tain head for truth." And he placed the little clasped book in my

hand.

"Pardon me," I said; "but if you think I never read the Bible, you are mistaken; it has always been my first book of reference."

"In time of sorrow?" he asked.

"Then you do not know what it is. You have not sought it as a friend, a comforter; you have rather regarded it as an enemy, to disprove whom you have exercised all your faculties. This is not what the Bible was meant for, and you are entirely ignorant of its value.” "You judge me harshly," I rejoined, rather moodily.

"But am I not just at the same time? Who would prize the friend who gilded his words to make them palatable, or rather seem palatable?” "Not I," I replied. "You misunderstand me; I am not so bad as you think me. I have the desire, but not the means.'

"If your desire be true and earnest, the means of becoming what you aspire to will likewise be granted, always providing that you work in the right spirit, not seeking to clear away mysteries where a veil has been drawn which is impenetrable to human eyes.'

I was silent, and after a pause he continued :

"Did you. not find the want of some higher consolation than the mind is able to give, when you lay there ?" He pointed to my bed; I did not answer, and he proceeded. "Did you not need an inward conviction of some higher power, something that is above all?-a power that is self-sufficient, creative, and in comparison of which human intellect is as nothing? Did you not long to believe in such a power as this? Did not your senses and instinct tell you it was there, whilst fear-yes, fear is the wordforbade you to listen to what your soul was yearning after, making you cling to paltry doubt, which has its origin in man's ignorance, as if the ignoring of that All-powerful Being could save you from His wrath? Was there peace in your mind then, young man?" asked he, solemnly, and leaning across the table to where I sat.

His words seemed to recal the misery I had suffered during those terrible days, and I started from my chair in great agitation, striding up and down the little room, whilst I muttered, half aloud,

upon

"Peace, peace! How long is it since I have felt what that word means! It is a little word—a little word of five letters-but in its meaning rests human happiness, and where-where is mine? Is the snow which rests the housetops at peace? No; for it melts in tears. Is the air at peace? No; for it is rent by storms and whirlwinds. Is this world on which we tread at peace? Ah, no; for earthquakes and convulsions shake it to its foundations. What is man, that he should speak of peace ? And what is peace? It is something beyond our nature, which we can comprehend though we do not and cannot feel it. It is something which belongs to an existence above earth, which we may look forward to and hope for, but which is attained only by conflicts and struggles, till the dark archway of the vault of death is passed, and we stand in a kingdom where spirits live. Peace, then, is Heaven!"-I stood still and repeated the words "is Heaven, from whence we derive all our chimeras of happiness. I feel that it does exist," I added, putting my hand to my head as if to clear the undefined mass of thoughts crowding in my brain, and to

give them form and substance. The old man, who had permitted me to pace the room in silence, repeated his former question now.

"Was there peace in your mind then, young man ?"

"There is no such thing," I exclaimed, rather wildly; "that word cannot be applied to earth and earthly things. We are all at war within ourselves. I am at war with my longings and strivings, my despair and my hopes; for hope is not peace, it implies a wish for something we have not got, and though it is a pleasurable sensation, it is not rest and perfect contentment, therefore it cannot be peace." I was speaking more to myself than addressing the old man, and he stood gazing at me as if scarcely comprehending my meaning. "You spoke of peace in connexion with a death-bed, for mine may well be called such," I said, turning towards him. "What did you imply by the word ?"

"Rest, resignation to the will of God, and calm contemplation of the future."

"I had no peace then as I lay there, waiting, as I thought, for the moment when the life-gas should leave me, and I should return to the nothing from which I came."

"And was it grief at parting with earthly friends that drove it from you at that time of trial ?”

I did not reply directly, but sank upon my chair, and passing my hand over my forehead said, slowly,

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'No, it was doubt striving with conviction; it was despair at leaving the world so soon; it was an indescribable longing to retain everything earthly, even earthly misery rather than die-die, and enter upon a new existence which forced itself upon me as a reality, and was yet so great a mystery that my reason refused to believe in it, and warred against an inward conviction which whispered that my spirit could not die, and must go hence to find a new world in which it might expand to a fuller perfection than it had reached here."

The old man laid his hand upon my shoulder, and his grey eyes looked into mine.

