A few weeks after the explanation between Walter and myself, which had been followed by repeated visits to Bell, whom I liked better and better every time I saw her, my uncle was taken dangerously ill: as usual, I was his principal nurse. He would not suffer me to be out of his sight for a moment; and had his illness continued much longer, I certainly could not have borne the incessant watching and fatigue; as it was, however, I was grateful to have been permitted to minister to his wants, and to feel that, under the blessing of God, he owed his very life to me. For a long time my uncle remained weak and feeble as a child; and it was then when his heart was softened and subdued, that I ventured for the first time to speak to him of Bell Hamilton. He listened to me patiently. "Poor thing!" said he at length. "To be sure she was not to blame. And so the old man is dead. I wish I could have forgiven him too." Encouraged by these words, I told him by slow degrees of Walter's marriage, and how unhappy Bell was to think that he had disobeyed | so kind a parent for her sake; and that Walter never would have married unknown to him if he had not been tempted by his strong love for her, whom I described as so well worthy of it. My uncle bore it better than I expected: he told me that he had always hoped Walter would have married me, at which I laughed-or tried to laugh. He was too much exhausted to say any more then; but in the evening, as I sat beside him, he observed gently-" My good little Margaret, how shall I ever repay your love and care?" I flung my arms around his neck and whispered, with tears-"Forgive your son, andyour daughter!" And would that make you happy, my child?" "Yes, uncle, quite happy." He said nothing, but bent down and kissed my forehead; and I knew by the expression of his countenance that all would be well. Never shall I forget the day when he once more left his sick room, and came among us again. How happy, and oh, how beautiful Bell looked, as she sprang forward to assist him, and then went and brought an ottoman for his feet, upon which she presently placed herself, leaning her bright, childish face lovingly against his knees! The tears stood in Walter's eyes as he gazed upon them, and pressing my hand affectionately, he whispered, "All this, dear Margaret, we owe to you!" His sisters were kind and cheerful; they were always kind to me. I had twined the blue ribbon in my hair; I was again almost happy; at any rate I was contented and grateful-oh, how grateful to have been made the instrument of his happiness! # Many years have gone by since then. Another Bell came hovering around me, with her soft waving curls, and her dark eyes, and clasped her little arms affectionately about my neck, When o'er me sleep its mantle flings, And visions fair my senses greet, My soul unfolds her joyous wings, And flies thine own again to meet. To blight the rose of Memory: (The dearest gift of Heav'n to me), They are but as the tender dew That thence descends with fresh'ning rare, All hopes, all blessings to renew That life and love have treasur'd there! THE DRUNKARD'S HOM E. CHAP. II. BY B. B. A. (Continued from page 238.) In an old arm-chair, which was drawn close to the miserable fire in the apartment we have described, reclined the pale form of a youth (seemingly about twenty years of age), who from his closed eyelids and recumbent posture, appeared wrapt in a profound and almost deathlike repose. Although his countenance was perfectly colourless, and bore traces of deep mental as well as corporeal suffering, yet its expression was placid as that of an infant, and there was even a degree of unearthly beauty in his wan features. The entrance of Mrs. Howard and her daughter aroused the sleeper, who feebly raised himself at their approach, displaying as he did so a figure painfully deformed and bowed down, apparently from some long endured and incurable infirmity. Josephine glided affectionately to his side, and embraced him with a sad earnestness, which shewed how much tender commiseration mingled with her love for the poor cripple, who stood to her in the sacred relation of brother. "You look worse than usual, dearest William,' said she kindly. "I hope you have not had much pain since I saw you this morning?" "He has suffered far more than ordinarily to-day, my dear child," replied his mother, to spare him the pang of mentioning a painful subject, which she saw it was now impossible to avoid; "but not bodily pain; we have both suffered, and I need hardly explain the cause; but we remembered even then that He who in His wisdom has seen fit to afflict us thus bitterly, is a merciful and tender Father; may we be able now, and always, to say with humble faith, Thy will be done.' I have not suffered; I can never suffer much, dearest mother, while I am still dear to you," replied the young man; " and far be it from me, however great the trials to which he may subject me, to murmur at the Almighty will, Thou, oh, dread Father," continued he, and he clasped his hands fervently and looked upwards as he spoke, "canst best know how humbly I bow to thy decrees; spare me not if my sufferings and submission can avert thy just wrath