sigh, "does not appear to answer; for, if I guess right, we are both mutually disappointed in the result. You, because I have asked almost the only thing you would not do to please me; and I, because your answer convinces me that you do not love me: for, since we are all imperfect creatures, I have no idea of that love which does not seek to improve its object: and how can this be done, when there is wilful blindness to each other's defects?" "Think anything but that," said Arnold, affectionately taking her hand. "Agnes Forester, you have seen me as I am. My naked soul has been revealed to you without disguise; for I would scorn to purchase what I most desire by false pretensions, of any kind whatever. Yet I know, and have long known, that for any one to see me thus and love me, would be impossible. And when I tell you that all the affection I am capable of feeling is centred in you, that you are the good angel that must decide my destiny, and that I should long since have disclosed these, my real sentiments, but for the cowardly dread of breaking the spell which has been the only comfort of my life, I await your answer without fear; for those who hope nothing, escape the anguish of disappointment. Yet speak to me, dear Agnes, for I would hear the last fatal sound, like the closing of the prison-door upon the criminal, rather than my darkness should be again disturbed by such faint and distant gleams of forbidden happiness, as even I at times have conjured up." A deep blush, like the crimson glow of evening, when it suddenly bursts forth upon every cloud and wave, and headland of the western shore, had risen to the face of Agnes while Arnold was speaking. Thrice she strove to answer; but the tears that fell one after another from her downcast eyes seemed to be flowing with too full a tide for words. At last she mastered her rebellious heart, and replied, -" Arnold, I have long loved you with what I believed to be the affection of a sister. What that affection might have become it would be fruitless now to conjecture; for you compel me to express my full conviction, that with one whose sentiments and feelings are like your own, there could be no real happiness." "You are right," exclaimed Arnold with bitterness. "It would be worse than folly to unite yourself to misery. In this world, where truth and sincerity of feeling are without worth or value, no man should ask a woman to share his fortune, without he could offer her a light heart and sunny brow, and a home of unceasing merriment and joy. You are right, Agnes Forester, to ask yourself where would be the gain. I should be a dull companion for a winter's evening, and you know it well." "Hear me again," said Agnes, as she appealed to him through her tears, that now were falling without control. "You wrong me, Arnold, if you think it is for myself only that I am speaking. You compel me to say more than woman should say; to tell you, that I am unable to imagine any gratification to my natural feelings, so great as that of cheering your hours of moodiness and sorrow; and that I would rather share your fortune, were it humble as my own, than be set apart for the brightest destiny that ever fell to the lot of mortals. But in this world we live not for the enjoyment of the present moment only, and marriage is a holy and enduring bond; and woe betide the woman who enters into it with base or selfish views. Either you must be aware that the sentiments you entertain of human life, and the duty of man to his fellow-man, are widely at variance with what I believe to be right, or my words have hitherto strongly belied my thoughts. I know not how far a blind and idolatrous love might in time carry me on towards conformity with your views, or how it might soothe me into a dangerous and luxurious repose in the midst of that enjoyment which I am unable to think of anywhere but with you; but I am not blind now; I wish not to make an idol even of you; I cannot conscientiously say I believe that, in the present state of your mind, you could assist me to correct my own. I am far from the presumption of taking charge both of your soul and mine; and I know that I must answer at the last day for the decision of this moment." "Ah! make me what you will," exclaimed Arnold. "If this be all the barrier betwixt us, you shall mould me to your wishes." Agnes shook her head. "It is easy," replied she, "to say that we are willing to be moulded by those we love; but would it not be safer and wiser to submit to the moulding of Him who first created us; for we know not that those whom we most admire are able to form a correct notion of what is fitted to our individual good; but we do know that a wise Providence has placed us here for his own gracious purposes; and that he will require us to render an account of how these purposes have been fulfilled. A vain woman may persuade herself that she has power to change the character of the man who loves her; but I am not yet to learn that the change which is wrought merely for the sake of a fellowcreature can neither be lasting nor sincere." "Agnes," said Arnold, "you are a sage, cold reasoner; you know not what it is to love." "How is it possible to convince you that I do?" sighed Agnes; and after musing for a while, with her eyes fixed upon the distant horizon, she resumed " If it is so easy to change the heart, and to adopt new habits of thinking and feeling, this may surely be done, as well before a bond is entered into as after. I therefore give you twelve months from this time to approximate to the character which I most desire you should be. All the assistance that my limited knowledge and unlimited affection can afford, shall be at your command; and oh! if the day should ever come !"