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202 gutshed himself among gamblers for his shrewd ness, and actually made money by his calling, until he was arrested in his career by that dis ease so common to gamblers, and so fatal to all, consumption. When he found the disease was fastened incurably upon him, he took his room, his mother’s bed room. The old family Bible was there. She had often said, that at her death she wished it to go to William, and there it was left for him. He opened it, found in it many traces of his mother's pen, scraps of paper with texts of scripture, holy resolutions, prayers,Chris tian consolations and the like, written on them. He closed the book, pressed it to his bosom, and wept bitterly. “ Dearest, best of women 1” so liloquized he. “ What a curse have I been to thee ! what a curse have I been to myself ! One fault thou hadst, and only one No, I must not call it a fault —one weakness shall I call it ? No, that is too harsh a term for it. One heaven-, ly virtue in excess, thou hadst too much tender ness for thy son. But why do I advert to this! When I reached the age of reflection and self government, this very thing should have endeared thee the more to me—should have made me more resolute in reforming the errors, which thy ex cessive kindness produced. But oh, how impo tent are human resolutions against vices which have become constitutional 1 Tom, go for Mr. Markham.” Mr. Markham came, and found William with his head on his mother’s Bible, bedewing it with tears. He raised his head, reached his hot hand to his friend, and after some struggles for utterance, said: “ Mr. Markham, you have known me from my childhood to the present moment, you have marked my every step in the pathway of ruin— you have seen mo abuse and torture the best of mothers, reject the counsels of the best of un cles, and the best of friends, multiplying sins to cover sins, insulting men for disapproving of what my own conscience disapproved, avoiding tho good, and consorting with the depraved, pros tituting heaven’s best gifts to earth’s worst pur pogea —in short, assimilating myself to a devil, as far as it was possible for me to do so; now tell me, my dear friend, do you think it possible for such an abandoned wretch as I am to find mercy in heaven ? In making up your answer, remember that I never thought of asking mercy, and probably never should have thought of it, had I not seen Death approaching me with sure, unerring step.” “Oh yes,” said Mr. Markham “you are not beyond the reach of mercy; provided you seek it in the way of God’s appointment.” “Be pleased to instruct me in that way; for I am lamentably deficient in knowledge of the Bible.” “ Well, in the first place, you cannot expect mercy unless you ask for it. If you ask for it you cannot expect to have your request granted, unless you perform the conditions upon which such request is to be granted. Now these con ditions are (the essential ones,) That you show mercy to every human being that has offended you ” “ That is but reasonable." “ You must freely, and from your heart for give every one who lias trespassed against you. You remembor your infantile prayer.” “ Yes, but I never understood it until this mo ment." “ You must seek to be reconciled to every one who has aught against you.” “ The hardest condition of all. I can forgive those who have injured me; but how shall I ask peace of those whom I never wronged? “ God never wronged you, did He ? And yet He asks you to be reconciled to him.” “ Wonderful!” ejaculated William, thoughtful ly. “ You would not come to me, William, and ask a favor of me, and at the same time say, * I ask it, but I do not believe you will grant it,’ would you ?” “No, that would be to insult you to your face.” “ Neither must you ask favors of God, be lieving that He will not grant them. You must ask, believing in His goodness, His word, and Ilis promises, i. e, you must ask in faith." “Perfectly just!” “If you were to ask a favor of me, and I should say come again, I cannot grant it just now; would you turn away from me in despair, and never ask me again ?” “ Surely not.” “ Then do not show less confidence in God than you have in me. If He does not answer your prayers as soon as you expect, pray on and bide His time.” “ Well, God helping me, I will follow’ your counsels this time, to the day of my death.