The dispensations of Heaven are right, and all calculated for the production of good; but their effects are modified by the character of those affected by them. "The Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over the works of his hands;" but to one that goodness and those mercies are a "savor of life unto life, and to another of death unto death." And these diverse effects are not the result of any dissimilarity in the mercies themselves, but are caused by the difference of manner and feeling with which they are regarded by the one recipient or the other. As Edward became deeply engrossed in business, and his circumstances easier, gradually that veneration for religion which had distinguished him was lowered in tone, and he grew negligent of that kind Friend who was filling his cup with blessings. The natural result followed. He not only became negligent of the observances of religion, but even skeptical as to its sacred truths. As the barriers to the encroachments of error were broken down, sentiments were entertained and defended which once would have been regarded as too atrocious to be for a moment tolerated.

This was the result of the perversion of the blessing of prosperity in one case. But the reverse of this effect is often seen. As the earth is made to bud and blossom by the showers and sunshine of a pleasant spring, so are the legitimate fruits of piety and love made to grace and beautify the character of one who drinks in the influences from above. While the blessings of heaven, physical and spiritual, descended upon Catharine, her heart responded in gratitude and love; and she developed, even more than in her girlhood, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit. It was this development which held her husband from straying away to a returnless distance from the truth, there to wander in the "mists of darkness" forever. In husband and wife, though each tenderly loved the other, were seen, in active antagonism, those principles which have been enemies from the first, and will continue at enmity forever; for their enmity is founded in the nature of things, and can never be

changed. Although in the contest the weaker party was the champion of truth, and the stronger one of error, yet the weak things were made to confound the strong; for that "truth is mighty and will prevail," is an apothegm which is as true now as it was the day when it was first uttered, and was true long prior to that period, and will be true as long as God, who gives to truth its efficacy, shall continue to exist. The chief argument which the wife made use of was that one which never has and never will be answered-the argument of a life conformed to the dictates of the word of God. Its influence in determining the course and character of the husband was seen after many days. For the present her heart was oppressed with grief, for she anticipated that his course would be a downward one. But while the mother equally deprecated his indulgence in skepticism, her faith in his ultimate recovery was unshaken. "If the vision tarry, wait for it," was the thought which gave her comfort; for that the blessing would come in the end she had not one particle of doubt.

From the time of his extreme illness, Edward had felt a slight pain in the upper portion of the thigh. It was so inconsiderable at first as to cause no uneasiness, and scarcely excited any attention. It was looked upon as an affection of a rheumatic character, which soon would subside, and leave him as sound as he was before. But the pain increased, and he was compelled to resort to the assistance of a staff in going from his residence to his place of business, which constituted almost the extent of his travels. Still he attended at his store with the same assiduity and ability as ever, overseeing and directing everything that was done in his extensive operations; and he added one more to the already multiplied illustrations of the soundness of Solomon's proverbial saying, "Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings: he shall not stand before mean men." He was a "rising man," and this and the fact of his known capacity for almost any department of public business, caused him

It was just when the present was so prosperous and the future so promising, that his hip became more painfully affected than before; so much so that he was laid prostrate and helpless upon his bed. Then, for the first time, my assistance was sought. As clearly as though it were but yesterday, the incidents of that time are present to my memory. It was the Sabbath day, a communion Sabbath; and I was deprived for some time of a participation in the solemnities of the occasion, in ministering to the necessities of the suffering man.

This deprivation will be thought to have been but a very small matter by those who are familiar alone with the custom of conducting the communion service in the present day-a single preparatory meeting on the Saturday afternoon preceding the day appointed for the administration of the ordinance, and that but sparsely attended, an ordinary sermon on the Sabbath morning, and then, at its close, the distribution of the elements. This is all. It occurs four times in the year, and is viewed as a kind of ceremonial very proper to be attended to, but fails often to impress the mind as an observance of more than ordinary importance and solemnity. Not so with the "sacramental occasions" of our younger days. Then the communion Sabbath was, in the best sense of that term, "an high day;" one thought worthy of days of previous solemn preparation, and followed by one or more of improvement and thanksgiving. It was the subject of thought and prayer for weeks before its arrival, and it was remembered and referred to for weeks after it had passed away. During its continuance worldly matters were of subordinate consideration, and the concerns of eternity occupied somewhat their proper position. When the meetings closed, those whose hearts had been in their observance would linger about their "mount of ordinances," loth to mingle again in the bustle and business of common life. Hence the loss of a single opportunity, during those periods,

As soon, therefore, as Edward's pain began to mitigate, and I supposed that he would rest, I left him, and hurried to the sanctuary; and it was not long before I forgot both him and his sufferings in the enjoyments there. But when the service was over, and I returned to his house, I regretted that I had left his bedside at all. Agony, extreme agony, are the only words that I can think of to convey an idea of what were his feelings. He was a man of the nerve and power of endurance of an Indian warrior, and his endeavors to suppress the expression of his sufferings but revealed their extent. Groan he did, but not until his agony was so great as to cause the sweat to stand in large drops upon his forehead, when the day was so cold as to require a fire for comfort. And this was but the commencement of a season of suffering unparalleled for severity and duration in my professional observation.

Why God should lay his hand thus heavily upon one so kind in his disposition and so upright in his deportment, was a mystery inexplicable to those who reason of the doings of Providence as they do of the proceedings of men. But to those who reflect that His pathway is in the waters and His footsteps in the mighty deep, and who know that his children are often chosen in the furnace of affliction, it is always a source of hope when a child of the covenant is stopped in his career of prosperity and carelessness and neglect of God, and compelled to lie aside from the hurrying pursuits of worldly gain, and to take time for calm consideration.

