to the company, not one was found more lovely "O no, brother makes you seem so old, than that of the "little Maggie," with whom and Hugh lessens your age." we parted in a travelling carriage some six months ago. The clear, olive cheek was Not a day, Maggie," he cried now laughing outright. "But my original little so-flushed with a beautiful and delicate bloom. phist, how old do you suppose me to be?" The dark intelligent eyes, so liquid, so gentle "I only know you are just the age that conveyed to each observer, at once the knowlpleases me," she answered. edge of her frank, confiding nature. There "I am glad of that; imagine me of any was a fascination in the tranquillity of her age you fancy, you will ever find my heart movements; a repose in the expression of young enough to take part in, and sympa- her every action, which harmonized with thize with whatever concerns you." Then Maggie sang him a little song which he was fond of hearing and here closes our fifth chapter. CHAPTER SIXTH. As the upsoaring lark bathes its wings in the golden mist of the morning, even so did the heart of Mr. McIntosh rejoice itself in the pure and fervent light of little Maggie's love. He had not passed unscathed in life's warfare sorrows many, and some too deep for human eye to perceive, had marred his happiness. The scars were none the less indelible, because veiled by his powerful will. He knew in whose strength he had conquered, and like a veteran soldier kept his armor bright and forgot not the injunction to "Watch." the sweetness of her voice. And yet a shade of care seemed not very distant from her heart. What could detain Mr. McIntosh ? Arrivals every moment, why, why, did he not come? Her reverie was dissipated by the approach of one of her companions; following whom came a tall and singularly handsome young man. "Allow me, Miss Rutherford, to introduce my Cousin Mr. Vail." His eye met Maggie's, his face flushed violently, hers grew marble pale. Faltering forth some scarce articulate words about his pleasure and surprise at again meeting her, he solicited a few minutes conversation. Maggie inclined her head haughtily in token of assent; but by a gesture of her hand recalled his cousin to her side, as she was leaving them. "Mis Rutherford," said the young man Now he believed he should reap a rich re- hurridly, "I see that in me, you only reward for years of self secrifice. He who cognize the petty tyrant I was when we voluntarily cut down and rooted up his dear- first met-believe me since that hour I have est hope for the good of another, fancied he never forgotten or ceased to repent my fault. Can I make no attonement for a mere boyish frolic? Will you veil undying revenge under so much beauty, and extend a pardon to me never ?" "The wrong to me," in a low deep voice she answered, "I have long since forgiven; the cruelty of its principle I cannot ever forget, we must part as we have met, strangers." To Niagara they went then, to the Falls of Montmorenci, the Heights of Abraham, where fell the gallant Wolf, to Quebec, and Montreal. Maggie was delighted with all she saw, but the strength and skill of the fortifications, and the review of the Highland regiment, impressed her most. During their tour they became acquainted with many agreeable and interesting persons. Among She passed slowly into another apartment. them was Lord L., a Scottish nobleman of Now this little dialogue had been in the old family, and large fortune. Young, enhearing of two very dissimilar, and yet very thusiastic, handsome and accomplished, was deeply interested persons. Mr. McIntosh, it to be wondered at, when a sympathy grew and Mr. McDonough, a young officer in the between them? Maggie loved to talk of the Navy, whose brother having married one of old land of the Thistle, and all its soul-stirMadame V's lovely daughters, was on terms ring associations. She did not see what was of intimacy with the family, and had become visible to all other eyes, that she was herpassionately attached to Maggie. He was a self inspiring a deeper emotion. fine looking, gallant fellow, worthy of his name, and never had his courage failed him, until at this very moment, when he needed it most. What the offence, she punished so relentlessly, he could not divine; but while her spirit surprised it exalted her in his estimation the more." Such a woman might well be a brave man's wife. She shall be mine-but can I gain her? Nothing venture nothing win,' says the wise old proverb," and intrenching himself behind the assurance of the gallant Marquis of Montrose. "He either fears his fate too much, That fears to put it to the touch, To