"Shall I tell you what a death-bed ought to be?" he asked, gently. "I have seen many die-the scoffer, the impious, the learned in worldly wisdom, the pure and innocent. It is of these last that I would now speak, for their death-beds are peace." He paused, but as I did not speak or raise my head, he continued, in his musical voice, which sounded very solemn "In a street not far from here a young girl died but a few weeks ago. She was one of those summer plants which cannot bear the cold touch of winter;-her death was from consumption. I used to watch her in the flower-market; she attracted attention by her beauty, and I trembled for her; but this I need not have done; God cares for his lambs, and she surely was one of his chosen flock. Her beauty was not of an earthly cast: it was delicate, unconscious, and retiring. Her flowers always seemed to me brighter than any of the others, and so thought most of the passers-by, for her basket was always emptied before the rest, and this would sometimes bring down upon her the jeers and jealous looks of her companions. When evening came she repaired to the cathedral, and there offered a mite of her day's hard earnings. I have often seen her pause to listen to your outpourings on the organ, and one day I asked her if she liked such music.

"It is very glorious,' she replied, blushing, and with tears in her soft eyes; but I pity the performer, the tones are so full of pain.'

"Marie lived with her old father; she nursed and tended him with care; but the frail flower was destined to sink to rest before the aged wanderer found his last home. I was sent for suddenly one night; she used to like me to read to her, and she made me promise to come, if she should grow much worse. I went, therefore, directly. The room in which they lived was dark and low, but very clean, and though poverty was visible wherever the eye rested, the air of quietude and contentment which pervaded everything, lent a far more cheerful aspect to the place than all the riches and luxury of a palace would have done.

"Marie had just received the last rites of the Church when I entered, and now lay exhausted from the unusual exertion. I approached the bed, and on seeing me a faint smile passed over her features; she could not rise, but bid me stoop down that she might whisper some few words. "I am so very happy now,' she murmured; God has pardoned me, and soon I shall sleep.'

set.

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"Yes,' I rejoined, and be refreshed for the morrow.'

"A heavy sigh escaped her lips, and she raised her eyes as if in search of heaven. 'For the long, long morrow which dawns for me but will never You have been so kind to me; watch over my father till the time comes that he too may sleep. I once prayed that he might die first, but God knows best.' She clasped her hands devoutly, and bowing her head, the spirit was wafted in prayer to its Father in heaven." He paused, but as I did not attempt to speak, he continued, in a low, earnest tone, "This death-bed was one of peace. God has given you time to make your end like this."

I shook my head doubtingly.

"Women have less temptation than men. They seem more constituted to receive religious impressions. Besides, you say that this poor girl had lived a blameless life; she could feel, therefore, no remorse, no wish to live her life over again, that she might improve it and blot out many dark stains that haunt the sick-bed. She had not fallen"Hist!" said my companion, interrupting me. his fellow mortal, for no one can read his thoughts."

"No one can judge

"That is well," I rejoined, bitterly; "for many an ugly secret is hid up closely in them."

"Hid only from the world," he said, quickly.

I did not speak for some minutes; I was weighing in my own mind the balance between the good and evil contained in secret thought.

"If my relationship to Ida had been known, what would have been the result? If we had been separated, and our engagement had never been allowed to take place, no deceit would have been practised on Rosenthal. Was Ida happy, or did an aching at her heart still torment her?"

I had never dared to ask how she was. The old man's eyes were fixed on me whilst I was thus musing, and suddenly recollecting myself, I raised my head, and our eyes encountered.

"Am I to know your history?" he asked.

"It is soon told, and would only appear as folly to you," I said, without directly answering his question.

"But I may one day know it?"
Oct.-VOL. CXIV. NO. CCCCLIV.

R

I did not reply. I thought I had no right to reveal Ida's name and conduct, but still I paused before I again refused to comply with his request.

"You hesitate; tell me it is not from want of confidence in me that do so, but from some higher reason, and I shall be content."

you

I told him all. I opened my whole heart, and tried to trace how the seed of unbelief, which had first, though unconsciously, been sown by Burckhardt, had sprung up and become a powerful tree, upon the branches of which many an evil passion had been grafted by time. I was relieved by thus disclosing all to him; I felt that my confidence was not ill placed; I could trust him implicitly. But I little knew at that time how soon his lips were to be for ever sealed in this world.

