to serve as an hireling-he, so long accustomed to respect and consideration!-to banish him from his friends, his neighbors, his native town! We must not think of it. The sacrifice must be made. And you will find your happiness, dear Edward-we shall find our happiness-in his restored comfort, and in the consciousness of having done our duty."

Affectionate son as Edward was, and determined as he had professed himself to abide by the decision of his mistress, he could not forbear from combating this resolution. She listened to him with sweet and mournful attention, as if willing to hear all that he had to say; but her determination was unshaken. She had just asked"Since we must part, dearest Edward, were it not wiser to shorten this pain?" when an odd-looking little note was delivered to her.

Elizabeth read the contents once, twice, thrice, and remained silent and perplexed, as if hardly comprehending the meaning.

"It is very strange!" exclaimed she, thinking aloud, and forgetting that she was not alone; "very strange! What can he want at this hour?"

"He!" exclaimed Edward, jealous (so strange a thing is a lover's heart) of her whom he was upon the very point of resigning. "He! -what he? From whom comes that note?"

"From one who must be apprised of this event."

"Not, surely, from Mr. Sumner? No; from him it cannot be. But from whom? Who can have the power so to absorb your attention at such a moment!"

Elizabeth paused an instant, and then said, gently-"Come with me and you shall know. Although we are doomed to part, to meet no more, you must always be amongst the most valued, the most cherished of my friends. I cannot afford to lose your good opinion. Come with me and you shall know all."

She tied on her bonnet, wrapped herself in a large cloak, and they passed through the rectory garden into the churchyard. The fine old Gothic building with its gray cloisters, its graceful porch, its towers, and its steeple, in sombre grandeur from the graveyard covered with snow, by which it was surrounded, the summit almost lost in the frosty mist of the air; so that the imagination added to the actual height, gave a cathedral-like grandeur to the edifice. A few yews and cypresses were clustered in one corner, and a row of stately limes, their larger limbs partially covered with snow which lay in long intersecting lines, defining the forms of the branches, led to an iron gate, which opened into a narrow lane, leading to one of the poorest and least populous suburbs of the town.Along this lane Elizabeth passed seduously attended by Edward.

"I ought to have told you before," said she in a low voice-"only he whom it most concerns forbade the disclosure, and Mr. Sumner I hardly know why coincided in the desire-that, although a charity girl, I am not, as you have thought, an orphan. I have a father a most fond and affectionate father, one whom I love dear

ly, and who dearly loves me. He is a poor but industrious man, following a mean occupation; not so poor but that he makes me frequent presents, and is most kind and generous to the widow in whose cottage he lives, and whom he mainly supports. Still I have always felt that he was not fit to be your father nor to be connected so closely with a man so intelligent, so well educated, and so respectable in station as Mr. Morris. I always felt that something would prevent our union. And so, alas! it has turned out.

By this time the clouds had so far cleared away as to admit glimpses of a keen and frosty moon, which shed a cold, pale, desolate light upon every object; dwelling with a tenfold desolation on a small hovel, whose rugged thatch and windows stuffed with rags, as well as the broken-down state of the little gate, (ajar perforce, since hanging by one hinge, it would neither shut nor open,) which led into the narrow front court, betokened the most sordid poverty.

Up this court Elizabeth passed; and knocking, with it seemed, a forced resolution, at a low door, in little better condition than the gate which formed the outer barricade, was immediately admitted by an infirm old woman into a dark and dismal kitchen.

"I look for your father every minute, Miss Betsy," quoth the tottering crone, "for 'tis past his time o' coming in: and if ye'll wait till I strike a light, ye may walk into his room, and I'll kindle ye a bit o' fire; for you tender lasses that live in grand houses, can't bear the cold like us poor folks that be used to nothing better."