from this dwelling; and grant, above all, to me and them, the power to bend, henceforth and for ever, before thy chastening hand." He ceased to speak, but they saw that he still prayed inwardly; and the eyes of both mother and daughter were dim with unshed tears, which shewed that every word he had uttered found an echo in their hearts. It was a scene that would have softened many a mind which scorns the holy influence of purity and devotion, for few could have beheld the unrepining submission of this family, amid daily scenes of the bitterest adversity, without feeling that there must be a mighty balm for human woes in that religion which shines more purely bright amid the darkness of mortal suffering. William Howard was indeed an example of this; destined from his birth to constant bodily suffering, and like all who are similarly afflicted, painfully alive to the infirmity which he imagined severed him from all earthly sympathy and affection; forced also to remain the inmate of a home where every hour brought some new cause for terror or disgust, yet had he retained within his heart that love of pure and holy things which had supported him through many a bitter trial, and served to brighten many a sad and troubled hour, And truly had the unfortunate youth need of all the comfort which piety can give. At that very moment, and while his thoughts were still raised to heaven, the sound of a footstep broke the almost solemn silence which had reigned in the apartment, and in another instant the threshold was darkened by a human form. "And who was the intruder?" asks the reader. "Who could steal thus suddenly upon the sacred moments of these afflicted ones?" Patience, dear reader, while I say a few words concerning the appearance of him whose untimely presence had sent a chill approaching fear through the hearts of those before whom he stood. His features, though imperfectly seen through the dim twilight, bore the unmistakeable stamp of vice and suffering; his complexion was of that death-like pallor which indicates deep-seated and incurable disease; while his lips, of a carnation hue, appeared in hideous contrast to this repelling wanness. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, had the lurid glare of partial insanity or desperation, which, added to the restlessness of his glance and manner, completed a picture on which the most callous and worldly could not have looked without a shudder. Such was the being who now stood among the wretched family-and bore the sacred title of Father-within "The Drunkard's Home." With the quick perception of a guilty conscience, he instantly perceived the shadow which his sudden appearance had cast on all present, and a scowl of bitter defiance came upon his brow as he strode into the little chamber and confronted its inmates. Partly to conceal the fear, with which in spite of herself his forbidding appearance and constant state of excitement in- | ness his mother's uncomplaining sorrow, or spired her, and partly to prevent his suspecting the nature of the conversation which had just passed concerning misfortunes of which he was the cause, his trembling daughter proceeded, with as calm a manner as she could assume, to heap fresh fuel on the nearly extinguished fire, and give an air of greater comfort to the apartment. No word of welcome or kindness was uttered by her unfeeling parent, and it was easy to read in the averted eye and sorrowful demeanour of the poor girl, that affection found no place in her heart for the selfish and degraded being who had brought sorrow and desolation to the home of those who were so utterly dependent on his tenderness and protection. William Howard had remarked with pain the chilled and weary look which rested on his sister's face, and that her dress was still damp with the rain which had fallen during her walk home. Unobservant of the ominous looks which his half intoxicated parent cast at every individual present, he entreated her to change her wet clothes ere any ill effects could accrue. Little did the poor youth suspect the dreadful anger which his words were about to arouse, for he had not remarked what was obvious to his mother and sister, that his degraded father was under the influence of excessive inebriation, and only awaiting the slightest opportunity to give way to the violence which it caused within his breast towards each one of his family, but more particularly against him whose helpless and infirm condition he resented, as though the unfortunate sufferer had been himself the cause of his own infirmity. Mrs. Howard perceived at a glance her husband's excited condition, and her heart died within her as she marked the fire which flashed from his eyes, as turning towards his gentle and inoffensive son he exclaimed passionately, "What folly is this, miserable object? and how comes it either you or your sister dare taunt me with your cold or weariness, or any other fancy, as though it were my fault that you suffer? rather thank the crooked limbs which render your miserable being no less a curse to yourself than a helpless burden on those who gave you birth." listen unmoved to words of harshness against that beloved sister, whose devoted