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1852.] jn a moment —I must tell you what ra y hither said. We were talking of James to-night as we came along; and lie. told me of the old promise you made each other when we were little child ren, that —that I should be — really your daughter some day mother.” “Oh, Lucy, that has been the hardest of all. I loved you so, my child, when you were a little helpless infant, and he used to stand by the cradle to admire your sweet baby face, and look up to me with such innocent w r onder when you smiled, or moved your little hands; and as you grew up together, we did not tell you, lest it should mar our plans, but w r e all hoped for it.” “When we played together, and he drove me home from school on his sled, or shook chesnuts down for me,” said the girl, bending down her head thoughtfully. “How well I remember it all.” “And he always loved you, Lucy, and does now, 1 am sure, wherever he may be. But that hope is gone like many others,” and she sighed. “Why should it be gone,” said Lucy, still thoughtfully, and looking down— "l have always loved him, mother, and he will come back to us yet, you know I always said he would, and who can tell?” “And would you marry him Lucy ? Ihe poor wanderer—you forget.” “No, I forget nothing,” she answered resolutely—“but that he has wandered, and is penitent, and I know he will come, bh, it I could give you one half my faith, and hope?” she added with sudden en ergy. “Bless you for it!—oh, my God !” It was not a sudden exclamation, every uord came with thrilling emphasis, as s * le Wretched forth her arms, and then hei head fell heavily on the shoulder of Lt son , who was kneeling before her, his arms wound about her slender frame, ali d his eyes raised to her’s with an im- P 1 ° iing gaze. It needed but one stride *° Ol ’oss the narrow floor—one instant h JI all I have told you, to pass; and then knew that it was no dream, no phan of a bewildered brain—her son who as ea d, w r as alive again—the lost was Lund. Hei ea S er trembling hands, parted the t Lh curls that once more clustered over ,s forehead as in boyhood; and then with 18 aims wound still about her, she passed SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. her hand over the dark bearded face, as she had caressed the smooth cheek of the infant lying in her bosom ; and then she began to think clearly, and she looked around for Lucy. Ihe young girl w T as standing alone by the window, looking out on the bleak plain that was covered with drifted snow. She tried to be calm,but her whole frame shook with the effort, and the tears were swelling in her eyes. “Go to her, James,” whispered Mrs. Murray—the first words she had spoken. She wondered that he drew* back, and turned pale ; she could see that, by the bright fire-light, as he looked towards her ; ;ind then, as if by a sudden impulse, he went to her side, and bent down, that he could see her face, saying, sadly— “l never thought to see you again, Lucy, save in my daily thoughts, and my nightly dreams. I came to take my mother to my new home, where my dis grace is wiped out by an honest and useful life. I had determined not to al low myself even a passing glance of your dear face, so little changed. Do you know it is seven years since we parted ? And, in all that time, you have have been my angel.” She looked up to him, a smile strug gling through her tears. “You have the same smile,” he said, not offering to take her outstretched hand; “the same confiding, child-like smile, [ so well remember ; and it encourages me, Lucy, to thank you for your faith, w T hen all others, but my mother, doubted me, and for those words of comfort that have never left my mind. They have helped me through many a dark hour — that message, and the thought of my poor mother, have nerved me, and saved me from many a temptation. Do you not see 1 am changed.” Again she looked up to him, and this time he did not shun her glance, but took both her hands, still speaking. “God bless you, Lucy, and make you a happy wife. I am not selfish in my own loss, and you know how I have al ways loved you —once I might have asked you to return that love.” “And why not now ?” she said, the tears and the smile blending still, as she did not blush or falter, beneath that ear nest, but mournful gaze. He did not tell her why, but he knew that she understood him, and that nothing could could change the steadfast love of man y years—not even the stain that had fallen on the name she must bear. All this he read in those dear eyes, that had so often wept for him, and were now to be the day stars of anew existence. He folded her to his strong throbbing heart, in a silence too deep for words, or even the first kiss of betrothal; and then they went together, moved by one impulse, and knelt at the feet of the mother, who felt, as she laid a hand of blessing on ’ their heads, that for all her afflictions she had received a double re ward. For the Southern Literary Gazette. CHRISTMAS CAROL. Altered erom the old English. When in Bethle’m, fair citie,] Chryst was born to die for me, Then the angels sang with glee— In Excehis gloria ! Ah ! with what a lovely bright, To the herdsmen shone the light, Where he lay in lowly plight— In Excelsis gloria ! Heavenly King! who saves his kind, As in Holy Writ we find— Bear we still his birth in mind— In Excelsis gloria l Praying, as we sing, for grace, To behold in Heaven, His face, Whose dear coming saved his race— In Excelsis gloria ! For the Southern]Literary Gazette. THE AMERICAN OPHIR * The vein of literary adventure touch ing California, seems as inexhaustible as her veins of gold, and —to pursue the figure —they are both alike worked with alternating success and failure. This volume is the plain, unvarnished narra tive of a miner, who had full experience of the ups and downs of El Dorado. It appears from his records that he is a cler gyman,and accordingly we find him re peatedly glancing at the moral and reli gious aspects of the society (if it may be so-called) about him. The picture is not an attractive one, though we are happy to say it is not all shadows. 4 If I were asked what was the state of religion in the mines, I could only say it is in no state. There are many men there w r ho maintain their integrity and their piety. If there is preaching, it is well * Sixteen Months in the Gold Diggings. By Daniel B, Wood. New-York: Harper & Broth ers. [From Russell.] 15