tune left wholly at her disposal in my father's will, wherein it was found he had most tenderly and affectionately considered her, loving her to the last, with the truest affection, and leaving me to her sole care. My poor mother's grief was unbounded. She, too, had ever idolized my father. She had mourned over his religious errors, and endeavored to correct them, with a warmth and pertinacity seldom equalled; while he, firm in his own adherence to opinions once formed, opposed her with a harshness he never intended, until the circumstances of the controversy would call it forth. My mother, in her hour of bitter trial, turned to that religion for whose sake she felt she had grieved him; and found in the performance of its duties her only consolation. My presence, which would have afforded her so much enjoyment, after being debarred from it for three years, she resolved to relinquish as a penance for her faults, and never to see me until I should complete my seventeenth year. For this purpose, I was placed in the academy at Emmitsburg, and there I remained until your dear mother summoned me to her delightful home. My unhappy mother, whose health soon began to decline under her extreme distress of mind, and life of painful discipline, died about three years ago, perfectly reconciled to herself, and leaving me her blessing and her creed. At St. Joseph's, the beauty and harmony of the lives of the excellent sisters, awakened in me the memory of my early days, and my beloved mother's happy hours of tranquillity and instruction. I requested books on the subject of the Catholic faith as believed by her children and taught by the Church. I satisfied my mind fully of their foundation in truth-thanked my Creator for having recalled me to the fold, and made a solemn vow never to unite my destiny with that of one who should not believe as I believe, dear Arthur, upon that most important subject"

She stopped, and a long pause ensued. At length, Arthur said: "A Vow, Ellen! I did not think you were so much of a fanatic!"

"You have known me long, and I do not think have ever found me unreasonable,"

she replied. "Now do not jest about either my faith or practice, but let us part in kindness." She rose as she spoke, and quietly descending the cliff, left Arthur to meditate upon her words. In a short time the company reassembled; dinner was spread upon the green sward, and enjoyed with unwonted relish; and the party, wearied by their unwonted exercise, reclined languidly upon the grass until it was time to return to the city. The drive home was delightful. The declining sun had curtained the heavens above with a gorgeous drapery of purple and crimson clouds, which shed their mellow glow upon the tree tops in the distance, and brightened with soft radiance the low foliage of the prairie through which they passed. The feelings of the Seabrook party, who had managed to occupy the same vehicle in returning, seemed to take their tone from the objects that surrounded them; each became thoughtful, and even pensive, as the twilight hues darkened upon the scene. Presently, little Sue, who was leaning upon her mother's bosom, pointed out to her the first star of evening, hanging like a silver lamp in the vault above, and Mrs. Seabrook in a clear, sweet voice, repeated to her those beautiful lines, by Willis, "A Child's First Impression of a Star." "How impressive is the conclusion," said Mary, "God has made a star: it comprehends so much; were I a teacher now, I could make a whole sermon from those few words." "Pray postpone it, Mary," said her brother, "until I give Byron's Address to Hesperus, which though in a different strain, is quite as exquisite." When his well modulated voice had ceased to sound, his mother said gravely, "Byron has been truly compared to an 'Archangel ruined.' His great genius could not redeem his bad principles; but, it shines forth from the corruptions of his life, even as those beautiful lines from the pages of Don Juan, a beacon attracting observation to the worthlessness which surrounds it." There was a moment of silence; when Ellen, who had hitherto been an interested, but quiet listener, remarked, "I never see the evening star, without associating with it in my imagination, The Vesper Hymns, by which it was greeted in the olden time,

in Spain and Portugal, and sighing that those days of romance have departed.”— "Yes," replied Arthur, "I remember, as quite apposite to your feelings, Bishop Heber's remark to Mrs. Hemans, in one of his numerous letters addressed to that lady. He says, speaking of superstition, 'Even now, the planet Venus is identified with the Virgin Mary, as the star of the sea; and receives an undue share of homage from the mariners of Spain, Portugal, and Sicily." "The remark is new to me," said Ellen; "but I will not question its truth; for there is so much of devotional and poetic feeling in the idea, as to render the superstition, if it exist, at least as excusable as it is harmless." "Upon my word, Ellen, you are such a faithful defender of Catholicism, even in its follies, that I should not wonder if you were to write a poem on the subject yourself," said Arthur, bitterly. She smiled calmly at his warmth, and said: "Lend me your sketch book and pencil, and I will try." Sue had dropped off into slumber, and the rest of the party remained quiet, while the earnest girl rapidly traced the following

EVENING HYMN.

"Ave Maris Stella."

Ave Maria! Star of Hope!

Whose rays illume our troubled way, And through the gloom soft vistas ope,

Of the bright realms of endless day: Receive our vows, and nightly shed Thy guardian beams around each head!

