restrict our charity to the thankful, but take the good and the bad together, being actuated by a higher motive than the hope of gaining the respect and reverence of our dependents.

"If I were mistress of Greyhurst-I mean, if I could have my own way—I would build schools, found almshouses, open soup-kitchens, establish charitable societies, and make the parish a model of comfort, cleanliness, and order. Prizes for industry and good conduct should be distributed at the charming school-feasts held in the park. At Christmas time I would keep open house, in the good old English style, and such as might choose to do so should come and go freely, at their own will and pleasure; there should be beef and plum-pudding for all; huge barrels of ale should be broached, and perhaps an ox roasted on the green. Thus to live, in queen-like independence, seeking only the good of my loving subjects, far from the changes of the world, would be happi

ness.

"The picture is bright enough in imagination, but perhaps I might find the reality rather insipid. I have sometimes thought that an active life in the busy world would suit me well; for I have often longed to mingle in its conflicts, to struggle with its trials, and to fight bravely against the current of adversity, until I could make a name for myself, an honourable position in the minds of men. I am conscious of innate strength and energy to wrestle with and overcome misfortune, but I have not patience to endure little evils, or to fulfil little duties. Any great privation I could bear without repining, for I should feel

'How sublime a thing it is

To suffer, and be strong;

but to devote my mornings to the amusement of my uncle, because the injuries he received from that fall of his horse oblige him to give up his usual occupations, is really intolerable. And, as this is my only positive trial-and many would call it a very light one-I ought to be happy; but happy I am not.

"Now, if I were a man, everything would be different; I should then be free to follow my own tastes and inclinations, and I would not remain an unknown or insignificant member of the society in which I might take a prominent and important station. I would be a profound scholar, dwelling alone and unapproached in my mind-kingdom; or a man of science, penetrating the secrets and solving the mysteries of Nature, tracing to their cause all strange effects, and astonishing my fellow-students by the depth of my researches, and

the correctness of my results. Or I would be a poet, a blissful dweller in the enchanted land; or a painter, glorying in the power of transferring to the lifeless canvas the beautiful ideal of my artist-dreams; or a musician, of whose soul, sweet sounds and rich full harmonies are the life, the inner world, wherein it finds companionship and joy. If the creative power were mine, such should be my choice, for these are the real masters of the heart and mind, and that is the only mastery I covet. They, the heaven-gifted ones, are the true nobility of earth, whose claim even now is felt, and must one day be acknowledged. The aristocracy of birth has been -of wealth is-of genius shall be-pre-eminent; and then will have arrived the Golden Age, the 'better time' so long expected.

"How much Mrs. Maitland would be shocked, if she could see what I have just written! She would not even laugh, but with a grave smile she would say, 'Should it be the endeavour of our existence to win art-triumphs? Have we no higher mission? All these vague, passionate yearnings for the beautiful-these earnest longings of our earth-clogged souls for the perfection from which they are fallen-for truth and beauty and goodness are emanations from the Source of holiness-can they be satisfied with any loveliness in nature, or any excellence attainable in art? Should they not rather be restrained and purified, so that they may not, like the raven sent forth from the ark, rest contented with whatever may rise above the world's dark turbid waters, but may be directed heavenward?' Dear Mrs. Maitland, whose life is made up of duties well performed, of all good thoughts and generous words and kind intentions, cannot understand my ambitious selfishness.

66

Ah, here she comes, with her pale sweet face and mourning dress, looking the very type of gentle womanhood."

The words were scarcely written, when a bough of the clematis which hung across the window was put aside, and the widow lady, thus highly praised, entered from the garden, and stood beside her eulogist. Youth was long time passed, beauty she had never possessed, but there was something so winning in the quiet smile and low sweet voice of Mrs. Maitland that they compensated for the absence of more brilliant charms.

"Still here, Ella!" she exclaimed; "has not Mr. Hyde yet sent for you?"

"He will not do so in future, because it seems as though he desired my company without consulting my convenience; but I am to go to him every morning at eleven o'clock ! for

my tap at the library door and 'May I come in,' intimate a wish to enliven his solitude. That is a correct repetition of his last speech to me yesterday. The dreaded hour is not yet arrived, and I am unwilling to anticipate my time of penance."

"That is not right, Ella;" but the half-smile that accompanied the mild rebuke counteracted its effect, and encouraged Ella's admirable mimicry of her uncle's cold tone and formal manner-an amusement in which the thoughtless girl frequently indulged, and which Mrs. Maitland, though she disapproved of it, had not sufficient decision to check. So she changed the subject.

May I ask what employment has engrossed your attention, to the neglect of your studies? Is this an essay or an exercise?" and she pointed to the papers which were scattered on the table.

"Neither," replied Ella, colouring. "They are confessions of-of-at least, thoughts, reflections-I was talking to myself on paper, that is the truth."

"Then they are strictly private, and I must not ask to see them; though the beginning of one sentence has caught my eye, and I am rather curious to know the conclusion: If I could have my own way, I would'—May I not know what, in that case, you would do?"

