and head will turn from them, from the cheering fire, and wander towards yonder dark window in the background of the room, through which nothing is to be seen but the dark, dreary night, nothing to be heard but the falling rain. Now she turns to the fire, to the children, tells a story or sings a little song; but then again she turns to the dark window, listening, and every time more anxiously, and her face grows more pensive, and sad thoughts seem to check the flow of the tale on her eloquent lips. It is clear she does not enjoy the handsome room, the fine, the beautiful children; it is clear there is something out in that dark, dismal night, which attracts her more than all the charms of home, and her soul is wandering out of it. Suddenly a form, a human form, appears at the window, beckons, and disappears; and up she starts, with a half-suppressed ejaculation, and runs to open the door. And in comes he, the awaited one, the fond husband, the good father, the beloved master of the house and home; in comes he, smiling on his home, on his beloved ones, as no sun ever smiled; then see, it is all his own! And now no fear of her turning back to look at the dark window, to look after the light of her eyes. There's light enough, now, in that room, in that home, and in every home like that!

Again, look here; I see another room! It is a poor little room,-no carpet, no pictures, no pretty things to make the room pleasant. Still, it is a neat little room, all things so very clean; and a pleasant fragrance, as that of violets, pervades it. Its familiar spirit is there; it is a woman, not very young, not handsome, nor elegant, but she is very neat, she looks very good, and on her forehead and in her eyes is the stamp of a pure and intelligent mind. There is a little table in the midst of the room with a table-cloth on, white as snow, and two couverts. And on the table is a candle, one single candle, not lighted yet, though it is dusk. The fire in the stove is hushed. It must not consume more wood than is necessary to keep the tea-kettle boiling and the room warm for the friend that is waited for. Then a friend is waited for, even here. That is clear, in the expecting looks of yonder pale but pleasant face. She waits for the friend which is to be the partaker and enlivener of her solitude, the companion of her labour, of her pleasure and pains. She is coming who will partake of her simple meal, of the good book, the quiet walk in the evening sun, of every earthly or heavenly blessing, and make it doubly dear;-she with the bright, beaming eyes, and still more beaming heart. And for her the table is set, the tea-kettle boils, and the candle is waiting to be lighted. Then, it is

not a common candle? Not at all. A common candle, in that room, is a tallow candle. But Mary-we will call our friend so-has, to-day, taken somewhat on her small economies to buy a genuine wax candle. For only by that pure light will she look on the fair, the dear face of her young friend. The tallow candle is not good enough to shine on it. It must be a white wax candle, and then it must burn bright till deep night; then there is so much to say, to tell, and talk, between the two friends. Light steps are on the stairs; the door is thrown open, and sweet voices are mingling, and smiles, and some tears too; and the wax candle is lighted, and makes even them sparkle as diamonds.

Well, it is but a poor little room; it is but two poor women, earning their bread in the sweat of their brow; it is but one poor candle: and yet, it is not easy to describe how much pure and full happiness it here lights upon!

I am wandering again,-wandering from my "Northern Loves and Legends,"—yet not very far, for such love-scenes as these are of all countries in the Christian world. By the way, is it not of interest to think of the romance in the life of the couple we first looked in upon; -the difference between the first meeting, the first stiff compliments, and that other meeting, -the union by the fireside? And this reminds me of a story I intended to tell you, of the heaven-born child who comes in the house as a baby, and at once grows up into a strong man, and takes the whole house on his shoulders. But it is late now, and I must leave that till next we meet. Meanwhile, burn on, burn on, merrily, cheerily, fires of the household, fires of domestic affections, love, friendship, piety, gratitude,-blessed, blessed fires of heart and home, making earth cheerful in spite of autumn frosts and winter nights. Burn and bless on! And when next we meet, my friends, by your fireside, I will tell you a capital little lovestory-may be two!

WORLDLY RELIGION.

BY D. H. BARLOW.

WE hew into shape the granite-mountain, and cut down the pride of primeval forests, for life's meanest, most perishable uses, the Bank, the Exchange, the Theatre, and then build God's temple out of the fragments of such granite, and think to feed an acceptable altarfire with the slivers and refuse of such forests. But Wisdom says, once and for ever, "My son, give me thy heart," and on no terms else may her prizes be won.

CHAPTER I.

"If I be foiled, there is but one shamed; I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing."

AS YOU LIKE IT.

"Is this the lady that wants a place? A pretty servant indeed! I should be afraid to speak to her."

RAMBLER.

INJURY uncomplainingly tolerated and forbearance steadily exercised, where revenge is attainable, certainly indicate heroic magnanimity or martyr-like meekness. Instances however occur where vengeance is justice, and where vice unpunished is treason to humanity, and contempt of the mandates of Deity.

Innocence sullied, confidence betrayed, domestic felicity outraged by artifice and villany, demand sympathetic indignation; but this without retribution exerts no influence upon the depraved and callous, who repent of crime only when its consequences revert upon themselves.

Physically feeble, woman should command protection from the stronger sex, and when the latter, transgressing the law of kindness, impose upon her weakness, they must uncommiserated bear, however scathing, her resent.ment. Providence, in lieu of bearded valour and muscular power, has given her pathos, cunning, will, perseverance, and in extreme cases, terrible desperation.