-but she checked her enthusiasm, and turned away from those earnest eyes, that reminded her she might possibly say, as well as hope too much. "You are not satisfied," said Agnes to her moody companion, after they had both been silent for some time. "I am bound to be satisfied," said he; "but, nevertheless, I think the man who is worth trying is worth trusting." "I do trust you, Arnold, as I would trust no other man. You have now the opportunity of deceiving me, but I know you will not use it unfairly; and Irely as implicitly upon your candour and sincerity in this instance, as I ever did before. But let us clearly understand each other ere we separate. It seems to be on the important subject of duty, that our sentiments differ so widely. I maintain, that a life of usefulness alone can be a life of happiness, and that every human being has the power of being useful in some way or other according to his circumstances and natural capability." "With the former part of your statement I fully agree,-that none can be happy who are useless and inactive; but to my own case I cannot apply the latter, for I believe there will ever be a blight upon all my endeavours to serve my fellow-creatures." "And with you it is very probable that such an idea should exist, for your endeavours have hitherto been made more in the way of sudden efforts or convulsions arising from the impulse of the moment, than from that steady and systematic application of energy and zeal, which is necessary to ensure any beneficial result. And even here, I find my views are essentially different from yours; for I cannot believe any one to be exempt from the duty of loving and serving his fellow-creatures, even if, as you say, a blight should be upon all his endeavours; because that duty is one which we owe to a Being of infinitely higher authority than man, and is strictly enjoined in the Holy Scriptures as a test of our obedience and faith. "I have often thought, it is by looking too much to the effect of good endeavours, by expecting too immediate an evidence of our usefulness on earth, that many well-meaning people are discouraged and thrown back into stupor and despondency; forgetting that He, who has appointed our task, has bestowed a blessing upon the performance of it, by making us happy in the use of the means, while He reserves to himself the mystery of the end. Thus there can be no disappointment attendant upon the service of the humble Christian; because, whatever he may have sacrificed, or lost, or suffered, he has still been faithful to his Heavenly Master, and in that faithfulness itself, not in its effect upon others, is the only sure and lasting happiness which this world can afford." Arnold was now silent, and Agnes, surprised at having been carried away into a style of speaking so different from her usual manner, endeavoured to atone for having occupied the time too much with her own words, by saying no more until they reached the shore. Here her favourite dog awaited her return, and glad to break through the cold solemnity which had somehow or other stolen over her companion and herself, she stooped down to receive his caresses with more than her wonted warmth. "Happy fellow!" exclaimed Arnold, with a look of scorn, "you have no probation to endure. It is better to be a dog than a man." "Is it better," answered Agnes, "to have had nothing committed to your care, than to return your talent and receive ten?" CHAPTER VI. THERE are few things in life that make a woman more serious than the necessity of deciding whether she will accept or reject the hand which is most agreeable to her in the world. Until this important crisis in her fate arrives, she appears to be but a passive recipient of flattering attentions; but in one hour, perhaps, one moment, she has to dispossess her mind of all its vain illusions, and to act simply and decidedly for herself, without support or assistance from any earthly creature. All must be completed, too, in so short a time, for the least hesitation, the least delay, is construed into a tacit consent, and the lover triumphs accordingly. Who then shall withhold the meed of admiration from her who refuses from principle the man whom she is most inclined to love; voluntarily pronouncing her own sentence, cutting off her own hopes of that domestic enjoyment which is dearest to a woman's heart? Agnes Forester had been accustomed even from childhood to habits of serious thought, and the circumstance of having no mother to watch over her early years, by throwing her upon her own resources, had confirmed this habit, and made it the most striking feature of a character, otherwise natural, cheerful, and energetic. On the day of Arnold's departure, she was more serious than usual, and fearing that Mrs. Percival might attribute her want of lively spirits entirely to the loss of her cousin's company, she determined, that before she slept that night, her aunt should be in possession of the confidence to which she was so fully entitled. With generous minds confidence does not often form a subject of regret. Mrs. Perci val was always most amiable when trusted, and Agnes, when she retired to rest, felt, not only that an important duty had been dis charged, but almost as if she had found, for the first time, a firm and substantial friend. There was now no mystery between the aun and niece; and, though Mrs. Percival sometimes sighed over the little interest which the name of Walter excited, she could not but admire and commend her niece for the decision which she had made. Agnes was not a girl to sing love songs to the moon. Perhaps no one could be capable of a deeper or more lasting attachment; but her life was filled up with active duties, and she had neither time nor inclination to si down and brood over selfish or imaginary sorrows. Those who give themselves up te the absorbing influence of what is called love might think that she knew little of the tender passion, when we say, that she went on with the accustomed pursuits, read the same books, applied herself to the pencil and her music, and visited the poor with apparently the same interest as before; but the deepest feelings are not the most conspicuous in our daily walk, and here is the great virtue of cultivating habits of industrious and useful occupation, that we fall into them without an effort, when the mind has most need of being beguiled away from its own secret cares. Who can read these tender and touching lines beginning Yes, there are real mourners,- "Attention through the day her duties claim'd, The first letter from Arnold Percival, after he reached the place of his destination, was filled with an account of the disagreeables of his journey, descriptions of the cold welcomes, or rather the absence of all welcome which awaited his arrival, and the unfriendly faces and strange habits of all around him. The next was more cheerful, for it spoke of having found a friend at last. "One who rails at human life by the hour, 'sans intermission.' His name is George Randall, of good family and prepossessing manners (at least to me;) but you shall see him in the winter, when he has promised to return with me. There is some mystery about his early years which always gives him pain when enquired into; but it is not difficult