Ella hesitated, and appeared to be following with attention the movements of a spider which had crept in from the garden, and was vainly endeavouring to retrace its way; then, looking up, she said, with some embarrassment, "If you promise that you will not think me a very foolish child you may-am I not gracious?—you may read whatever you can decipher of these Confessions of a Young Lady; but remember that they were not intended for the edification of any one but myself-so don't laugh, there's a dear Mrs. Maitland. You know what you said about home missions-that has not much to do with the matter; but I have been scribbling this morning what I wished to say last night. Now don't laugh, promise you will not. There, the clock is striking, I must be off, so I shall not see if you look properly grave, but please don't laugh, if you can help it. Good-bye," and, with a look of comic misery, Ella left the room. She soon returned, however, and saying, My uncle does not wish for me, as Mr. Graham is with him," she sat down by Mrs. Maitland, and intently watched the expression of her countenance. "Now you shall not see the last sentence;" she exclaimed suddenly, placing her hand over it.

66

"Too late, dear, I have read it, and thank you for your mistaken but flattering opinion of me."

"Not mistaken, I am sure, and, indeed, not flattering; how should it be when I did not imagine you would ever know it ?"

"I did not doubt your sincerity, my dear, but I cannot compliment you on your penetration. You were more correct in saying that I could not understand your incomprehensible desires.'

"Now you are laughing at me," said her companion.

"No, I am quite serious," answered Mrs. Maitland; "and if you will not look so very disconsolate, I will tell you what I really think of you. Dear child," she continued earnestly, "these regrets are wrong, they are wicked, your discontent is rebellion against our heavenly Father, for it is tacitly saying, 'My will, not thine, be done.' No trouble has ever befallen you, yet you murmur; you have all you can reasonably wish for, yet you are dissatisfied; you have the enjoyment of wealth without its responsibilities, which will come soon enough, and you should be glad that you have not to bear them while you are young and inexperienced."

"Oh, of course I am the most enviable person in the world," interrupted Ella, petulantly. Very agreeable the position of Tantalus must have been, with the means of satisfying his cravings in sight, but beyond his reach; and the enchanted princess, in the German tale, who was spell-bound in a cavern, roofed, walled, and paved with sparkling gems, and lived on there for ages, with all the warm feelings of life gushing up in her heart, and with no object on which to lavish them save a monstrous black dog, the guardian of her beautiful but abhorred prison-that lady ought to have considered herself peculiarly fortunate; though I must acknowledge that I never before regarded the situation of either of these personages as particularly delightful."

"Do you think so now?" inquired Mrs. Maitland, without remarking her ill humour.

"No; but it is possible that you may, as you seem to imagine that I have little cause to complain of my destiny."

"Excuse me, but I do not perceive the connection between your position and those of either the wicked king of Phrygia, who was supposed to suffer the just retribution of his misdeeds, or of the poor victim of the magnificent sorcerer, condemned to a splendid but wretched captivity by some romance writer, or, perhaps, owing her name and history to a wandering minstrel."

46

Happiness is so near me, but I cannot grasp it," replied Ella, passionately; "all that is so fair around me is shadowed by a cloud-"'

"Of discontent, Ella. What can you wish for that you

have not? Mr. Hyde is almost a father to you; this paradise is your home; and though you are secluded from the world, which you may perhaps regret, for young people naturally like society, yet you should rather rejoice that you are not exposed to the numerous temptations which your ardent and impressible disposition would render especially dangerous."

"Do you suppose that, if a thief were caught before he had accomplished his dishonest designs, he would rejoice that, though he had been guilty in thought, he was innocent in deed? Not that I would yield to the allurements of the world, but I am sorry to be so effectually debarred from its pleasures. I long for what is forbidden, and it is too much to expect me to be glad that it is refused. Not that I care for gaiety; on the contrary, I fear its enervating effect on the mind, but this aimless and unvarying existence is so hateful, that any change would be welcome."

My dear," Mrs. Maitland began, in a tone of expostulation; but without heeding her, Ella continued vehemently, "I ought to be happy; but when we begin to talk of its being a duty to appreciate our own felicity, it is a certain proof that we do not feel it. You say that my uncle is kind to me. True. The sudden death of my poor father, which occurred while I was quite a baby, left my mother and myself with no means of support. Mr. Hyde came forward as a brother should. He gave us a home, and, when my dear parent was no more, he adopted her child; and he and my aunt ever treated me as their own daughter. Their little boy-one infant alone had been given to them-had died long before; and I verily believe that their affection was buried with him; for good as they were to me, I could never take his place in their hearts. This was not strange, perhaps, but how could I love them, when I saw that, conscientiously kind as they were, they did not love me? Grateful to them both I have always been; and, now that my aunt is gone, I have sometimes fancied that the childless mother may perhaps have felt as lonely as the motherless girl; but I did not think so while she lived. Had we understood each other, much might have been altered; but as it was, the weight of my obligations to them both was a burden, and is so still. Now that my uncle has lost his wife, he, too, may know what it is to want something to cling to. I have known the feeling long-but not now, Mrs. Maitland, not since you have been with me."

Mrs. Maitland was accustomed to look upon Ella as little more than a child; and this burst of feeling-for extravagant as Ella's words might appear, there was no affectation in them -this sudden utterance of sentiments so different from her