be laid in the tomb of a rich though distant relation of his wife's, where she had been interred. "If," said he, "I had not lost my prop

erty, I intended to have had a tomb of my own at Mount Auburn. All the first people are buried there.

One does not wish, even in

the grave, to be confounded with the mass." Amy did not herself relate to Fanny this proof of the strength of her father's ruling passion; but the sad expression that came over her face, when she spoke of his death, showed that there was a deeper sorrow connected with the memory of it than she was willing to confess.

The three hours passed rapidly with the friends, as they strolled along, chatting by the way, just as when they were girls; with this difference, that what was then a fancy or a golden dream, was real now; and that joys, which were then unthought of, formed the ground-work of their hopes.

Before they came to the old bridge, they met Mr. Roberts. His face beamed with pleasure, at the sight of his wife with the beloved friend of her childhood.

"Do you want me now, Fanny?” said he, gaily.

"Yes, we do," said she. "We have nothing more to say about you."

Soon the merry voices of the children rang through the woods; they bounded, like fawns, at the sight of their mothers, Selmar running after them, gay and light-hearted as they.

When they met at dinner, all were full of glowing accounts of the pleasures of the morning.

"I love uncle Selmar," said Willy; "he tells so many funny stories, and is so kind."

"You have not, Amy," said Fanny, "told me anything of my friend Ruth. How is she? and where is she? and what sort of a husband does Jerry make her?"

"A very good one," replied Amy. "They live in a small house in the neighborhood of Boston. I went to see her, not long since, and she told me that she had a better husband than she or any other sinner deserved."

"Is she still as fond as ever of old proverbs?"

"Quite. I had not been in the house ten minutes, before I heard her say, 'You know, ma'am, that it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The poor old sexton is dead, and Jerry is chosen in his room; and what he gets by the business helps us on, though it is not much to speak of. But many a little makes a mickle.' I asked her

if she was happy; and her eyes sparkled as she answered, 'Happy, ma'am, as the day is long. Jerry is one of that sort that can turn his hand to anything; nothing shiftless about him. All is grist that comes to his mill. There is no kind of chore but what he can do so much better than any one else, that every body employs him. He buries the dead, and waits upon the living; keeps a singing-school, cobbles and blacks shoes. I call him jack at all trades, and good at none; but, though I say it that should not say it, he is a real good husband, and provides well for his family.'

When the time arrived for the Selmars to return, their friends urged them to promise that, at some future day, when Selmar's property would allow him to leave business, they would come and join them in the country.

"This would be a great indulgence," answered Selmar; "but, with my present habits, and our views of duty, I doubt whether it would be so good for us. Nature is indeed beautiful, as you see it here; these hills, this lovely glen, this river, this wilderness of flowers, and the music of your birds, and, above all, your dear selves; but all this, to Amy and me, would be luxurious indul

gence. The human soul, with all its heights and depths, its rough, and deep, and discordant tones, and its sweet, immortal music, its deformities and its deathless beauties, must be the field in which we labor. There we are apparently placed by our great Task-master, and there we think we shall find our happiness. I have an ambition which many will call romantic, but which glorious evidences have been given is not a chimera. It is, to prove that a merchant, yes, a moneymaking merchant, may be an imitator of Jesus, as truly and as faithfully as another man, in spite of the real difficulties and the apprehended dangers that beset him on every side. This seems to me to be my mission. I have some notion that the travelling Samaritan, who, when the priest and the Levite turned aside, stopped to bind up the wounds of him who had fallen among thieves, was a merchant; and Amy and I have resolved to devote my surplus gains, with the help of God, to the good of our fellow-men. I have to-day, Roberts, been in your village; and what I have heard there has proved to me that your happiness here has arisen from the very same source. All had some story to tell me of your kindness, and of the

efforts you make to do them good. While your words invite me to stay here, your example bids me go home, and imitate you in the sphere in which I am placed, only hoping that I may be as successful a laborer in the great vineyard."

They bade each other a tender farewell. It was hard to part; but their visit had been most happy, and they promised to come again next year.

Edward returned to his business with a new zeal for the accumulation of wealth, that he might be enabled to enjoy the luxury of changing tears of sorrow to tears of joy, and of helping to make barren, desert minds blossom like the rose to kindle in the dead eye of him who was without hope, a light which should never be extinguished. All of his earnings beyond a certain sum, which he set aside for the support and real good of his family, he solemnly dedicated to works of beneficence; not to a useless and enervating almsgiving, but to intelligent, thoughtful, consistent methods to alleviate the sufferings of the poor, by enabling them to raise themselves to a dignified independence. He joined in every effort for the diffusion of knowledge and general education; and, above all,