for me to read, in the workings of his proud and sensitive mind, the effects of injustice and injury from his fellow men-from those who are either tyrants or slaves, just as they are placed above or below the central line of independence, where strength and weakness meet, and beyond which no man is to be trusted." "Hey day!" said Mrs. Percival, who was reading the letter, "it is well that we antiquated people are not required to understand the logic of the present times. Let us pass on to something more intelligible." her philosophy, for she will now have two combatants instead of one; and Randall, who knows the world, will be able to bring facts to support my opinions." Mrs. Percival handed the open letter to her niece, who glanced over it with apparent indifference, yet with that keen searching which none can understand so well as those who look for some kind mention, some afterthought 'some trivial fond record,' to be seen, felt and valued, by no one but themselves. But, no! this casual mention of her name was all the remembrance it contained, and Agnes felt it was not thus she was treasuring the recollection of Arnold. Some time elapsed after this before she heard again from her cousin, and the next letter effectually damped the ardour of delight with which she broke the seal, for it spoke in no measured terms of unpleasant affairs, disagreements and hatreds, in which Randall had proved himself a noble fellow and a staunch friend. "Alas!" sighed Mrs. Percival, "I fear his nobility is nothing better than pride, and his friendship self-interest." "We will not judge him yet," interrupted Agnes, while her countenance expressed that peculiar kind of anxiety which nothing but such painful suspicions could possibly give rise to. "Arnold," she continued, " will never make a friend of the man whose opinions materially differ from his own; and who but himself can think as he does and act nobly." The winter came, and with it the two collegians to the remote village of Houghton. They were now bound together in the closest intimacy, by that kind of fellowship which may not improperly be called a defensive league against the whole human race. Arnold, confident that the appearance and manners of his friend, if they did not always inspire admiration, must invariably obtain respect, was proud to present him to his mother and cousin, who regarded the handsome stranger with curiosity not unmingled with suspicion. He was indeed a handsome man, - "Tell Agnes that she must call up all | according to the usual application of the word. His features so finely and regularly moulded, that the beholder looked again and again for that repose and satisfaction, which fine features alone are unable to afford. The restless wandering of his eye would have been sufficient of itself to rouse the fears of a phisiognomist, but there was besides a ready-made smile of unparalleled sweetness which he wore on all occasions, exciting a doubt whether it had first been assumed for the sake of displaying an exquisite set of teeth, or for the still more dangerous purpose of disguising some secret passion or impulse, whose frequent recurrence had rendered the disguise habitual. It was impossible to read such a countenance, all bland and smiling as it was; and Agnes turned away from the cold marble study to gaze with renewed satisfaction upon the nobler brow and more intelligible expression of her cousin Arnold; who was too much above the least practice of deceit himself to detect a false smile, or even a false word in others. Thus he was often deceived, and every fresh instance of misplaced confidence increased the bitterness with which he thought, and spoke of the actions of mankind in general. Whether it was that the company of this associate, by throwing his best qualities into contrast, rendered them more conspicuous, or that the mental perceptions of her cousin had become more vivid during his short absence, certain it was that Agnes never had admired him so much as now. She even fancied that he had grown kinder and more cordial, and her own welcome was in danger of being more warm than was warranted by the circumstances attendant upon his departure. It is possible that Arnold was glad to feel again the comfort of a home, for, in spite of his cold exterior, he had in reality an affectionate and generous heart, that yearned for all those social sympathies which his perverted notions of what was really estimable, perpetually induced him to trample upon as worthless. And thus, like the heroes of a popular poet, he made his own wilderness at the same time that he mourned over its desolation. The day of Arnold's return was one of those which make us gather into the very centre of whatever household comfort can be found-dark, cold and pitiless without. But Mrs. Percival's hospitality was like an enchanted circle, within which, whoever-entered found full indemnity for past suffering. The countenance of Randall, however, handsome though it was, did not harmonize with the domestic scene. No, not though he praised the viands of every description, and smiled indiscriminately upon furniture and faces. The evening closed in with an increased howling of the blast abroad, which made the warm glow of fire and lamps within more welcome. The curtains were let down, the sofa drawn forward, and piles of dry wood blazed and crackled on the hearth. Still, conversation became commonplace, and at last it flagged altogether. Mrs. Percival ordered coffee, and Randall sipped and smiled, but without cheerfulness. Agnes next bethought her of a portfolio of engravings, mixed with a few of her own drawings, which Arnold had been wont to commend. Upon these the stranger bestowed unbounded admiration, but they were soon turned over, and the leaden extinguisher of dullness fell upon the party again. Thus may one strange countenance, or rather one strange heart, untouched by the social sympathies of life, uninfluenced by home associations and dear remembrances of early affection and enjoyment, cast a damp upon the genial hour; like the fabled spectres of old, whose presence, although unmarked by any thing unnatural in themselves, was said to make the lights of the festival burn blue. There is no cheerfulness like the cheerful. ness of the heart. That honest, open daring to be innocently happy, which shows itself in the clear brow and sunny eye, connecting, as with the links of a bright and living chain, fond thoughts and early loves, unshaken truth, unblighted hope, remembrances |