When the first is ineffective, the next is employed, and so on to the last-where, rising above or falling below prudence, shame, or fear, pursuing, reviling, stigmatizing, she sacrifices herself with her enemy.

Within a spacious parlour magnificently furnished, with a book, the usual companion of her leisure hours, sat Laura Selden. The day was dark and rainy. Heavy showers beat upon the steeple of a neighbouring church, gushed in torrents from its griffin-mouthed spouts, and dashed in sheets of spray from its slated eaves and sculptured cornices.

be fortunate enough to find a place in some omnibus, as the hour for dinner was approaching, and his return momentarily anticipated.

While thus occupied the street-door bell rang, and she was informed that a young female desired to speak with her in the hall. Laying down her volume, and advancing to the parlour door, she encountered a lighthaired, blue-eyed, modest-looking girl, who stood holding a dripping umbrella with one hand, while she raised her draggled dress with the other.

Abashed and fatigued, the stranger seemed perplexed for utterance; but when she unclosed her delicate lips, a row of white teeth was displayed, such as the Greek and Latin poets attributed to their favourites while gnawing asunder the thread or biting off the wax which confined a love-letter.

Her voice was low and tremulous, yet of that peculiar modulation which betrays refinement and sensibility; for nothing more distinguishes a gentle nature from the opposite, than euphony of tone and subdued laughter.

"Noticing your advertisement," said she, presenting a slip cut from a newspaper, “I called to see whether I could obtain the place, and have chosen the present time as one when I should probably find the ladies at home."

Justly satirical as this remark might seem to many city butterflies, it was unintended, and so inapplicable to Laura that it passed unheeded.

"Sit down," replied the latter, for she commiserated the drenched and jaded applicant, "and I will consult my mother, who can better decide upon your qualifications than myself."

she stated to be Caroline Southmead, and professed her willingness to make herself useful, either as chambermaid or seamstress.

Although plainly attired, and complacent and humble in her carriage and manner, there was an indescribable charm in her voice and appearance which at once prepossessed Laura in her favour. Mrs. Selden also beheld her with approving glances; for while a great stickler for rank and subordination, vain of her pecuniary resources, and precise with her domestics, she possessed a heart not inaccessible to the appeals of want or misfortune. So prominent was this trait, that her friends denominated it her "weak point," albeit in the view of angels it may have been her strongest!

"The girl has seen better days," mused the matron; "she's too diffident for a hardened trollop, however she may have temporarily swerved from rectitude. That she's anxious for honest employment is evident from her taking such a tramp upon a day like this. I can inquire any time of Mrs. Tuffets about her; we need a seamstress very much, and if her disposition corresponds at all with her demeanour, she'll prove a valuable acquisition."

Thus biassed by humane promptings, rather than worldly wisdom, Mrs. Selden coincided with Laura's evident predilections, and the pseudo-chambermaid or seamstress, upon being informed that she might hold herself in readiness next week, with many expressions of gratitude took her departure.

Just then Mr. Selden arrived, and the family assembled around the sumptuous table. Amity and cheerfulness added zest to the entertainment, and the luxury of the dessert was enhanced by the jests and hilarity of the husband and parent.

In the language of his worthy helpmeet, "Mr. Selden never brought any business home, unless it was of an agreeable character," and upon the present occasion he had the pleasure of congratulating his wife and daughter upon an unexpected and important accumulation of good fortune. A stock speculation, together with the opening of a new street, had that morning made him the recipient of several thousand dollars more than he really knew how to invest advantageously.

Mrs. Selden thought of a Turkey carpet, Laura of silks and jewels; each had a scheme for happiness in prospective, and all were surfeited with abundance.

Meanwhile a poor dependent upon her daily labour had just left their dwelling, and was plodding homeward through the tempest to a scanty repast, perhaps-and possibly to none! So unequal are the favours of fortune!

NOTWITHSTANDING competition engendered by increasing prosperity and extravagance, many years will probably elapse before the fashionable customer will behold a mercantile establishment rivalling that of Henry Barton. Aided by the capital and experience of his father, a retired merchant, possessing the best stand and most elegant building in "Marble Range," liberally educated, and polished by attrition with the élite, he was equally the envy and the autocrat of less fortunate tradesmen.

Morning and afternoon, his store was crowded by purchasers of the highest order, i. e., those who were emulous of paying the highest price, and for whom articles of similar value and quality had no temptation, unless exhibited at this great emporium of folly. Among his patrons were numberless scheming mothers and mercenary daughters, who assailed his bachelorhood with all the flattery, charms and graces, which ingenuity, art, or nature, could supply. Skilfully evading committal, he rendered their hopes subservient to his monetary designs, and, like Fabius, grew stronger by delay. All agreed that Henry was a most eligible match, wondered why he did not marry, and individually consoled themselves with the belief that they were the most favoured.

When, therefore, it became known that he was affianced to an heiress, his dupes were indignant; and if prevented from open expression of their chagrin by pride, were unappeasably bitter in their private maledictions. However, property and rank preponderated in his behalf, and the ephemeral enmity of gossips wrought only their own mortification.

Nevertheless, his position was precarious; and the consciousness of impending infamy constantly harrowed his imagination. Between his future bride and himself an obstacle intruded, for which he could only curse his baser passions, and to remove which perplexed his versatile adroitness.

A young female, with whom he had formed