— Pray once more for me, thou heaven-born and heaven-directed man.” Mr. Markham prayed with him, as if his “ lips were touched with a live coal from off the altar.” William now gavo himself to prayer and read ing the scriptures. He sent for all within his reach whom he had offended, or who had offen ded him. Freely forgave, and was freely forgiv en. Two, three, and four months the disease spared him; but he found little comfort. At the beginning of the fifth he found peace; rejoiced for a month more, preached powerfully to all who came to his bedside, and with his last breath cried, “Mother, receive thy son!” and died. —i » i Curious Calculation. —The vast number of inhabitants who do live, have lived upon the face of the earth, appears at first sight to defy the powers of calculation. But if w’e suppose the world existed six thousand years; that there now exist one thousaud millions; that a generation passes away in thirty years; that every past generation averages the present; and that four individuals may stand on a square yard, we will find that the whole number will not occupy a compass so great as one-fourth the extent of England. Allowing six thousand years since the creation and a generation to pass away in thirty years, we shall have two hundred generations, which at one thousaud millions each, will be two hundred thousand millions, which being divided by four persous to a square yard, will leave fifty thousand millions of square yards. There are in a square mile three millions ninety-seven thousand six hun dred square yards: by which, if the former sum be divided, it will be sixteen thousand one hun dred and tnirty-three square miles, the root of which, in whole numbers, about one hundred and twenty-seven square miles will be sufficient to contain the immense and almost inconceivable number of two hundred thousand millions of human beings; which vast number outnumbered the seconds of time that have passed since crea tion.—English paper. The art of not hearing, though untaught in the schools, is by no means unknown or unprac ticed in society. We have noticed that a well bred woman never hears an impertinent or vul gar remark. A kind of discreet deafness saves one from many insults, from mnch blame, from much apparent connivance in dishonorable con versation. sacs soimcsur vxs&n ira txmmsxim* nil DESPERANDUM. by i. a. T. a co. “But welcome fortitude and patient cheer, And frequent sighs of what is to be borne.” Wordmoorth. Quite right 1 quite right! the Poet wrote Those lines so exquisite ; —But doubtless, he enclosed a note, Requesting ptthWsAer* to make All changes requisite l We scribblers, who have set for hours Stirring and spurring dormant powers, Must never give dark feelings scope, Nor be dejected; —But learn to labor »nd to hope Against “reacted" — Though all our rhymes, and e’en our prose. Should find “that bourne" which all suppose, (And many a poor devil knows) A horrid place— the “ basket l ” Jfil Desperandum ! strnggle on ; Miss Manhiem never would have won Her hard-disputed laurels, Had she, at first, giv’n up the ghost, And thought all chance of favor lost:— Thanks to her love of quarrels 1 The best—the worst—l never pined At a 1 rejected’ or ‘declined’— I take them back, rewrite, revise, And cross the t’s and dot the i’s, As though I didn’t half surmise Another “ something wrong /” “ You think,” quoth Ed„ “your poems glide Delightfully along— ‘Put!’—ah 1 there it is! Methinks I see your critic phiz— “ ’Twill almost do—not quite." Nil Desperandum ! Try again ! Apply the labor limes l Think of that literary grate, Roll’d over by Oblivion's wave, Where prose and poems—many a quire, Toss'd by the critic in his ire, For lack of labor lima — Yes! yours, and mine, and hers and his, (True 1 even some of J. M. Ts,) Lie chaired, or torn, or slimy 1 Nil Desperandum l something new ! Cudgel your brains to find it “ Cater for public tastes 1” Oh no! Just puff the Fireside— if you can In conscience, or,—puff Mr. Mann, —So “ proper"—almost “ puritan Or, write the “ Ed." a spicy note, Such billet-rfou® as Manheim wrote, ( —Yes, Jemmy, if yon can —) Pepper him well—if he hits you, Hit him again—’twill bring him to : If he wants fight—why fight it through I ’Twas thus Miss Manheim did—and see, He printed her—he will print me. -hi [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] THREE YEARS OF HEART-HISTORY. BY KATY-DID. chapter v.—f Concluded .] It was a terrible night, the storm howled fearfully without, but we felt comfortable enough in the cozy sitting-room, with its cheerfully blazing fire. We were all seated around the room, sewing, reading, or writing, and the storm seemed to have quieted, or at least, awed the spirits of all, for we had gradually relapsed into silence, until it had grown so intense you might have almost heard the fall of a feather; when the door opened, and a visitor entered, unan nounced, and thoroughly drenched with the storm. He could not have been more than twenty or twenty-one, yet his otherwise hand some face looked already pale and haggard with dissipation. He paused not a moment, but with a something of pride in his step, crossed the room quickly, and flung himself in a chair which stood in front of the fire. Not a word of welcome