And, so saying, she fumbled out an old tinder box and having, with some difficulty, cherished a spark into a flame-for her old and withered hands, and feeble breath seemed numbed and chilled by the cold which she defied so manfully-she lighted a wretched candle, led the way into the next apartment-and endeavored, with a little damp straw, and a few dirty chips, that had evidently been long trodden under foot in some carpenter's yard, to produce, in a small, rusty grate, from which the brickwork was breaking away, something as nearly approaching to a blaze as the state of the fireplace and the nature of the fuel would allow.

Edward in the meanwhile, took a mournful survey of the sordid abode, contrasting so strongly with the appearance, the mind, and the manners of the lovely and graceful woman who stood beside him, the beloved of his heart. The hearth and its appointmentsthe bit of old iron that served as a poker, the broken dustpan that officiated as shovel, the pipkin upon two legs, and the lipless pint cup which did duty as kettle, pot, and saucepan-this niggard and beggard hearth was but a type of the rugged and scanty plenishing of the comfortless chamber. A joint stool, a rickety table, and two tumble down chairs, one of them garnished with a cushion, darned, patched, and mended, until mending was no longer possible, figured in the centre of the uneven bricked floor: over the chimney, was a mug without a handle, a teapot curtailed of its fair proportions, by the loss of half a spout, a teacup and saucer of different patterns, and two or three plates, and basins, all more or less cracked, and

repaired, not very aristically, with putty and white paint. In one corner was the inmate's humbled bed-a chaff matrass, with one or two rugs or horseclothes, much the worse for wear, in another the little pile of straw and chips, and rotten sticks from whence the fuel now smoking rather than burning in the chimney had been selected; and, in a third, a dingy heap of old shoes.

The old woman, satisfied with her labor, retired to her part of the dwelling. Elizabeth was the first to break the pause which succeeded her departure.

Never

"This, Edward, is the abode of my father-a father whom, in spite of all that surrounds us, I have good cause to love. Does not the sight of such misery serve to reconcile you to the destiny that parts us?-Such, at least, is the effect which it ought to havewhich it has on me. I am not fit to belong to your family. should I have cherished such a thought. Strange that Mr. Sumner, knowing as he did the whole truth, should have encouraged our attachment! Strange, most strange, that till now, the name and the existence of my father should have remained a secret! Well! my presumption is fitly punished, and you will turn with a freer heart to one more worthy to share your home and possess your affections."

"Say not so, my own Elizabeth! were it not for my paramount duty to my own most kind and excellent father, all that I see here would but supply a fresh motive for our union. All speaks of poverty and industry-nothing of crime. And, next to the joy of offering you a comfortable home, should I reckon that of rescuing one so near and dear to you from penury and toil! Oh! that I were now the free agent that I thought myself yesterday! Not another night should your father spend beneath this roof. If my wretched uncle, Arnott, could but know the misery that his wild spirit of speculation has brought upon us all?"

"If he could, master Edward, I am minded that he'd rather cry old shoes than gamble in the share market," quoth our friend Isaac advancing into the room, depositing, with considerable care, his two bags of shoes in their appropriate corner, and emptying with equal readiness, divers rotten sticks, fir apples, and stumps of gorse, gathered during his day's travel-for apparently he had wended countryward-from the several pockets of his nondescript garments. "If these Stock Exchange gamblers could but tell the sore hearts they cause to their friends and kindred, mayhap it might go nigh to reform 'em," pursued Isaac. "So here you be, Master Edward, come to make a deal, as I prophesied; and ye ha' brought Bess wi' ye, to clinch the bargain. So much the better. Gie me a kiss, Bess. So thou be'st come to help Master Edward to choose his wedding slippers-eh, my girl!" And the old man nodded, his head; with a knowing wink and chuckled-"Come to choose the wedding slippers!"

"Alas, my dear father, you little know"--began Elizabeth.

