poor man; but I did not intend to speak of myself, or my affairs to you."

"These sentiments are unworthy of you, Edward. If money has had anything to do with our regard for each other, it is well it should part us; otherwise, why this apprehension now? I thought we were friends, Edward."

Amy's color rose as she said this: she was aware that she had gone farther than the conventional creed of the world might authorize; she had spoken simply from her heart. Edward seized her hand; it was in vain for him to attempt to all that was in his heart. his hopes, all his fears, so his intended self-denial was suddenly over

come.

hide any longer

He confessed all long cherished;

From that moment, what were riches to her, or poverty to him? To those who have never truly loved, who have never had this full mysterious harmony of souls awakened within them, this question will excite a smile; but, thanks be to the great Source of all true love, there are many, very many of the rich as well as the poor, whose hearts will understand and respond to it.

Amy and Edward knew that they had

now one severe trial to encounter, and they wisely resolved to meet it at once. They knew that Mr. Weston would be greatly displeased at his daughter's engaging herself to a man who had no property.

"What shall I say to your father?" asked Edward.

"Tell him the whole truth," replied Amy. 'Yes; but he will be deeply offended."

“Very like; but we must bear that patiently, and let him see that in all that is right we will conform to his wishes."

"I will see him at once," said Edward, "and tell him that, although I have sought your affection, I do not ask for your hand till I have earned the means of supporting you. He must not suspect me of the baseness of wishing to depend upon him for my subsistence. Cannot I see him now?"

"He is not at home," replied Amy; "but you can see him this evening;" and they parted till then.

Strange as it may seem, it was a relief to them both to be separated for a while. The first moment of perfect certainty that we are beloved by the object of our deepest affections, falls on our souls with an oppressive power. The religious mind at such a time longs to be

alone with the Father of spirits. A true and pure love cannot be spoken in all its fulness. It is by faith in that which is invisible and unexpressed; it is through our own deep consciousness, that we know how we are loved by another. The heart involuntarily rises to that Being who can penetrate the depths of its love, and it is in his presence alone at such moments that it seems to breathe freely and calmly. So felt Amy and Edward when they parted this morning.

Amy's father was, and he prided himself upon being a man of the world. He also prided himself upon being what is called a moral man; and he was one, if morality be that cold system of expediency which is sometimes all that is meant by the words, "a good moral man." He thought that religion was a very good thing to keep the people in order; without this safeguard, the poor, and all those unfortunate beings who have none of the good things of this life, would be dangerous to those who have an abundance; and that they must be bribed into submission by the promise of a large reversion in the life to come. He believed in a just Providence, because he was himself provided for. The opinion of what he called the respectable

part of the community, by which he always meant the rich and powerful, was the standard by which he graduated all his views. He piqued himself upon his skill in avoiding to commit himself upon any important or questionable subject till the opinion of the wise in their generation had settled it. If anything ever betrayed him into a violation of this strict mental neutrality, and an argument was brought up against him, he would directly quote some high authority in defence of the opinion he had ventured to advance. His only very decided conviction was, that money was the chief good.

Amy fully understood her father's character; she dreaded the result of Edward's confession to him. She bravely resolved to speak first to him herself, and thus share and perhaps abate some of the indignation which she knew otherwise would fall entirely on his head. Amy possessed a peculiarly free and fearless mind; her nature had instinctively rebelled against the narrowness and slavishness of her father's mode of thinking. She had early learned to think for herself. By her mother's death she had been placed, at the age of fourteen, at the head of her father's family. He was rich; she was his only

child, and he was proud of her; and the darling hope of his heart was, that his daughter should form what he considered a suitable connexion, whenever she married.

What saved Amy in this trying situation? what made her, what is said to be

"The thing that's most uncommon,

A reasonable woman?"

Partly the reaction of that saving principle in our natures which God has so mercifully implanted, that makes the tyrant the promoter of freedom, and the selfish and narrow the teachers of an enlarged philanthropy. It was partly this, but principally the religious education she received from her mother. It was interwoven with her earliest thoughts, associated with her childish recollections, and the first consciousness of her own nature, and its high destiny. The religious character of Amy's mind, as it had been formed by her mother's life, so had it been hallowed and sealed by her death. Her father had never understood the treasure he possessed in his daughter; how should he? he had never understood her mother.

When Amy had resolved that it was right that she should be the first to meet her