was spoken to him; all seemed bound, as by a spell, which each feared to break. I ventured to steal a glance around the room. Mr. Holmes, with a frown upon his brow which strove to conceal the workings of his features, was bestowing redoubled attention on some let ters he was writing; Mrs. Holmes, vainly en deavoring to conceal her agitation, would glance ■towards her husband and the newlv-arrived vis itor, alternately, as if wishing, yet fearing to break the spelL Eva was apparently wholly absorbed in a piece of fancy-work she was doing, yet stealing frequent glances at first one and then another around the room. Henry sat, with both elbows supported on the table, and his forehead resting on his hands, and seemed struggling to master some strong emotion. John had stooped down, and begun stroking the long, silky ears of his dog,which lay beside him. Tho visitor still sat looking gloomily into the fire, when Maud, the cold, proud Maud rose, and gliding quickly and noiselessly across the room to where he sat, put one arm around his neck, and whispered “ Carl,” with a quick, passionate movement. He put one arm around her, and drawing her towards him, said: ‘"God bless you, Maud, for this. And you do not entirely despise me? You can still love me?" Gradually we all withdrew, one by one, except Mrs. Holmes, feeling it were sacrilege to remain longer. Henry continued to pace up and down the hall in front of the sitting-room, waiting, I supposed, to speak to the unwelcomed visitor before he left. I had just taken my seat in my room, when Eva came in, looking paler than was her wont. She shut the door after her, and seating herself on the rug by me, said: “ Linda, I will tell you all about brother Carl, if you want to hear it” I signified my assent. “It was more than a year ago,” she began, “ that late one night Carl staggered in, drunk. It was the first time, and I think they might have forgiven it, but I believe father would have tolerated anything sooner, and he spoke as I am sure he would not have done had he stopped to reflect, so much so that Carl, taking up his hat, left without a word, and wo heard nothing of him in all that time, not even where he was, until to-night. Carl and Maud loved each other devotedly; I think they were engaged before he went away. Poor Henry, he loved her too, but no one ever knew it, at least, except John end I, and he doesn’t know that. It think it was so noble in him to give her up, and subdue his love for Carl’s sake, especially after he had left, and he did not know he would ever return. The way I came to find it out was this: summer before last, when we were at our summer place in the country, just before we moved into town, one evening Johnny and I started to walk down to Moss Spring, a beautiful place near the house, and as we had got nearly there, we saw Henry and Carl sitting on a log by the spring, conver sing very earnestly; thought there wouldn’t be any harm in listening to what they were saying, just for fun, so I proposed to him to let us creep up behind them and hear what they were talk ing about; so we found a nice hiding place near them. Henry was standing up by this time, so we could see him better. Carl looked a little embarrassed, then said: ‘ Henry, I want you to do a favor for me; I love Maud, my cousin Maud, dearly; and I believe she loves me, but of late she seems studiously to avoid seeing me alone, will you get her to promise to meet me in the grape-harbor to-morrow evening? I want her to promise me her hand before I go back to col lege.’ During this speech every particle of color had forsaken Ilenry's face. I was fright ened at first. He did not answer for some time; Carl had not noticed the change in his counten ance, for he was throwing pebbles in the water byway of relieving his embarrassment. Pres ently, he asked, without looking up: ‘What do you say, Henry, will you do it?’ ‘Yes, I will dp it,’ he replied, and his tone was firm as usual. “I had never dreamed of Henry's loving Maud, but this looked very much like it; so John and I determined to find out all about it, but to keep it a secret. The next evening they met at the appointed place, and Carl looked very happy afterwards, but Henry paced his room back wards and forwards nearly all night—at least until I fell asleep, and that was not until I heard the clock strike two. I heard him, for my room was next to his. “It was only a little while after this that Carl went away, and after he had gone out I went to the door, thinking I might persuade him to come back, but Henry stepped quickly before me without seeing me, aud I saw him distinctly by the moonlight hand a miniature to Carl. It was the same one, Halid's, that John had found in Henry’s desk once, with a bundle of Maud’s letters and a bunch of withered flowers; the letters and flowers he afterwards burned. Henry came back as soon as she had given it to him, but Carl had gone, so I came in. Wasn’t it noble in him to give Carl the miniature, when he must have valued it so much himself? nenry went away soon after to study for the ministry, and did not even come home during the vacations. The others thought strangely of it, but John and I know very well why it was. This is the first time he has been at home since he first went away, but ho has finished his studies now. I think he has almost suc ceeded in banishing Maud from his heart, al though I sometimes think he loves her still.