A week passed; we stood together on the cathedral spire; the wind was very bleak and cold, but he begged me, with unusual earnestness, to accompany him up there. Many times as we mounted those steep steps he paused, and I felt his arm tremble as he leaned on me.

Are you weak to-day?" I asked.

"Yes; weaker even than you, who have been ill so long." "How does this happen?" again I demanded.

"I cannot say, but I have long suffered from a complaint of the heart, and yesterday I was very ill. Life is closing over me at length; I have often wished for death, and now this heart tells me it is not far distant. Perhaps we may never again be permitted to stand here together."

I would not understand these forebodings; I would not believe in them, and told him so.

"Yonder is life," said the old man, pointing with his stick to the town at our feet, and to the far-stretching country beyond. "It is opening afresh for you, young man; tell me if the prospect is brighter than when we first met here and talked together?"

"It is still dreary," I said; "but spring will wash the snows of winter away."

"And the fresh budding world, its flowers, and the joyous birds, will cheer you; is it not so ?"

"Yes."

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They will lead you away from your books, and make you look at nature. Let them do this, for in loving them you will learn to love and reverence their Creator. Are you glad we met?" he asked, gently.

"Most assuredly; for to you I owe life, and that hope of the heart's spring which will melt away the frost of my life-landscape."

He took my hand, and, pressing it tightly, gazed into my face. There was something strange in his expression, and I thought he was about to speak, but he let my hand go again, and he turned away, saying that the wind was cold, and he must not stay.

"Will you play to me on the large organ?" he asked, as we stood once more within the cathedral. I could not refuse him, and prepared to do so.

I had not touched the notes since my illness, and I was pleased to hear them vibrate on the air again. I welcomed each one as an old friend, and forgot myself in the ecstasy of feeling that I was once more in the world of life-once more myself; not the sickly invalid, but strong and capable of living.

A hand was placed suddenly upon my shoulder; I started up, and some one said, "Your companion has been taken ill."

What a thrill of apprehension those words sent to my heart! I was ashamed of the thoughts in which I had been indulging, and rushed away to find the old man, whom I had left in the nave.

I

A crowd of people had gathered round a pillar near the entrance. rushed forward, pushed them aside, and there, in the centre of a group of anxious, half-frightened faces, lay my old friend. I stooped down and raised his head; a slight sigh escaped him as I did so, and his closed eyes opened partially; they rested on me, and there remained fixed; the power to close them was wanting-would ever be wanting. My benefactor, my kind friend, was dead!

There are spirits which, when once encountered on the pilgrimage of life, leave their undying mark upon their fellow souls. His mark is on me, and his spirit lingers near, for when I visit the poor and sorrowful (and my profession often leads me to them), I fancy I see his calm eyes fixed on me, and those placid lips move again as when he bade me long ago seek the flowers growing by the wayside of life: the sweet-scented flowers of " Mercy, Sympathy, Charity, Fellow-feeling, and Love."

A PEEP AT THE FAR WEST.

BY AN ENGLISHER.

THE supplies promised in the way of food were soon forthcoming at our resting-place, and consisted of all of which we stood in need that the city could supply: in fact for I speak of several others similarly situated -we were over-abundantly presented with edibles. The inhabitants of this remote place would take no return in money, having been informed by their elder, our friend S., that we were good fellows although Gentiles, and that their wives and daughters, or, in their phraseology, their "sisters," were held in due respect by us, as they had the experience of our travelling in company for so long to bear witness. The number of individuals that had arrived with our train and one which had just preceded, rendering accommodation scarce, and our waggons and tents being ample and convenient, we were contented to bide our time for placing a more solid roof over our heads. Presents were still poured in upon us, comprising much more than we could consume in the way of provisions, and remuneration was still refused. For my own part, as I presume I was considered one of the wicked, or was at least deemed so by the strait-laced of the brotherhood, I should honestly, if required under such circumstances, state my desire to know how they could treat one of their elect better. I am certain it was not possible. All were cheerful and obliging, though I fancied at the first glance, nor was I wrong, that even the Latter-Day Saints had their ascetics and pharisees, as the Israelites had of old.