win or lose it all." Only once did Mr. McIntosh allude to Lord L. "Maggie," said he on the morning they were to turn their faces homeward, "You like Lord L?" "Assuredly-why did you ask me?" He made no reply; he did not seem to have heard her question. A newspaper was in his hand; he might be reading; but as she looked at him, on appearance of suffering in his countenance, and languid attitude, struck her painfully. She came to his side directly, and placing her hand before his eyes said playfully. "A penny for your thoughts." "They are not so pleasant that I should wish you to partake of them dear Maggie." A little later she was standing beside a She continued at his side, smoothing softly marble table examining minutely a vase of the dark thick hair, here and there betraying flowers when a little touch on her shoulder a silver thread. She felt he was agitated caused her to turn. though outwardly so calm. Suddenly she bent down, pressed her lips upon his forehead and left the room. Minutes passed, but Mr. McIntosh stirred not, had he moved an eye-lid self control had been over. As it was he mastered all visible emotion by the efforts of a great and "Hugh," she exclaimed, her face radiant with pleasure. Where, where have you been all this time?" "Not very far Maggie." Then looking approvingly at her ornaments and dress-" Exactly what I admire." She smiled brightly: "I am so glad I suit well-directed will. But when he strode your taste." through the apartment from which she had "When did you otherwise? And now departed the bitter question was in his mind. are the trunks packed all ready for Niagara ?"" Had it come indeed to this? Was he to "Quite and I have only six band boxes," pass the fiery ordeal of unrequitted love returned Maggie with a saucy smile. once more? And such love! Oh! who could give her such love as his—who understood, who appreciated, who could prize her as he?" 'A moderate number truly-do you believe your finery will be safe in such strong fortifications?" The first night in New-York, Mr. McIn- them," replied the servant who opened the tosh was not in at tea. Maggie descended door, smiling. this is Maggie," said Mr. McIntosh, your own home; all that is here is yours." He sank wearily as he spoke, in his usual chair, and shaded his face with his hand. "O! Hugh, whrt ails you? You are ill; surely you are ill!" cried Maggie, flying for water, but he recalled her "Do not go; I need nothing," he said. "I am not sick, Maggie-only weary, weary." From under the closed lid, a large hot tear aolled slowly. "Hugh, dear Hugh, what is-what can be the matter? You won't speak to me, except so coldly so terrifyingly." to the Ladies' Ordinary alone. As she took Maggie looked at Mr. McIntosh; he led her seat two little girls opposite in deep her into the well-remembered Library. No mourning awakened her interest. They ap-change was there each object-even the peared to be under the care of a gentleman pen with which she had written her French who although in citizens dress, she knew to exercise, lay in its accustomed place. be an officer. A frank kindliness spoke in his face, and to her it seemed familiar. As she had approached to the table, he hastened foward as if in delighted recognition; but as instantly drew back, and applied himself to the attention necessary for the comfort of his little companions. Soon after Mr. McIntosh returned, however, when they were seated in their private parlor, a waiter brought up a card, and Lieutenant Landers of the Topographical Engineers, immediately followed. Yes it was he-her old champion of the haws. But the interview was not altogether free from embarrassment and pain. They only slightly alluded to their former acquaintance, and then conversed on general topics. The little girls Mr. Landers had in charge, were the motherless daughters of a friend, and he was taking them to their Her white lips barely uttered the words, grand-parents in Philadelphia. They would ere with gasping sob, she fell lifeless at his all proceed so far in company, and Maggie deposited in her trunk a package for Mrs. Nix sent by her grandson; and when she laid her head on her pillow that night, she was writing the many beautiful and noble deeds of her adopted brother upon her heart. One request only in regard to their future life had Maggie made of him;-That they They brought her from that dead swoon at should go once more to the Briars. She last, and laid her gently down on the couch wished to gather haws with him, and sit before the low window, from which the blue again on the checkerberry rock by the creek-hills, like seven round towers, were