and unchanging love had been the one bright ray amid the dreary darkness of his past life; and it was with the true courage of a noble and unselfish nature that he said firmly, "You best know, father, that Josephine's life is one of daily exertion for our sakes; and if her frame is too feeble to endure cold and weariness unharmed, heaven is witness that never yet has one word of repining passed her lips." It is said that in dangerous or trying situa tions women possess more ready wit (or to use a more expressive term), more tact than the nobler sex, and William Howard's young sister proved at this moment the truth of the remark. She saw, with a fear approaching to agony, the sudden darkening of her father's countenance at the generous but imprudent answer of his hapless and most injured son; she knew sufficient of his reckless spirit to be aware that nought but fear could turn aside his once-formed purposes of vengeance; and as, trembling with drunken fury, he approached her defenceless brother, with the quickness of thought she glided between them. "We have had strife enough for this night, father," said she, almost sternly; "in such a case as ours the fewer words the better. Dearest brother," continued she, laying her hand tenderly and protectingly on his as she spoke, "we are alike the object of Almighty love; that love has seen fit to inflict on you a heavy and incurable infirmity; yet mourn not too bitterly, for from this very cause springs up within my heart a true and lasting tenderness which shall now and through life be your refuge and defence." Josephine turned her eyes towards her father as she uttered these words, and her voice and manner expressed so calm and decided a resolution that he remained undetermined how to act. The young girl's face was colourless as that of the dead, and she felt as though her heart had ceased to beat for ever; but no sign of fear passed over her features, and her look was full of the serene light of conscious virtue and unselfish devotion. The drunkard's soul acknowledged its influence, and dared not brave its power; his vengeful glance sank before hers so mild and holy, and, muttering deep curses on all present, he crept with sullen aspect from the chamber. When he had departed, Josephine's over-wrought feelings found relief in tears; and exhausted by emotions too keen to be endured with impunity by one so young and delicately formed, she sank half fainting on a chair. Wil liam Howard had sustained, apparently moved, the greatest torture on hearing the cruel remarks concerning his personal defects, but at sight of his sister's agitation he could no longer restrain his emotion; and he wept bitterly as he reflected on the helpless dependence which chained her to such a home. un At these inhuman words the drunkard's wife could no longer contain the anguish which rent her very soul, and her mother's heart bled within her as she perceived the hue of deep suffering which they had called up on her son's patient but expressive countenance. Feelings too deep for utterance filled her breast, but no word passed her quivering lip, and she could only press within her own the cripple's burning hand, and show by bitter tears her anger and despair. William Howard had writhed beneath the brutal attack which had been made on him by his unfeeling parent, but no reproachful answer had been spoken by him in return; and the excessive pallor, which still sat upon his features, alone proved how deeply the bitter words entered his soul, and how silently he could endure when his own feelings were alone concerned; but his Winter, that season of double sadness to those tender and generous heart could not calmly wit-beneath whose roofs dwell want and sorrow, passed at length heavily away, leaving many a desolate heart where had been once all joy and sunshine, many a darkened soul in which had until then dwelt purity and peace. The mild, delicious days of spring had succeeded to the cold and stormy time of winter, and the tender green which first clothes the trees and hedges had come with the balmy breath of that enchanting season, which bids even the weariest spirit lay aside its cares for the brief period of its sojourn on the rejoicing earth. And cold or seared indeed must be the heart which does not answer the appeal, and beat more joyously beneath its influence; for those first fresh exquisite days are among the richest blessings which divine love has bestowed on man, inasmuch as the feelings which they inspire approach more nearly to the spiritual enjoyments of celestial beings than any others which this world affords; yet true it is that none but the pure in spirit can fully experience its rapture; but to these how precious is even the first tiny flower that rears its graceful head above the earth! how full of tender melody that faint murmur which floats upon the morning air! But we must turn from the delightful images which such thoughts suggest, to pursue the tenor of our story. It was on such a morning as we have described that Mrs. Adams was enjoying, in the fragrant atmosphere of her spacious and well kept garden, the few moments which she could spare from the arduous and almost unceasing duties