Ave Maria! Star of Peace!

Whose lustre cheers the troubled soul, Bidding those stormy passions cease,

Which through the worldly bosom roll: Receive our vows, and nightly o'er Each anxious breast thine influence pour!

Ave Maria! Star of Love!

Whose light to all on earth is given, Whose influence, owned by Saints above, Is honor'd in the courts of Heaven: Receive our vows, and nightly throw Thy halo o'er this world of wo!

Ave Maria! Star of Faith!

Whose light each weary wretch may find, To quell the fears that throng his path, And calm the troubles of his mind: Receive our vows, and still impart Hope, Peace, and Love, to every heart!

They had reached the Ferry landing, when Ellen returned the book and pencil to its owner. The little boat soon commenced her noisy passage across the river, and the tired party shortly dispersed to their accustomed haunts.

From this day Arthur Seabrook felt that there was indeed no hope of his winning Ellen Hudson from principles so firmly fixed. He desisted from useless efforts to change her sentiments, he devoted himself with renewed vigor to the business in which he was embarked. Months rolled on. The gentle Mary was moved and won to grace another home; and Ellen devoted her time more exclusively to the excellent Mrs. Seabrook and the lively Sue. But dark clouds began to gather over the business prospects of Arthur. Creditors at a distance failed to meet their engagements, and the increasing difficulties in mercantile life throughout the eastern and southern states, began to exert a baneful influence even in the far west. Men grew cold and cautious. The angel of death at this time passed over St. Louis; and its shadow fell upon two of Arthur's most attached and efficient friends. The houses which had assisted him in all his difficulties before, being now closed, he felt that he was upon the verge of failure, and resolved upon one strenuous effort more to sustain his sinking credit. With this view he started on a collecting tour into the interior of the state, and passing along in a westerly direction, had written from the different points of his journey towards the Osage country, and his last letter to his mother breathed the spirit of hope, founded on the success which had hitherto crowned his efforts. His letter concluded with these words: "I will go up to Fort Gibson, the highest point of steamboat navigation, and as I have seen and will see a great variety of Indian tribes, I expect on my return to fill little Sue with wonders by my descriptions. I will see the noble and stately Osage, the largest race of men now extant, save the Patagonians; the surly Pawnees, the Creeks, the Cherokees, and Chactaws will all have passed under my observation ere I revisit you; for I could not resist the temptation to combine the pleasure of see

ing this interesting portion of our country, with my more useful purpose in undertaking such a long journey, and if I can possibly abstract the time necessary, I mean to penetrate into the forest haunts of some of the native tribes. You may expect some fine specimens of the tasty work of the daughters of the wilderness, and dearest mother, let not your heart throb with inquietude at the protracted absence of your son." But who can bid a mother's heart not be anxious? Mrs. Seabrook felt that the very caution implied the possibility of a cause for disquiet, and deeply did she regret the success which had enabled her son, by remitting the sums he had obtained to St. Louis, to pursue a scheme so full of adventure, if not of danger, and greatly, very greatly were her fears increased, when weeks and months passed by and there came no farther tidings of her son. Month followed month, and no one had heard further of Arthur Seabrook, the house in which he had been a partner ceased to struggle, and was pronounced bankrupt. Mrs. Seabrook found herself in poverty, at the very moment that the best energies of her character were paralyzed by the wretchedness which had overwhelmed her at the loss of her son. Mary and her husband were far distant from St. Louis, and she had none but Ellen to console her; for Sue was yet too young to do more than aggravate her sorrow at the thought of one other helpless one to be involved in suffering. At this moment of trial and difficulty, the character of Ellen Hudson shone forth in all its strength and loveliness. Conquering the weakness of her woman's nature she nerved herself to the task before her, and soothed the grief she could not censure. She recalled the mother to a sense of her duties by speaking of the high principles and nice sense of honor in him she lamented; urging her to entrust the whole of her affairs to the hands of an eminent lawyer, and to retire with little Sue and herself to a smaller abode, which she took and furnished for their future residence. "I do but return a debt,” said Ellen as Mrs. Seabrook made a feeble effort to talk of the obligation. "I do but fulfil a duty, dear aunt; VOL. II.-No. 1.

nor can it ever be thoroughly performed, until the orphan girl who has so long dwelt beneath the shelter of your roof, feels that you deem her worthy of the dear privilege of having you an inmate within her humbler home." Mrs. Seabrook could resist no longer, and they soon moved to their new abode. Ellen felt no wish to mix again in society, and sedulously avoided the smallest unnecessary expense in her style of living. Her own bereavement in the loss of Arthur was a pang unknown save to her own heart, that told her that its widowed and broken feelings could never cling in earthly love again to another object. However, she subdued every evidence of affliction, and gave her whole time and thoughts to the mother and sister of him she had so deeply loved.