visible. side. And Mr. McIntosh sat beside her, and spoke Maggie, this is your home; all you see is yours.' "Are you going to leave me, Hugh-are you going from me?" side. Wildly, madly did Mr. McIntosh call her; and in his bitter agony the well-kept secret found utterance. Oh, how had he schooled his heart, and struggled and prayed, that he might conquer every selfish pang, lest it should mar her happiness. Nothing interrupted their journey, and tenderly and low; but a change had come they reached the Briars in the afternoon of over her spirit; it was his little Maggie no a bright October day. It had been a grand longer: sorrowful, and grave, and wrapped old house, but needing much repair when in deep musing, she seemed scarcely to noMaggie left it now it was renewed in youth tice him at all. and beauty all that nature, art, refined taste, and ample means could accomplish, had been done. The Misses Petre, accompanied by Katty, with clamorous joy soon arrived; then came the solving of the enigma. Mr. McIntosh Astonishment at first deprived Maggie of had purchased the Briars six years before. speech. They entered the hall. but allowed them to reside their rent free. till within a few days, had taken possession of their new dwellings in the village. Where are my cousins and Katty?" she cried, expecting each moment to see them. "The Misses Petre live in the handsome new house in the village, and Katty is with neither Maggie nor Mr. McIntosh referred The weeks wore by-but not happily: He covered his face with his hands. to the past. They tacitly avoided it. One love away years ago: I was engaged, and to morning he left the Briars after an early you forever." breakfast, and went to visit and assirt a poor family five miles distant, whose dwelling had been destroyed by fire. During the forenoon, a gentleman attended by his servant, dismounted at the stone gate. Maggie knew "Love you?" he exclaimed, not of his arrival in the village the previous bly, to madness; but I have prayed, Maggie, night; nor that that quiet little nook rang ah! how earnestly, that no selfishness of mine should shadow your young life." Have you then ceased to care for me, Hugh: is the old love quite gone?" cried Maggie, mournfully. with the name of a Scottish lord! inexpressi "Ask me then the question you promised long ago." She received her visitor with a grave courtesy arguing ill for his success. She would fain have spared herself and him the pain she must follow. Long did he sue, and earnestly, as a man pleads when the happiness of his life is at stake. But all in vain. Maggie's answer was one which admitted of no reply. Half an hour after her visitor's "No," said Mr. McIntosh, "every other departure, Mr. McIntosh returned: he went possession of mine shall be yours save this, directly to the Library. Maggie followed. the seal of the compact between us, Maggie. He was walking hurriedly to and fro through giving me now, as it gave me once before, through the long room, with his hand in his the sunbeam and the evening star of my life.' bosom. He took thence a small fragment of Then drawing her head tenderly to his bopaper, read it attentively, murmuring some som-" And have you cast aside the fair word she did not distinctly hear. She went young sapling for the old, gnarled, stormup to him. battered tree?" "Joyfully: What was it you refused to tell me, Maggie, that evening by the creek?" "I have answered already: but give to me that little slip of paper crushed so harshly in your hand.” "I have something to say to you, Hugh.” Crushing the slip of paper hastily in his hand, he said: "Well, Maggie, I am ready." Lord L. has been here." I know it." Hugh, you told me always to speak the "Explain yourself more clearly, Maggie." "And" 66 That I stand beside you, here," said Maggie, "answers that question best." Six weeks after, Mr. McIntosh and Maggie without bridemaids or attendants of any kind save a few invited guests, walked quietly up the aisle of the little gray stone church in the village, and were married by its venerable Rector. There was one sad heart in the congregation-that of old Memory Nix, who knew sent grandson, when the intelligence reached the bitter pang that must come to her abhim. Nevertheless bright and happy days crowned his gray head with honor, and to this hour has descended as an heirloom in the Landers family, a certain polished oaken staff, with a curious curve at the end of it. "And he asked you to become Lady L. as devoutly preserved and highly prized as Is that what you wish me to know?'' "Precisely and my answer.' What was it ?" He grasped her hand hard. I declined the honor." "Why?" starting up-" have you broken your own heart to save mine?" "Sit down, dear Hugh," said Maggie. "I only told him the truth-that I had given my was ever the elfin goblet, the world celebra- THE PREACHER AND THE KING.