of her establishment. The early violet shed her delicate perfume around, and the faint primrose lifted her fair face from the circling embrace of her attendant foliage, as though to tell how the glowing footstep of spring had caused her to burst from the dark bed which had enclosed her so long within its deep recess. The hum of insect life sounded like low but pleasant music in the ear of her who now listened with pure and softened feelings to its unbroken harmony, and its joyous influence dispelled the look of anxious care which severe and continued mental suffering imparts to the features. The widow's thoughts were too much engrossed by the objects which surrounded her, to perceive a young and graceful figure, which at that moment emerged from the dwelling, and advanced with light and buoyant steps towards her; the sound of her own name, however, uttered in sweet and endearing tones, caused her to turn towards the speaker, in whom she recognized her favourite pupil, Cassie Percival. Since the period of her first introduction to the reader, this young girl had improved so visibly beneath the judicious kindness of Mrs. Adams, as to become the object of that lady's tenderest care and affection. Cassie had been of pale, sad, and uninteresting appearance, and remarkable for the cold and unnatural reserve of her manners and deportment; but the influence of mild and gentle treatment at last took effect, and transformed her into a being most lovely and attractive. How many a young heart-full to overflowing of the enthusiasm which youth cherishes with such fond ardour-chilled and revolted by the cold severity and unrelenting contempt of those to whom it looks for sympathy and encouragement, falls back despairingly upon itself, and feels with keen but unavailing sorrow that the seeds which divine goodness had implanted in it for joy and peace and human affection, have changed for ever to the dark weeds of bitterness and distrust! Such had nearly been the case with young Cassie, but the unceasing and timely care of her directress had swept the blight from her young mind, and it would have been evident to any one who looked at that moment upon her open brow and sunny aspect, that no cloud dimmed the brightness of her spirit; even the clear, sweet tones of her voice revealed the music which dwelt within. "What is your errand, my love?" inquired the good lady, as her eye rested with pleasure on the slight, almost childish form of her beloved pupil. "Is my presence required? I did not think it was yet time to go in, but my moments pass so agreeably here that it is very possible I may be mistaken as to the hour." “No, indeed, dear madam, or I should not be the first to remind you of the lapse of time if it were so," replied the latter, with the laughing familiarity which the schoolmistress permitted to her most favoured pupils; " but I came to tell you that Mrs. Howard is here, and is anxious to have a few moments' conversation, if you are sufficiently disengaged to see her." "Certainly, my child, beg her to step here," replied Mrs. Adams, as an expression of pity passed over her calm features; and while the young girl flew to execute her desire, she remained musing as to the probable circumstances which had brought her unfortunate neighbour to the school at that early hour. Scarcely an instant passed ere Cassie re-appeared with the visitor, and as the good old lady advanced with softened manner to greet the latter, she could not help remarking the painful contrast which she presented to her young companion. "Perhaps," thought she, as her eye glanced rapidly from her pupil's blooming face and fresh attire to the pale worn features and faded dress of Mrs. Howard, "this sorrow-stricken and miserable-looking woman was once as fair and sprightly as the young creature who now stands beside her. Doubtless her presence was once enough to cause many a heart to beat more quickly, and many a cheek to deepen in colour at her approach, and now what is she but a crushed and wretched being whose very aspect is calculated to depress the spirit! Oh, Sin! this is thy work, and the agent of thy deeds is he who should have been the first to shelter her from even the shadow of thy deadly presence." Mrs. Adams dismissed the young girl, and taking Mrs. Howard's hand with unostentatious kindness, inquired the object of her visit, and whether she stood in need of any consolation or assistance which it was in her power to bestow. From any other lips these expressions perhaps might have had less weight, but coming as they did from one who had never been known to listen coldly to the sad tale of want or misery, interested in the welfare of her family; and her silence on this sad occasion is a reproach to my friendship." they fell like balm upon the wounded spirit of her to whom they were addressed. But though Mrs. Howard's glistening eye, and the grateful pressure of the hand, which she still held, bore "Nay, kind madam," replied the poor mother, testimony to her thankfulness, she spoke not in" you wrong my child, for never was there a answer to her kind benefactress's inquiries. "What has troubled you, dear friend?" again asked the schoolmistress. "Fear not to