— Come, let us go out on the balcony, I feel rest less ; this silence oppresses me.” We went, but had only been there a few moments, when she said, “I must go down stairs, I am afraid Carl will go away, with out my speaking to him ; you will wait here until I come back.” I assented, and when she had gone, I fell to musing on what I had heard, when, suddenly, I heard voices in the door below, and Carl said with a passionate earnestness, “God bless you, Maud, God bless you,” and was gone. I heard his step die away in the distance, and then Maud turned and came slowly up-stairs. What a desolate feeling it is to be left; to hear the last step die away in the distance, and know that you may listen for that footstep, that footfall on the doorway, and it will not come. CHAPTER VI. The next evening Eva and I were alone in the sitting room and neither had spoken for some time, when she broke the silence by saying: “ I am so glad that Carl is coming back; I think he had a reconciliation with them all last night, for, after I came down, he said he was going away, lie could not say for how long, but when he came back, he would have left off his dissipated habits, and taught men to respect him; that he would never touch the wine cup again, or play another game of cards while he lived. I think it was only to see Maud that he came.” “ He Is very different-looking from your broth er Henry,” I said. “Yes, Henry is dark, with black hair and black eyes, while Carl has a fair complexion, fair hair and blue eyes. He is thought to be handsomer than Henry, but I like Henry’s looks better;” and again we relapsed into silence.— Presently Eva said, musingly: “ I wonder if Mr. Granville is going away without coming to tell us ‘ good-bye ?’ ’’ “Is he going away ?” I asked quickly. “ Yes, he said the other night he was going before long; when he went to tell me ‘ good bye,’ he held my hand for a moment, and you ought to have seen how earnestly he looked at me, as he told me he wanted me to teach him how to love his fellow men. Yonder he is, crossing the street now,” and she ran to the window to look. Sooner, I thought, would I undertake to teach the stones to love their fellow-stones, than Hor ace Granville to love his fellow men, for he more nearly realized my -idea of a man without a heart than any one I had ever met before. It seemed as though Mother Nature, in making him, had, by some strange forgetfulness, left out the heart, and that the brain had usurped the place designed for the other organ, in addition to its own. This is not much worse than some men I have seen, whose hearts seem to have dwindled away, until they could scarcely fill a nut shell, and the surrounding cavity is filled, not with brain, but with all manner of rubbish. But I was speaking of Horace Granville; I used to try to think, sometimes, when in conversation he would grow so eloquent, that he felt what he said, but was forced to acknowledge that it was the brain, only, that was exalted—aye. it might be all afire, but the heart still remained cold and unmoved. The excitement was purely in tellectual. I read soon after, in a morning’s paper, “We regret to state, that Mr. Granville, the talented author, who has been among us has left the city,” and the room seemed to grow darker, after I had read it. Then, too, Henry had left, to take charge of a distant church he had been called to, and John had gone back to College. What a lonely feeling, sometimes, does the de parture of even one member of a household produce I It is very saddening, to see the “ va cant chair, by the fireside,” so often spoken of; but when several go at once, how desolate the house seems—what an oppressive gloom per vades it 1 So it was at Mrs. Holmes’ elegant city home, and we were all glad, when the green leaves and sunny skies of summer gave us an excuse to leave it for the country ; we felt as though we wanted some Qhange; and who does not love the country ? Who.can help loving it? CHAPTER VII. Two years had passed rather pleasantly, though monotonously, away; during the first year, we had heard nothing whatever from Carl, but afterwards, wo occasionally heard of his brilliant succoss, as an artist, in some