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t llkckli) Constitutionalist JAMES GARDNER. OF MI CHILDHOOD. • Mabel,' said my auct, facing me sternly, ; .peaking with'solemn emphasis; ‘you are fJVred forever in my eyes! "When Mr. Ellli| | ” aomes, be shall assuredly know o; this. ' £"• s he added, with a gesture as if the sight ice were intolerable: ‘I shall never have aonhleaee in you sg»in.’ j, su eut of the ro jm into the garden through i the side uaor. wtiicb always »" >1 open in hot ] wcatltr; but my ceuums wep- a‘ play on the ’swi- s' I Sew 0:1 is the h.Usrnesj J wdtrc’jed spirit until I found the shade and ink; 1 wanted uadcr a latjjc hoary apple , re . v.hjeh slvoi la the neiftfinpriug rdim-d. ’ tTori r its -sprefm.ng crsmct.ee I tarew myself j ** a vivid impression of the aspect and ! it/. • .is; an •: r after: 1 . T.tu. The heat was j . . . greand o’i which I iayseem- ! L- ’ v ',•> .'• re arms c.osatu beneath my I h ‘ ‘Sir. v.a* not -f., ; j. .... .< ruuiam ■■ j ■ <■ te.t; there was not' a l»re<fii f wind tuix&.i. r. •„, enough even tv r fa '.he Ifoek wavti- ■#* orchard tr -es. T> g*-" Wibaifoy, - - •« sot; j life 1 1 ha . ’. dd suafftf If from j the e’nfct ■ the snn, if 1 could hate cheated m own consciousness, . wonlu have gladly dene so. I will no; believe the world li£|d at lu.t- moment a more winched being 'W|r: 1 >wo S _that any grown-up man or worna* with developed iacukics, ever suffered more keenly from the pangs of seli-conteropt. * 1 For, let me at once tell the reader. I was no Rctiin cf injustice or misconstruction; the ords with which I bad boen driven frlin the house were justified by what I had done. I was fourteen years of age, I had been care fully and kindly educate!, none knew better than T the differences be'ween rigut aud wrong: yet in spite of age, teaching, and the intellects enlightenment, I had just been guilty Ilsa gross moral trsusgrpssion: I had been eotvicted of a falsehood, and more than that, it was no impulsive lie escaping me in some exigency, but a deliberate one, aud calculated lo do another hurt. The whole house knew >1 it—servants, cousins and all; the coming guest was to know of it 100. .My stiame was I eompicte. 'What shall Ido* what will he- j pome of me ?' I cried aloud. ’ I shall never be i iappy again 1* 1 It seemed so to mo. I had lost my position ! In the house where I had been so favored baj py I had compromised toy character front ( its; day lieueefortvard. 1, v.lio h: d meant to ; It. st. .h good in the world i.au lost my chance : i kr teat sin clingtug to n»y conscience, the re- i MWbrance of which,l should read in every I (ody s :-eo ai.d altered m. t .w, would i. .-o 1 (fart Impossible. My sum. had lust all toui- j knee 1 j me—li.at was. enfole; but whet was rer-c-, I had lost all c-.-onuecce m mysdf. i i saw 11)5seif menu, u-gextoua, a liar! ' | iaa to iloio swi.-ioepect. AVnrn-my cons-! bs it. uq-ered together ulicnf me, <•- the scr- I hats : oflkUu and «toilet; stgi.ffcaut’y, T should 1 «ve nothing > ,yl c , jVuj'..^■■Aii : In tempt. but must -,aiU fti i.iy at.s. TT light get angry, but who would mini my an- i a.- A thousand thoughts exasperated my i jguish. .! was very fond of rending, and bad ait- 1 lg for bero’C biographies Xc'ule actions, tine ftnci;’es always awoke a passionate euthusi sin ii my mind, caused strong throbs cf mn- Ltion. and very often :ay aunt aaii len: a kind »- r the outpouring of such enactions, rhs sse would be altered uow. I might read, in (Eed. hut such feelings I must henceforth keep . I myself j who wou.d have patience to hear I te thus expatiate ? 1 was cut off lrom tcliow- | pip with the good. , 1 rr ist g’vo up, too, my little class at the vil- 1 Ige goal y school, w f.iou I had been so proud i b undertake. How could I, despised at home, ! (< among ihe children as before t 1 could ne- j ter ta'k to them as I -sed to venture to do. | fley w ic’d know it, us all the world would j Be. w they would mock me in their hearts— 1 fccu leebtig ahe was better than 1.1 rose np i rom the ,rjss; for my state of mind would! tear the prone attitude uo longer, and leaning 1 igainst tl c u-ee, looked around tuo. On ! 