open your heart to me, for we have been sisters in affliction, and though I have long ceased to mourn for myself, believe me that I can never forget how to feel for the sorrows of others." "I know it, dear Mrs. Adams, or I should not now be here," replied the drunkard's wife in tones which trembled from ill-suppressed agitation. Still, though I know you to be generous and heavenly-minded, I cannot but fear that the frequent recital of my continual trials will at length weary even your kind heart. Yet have I come to you again, not for my own sake, but for the sake of those whose existence depends upon my exertions, and whose sufferings I cannot look on without making a last effort to relieve them." I should be unworthy the name of a Christian were I indifferent or insensible to your situation," exclaimed Mrs. Adams warmly, "and still less could I refuse any comfort or assistance which I have in my power to give. Tell me then, I beseech you, if any of your family are ill, or whether any fresh cause for sorrow has occurred." "It is indeed so, dear madam," replied the poor woman, and the tears started to her eyes as she spoke. "I had imagined that my cup of sorrow was full, and the Almighty has lately shewn me my impiety. Oh, perhaps, had I bent more humbly to his will in other afflictions, this last crowning one might have been spared; but I murmured within my heart at the trials which I fancied were the hardest I could be called upon to bear, and forgot to be thankful for the inestimable blessing which I possessed in my devoted and uncomplaining children. I am justly punished, and I can now only bow beneath the stroke which threatens me.' "Tell me," cried Mrs. Adams, "what of your children? Josephine is here at this very moment; she is safe and comparatively well. It must be your poor son then who is suffering. Speak, dear friend; tell me all, for I feel for him as though he were my own child." "It is indeed my son who is stricken," replied the mother in a broken voice. "I cannot tell what ails him, but I fear he is not long destined to be on earth; yet not one word of complaint does he utter, and I can only judge of his sufferings by the dreadful weakness which I perreive he vainly struggles with, and the ghastly hue which has overspread his features. Alas! alas! I know not where to look for aid; for unless you, dearest madam, will help us, my child must die." And since when has he been thus ?" inquired Mrs. Adams." I am much surprised that Josephine should not have mentioned it to me, for she should by this me know how deeply I am more grateful heart than hers; and her reason for not informing you of her brother's deplorable state was at least praiseworthy, since it sprang from motives of delicacy; for she feared that it might seem like an indirect application for assistance. We have indeed made so many that my poor children would rather suffer any privation than again take advantage of your goodness; but I cannot forget that I am a mother, and at this fearful crisis maternal love is mightier than any other feeling within my heart. Let this plead my cause with one who has known the bitter grief of mourning a beloved son." At this allusion to former sorrows, Mrs. Adams's pale cheek grew more pallid still, and the shudder of keen agony shook her frame as though the mere recollection of her past sufferings was too dreadful to be endured; but the pang was momentary, and turning suddenly to her afflicted companion, she seized her hand almost wildly, and, pressing it within her own, exclaimed in broken tones, "Say no more, I beseech you, my dear friend; if money can save him he shall live, and as I once prayed to heaven for my own departed child, so will I pour out my whole heart before the throne of mercy that yours may still be spared." Tears, but tears of almost joy, fell from the mother's eyes at these consoling words, and she tasted at that moment the sweetness of human sympathy and compassion. Oh! far beyond the raptures of first love, beyond the boasted laurels of fame, or the long desired possession of the soul's dearest wish, is the holy balm which falls like dew upon the tortured heart, when its deepest sorrows meet with earnest and heartfelt sympathy. CHAP. III. It was night in the great city, and its million lights shone brightly over the living tide of human forms which hurried unceasingly onward through its glittering streets, while, ever and anon, some splendid equipage rolled proudly through the thronging mass, bearing along, perchance, one of Fortune's favoured children to scenes of gaiety and pleasure. But it is not with these that we have now to do; our task is to portray the inner life of man-that life which so few, amid the feverish excitement of a worldly career, pause to analyze or understand; and which is often full of deep and bitter strife when the outward surface is most calm and still. Follow me then in thought, dear reader, from the brilliant and most frequented thoroughfares of the metropolis, to a large and handsome, though rather old-fashioned mansion, in one of its most quiet and now deserted streets. In a lofty and spacious, but somewhat gloomy apartment of the said dwelling, sat a young and |