distant city, and Maud’s eye began to brighten, and her voice to lose its tone of sadness. But not one word had wo heard all this time from Horace Granville, not even where he was, save that a new book had come out by him, more interesting, if possible, than the first. I had read it over and over again, treasuring up each sentence, as something to live upon. I had allowed my name to come out at last, in connection with my writings, but had heard nothing yet concerning it. Again it was summer time, and we were at the country place, and, as Mr. Holmes came home from the city in the evening, he was greet ed by a call from several, in concert, for “ the news," for who does love to know what is going on in the world around him ? I remember read ing a foolish little story, once, called “An Air- Bubble,” about a second paradise underground, where some kindred spirits had taken up their abode, and so wrapt up were they in one ano ther, that they cared nothing about the busy world they had come from, or what was passing there. If I had been there, Oh I how impa tiently I would have watched for each new ar rival, each kindred spirit, as it came fresh from the world 1 I verily believe I would have ta ken my seat on the mossy bank, where they usually made their entrance, to await its coming, and when it did come, before the visitor had time to look around and say “ Where am I?” I would have plied it with such a cascade of ques tions, as completely to bewilder it. “ What is the topic of general interest ? Are the United States and Great Britain at war ? Have the Red Coats made up their minds to another flog ging? By the way, who is President of the United States now ? Have the North and South concluded to kiss and make friends ? Has a flying-machine been invented yet ? What of the fashions ? Are hoops worn as large as ever, and have the gentlemen begun to wear them in the bottom of their pants yet?” These, and a score of other questions I would ask, and then, dear reader, entre nous , I think, the next thing I would do, would be in all sin cerity of heart to say, “Dear kindred spirit, lam convinced the best thing you and I can do under the present circumstances, will be to set to work to try to find our way out of this cavern as speedily as we may, for, though of course, I love my dear kindred spirits very much, I am tired of never hearing anything to startle me, or to break the dead monotony, or to call forth my energies ; I want to battle with the world, to join in the great struggle of life, and play my part in its drama.” A thousand pardons, ’dear reader, for this long digression, and I will re turn. I said Mr. Holmes had just returned from the city, and been beset for “ the news” and that led me astray, for it is hard, unless one has more concentration of mind than I have, to keep in a direct line, without rambling off, now and then into by-paths, attracted by some flower, or what we take for one; I thought, reader, that I had found a flower, but it is only a weed after all. Mr. Holmes said, in reply to our eager questions, “ I believe I have a little piece of news, this time; did you know, Linda, you were town-talk ?” “How?” I exclaimed, in astonishment. - “ Why, I had no sooner got to town, this morning, than I was surrounded by such a crowd, I was afraid at first they were going to tar and feather me; but they only cried out, all in a breath, ‘ Why did you not tell us Miss Car rol wrote those charming books?’ “ What books ?” I cried, in my turn. “ Why such a one, and such another, and they named all of yours. “Why, my dear sirs,” I replied, “I did not tell you, simply because I knew no more about it than you did; this is the first I have heard of it; so it seems, we have been entertaining an au thoress, unawares.” “ Je-ho-so-phat,” pronounced John, with slow emphasis. And I was overwhelmed with questions and congratulations, much faster than I could reply to them. It was a soft, delicious summer’s evening, and the sun had sunk gloriously to rest, leaving the light fleecy clouds above him, gilded with those rich colors, which no pencil oan ever portray se they are, and Eva and I had stood long by* the gate, gazing upon the faded glory without speak king, (for we were seldom apart, now. I had grown to love her dearly, her sweet affectionate disposition had won insensibly upon me,) when she broke the silence, “ Do you remember, Lin da, how completely my head was turned once, about Horace Granville? It is strange, how soon we can transfer our interest from one to another." I started at the mention of that name, for I seldom heard it now. Our attention was here .drawn by two men, whom we saw coming towards the house, bringing something heavy; as they drew nearer, we saw that it was a man they bore, upon a rough frame of young trees. As they passed the