1 b« berry games I had had in this orchard. The kcoliectii i brought a Hood o' bitter teurs to By eyes —l had not cried before —t or 1 v.as turn that time was past ; 1 should never l.nv* pother. •Sever, never!’ I cried, wringing my hands ; I shall never have tbe heart to play again, j tveu if they would play with me. lam ano- j her girl now.’ In truth, my brief!xpwfeneo seemed to have lldened me, to have matured my faculties. I law royselt in a kind of vague confused vision, is 1 might liavo been, as I could never new >ecoiue. So; life was an altered thing 'ram what't had appeared yesterday; I had mnrr -9d ita capabilities on the thr««::ojd. 1 could ;et a glimpse of the house through the trees; oouid see the parlor windows where, within he shady room, tea was even row being pre wired for the expected visitor. Ah! that visi tor, wit: whom I used to be & favorite, who had always been so kind—lie was now on his w.y with tiio same heart toward me, little knowing what had happened, little knowing 1 w.,s lost and ruined 1 Poe; this description of my stele of mind, of my sense of gudl, seem overstrained? It is jus’ possible 1 give a little more coherence to try j rejections than they had at that time, but I j ran color too hi. uly the anyursh of hurni ia- l lion they had produced: it was all but in-j olerauie. ! ‘I ; oppose,’ said I moodily to myself, for a! reaction woaoommeEcing: *1 suppose I shan’t slw’iys fee! !ko this, or I should go mad. 11 a. ait get used to it nresentiy—used to being ! Biisorable!’ ’ * ,* » -Tiist then I heard my nafne shouted by one j O; r.:T cousins, nut I had not the heart to shoot j 5C fiflswer: Xo doubt lea was r ady, but 1 j Wanted ho tea. Mr Kltison might be come, j fc-ii I -leaded to s e b;tn. My cc-sin calleAi SL.i ran on o .yard the spot where I stood till j Ac caught sig tof me. Ke m hot with the 1 search, »ad argr: that 1 had not answered: i nier?oV;r, wlut boy about' ids aga. in the lusti hood of a dozen snn’nif.rs. Vunwota n .:gh: of jte.idcK'Beas nr considaration ? • Thei? you are, jhisu.’ he said, savagely, ‘and a pretty hunt -v; :.au; You're to come in to tea and au c-r*r time don't give better peepie the tr inble oi -etehieg vou: they don't like it, I can tell jou.' ' Ho was just off again, eager for bis Daea!, hut' AUGUSTA, GA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, JULY *9, 1563 I stouMd him. ylkio, is Mr, Ellison come ?’ ' T « r Mr m ‘ Heprs ago ; aldlie and mother have been shut up ever so long talking about you, I (know; and don’t jJsob’ me, please, Miss Ma llei ; I doa'tlike it i P My spirit sweiied. IVas this to be ihe way? One U'uch of rauci: boyish kindness, end I oonjs almost bav*fcssed his feet; and now I ’ j waiffd back to the bouse with a bitter ’I wotet tars' stußg at my heait. , as here, though scare-, y i to tbspjr.oral of my story, that I w/« . a%a.iopted the largo family of icv tar. She wat a widow, and had’ bee:, sii • dpr since I hatNiyed with her: and I, as will 1 : i» snpposed, an orphan. Sue bad in i..r , j own right a go&d income, tnougb she cu’y L‘.t ! in trust for he*e,dasi son the suost-,.; a! mra- : lor farm on which we resided. I was uot you; j indeed, I was ;n some sort an heires ; : cud , ; Mv EUiston, my aunt’s :. n .i—d friend aud h-r ’l) isbstid’s-exeeut’-r. w'-s ! ,: • v ..-.rd.’i. . . - -re with m*#. I bad t-.--.-n rrov.ght i.. . rar and revtrecct him: be ...- uiujl’t ni to' | .we him. My degradation iu .is eyes was tuc ; . Pit:erc«t droafn my self-mixed cvp. [ As I enta® the hah, my sun: came cut u 1 meet me, me with her into another room. ‘ Mabel,' sue said, 1 you are to take your ! place at >he«m,k- with us as usual for the rr. ent. 1 haWßspoken to your guardian a'.out , you, but flsqprcely know what we may finally J decide U|®in the matter. You are too old to j be wi.ipffato: sent to bed; but though you ' are to be suffered to come among us, 1 need . not say we shall never feel for you as we once did, or if we seetn to do so. it will be because we forgot. Your sin justifies a constant mis trust ; for my part, I can never think of you as before, urjder any circumstances. I am 'afraid. I don't think I ought, even it were possible, i But now, come in to tea.' * I want no tea,' said I bitterly. ‘ I can't 1 sec Mr. Ellison. £>h 1 need he havo known it »’ ‘Mabel,’ was the answer, ‘it would have been better had you ’eared the lie as you fear its discovery.’ I sat down ou a chair, and leaned my head on a table near. I had not a word to say for myself, or against the treatment adopted. My i | aunt was a woman of severe rectitude, and had ' | brought us al! up with deep solicitude, and, I j j believe, prayerful care. She thougtit lying at. I almost unpardonable sin, for she looked upon I i it as a proof of nearly hopeless moral depravi- j iliv ; and my falsehood had been an aggravated ; | one. Many, with a less strict sense ol my de- ' j1 in queney, might have beer, more sevire, I* i could not blame her. ‘At ' Ast,' 1 sa.'d. 'von ! 1 wou't make me c m - .c ?' i ’Xo,’ sue returned, and went back to the I I went .p s’alr» to my bedroom, where I ’ «no>:t the 1 ran of the evening. Xo inquiries , Iv. re made after me. Wl.tn i; grew d..:k, 1 J undressed and threw myself into bed. I offer- I od no prayer f. - God'B farglvcittss; mine wa | not e-> mti.’h penitence as remorse. Had I. 1 .ea » mein v-jjo bad blasted Pis r.rospt .ts in •f-rnrej -sHTrcerr nave fHT morn frortally ’os'. ’ | more hopoless about the future. My aunt had | repo stinted my sin in appalling celors, and my i whole previous education »uu turn oj m.uu i made me feel its turpitude strongly; the pos- , | sibility of repairing it had not been urged up on me, bat rather denied. I thought it wouid ; color and prejudice rr.v whole after-life, that I had lost caste forever. I scarcely slept at a!', and got up mentally sick, physically worn out. I dared not stay 1 ( away irom the breakfast-table, so I made haste | j to be first down stairs The windows ot our pita- ’ j ssat morning-room were open ; there had been j ' raio during the night, and it was one of tho'e j fresh laughing mornings which I felt I should ; havo so enjoyed once. Oucei yes, it w;.s a i long time ago. Tt.e whole aspect of the apart- : | meet Within, of refreshed nature Without, had i (an eminently pleasant, effect; or rather, I 1 j thought it would have to other eyes. I took ' ! a seat in the shade; I had a dim idea (I knew ' , not whether it were hope or dread) that Mr. j \ EUiaon might come belore the others ; but be , did not. He aod my aunt came in togetner, j and they were eiosely followed uy the chil- j dren. He was a man of about fifty years of age, j with a figure and oountenauie wtrich, in youth ! might havo been handsome, but which had suffered too severely from wt.ut I support were the effects of time to be so uow. Ho uad, j too, an air ot gravity and reticence, which ra- j i tlier oppressed a stranger unacquainted with tbe miuute sympathies, the comprehensive be- j ! uevolence it vaileu. He came up to me where I sat dejected and j bumbled, and held out his hand. To my sur- ; prise, and, I may say, to my exquisite pain, j he spoke to me much as usual—X couid almost | Lave thought mure tenderly than usual. I dared not look up as I murmured my inaudi- I ble answer. My aunt gave me a chilling j ’good-morning;’ my cousins looked at mo shyly, but did no*, speak. No one spoke to me dur ing breakfast exsept my guardian, and he only iu connection with the courtesies of the table : and not beiug able to bear this, I crept out of the loom as soon as i dared It was the same at every other meal; and all the intervals be- ( tween 1 spent alone, unsought, unquestioned, ! suffering a fiery trial. I don’t dwell on the i details of my experience that day ; I have so:- i i ferecl much since, but tkod knows, never more. ' ! However, as may be supposed, I slept a lit- ' i tie that night, for nature woo d bear up ~ i | longer. i The next day same: breakfast had passed before, and, as 1 lor*, I war, fag out! ! oi the room, when my guardian called mo back.! j ‘lf you want to ta:k to liable, said my aunt, ; ‘I will leave you alone together.’ ; Hat Mr. Ellison oc-ggod earnestly that she \ ; would remain, and, to my bitter regret, she 1 : consented I felt now there would be no hope | | for me. He then placed a chair for me, and j Doming up to where I stood sinking with ! I shame near t'.eJuor, led me gently to ‘Y ■ : : | are too fur bearing, my dear sir,’ urged mv , j aunt: ‘ ai.e is not any longer entitled to such i 1 kindness.’ ! ’is she not?' he returned with a 1:1 tier sigh : i i and then addressing me: ‘Mabel, are you truly 1 i sorry for this sin or yours!’ i The accent of generous sympathy with which , j the words were spoken wrought upon me. i ; * Sorry 1’ I cried in an agony, 1 I’m miserable ! j Every one will despise me all my life long— and oh, I meant to be so good 1’ j My guardian took a seat beside me. ‘ And 'now,’ he asked, ‘you will giv# mp trying?’ ' I looked :p eagerly. ‘ Where would be tbe i use ? I said. . ‘A liar'—the word seemed to I , burn my i..*r, but I would say it, tor I half | ; feared he i.d not know the worst —• loses her character rr. e and forever. Xo one will trust me again, r j one can respect me. Oh, it's , dreadful! Isc .udered instinctively. ‘Toea v-ha. , ’o follow ?' asked Mr. Ellison, i Is all effort !-i given up, and this dark spo. to enr.-,c i ;t inlecta your whole ehs- ■ racier: - . unties to cc-ne. cl eJiiccauss ,V°u hav .( .a ote? and ar. yo-; to iivuun, : pet. a: - ■ “ ere. mcftpjciato-J ur this Ml- i fisli '■oil Not so, Mrbri—’ ' 'Haid • my in .•■.■rup ior you, Mr. Edison,’; 1 iuterpua-j i . ~ .< scarcely the t w / v 1 * You ;v ’i mike nor think;- - .. ■ 1u: sin she has com- ! . ffi-iUi*: t tarcy inf < impunetion ex- ■ i.-t-n.. j -tei repentance c«.t oesuiSilent. 1 • .*.• ■ t -ssiou, i ; ■•voidd -i; - a;r per Mdt grave the ‘ r ? ’ ” -bi”.as to have of wtiat sue has aI;u;. ■ : i ;cr s’ttrdka f. vent'y. * would ! i *i>e should nev-K forget, but ■i.ao: !,i.;y p,:; uo,t yuirs. Before! ' i t; j> no a. wtiut i>i penance would j v ' rethv. aiou.aieat wtio'-i is free- : '• ttr croun is: but as regards her j t'vinw-beiugs. to her future i i ! « ” i I’-ite* vrongr; Bleu ;n general, the j | world : j you yourself, my dear me j dam, at-iic *to me to argue wrong on this sub- ! jjact’ , My a .tcolored Pardon me.’ »Le said i aiitfiy; '- M-k we can not understand ea r j other.’ '. ’Perhat Si sai l my guardian. • I-have mie- ■ understoon y ou; but ii'yeu will suffer a direct j \ question, Itsettle the point. Suppose that, ! i m the futn-t, Mabel’s condue; should os exem plary. w .-I yon fully restore her to the place I j she once h-M to your esteem ?’ I lookts. ai.xously towaid my aunt: the , .question v t % momentous one to me. She j seemed to repost. It is pt .’tful to say jt,' sht replied at length; ! I but I must oe conseientious. In such a ease, , Mabel would in a great measure regain my es | tec to ; but eipeet me to feel for her as I did I I before so deeply injured her moral na- ! ture, stMi. I.L'\ esouacie. She can never he i exactly to me what she was before.’ 'And you .link, doubtless, that she is right j I in eonaidering that tois youthful sin will im- j j pair her future capacity :or good ?’ i think, answered my aunt ‘that it is the 1 penalty attuned to ail sin, 'that it should Veep [us low an I! . ruble through life. The compar .itively oJea.’ conscience will he better fittcu for g< od dec 4. in the burdened.’ j There wn- & pai.se; my hear: had sunk ''araiu. Mr, K' ! iaoti rose and began to walk up and down the floor. ■ Auppotb q case, madam,' ho said presently, i and in aw- uained tone— 1 whore an IreoDra a.-: ruao, uudvr strong icoptat'u .. lias e -110)!'- j 1 uishd'opyc- action: or a monriu.’ rain, a i cruel; I- «/l/y. marred Tit, ra:: • tuey go i ’ tics, .ue pi.and ■chteveu or. o£ moral ex- • cellcnct : Vfi. A you thiok it unseemingiy if, 1 at any after period, you beard the one urging I on some conscieuce the* nccc-s,ity of rectitude, ; or the otuer aa vocaliiig '.i,c beauty o' bouevo lenee ? 