More than twelve months had elapsed since Arthur was last heard of, and Mrs. Seabrook's unceasing anguish had reduced her to despondency, to illness, and to death. When Ellen followed this dear relative and true friend to the grave, she felt that the last tie was broken that had bound her to existence, except the little sister so entirely committed by circumstances to her care. "We will live for each other, my precious Sue," said she, as they clung together in a tearful embrace after Mrs. Seabrook's funeral, and from that hour she devoted all her energies and brilliant talents to the education of the docile girl.

Years passed on. Tranquillity had returned to their home, and happiness to the heart of Sue. It was a clear, cold night on the 24th of December; the candles had been lighted earlier than usual, and Ellen had just asked her young companion, if she had finished her arrangements for a visit from Saint Nicholas, when the street door bell announced a visitor. "Provoking!" exclaimed Sue, "I had hoped to have such a pleasant evening alone with you, Ellen, and hear the conclusion of The Winter's Tale,' but now even Shakspeare, suppose, must wait till our visitor departs," and her look of annoyance was scarcely banished by the appearance of a tall, darklooking man, in a blanket capote and otterskin cap, who at this moment entered their

5

quiet parlor. The stranger looked around in silence until Ellen spoke: "It is cold," she said, "draw near the fire, sir, and let me know whom you wish to see." "And

am I indeed so changed, Ellen," was all that he could utter, ere Ellen sprang towards him and exclaimed as she met his gaze, "Arthur Seabrook!" Explanations are always tiresome; suffice it to say, that it was indeed the long-lost Arthur, who had returned to find as many changes in the domestic circle he had quitted five years before, as the two who remained to welcome him, beheld in his own appearance.

Seated by the cheering fire, he soon demanded from Ellen a recital of the painful events which had transpired during his absence, promising to relate his own adventures when she had ended. She was yet speaking, and Sue was standing near her brother, whose arm encircled her waist, pressing her closer to his heart, as Ellen, unconscious of the flight of time, dwelt on the last hours of his mother's life, when the clock struck twelve, and the cathedral bell sent forth its joyful peal, announcing to the hearers the birth of the Redeemer. Ellen stopped abruptly: memory retraced the period of Arthur's absence, and reverted to the time when she had so decidedly and painfully rejected his addresses. Thought, quicker than words, had told her, that although returned, it was not for her that Arthur Seabrook had come back; the same obstacle that had prevented their union years before, still existed in all its force. She felt that it was so, and the bell which had startled them by its joyful peal, now struck coldly upon her heart. True to her principles, the maiden firmly nerved her heart anew, and bent her eyes in sadness on the floor as she made the sign of the cross upon her breast, and meekly resolved to travel with submission in the path she had chosen, even to the end. These feelings and resolves were the work of an instant. When she again raised her eyes, Arthur was on his knees apparently in deep devotion. In another moment she was by

his side. She listened to his deep toned voice as it breathed a holy and fervent thanksgiving to God for having made him, too, a Catholic; and ere the bell had ceased to vibrate on the breeze of night, Arthur and Ellen understood that there was now no obstacle to divide two hearts formerly united in all that was pure and noble, and now possessing the strongest of all the ties that can bind heart to heart, in this world of vexation and disappointment-The same Faith!

Arthur afterwards told them how he had been taken captive by a treacherous Indian; who, after having shot his horse, had carried him far back from the white settlements, where he had been kept a close prisoner, till within the last two months, when himself and another captive had made their escape together. Without food, and with scarcely the necessary clothing for the journey, they had worked their way, through difficulties and dangers, to the part of the country where their wily captors dared not show hostility to the white man; and now, he added, with a sigh, "I am returned to St. Louis, to find my household scattered and myself a beggar."

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"No, no, dearest Arthur," said the happy Ellen; "I am yet wealthy; little has been necessary for the expenses of our humble establishment, and my old capital is still waiting for its owner's orders to be withdrawn from my agent in Baltimore. But of this enough; only do tell me how you became a Catholic, Arthur? that is all I want to know at present." "My fellow captive, Ellen, was a priest; and his patience, good temper, and noble perseverance, awakened in my mind a desire of knowing the principles and grounds of his belief. I discarded my prejudices; I enquired; was convinced; and, became a Catholic."

It scarcely need be added, that the only barrier being thus removed, Ellen bestowed her hand and fortune where she had long before given her affections; and that when I last saw her, she was as happy a wife as ever blessed a fireside in Missouri.

MOINA.