gate, I saw distinctly for a moment, the pale still, marble-like features; they were those of Horace Granville, and that luxuriant black hair was clotted with blood, and drops marked their way, as they bore him over the gravel-walk, and up the broad steps to the piazza. I felt faint, as though I would have fallen, but I knew I must not, and with a strong effort of the will, rallied and followed Eva into the house; she had not recognized him. They had laid him on a lounge in the sitting room, and had sent for the doctor, but I could not trust myself yet to say who he was. He came, “ Why, it is my old friend, Horace Gran ville,” he said. “ A throw from a horse did you say? He has received a pretty severe blow, on the head, which has stunned him, but he will soon recover, though he had better be watched through the night.” It was Eva’s and my turn to watch, and she had fallen asleep with her head on my lap; but I sat looking on that face, so passionless and still, when, suddenly, he unclosed his eyes and closed them again for a moment, as if trying to recall something that he had forgotten. “I have seen you before,” he said, “yet I can not remember where.” “ I am Linda Carrol,” I replied with a little hauteur, as I thought of our former acquaint ance; “you met me at Mr. Holmes’ in the city, about two winters ago.” “ Ah! yes, I remember, and yon wrote those books which so strangely interested me.” It matters not to tell of how, even after the wound on his head no longer furnished an ex cuse for his lingering, he was invited to remain for some time as a guest. It matters not to tell of the long rambles in the woods, or the horse back rides over the hills, or among the windings of the forest, or of the moonlight walks on the long piazza, of the sweet interchanges of thought, or of how, after we had returned from a ride onermorning, as Mr. Holmes came out to the gate to meet us, he said, “ What a color you have this morning, Linda! Horse-back riding agrees with you,” and I ran up-stairs “to change my dress,” and Eva came up an hour after wards to tell me her father wanted to see me in the library, and found me with my dress still on, standing by the window ; or of how Horace told me, I had first taught him how to love taught him what his heart was meant for, and that his love was all the more intense for having slept so long. It was a \pvely summer’s evening, and we had all gathered around Horace to listen, as he read aloud from some pleasant book, when, hearing a step in the hall, we looked up and there stood in the door a handsome, intellectual looking man of apparently about two or three and twenty. It was Carl, and this time he re ceived a glad welcome from all. I sat alone in my room one evening, when Eva came in. “Oh! Linda, we have received a letter from brother Henry; he has obtained a short leave of absence from his church and will be here to-morrow. And Maud has consented to relinquish her freedom a month earlier, so that you can both be married at the same time, and all make your bridal tour together. I would be perfectly happy, if it were not for thinking how lonely it will be when you have gone ; but you will all be here again on Christmas, and I will be looking forward to that.” The next day Henry came, and our circle was complete. He seemed to regard Maud now en tirely as a sister. I have on my bridal dress and veil, but have taken up my pen to say a word of parting; but my hand trembles so, I can hardly write, for they have just knocked at my door to tell me they are waiting for me to go to the church. Then farewell, dear reader, farewell 1 [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] THE SISTER _OF CHARITY. BY LAURA LINCOLN. Just as I attained my thirteenth year, I had the misfortune to lose my mother. I was the only daughter of six children, and was therefore, a good deal petted and indulged. My father was a cotton planter in the State of Mississippi. A short time previous to my mother’s death, he had sold his town residence, and lived altogeth er on his plantatation, where he had hitherto been in the habit of spending the warm summer months only. After the decease of his wife, my father was a good deal perplexed as to what he should do with me. He did not wish to keep me at home with no female associates of my own color, and he disliked to send me off alone, among stran gers, to a boarding school. One day my uncle Wilfred came to see him and told him that he was about to send his two daughters to the convent of N , to remain two years, and re quested him to let me accompany them. It was a sore trial to my parent to send me so far from him, but after mature deliberation he decided that it was the best course that he could adopt. Ah! well do I remember the sorrow that filled my young heart at this first parting from