him, as an authority on the question. Ever kind and indulgent, the Rector was about to have consented to their wishes; but, before he had so far committed himself, Mrs. Smith joined them, announcing that it was nearly nine o'clock, and that Nurse was waiting; whereupon, "good night," "good night," was uttered by the four little ones, in a breath, to which Fanny replied with various expressions of endearment, and Smith by repeating the familiar adage, Early to bed and early to rise,' &c., &c.

As soon as the boys were fairly out of hearing, the Rector led his wife into the lane, before the house; and in the stillness of the evening, which even the little birds seemed afraid of breaking-so holy was the repose of nature—he told her of his long tète à tète with Agnes; and from discussing the character of their fair friend, Mrs. Arnold, they talked of the vicissitudes of their own past life. But, although the hallucinations of romantic expectation had long since moved off from their prospect, and they now saw life in its real character, no tone of bitterness or of disappointment mingled with their feelings. They had had trials,—and what were they more than others, that their cup should not be a mixed one— they had had trials, but notwithstanding all, they had been happy. Their path had been marked with peace, for they had been taught that real happiness does not arise from the gifts of God around us, but within us,the Advent and reign of peace within our own hearts.

"Had we made this world our resting place," said the Rector, "and looked for lasting enjoyment in the beauty of an earthly paradise, our hearts had closed with every

flitting cloud, like the flowers beneath our feet, and 'the sun had scorched us by day or the moon by night.' But, we have remembered that God and not earth is our home, and learnt, under trials that might have laid our souls even in the dust, to count no disappointment a disaster, that did not hinder us in our way to our father's house."

What on earth can satisfy the restless cravings of the human heart, or repay its devotion? The thoughtful mind turns from the acquisition of wealth as sordid drudgery, and from pleasure, as degrading dissipation; and perhaps, for a little while, seeks satisfaction in the vastness of her own speculations-it may be in the busy field of scientific investigation-gazing high into heaven, or deep into the earth, if haply "she will reveal the secrets of her coming forth.' But, even in these pursuits her rest is only in the weariness of perpetual motion; and sometimes, exhausted by her own efforts, she sinks, at once, a paralytic driveller, stricken with the lightning she has herself drawn down upon her head. Or, if she take a low range, and make her resting place in the ark of human affection, is she satisfied?-Love is strong as death, but the destroyer goes forth conquering and to conquer; and no power of affection can turn aside his fatal shaft, or arrest him in his path.

Seek for happiness where we may on earth, we shall meet with ultimate disappointment. It is God alone that can satisfy the desires of the soul that is formed for God; and, as in the world's infancy, He would have no

similitude or idol image in the temple of His

presence,

so now He maintains His sovereignty in the temple of the human heart, and asserts His own supremacy and His right to our entire devotion, by teaching us that every other object is unworthy of it.

Meanwhile, the merry Agnes returned to her Unbeliever, who was waiting for her in the long avenue. He enquired after the 'simple Rector,' and she told him that his 'amiable, happy Mr. Smith' was a misanthrope, and that his melancholy temperament was so 'catching' that she would not venture within sight of the Rectory, or the church, or even the sombre yew, in the churchyard, for—a definite length of time, we are not quite sure, but the term sounded very much like, for centuries. "He is so superstitious, so miserably superstitious," said the Unbeliever, clasping his wife's hand as he spoke. Agnes was not yet sufficiently initiated into the peculiarities of her husband's phraseology distinctly to understand him, and she looked enquiringly into his eyes, but as they told only their own old tale, she went on to rehearse her conversation with Mr. Smith until they returned to the Hall.

F

CHAPTER VI.

"The Forest and the everlasting hills,

Smiled in that joyous sunshine, they partook
The universal blessing."

AND yet, the very next morning, when Wallace was busily occupied with his desk and papers, Agnes burst abruptly into the room, exclaiming,

"I am going to the Rectory!"

66

"O woman-woman-thy vows are traced in sand,' said the Unbeliever, laughingly.

"Now, don't laugh at me, Wallace," cried Agnes, "but leave your desk and come with me. The obscurity of the future frightened me last night in the twilight, but we can dare to look at life, in the sunshine of the morning. See how the light is pouring through the blinds as if it wanted to gladden every heart-truly it is a pleasant thing to behold the sun!'"

"Not, if all that cometh is vanity,'" said Wallace, quickly.

you

"Now, do leave the future in its own twilightI tell you the light is sweet," rejoined Agnes.

"And he that contradicteth, blasphemeth-but Agnes, I cannot attend to you, now-Dinner at five, remember," and looking up from the letter he had been writing, Wallace assumed Mrs. Fleetwood's tone and

manner.

Agnes withdrew, singing an Irish air that happened to be one of his favorites. Wallace looked after her, as she slowly closed the room door, and again fixed his eyes upon his letter.

"My adored Agnes !" was the next sentence that he wrote, "Heaven forgive me for not mentioning her name sooner!—is a graceful, little fairy; and if you could only see her, as I did this moment, with her girlish white frock and sash and flowing flaxen ringlets-no matter. In heart, she is a true woman,-tender and loving, but uncertain and capricious-Thy name is frailty,' and perhaps, the natural character of the sex, has in her case, been strengthened by the excessive indulgence of my late friend, Dr. Fleetwood, and the attention and constancy of her early aspirants, myself not excepted. In a word, Agnes is one of Nature's darlings, and the good old lady has well nigh spoilt her with her fondness and caresses. In mind, she is, or will be, what the man who has the good fortune to be her husband pleases. As yet, she has her head full of theology, having taken lessons from a clergyman in this neighbourhood, whose amiable stupidity has, somehow, won upon her. I consider her as my own property, however-mine, to mould and fashion according to my peculiar ideal of feminine excellence; and after I have gained her confidence by a most discreet and reverent attention to all that she has to say about faiths and creeds, &c., I shall gradually initiate her into the mysteries of truth-I shall teach her to think for herself, leading her, as it were blindfold, to heights, from which