Edward never believed that his disease would prove fatal. He always entertained hopes of ultimate recovery, and so I myself thought, and so also did my able professional counsel, until we found that all remedial appliances were powerless to stop the progress of the disease, or to mitigate his sufferings for one moment after the narcotic effects were exhausted. However, we

terie by the attractions of her mental and moral excellencies. Few men can tolerate the thought of the intellectual superiority of their wives or their betrothed; and no woman can truly love a man to whom she is consciously superior; for in the affection of a man is mingled the idea of the care and protection of its object, and a large part of the love of a woman is made up of a sentiment of reverence. This is human nature, and its correctness is recognized even in the Scriptures of truth, and some of their admonitions are founded upon that recognition. In consequence of these truths, seen and felt by them both, in the case of our young affianced friends, it naturally followed that they gradually fell apart from each other. No actual rupture ever occurred. More and more a feeling of indifference grew up between them, until, finally, by an unspoken, but yet really a mutual consent, they ceased to regard themselves as lovers, or to be bound by the pledges which once had been exchanged. And all this without losing their feelings of friendly regard.

Charley afterwards found one who filled that place in his affections which Madge was supposed to occupy, and who, though her mental inferior, pleased his fancy better, and was better fitted to be his life companion than was she, with her views, and aspirations, and exalted purposes, with all of which he was totally incompetent to sympathize. He married, and is now a prosperous, business man; a clever fellow, and well liked by all who know him, and still one of the finest specimens of manly beauty to be found in the whole country round. His marriage proved a happy one. And no one of his numerous friends rejoices more heartily in his prosperity, his popularity, or his domestic happiness, than does his whilom flame, Madge Cummings.

Free now, without breach of duty or of faith, to let her feelings run out and fix themselves upon what object they might, the thoughts of Madge dwelt more frequently and fondly than she would before permit them to do upon him whose pathway was yet a lonely one, and which she believed was made solitary

because of the relations she herself had borne to another man. She knew of his pursuits, and read the productions of his pen with feelings which she entertained for no other writer of the day. With a woman's intuition she saw, by the tone and character of his writings, that while the supposed hopelessness of his love for her had stricken his heart, it had purified it, too, and given an elevation to his desires and purposes, exalted as they long had been, higher than they had ever been before.

Mr. Buckingham, in common with other readers of the magazine, in which the articles of Madge were published, wondered who was the writer whose happy style and pure sentiments were so much admired, and who so studiously concealed her true name from those who would have delighted to do her honor. Some of the ideas contained in her communications were so near akin to those he had heard expressed by Madge after the public stand she had taken for the truth, and which he had never heard or read from any other one, that he was vividly reminded of her; but much as he knew of the quickness and culture of her mind and the brilliancy of her imagination, the sentiments of the writer were expressed in language too faultlessly correct and classically beautiful, for him to ascribe their authorship to her. Had he been aware of the truth, he would have regarded her as the nearest to perfection of any woman he had ever known; and would have felt more strongly than he already did the desirableness of that treasure which he coveted so much, but which he never could possess.

As said already, we knew of his residence and his course of life, for his writings were read and appreciated by us, and his movements were heralded in the "personal" column of the public papers, like those of any other celebrity of the day. But he himself avoided any knowledge of his old acquaintances in our village; for while each, even the slightest, remembrance of that one of our number so dear to his heart, was cherished with the care and fondness with which the miser guards his most precious treasure,

The editor of the magazine for which Madge was a contributor, pleased with her productions, and knowing of her popularity with his readers, proposed to her the preparation of a work more elaborate than any which she had yet written, the publication of which, in a separate form, he would hazard himself, insuring her against loss, and agreeing to divide with her the profits of its sale. Gratified and thankful for the kindness and liberality of the offer, she at once undertook the proposed task. The examination of her manuscript, when her work was done, confirmed the editor in his purpose of introducing the young authoress as a candidate for the favor of the public. He invited her to visit the city of his residence, and to make his house her home while she continued there, that she might conveniently superintend the printing of her book. As she could pass in a few hours from our village to the city, and would be kept at no time very long absent from her failing mother and invalid brother, she accepted the invitation.

Transformed now into a proof-reader and publisher, and engaged early and late in corrections and emendations, her days passed rapidly away; and, with only a single purpose before her mind, she was but slightly cognizant of what was going on around her in the great and busy city where was temporarily her home. One day, when seated in the editorial department of the printing-house, engaged, as usual, in the examination of proofs of some of the sheets of her forthcoming

Surprise, embarrassment and delight were painted in the face of Mr. Buckingham, when thus unexpectedly ushered into the presence of Madge; and, possibly, all these feelings might have been shown forth by her features also. But, if so, she sooner suppressed their expression, for in a moment she regained her composure. His agitation continued for some time after all evidence of unusual feeling upon her part had passed away. He timidly addressed her, while her remarks to him flowed on smoothly and fluently. But this is often the case; for a man in love is a greater coward than a woman affected in the same way. He has but a tithe of her self-possession, and more easily reveals the condition of his heart. Indeed, he has little reason, compared with her, to guard his secret; for its revelation has not much effect upon his intercourse with others, while with her the result is almost as potent to ostracise her from the society of the young as is even matrimony itself.

After the restoration of calmness, and when their intercourse had assumed somewhat of its old time unembarrassed friendliness, Madge perceived that Mr. Buckingham, while too polite to question her respecting her business in the city, was intensely desirous of knowing the reason of her presence in a publication house, and why she was there engaged as she was when he found her. ment's reflection told her that a full statement of the truth would be proper, and that her secret, which had been thus far so well guarded, would be entirely safe with him.

A mo

The dining hour had now arrived, and they parted, after he had asked and obtained permission to call upon her in the