home— from my beloved father and brothers, and last though by no means least, the dear old black mammy from whose sable bosom I had drawn the fountain of life in infancy, and who had dressed and undressed me every morning and night since I was bom. I hung around her neck w'ith tears and kisses, for she had been like a second mother to me. Nor was the good creature less affected than I. “Ti hi, master ” shd said, “how’s Miss Gertrude gwine to get long way off yonder by herself? Do pray let Ann go wid her, if you can’t spar me. The poor chile never washed her own face and hands or put on her shoes and stockings in her life.” And it was in vain that my father and uncle explained to her the impossibility of my taking a servant with me to a boarding school. She would not be convinced but persisted in saying “ that she always seed ladies carry their own maids ’bout wid urn, and she didn't see why Miss Gertrude couldn’t do it too I" I went to my uncle’s home with him, and was warmly welcomed by my cousins, who were de lighted to learn that I intended accompanying them to school. In a few days we were steam ing it up the Mississippi river upon one of those “floating palaces,” that “walk its waters like things of life.” In due time wo arrived at the city of L which was within thirty miles of our destination. There we remained over night. There was a heavy fall of snow during the night, and when we awoke next morning everything was shroud ed in this spotless mantle. “Oh look, Ellen 1 ” I exclaimed, as I opened the window, “did you ever see anything more beautiful!” And beautiful exceedingly it was to our unac customed eyes, which had never seen snow more than once or twice in our lives, and then it was such as to melt in the sun’s rays in a few hours. It was near the end of March, and when we left our fair southern home the birds and blossoms were bursting into bloom, and many trees were already covered with their tender green foliage. But here stern winter still reigned “ monarch of all he surveyed.” After breakfast we took our seats in the lum bering stage coach (railroads were not so com mon then as now) for 8., and thence took a hack for the convent, some two miles further on. We arrived there just before nightfall, very much fa tigued and thoroughly chilled. In reply to my uncle’s knock the door was opened by a fresh, good humored looking sister of charity in her black stuff habit and closely fitting white cap, who ushered us into the parlor, where a blazing wood fire was shedding warmth and comfort around—blessings which we weary trav elers could duly appreciate. The Mother Superior soon made her appear ance when my uncle introduced himself as Dr. Lester, and liis two daughters Ellen and Clara and his niece Gertrude Ellsworth. Mother Cath erine had a pale benign countenance, which bore the impress of a life spent in fulfilling the will of her Master. She was very kind to us, setting us at our ease at once. Uncle Wilfred returned to B. in the hack that night. After his departure Mother Catherine carried us to her room where she had a nice lit tle supper served for us. As we were so tired she did not introduce us into the recreation room among the pupils that night, but allowed us to go at once to bed. She summoned sister Bertha (tho same that had received us on our arrival) and told her to conduct us to the dormitory and tell sister Cecilia to select beds for us. We bade the Superior good night and followed sister Ber tha out upon a long back collonnade, where the sound of merry voices and laughter reached us from the recreation rooms on the ground floor, and then up a flight of stairs into a passage, up on which the dormitory opened. We entered and the nun called “ sister Cecilia.” A nun issued from a curtained recess in a corner where she had doubtless been engaged in de votion. Tired as I was, I could not but bo struck by the exceeding purity and loveliness of the face before me, which the unsightly white cap in vain endeavored to disfigure. It was one of those faces but seldom seen, and once seen never forgotten. It gave me the impression of sorrow and suffering meekly borne—of a heart wholly given to God, and raised altogether above this earth and its grossness. Spiritual indeed it was in the truest and highest sense of the word. I knew not why, but I felt myself irresistibly drawn towards this angelicAioking being as to one near and dear. / She came forward awl took each of us by the hand, asking our names. When in reply to her enquiry, I answered, “Gertrude Ellsworth,” she raised her large sad eyes to my face, and it seemed to me that her pale cheek grew a shade paler, and her mouth twitched as if moved by some sudden emotion. If so, she quickly re covered herself, and bidding us follow her, she pointed out to each her respective bed.