"Alack and alack, wench! No alacks for me. I do know all

So,

the story; ay, and a great deal besides, that neither of you know, wise as ye think yourselves. Come, my good boy and girl, sit ye down here by the fire. Bess looks as white as the snow on the house-top; and thou, Master Edward, art not much better. Sit down, and make yourselves comfortable. I'll tell you all about it.” And the old shoe-merchant drew his two chairs to either side of his little fire, seated himself upon a stool in the middle, flung on fresh fuel, breaking the sticks with his withered hands, and did the honors of his small apartment with much hospitality. "Well, Master Morris, for all I cry old shoes about the streets and my Bess (heaven bless her sweet face!) was brought up at a charity school, it an't altogether for want of a bit of money. Many a year have I been scraping and scraping and hoarding and hoarding, to save her a portion; and I told her and Mr. Sumner not to let out that she had a father, just for the pleasure of the surprise like. in the meantime, comes this affair of Master Arnott. Ay, better cry old shoes than go gambling in shares. So I happened to have the money, waiting for a good security-nothing like turning an honest penny-just when Master Byrne was wanting it for your father. So I lets him have it. Here's the paper, see-the whatd'ye-call't?-the bill of sale. And I offered him my girl, with £5000 to her portion; not letting out who she was. And here I've just got a letter from him to Master Byrne, saying as how 'twill break your heart to marry her; not thinking mind, that she's she. And I 'spose as how you are come to say that you won't have her, 'cause o' your father-eh? So she's refused o' both hands-eh, Bess? Well! I love a good father, and I love a good son; he'll be sure to make a good husband. And, if Bess don't make thee a good wife, my lad, there's no faith in women. So, take her!-and take this bit o' paper; that's four thousand pounds: and there's one thousand that I promised," continued he, going to one of his corner heaps, and taking a couple of dirty bank-notes out of an old shoe; "and another that I give, 'cause of these two refusals. A good father makes a good son, and a good son 'll make a good husband. And I've heard to-day, from a real Jew, who knows a good deal of what goes on on 'Change, that Master Arnott is likely to get his money back again. So now off wi' ye to Master Morris; and tell him the news. And, hark ye, my boy; don't forget to come back for the wedding Slippers!"

O LOVE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE.

BY DR. ALEXANDER LACY BEARD.

O love is like the summer rose!

That blossoms where the sunbeam glows

But when the tempest rushes past,

Its leaves are scattered on the blast,

Or by the rain drops beaten down
They fall and wither on the ground.

O love is like the meteor's light!

That flashes 'mid the gloom of night;
Seen like the foam upon the river

One moment and then gone forever,
Glares wildly from the zenith's height,
Down into everlasting night.

O love is like the flittering gleam!
Of sunlight on the silent stream;
How sweet and quiet seems its rest,
Upon the Lake's unruffled breast-
When lo, black clouds obscure the sky,
And now the sunbeams quickly fly.

O love is like the purple dye
Of sunset on a summer sky;
All rich and gorgeous in its hue,

But swiftly fading from the view-
Leaves darkness with its sombre mein;
To reign in silence o'er the scene.

Yes, love is like the summer rose!
The meteor's light that fiercely glows
The fading of the fitful gleam,

That spakles on the silent stream;
And like the purple hues that lie
At sunset on a summer sky.

The things which soonest change or flee,
Are types of love's inconstancy;
Born of a glance from beauty's eye,
A burning kiss, a tender sigh,
Reigns for an hour with despot rule,
Then sinks into oblivion's pool.

From Alexander's Weekly Messenger.

PATRICK HENRY.

This distinguished name stands conspicuous upon the pages of the history of our country, and shines with peculiar brilliancy amidst the constellations of the revolution. Time and the critic's pen, have not detracted from the lustre of its fame; the patriot delights to dwell upon the bright and bold career of PATRICk Henry.

He was a native of Studley, Hanover county, Virginia; born on the 29th of May, 1736. His father was a highly respectable man of Scotch descent; his mother was the sister of Judge Winston, who was justly celebrated as an eloquent and forcible orator.

During his childhood and youth, Patrick Henry was remarkable only for indolence, and a love of recreation; consequently, he ar