0: must they, conscious that the.rtrans- 1 jgression has lowered thorn forever, uererpre : same to hold -.hemselves erect stain I’ ‘My dear Mr. Ellison, said my aunt, look -1 ing with surprise at my guardian, who had I | eerainiy warmed in to uuqsual energy—‘l think Iwe are wandering from the point Such a dis- ! j cussion as this will not do Mabel any goad, ; but rather harm, if I understand you to mean that we are not materially effected by our ; transgressions, it is a strange doctrine, sir, ' 1 ami a very dangerous one.’ 1 *My dear friend, returued my guardian gent-! jiy, - far neat iroai me to aay that our traus ! gres-iom do not materially affect us I I do ' not want to gainsay your view of the life-long I humility wincu a human soul should feel for a j criminal act, but i would introduce hope, and I ' not despair, ini his mi ,j. I don't think tbe I j plan on which a,.-, i.-ty gets ofjudging thechnr-’ I | acter of a man from individual acts or single ; liberal, ins is it... : very often such acts are not I 'fair representation.* ot the li;e or even the na ! lure of the man. they show, indeed, what he was a: that motne; t: but it may be that never 1 I before or since in his existence did be or will j jhe experience such another. Yet perhaps he j I is condemned by t:.e world, and shunned as a j .ost character, liow bitterly hard for that ' I man to do his duty in life!’ 1 I Xo doubt,’ said my aunt, ‘it does bear hard j j in particular cases : out it is the arrangement ; of Providence tha; the way of transgressors is : j hard | ‘lam not speaking,’returned my guardian !of the habitual transgressor, but o’ one who, I like- Mable here, thinks life spoiled by a ain jgloactot moral evii, and is treated as if it were so. You speak ot Providence, 1 he con tinued with a smile : an instance rises to my mind where an aggravated sin was committed, aud vet the sicner, far from being doomed to ' obscurity and iil'e-iong i t-u.orso, was spared ail 1 reproof save that of bn agonised conscience,; , was distinguished above otners. called to God's | I most sacred service, eh'ted to the glory of; 1 martyrdom. If remorse were in any case just:- I j liable, if any ain should unfit man for rising i ! above it or for doing good in his generation, 1 j suro.'y '.t won! 1 have !,;•■ 1 Peter's case. But ! Iwe k" tv tii Blcry. My dear madam’—ami ! ■ and Mr. itihsun, laying ; uana ou my bead, j looked appealingly to-.- *:-t my aunt—* I de.-. re I to s,>(-,<.* reverently; but think you, after; { Christ’s charge, even J Abdiel-like dtsdp’e j I as be was, ever pre-samsl to say or feel that : ; ue could never esteem ,t look upub Pater as | jhe once did.’ This . wli tis forbidden 113— ! [ to look t:jon me a as fiiAcn below tueir chance | 6 t> very.’ My an , . was silent, but I could jsoc tint she R’.'S ':uprc = ' d. As for me, I felt •asif a. ■ tv te btl 1 .v\j lifted off my j bean, and it gwe 1 ;h <* passionate'aspira* I tio.i i) recover with •• fo.i's w- p, my former 1 Stan dug, aa-i I’.sas u iu the upward way. And wm.i ll tut. turou.,h fire, no tender and J mere! ’ll n inn penile 1 r/rom? doer? ‘lf l s; e.ik warmly •. ihU subject,' continued my I guardian, ‘a is because my own experience * ol h v ;->w aa hon- | oral. ■) rnaa .-aay fall, ; •ut how fur the rnagna- | aim ty. or rat! r jus-:.* I have been advocat- j ing mayenal !.■ hha to ri . again, and try and work out toward bis fellow-men—l know he I . c-aD not do so toward God—reparation for his i I‘ Certainly said my aunt; but she looked ue-1 easily toward me. ‘ Let Maoel stay and hear me.' said M;. Eli'- ! ; son; ‘the lesson is for her :o learn, atd ruy story wili do her no harm.’ j ‘Many years back,' said Mr. Ellison, •!] ! knew t.vo friends. They were younguipeu of j : very different character,'but. for aught I know. ■ that m’ght have been the secret of their a.- I ■ tachment. The older, whom, for distinction's sake, l will call Paul, wus •: ,ih .ughtfui. re- j served turn of m ; ud. He was givvo a *><i ; ; deal to speculations about the tnor •: oirs ‘ :•«* ! and infirmities of his own c 1 ,r>- .. eh tt.. . of i his race, and had a #ee;> . 1 ,s a . ■ i .’l.itSQi } ;or what be c-oece via tu -,. , ana vir* j tue: and I will do l.i n fjustice to ■■-:■••. he j | strove, so far as in lfft.’. luv. ; net : r. $ | convictions. The younget—wilt teail him! | Oiemen;—was o; a lighter . [ ou*, frank, and vivacious, iie •.,-!