* The struggle in the breast of Bourdalone, the means employed to induce him to assume the character of a reprover of royalty, and the result, afford the material for the re. mainder of the volume. In ap This book has its scene in the Court of Louis XIV. We would hardly expect that Voltaire, St. Simon, Dangeaux, St. Beuve, Madame de Sévigné, &c., &c., not omitting The book has in its outline all the simpli Miss Pardoe, would have left something fresh city of a Greek play. Indeed, one might and valuable for an after-comer. But here almost suppose that the author had kept his is a fresh book, and one to delight, move, eye upon the three unities. The nodus is and instruct every reader of right principles the question which of two perorations shall and just sensibilities, who is not afraid of an be adopted for a sermon-the time occupied an author who in some portions of his vol- is twenty-four hours or thereabouts-and the ume demands a little thought, in order that scene is never changed from Versailles. he may be properly appreciated. Even to the vivacity of some of its dialogue, it is drathe reader who cares not for instruction, and matic, and in several scenes, for example, who would protest the smallest draft upon that of the visit of Pere la Chaise to Bourhis intellectual faculties, the book will be ac- dalone, that of Bossuet to the Queen, where ceptable for the well-sustained interest of its he meets the King on the stairway, the development. pearing of Claude among the Philosophers, The subject is nothing more than this. and again in the denouement in the chapel, Madame de Montespan, the well-known we are presented with what reminds us of favourite of the King, in preparation, as usual, stage contrivance. Yet the book is not in for communion, applies to her confessor for any possible sense a drama. So far from it, absolution. Without absolution, the best that the Rev. Dr. Potts, in a preface to the Catholic dare not receive the holy sacrament, translation, eays: "It is substantially a work though very indifferent ones, as for instance on eloquence, especially sacred eloquence, the king and his mistress, it was then held, and none the less worthy of respectful attenmight approach without fear, if possessed of tion, because its criticisms are embodied in a this prophylactic. But the priest is scrupu- spirited narrative embracing occurrences and lous, and under the circumstances, refuses persons which beloog to the actual history absolution. of that extraordinary era." This portion of Madame is filled mith indignation, as is the work is very valuable as a criticism of also the king when he is informed of the au- the highest order. Pulpit eloquence is, in dacity of the priest. many important particulars, the same thing He calls to a conference, Bossuet, the great as any other eloquence, and in many other Bossuet, who manifests true courage, justi- important particulars, it is essentially differfies the priest, and forces the King to look ent from all other eloquence. It is of great steadily at his sin of adultery. The King is moment, that at the same time this agreemoved, almost yields, and sends Bossuet to ment and this difference, should be recognisee Madame de Montespan, with whom he zed by preachers, hearers and critics. is equally faithful, but where he meets with man is to be affected by speech, he must be less success. This is the evening before addressed as a being of intellect, emotion Good Friday, and Bossuet remembers that and taste, whether the subject is sacred or Bourdalone is to preach the next day before profane; but in addition, the true sermon the King and Court in the chapel of Ver- must also regard him as also a spiritual being sailles. He hastens then to the house of sustaining relations mysterious but real, and Bourdalone, in order to urge him to speak of paramount importance, to eternity. And with faithfulness to the King. There he this not in a general manner merely, but in meets Claude, one of the most distinguished the distinct aspect presented by the Gospel, Protestants of the period, who comes there, in the doctrine of a fallen nature, redempit seems, with the same view as himself. tion by a Saviour, and sanctification by the *Bourdalone in the Court of Louis XIV. Translated Holy Spirit. He who is not fully impressed rom the French of L. Baugener. Paris. 12th edition. with this view, may, in the pulpit, entertain If |