* ... • y.ore ! i general favot.ie ti,a:, hi r ;n,i. i,. i; f ! men of experience spoke ™i me sc ... ■, .r '■ j said, tbe one was. no t’oaut Uu- :„ 1;/ but the other the most ", for I do not wish to make a long u; v ,n , t —Clement, who had to etcrecies • . 1 , Iriernl, had made him long ago the r . • : a strung but unfortunate attachment ©fliis. Hat 1 fortunate, i say : uot but that the la iy was , eminently worthy, but, alas, she was rich, and >ke hut a orief-hunting barrister. Clcmet t had 1 a chivalrous sense of honor, and ha i never 1 shown sign or uttered word of love, though he • confessed he had a vague, secret hope that the I I girl returned hi 3 feeling. He blushed, how ever, like a woman, when he made this adrois- ! sion, and would tain have gainsaid it as pre- i sumption the moment after. He rattier un- j j wisely, but most naturally, still visited al the ‘ ! house, where the parents, suspecting rolling./ ! received him cordially: and at length ne venf’i i tured to introduce Paul there, tuo, in order | that his friend might judge for himself of lbs ■ , perfections of his mistress, j ‘lt is not necessary to describe the dangh ! ter; suffice it to say, Paul found in her person , and character uot only enough to justify Ct.- meat's choice, but to excite in his own mind u J passion oi a strength corresponding with the silent energy of his character. He kept hi? seoret, and heard Clement talk of bis luve with , the patience of a friend, while secretly he he’ ; to contend with the jealousy of a lover. But he did contend against it, and strove tc master 1 bimseli; tor, apart from what honor und’.'rieun ! ship enjoined, ho saw plainly that Hleunor fa vored the unexpressed, but with a woman a keenness, half-guessed love of'Clement. Eo forbore *.O visit at the house, iu spite of tin double welcome Lis rthuiun '0 Clement s ; his own social position—for Paul was rich— . i.d obtained for aim there. Time passed. Si i Paul was a.ill at war with an uneonqtmre. . weakness, when Clement gut nu appu tamer’ in India ‘Before you go ' said Pa"! to k’«n. •you will speak to KVnnor ?' •No,’ said Olemtnt. after painful del'b'.-i- 1 lion ; 1 the chances of my success ere still,., doiafful: when I iwv* proved teem tnd cir f ' You may UMffllif'WrJtigirjWiifuT i pulousnevs.’ *1 n,,\y,’ si, 1 1 i.Vsapaf; ■ but if sfce loves me she l:.s re.i-i my heatt, and I can trust her.’ j ‘Clement, therefore, toot his secret to India with him, aud Ihtul wav le;t at home to fight 1 with a gigantic temptation. I need not go in to the subtleties it assumed ; but for a long time hs was proof against them. He would not sacrifice honor and friendship, the strength i of a good conscience, and the principles he re vered. to selfish passion and inclination. Oto evening, howcvc-r, he yicldod to a weakness he had several times overcome, and went to the I house. He said to himself be would see how she bore Ciemtn’. .1 absence. Eleanor received 1 him with a kiuuness she had never shown be fore. Her parents politely hoped.* when he rose to leave, that tiiev were not to lose bis so ciety as well as Clement s. That night cast the die. X love her,’ said Paul to himsell ; , ‘ Clement does no more. 11 ave the same right as ho to be happy.’ I ‘Madam,' added Mr. Ellison, abruptly, ‘you guess what followed. Paul, with his keen souse of rectitude, his ambitious aspirations, yielded and fell.' My guardian paused. My whole girl's heart was in his story: I forgot my humbled posi : tion, arm exclaimed, eagerly, • But did Eleanor ; love him V Mr. Ellison looked at me quickly, and then ! half-smiled. The smile was a relief to me, for 1 it brought brought back the usual expressiou winch ho had lost during the telling of this story. ‘You shall hear,’ ke resumed, preseut ly. ’Paul having decided to act a fraudulent and unworthy part, used all his powers to gain his object. ‘ Honor and self respect I havo lost, ho said; ‘ lovo and gratification I must have.’ It was a terrible period that followed. The suit he urged with such untiring zeal seemed to gain slow favor with Eleanor. Her ! parents were already Ins supporters: and with the irritating hopes and fears of an ardorit but I baffled lover, were mixed with the stinging ; agonies of remorse and shame. Clement’s pe- I nodical letters, long since unanswered, were ; now unread ; to him, such as he now was, they i 1 were not addressed—that sweet friendship was ! buried along with his youth’s integrity. 1 1 will uot linger,’ sa.d my guirdian, hurriedly. ! ‘ Paul won the prize which he bud sought at ' such a cost; Eleanor’s consent was gained, j and the mamagc-day wn- appointed. I don't l i think even then he so deceived himself as to : . think he was happy. Moments of tumultuous | emotion, of ft verish excitement, that he mis- j ! named jt fy, lie had, but his blessedness hail ! ; escape- him. Mot only bis conscience told him ! ! was Clement defrauded, but Eleanor was feceiv- j ed. To hear her express at any time iudi cant • scorn of what was base or mean, was a mortal ■ torture so exquisitely acute that only those j can conceive it who havo stooped to a like degradation. A right or two before the day ' fixed f-r the wedding, Paul went as usual to her house. Just before he took his leave, 1 Eleanor left tl.e room, and returned with a let-; ter. I see you guess the sequel: it was from Clement. It to! 1 'he story of his long silent j love, for he was now in a position to satisfy j his own Ecruples and tell t. With the fear j ; upon his miud that even now bis treasure might! j escape him, Paul clung to ,t more tenaciously j | thau ever: passion smothered remorse. ‘Wei!,’ j he asked, lookirg at her almost fiercely, ‘docs | the secret go no further V ’ ‘Very little further, Paul,’ said Eleanor VOL, 16 No 2~. ; gt: r ely, * I loved Clement once, but I thought he trilled with me; were it not now honorably ' to; late—l love you now.’ • Paul felt a sudden impulse tc confoss the •v ole truth, but it was transient. He bed felt ! mt ny such an impu’se beftre but Lad conquer jedil; should he, ou the eve of possession. With that assurance in his ears, yield now?’ j *Bi.:. ijr. Eiiison,’ I cried interrupting him w>.h toe matter-of-fact sngac:: • of a Maid, :‘didn’t it seem strange to Blearer that Paul had told Clement uotuing about his cug maatY j ‘A:.. Mabel,’ sighed my guardian, ‘no great : 3:1 but has its lesser ones. Long sitve, Paul ! had found it necessary to tel! Eleanor a fhLe I story cch ceming his present suepenr.i-.iQ of .u --t-.rco wit.! Clement-’ I t. 1 !•'; this absolute lie of Paul's to- ch" 1 ray «'»!•' is sensibly as any point in H e h-sto j ty, :< re- broke silence. ‘And what,’, ahe j ,'> '* ti.e end of this wretched iung ’ t-htbry? Are tou going tc tell us -o r. ' !; jpi -e him? ’’Od moment longer,' urged my guardian, ! ‘J)’"! ■ pass year judgmeut. l';.u : «r --in.-i : .: y,»u are sarpiLsd? Alas! pottieitl justice is net the ru'e of t' is 1 Y-t vfc 1 ray aias?—has i; uot n higher ,-ij; /lomairied her then, each ieveu tfcj j ytber .VC Paul was a miserable man. _ti» rivntir noticed it; naturally thou his wife: 1 hut he- kept his socret: no wonder mouths j wrought upon him tbe effect c‘‘yenrs. Never {the less, he neglected his duties—he had no heart I lor them—self-contempt, a bitter remorse, cauk i cre-1 every aspiration, enfeebled effort, sapped i and destroyed his capabilities. Life sipped ] waste i through Ir's fingers I could not.' said Mr. Eiiison, • give you an idea what 1. suffer ,reJ. but I believe he was at this time deeply ■r. •taken, increasingly criminal If a man’s Sir, be black as hell—and hie was black—re ' morse can cot mend it; so long as he lives, I life requires duties and effort from him ; let him not think he is free to spend it in this H-eltlah absorption.' j ’True,' said my aunt: ‘but iot him not ex pect, even though be strive to rise ami parti ally succeed, that he is to be resp'-ctod as a worthier man.’ ‘ A year passed,' resumed my guardian, with cut heeding the remark, ‘ and Ciement return ed to England. Originally, be had a noble soul; sanctifying sorrow had made him great He inquired after his former friend, wrote to him, assuring him he could meet E'eauor uow with the calmness of friendship; aud f,re«d himsell upon hint. I say forced, for, naturally, s. was to l’aul an ac uwag nugoi. An .. sgon : :-d rc'rihiition was at hand f t the lat ter. Elciitior died in her Ar t confinement, after but a few hours’ illness ■ he" infant «>ven ‘j died before her. In this extremity, w-'l w.-.s 'j U for Paul tint Clement was ;t Lund; • h.s overwhi ircing grief, the past seemed c ac.died , | he could claim and endure his .'.'ends msg-v niqoous tenderness. When he recovered i.-om J this stroke, he roused tbn.self tc R new ex::;- t. Cienient had sne -ci lej ' • -»v!r». g /»'•* t y ’c. •vluier the firs’ eiiock of lec-.ug. Ihe said, ‘ the thought oi wlmt u j,, ■./. yo vs must sufic- r , which had been tempted to such an act, changed, slowly, 1 grant, but still changed, resentment into sympathy. Eor rr.v own consolation. I studied the Now Tcsfanout; it has taught me lessons which I thin/ pddi, you as well as I have missed. I won't . i-jlt you by dwelling on my free pardon; if it is worthy of acknowledgement, put your hand once more to the plow, labor for the welfare of others, and so work out your own.’ Tie argu ed against remorse, aud urged the eonririera tions which I have brought more feebly for ward, with such effect, that run! laid them to heart, and strove to test their tri t’l With God's forgiveness sougi t arri obtained, an ! that o( tho mail he had injured—with prin ciples drawn from a deeper aud diviner source . than he had known before—with a spirit hum bled but not crushed, he proved tb i‘ lif still lay before him as a lieid lor houoi able aud re munerative labor. I believe ti » friend reepeet ed him more in this second stage ■ h::- apt nance than before; I know he di i not ri ’pert him less. AYiU any other presume to do ao? asked Mr. Ellion, approaching my aunt. ‘My dour friend, wonder not at my tendere s :u Mabel; that is the salutary result of so revere an experience; it is mv own story I have told.’ I think my aunt must have guessed the truth ere this, for she tnado no immediate answer. I was silout with astonishment. My guard.*a turned and looked at me. ‘ Mabel,’ he said earnestly, ‘let me not have humbied mvself before you iu vain. God preserve you from sinning against your own nature and him : but where you fall God give you grace aud strength to rise and strive again. And grant me this too, my child : iu after-life you may have much influence; for my sake, for your own experi enoe of offering and shame, be merciful to the wrong doer! Make it one of your duties to help tiie fallen, even though she be a woman, and convince her that all is not Iqst in ono false step. God provides against his creature’s remorse—shall man be less merciful to Lisbro* thci ?’ ‘ Mr. Ellison,' seid my aunt, 1 the life of effort and se'f-deriial you have led condemns my I severity. I have beon too harsh , but I must ! seriously review this argument.' Mabel a -"mo herel' I approached her timidly ; she drew mo nearer. * Ono must still ((pent belore t v can be pirdoned,’she said; 'but I think -ou ! ■ - non’ Mabel!’ j Mr tears flowed. ‘Aunt, forgiv ■ n - I : whit; ed; am sorry indeed. I . .ue to aay .t, but I think 1 shall never tc. a ~e ! again i’ i She kissed me, and rooa up; tli. ■ - w :o ! tear > her eyes. ‘Lot it bo then, ;•• tl-h ; it bad never been, except to t;ach you -Mr. K- i j ■ on's lersoti,’ she said. She then up; .-one-': i I my guardian.- ‘ 1 knew not,’ she added . . j softened ton'’, "rid holding out her baud w J. an nir of respect, how much you lust so:no . ears ago by Clements death. li. ; you and I will be better friends.' Mr. Ellison pressed tier hand in ri' ; T , saw ho could not speak; I had an instr ct that : he would wish to be alone, so I foilow-.d ur j aunt quickly out of the room, j She turned kindly round, and dispat • -line ion some message as of old: I felt i was for given I Before fulfilling it, I ran into my room j and shut the door; then kueeiitig down by ti,o bedside, T prayed a3 I had not be -- done, with softened hoart and contrite tears, for God’s forgiveness. Those few hours have influenced a lifetime.