somewhat narrowed by his fleshy cheeks; but, oh, what glances darted from them! what self-importance, what appreciation of inherent dignity, what consciousness of towering greatness-to borrow the phraseology of philosophers-played upon his protruded lips!

Steffenson appeared to himself so insignificant in the presence of this man, that he could scarcely command sufficient courage to address him. And yet it must be done. He therefore took off his hat in a very deferential manner, and in a timorous voice said, "Sir, you will pardon a stranger for asking a question? Will you oblige me by informing me who the young lady is, who has just entered this mansion ?"

The man at first regarded the stranger with well feigned astonishment, as if surprised at his bold assurance, but the respectful bearing and humble attitude of Steffenson at length found grace in his sight, and laying his hand on the top of his ponderous staff and drawing himself up as far as his capacious paunch permitted, he replied, "That young lady is Mademoiselle Catharine, the only daughter of the wealthy merchant, Mr. Silberschlager, who resides in yonder large mansion, where the carriage of his excellency, the privy councellor of Littelwitz, is just driving up. Why does the gentleman wish to know?" he politely added.

"Why?" repeated Steffenson, who was altogether incapable of giving to any one an evasive answer, much less to tell an untruth, "because the Lord wills it."

"You mean to say, your gracious Lord!" continued the man, slightly elevating his head, like one, who had suddenly been enlightened on a dark point. Aha," he added with a cunning smile: "now I understand you; you inquire after this Mamsel Catharine in obedience to the commands of your gracious Lord.”

Certainly," responded Steffenson, innocently, "in obedience to the commands of my gracious Lord."

"Well, comrade," continued the man,

suddenly lowering his voice to a confidential tone. "I had well nigh taken you for something else. But pardon me, comrade, your gracious Lord has displayed no refined taste in regard to the livery you wear. You look so plain, so,-how shall I call it, -so pious in your black livery. I hope your Lord is not one of these pietists, that go about hanging their heads?" "Only on one occasion has he done it," replied Steffenson, calmly, "and that was when he died upon the cross."

And having said this, he took his leave, thanking the man most courteously for the information he had received from him, and directed his steps towards the mansion designated. But the man at the door looked after the stranger in some surprise at the singularity of his behaviour; at length, however, he gave a few significant shakes of the head, pointed with his forefinger in the direction of his brow and said: "Aha, now I know, that man is not quite right," and then began to pace up and down the hall.

But Steffenson entered the large mansion, if not altogether without being agitated, yet full of confidence, and with a firm step. Inquiring of a waiting maid who was just passing for Mr. Silberschla ger's room, he was shown to a large door heavily faced with iron. Upon entering, he noticed some ten men busily engaged in writing, and in carrying huge folios to and fro. He hoped some one would inquire of him his business, but he remained unnoticed, and it even seemed, as if none were conscious of his entrance. He, therefore, at length, ventured to approach the one nearest to him with the request, to be kind enough to inform him who among their number was Mr. Silberschlager. The individual addressed, looked up from his book, somewhat displeased at the interruption, cast a proud glance upon the questioner, and then, without uttering a syllable, pointed in the direction of a glass door which opened into a private chamber.

Steffenson followed the direction, knocked and hearing, after some little delay, a

proceed with the recital of his story.

Now, there are some individuals very far from being pleased, if any one, however pressing his wants may be, offers to recite to them his story; their countenance immediately assume a look of impatience, and he is told, that they have no time to listen to him and harshly ordered to leave. Some, there doubtless are, who may not have the time to spare for such a purpose; but I also know those who have such an abundance of it, that they are always at a loss how to pass it; but of such I have remarked, that they refuse to listen to the story of an unfortunate person, only because they have a certain aversion to tales of sorrow in general, and would, consequently, rather put the applicant off with a few pennies, for fear of having to give a dollar, after listening to a statement of his situation.

After all, commend me to worldly wise and prudent people, those, for instance who maintain a decided hostility to Missionary and Bible Societies, who are ever producing fresh arguments against them, and possess the ability to advocate their cause with skill and intelligence. This shows them to be smart and shrewd men; for if they should leave even so much as one hair untouched upon these several heads, their reputation before the world, -to which it will not do to be altogether indifferent,— might in the end compel them, either from a sense of shame or self-respect, to cast a penny into the Lord's treasury.

Therefore, I say, commend me to worldly wise, and prudent people. They will, after all, come to something in this world. But Mr. Silberschlager was not as yet one of these; he invited the stranger to a

Steffenson thereupon began thus: "Iam pastor of a small and rather poor village congregation, and have endeavored during a period of five years to advance, in conjunction with my faithful wife, the spiritual interests of the souls entrusted to my care. It then pleased the Lord to take my faithful Martha from me by death. Now, although I am neither forsaken nor neglected with my children, and although an honest and pious matron manages my household affairs with excellent care, so that I had not the remotest idea of ever getting married again, I nevertheless became gradually convinced, by various indications of Providence, that it would not be good for me to remain longer without a companion. Yea, the Lord who guides our affairs with his almighty and gracious hand has, in answer to my fervent prayers for his direction, given me the assurance, that I should only go to the metropolis, and there he would show me, whom he has chosen for me.

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"I therefore, came here, where it further appeared to me, that I should go out into the street, and that the first person whom I might meet, and who could, in conformity to the laws of God and man, become my wife, was the one whom God had chosen for me. And behold, the one I first encountered was your own daughter; but pardon my candor-presuming, from the external appearance of Miss Catharine, that she was far too worldly minded, to become the plain wife of a village pastor, I sought to avoid her, thinking the Lord had only led her across my path to try my own vain heart. But I was soon to learn, that the Lord's ways are not my ways; for after having crossed over into another street, your daughter was again the first person whom I encountered, and being still unwilling to regard this as an indication of the divine will, it happened a third time. After this, I could no longer doubt, that Miss Catharine had indeed been chosen of the Lord to be my help-mate, and I have,

therefore, come to ask you, both, for the hand of your daughter, and your parental blessing."

When Steffenson here concluded, Mr. Silberschlager regarded him with the greatest astonishment, gave several doubtful shakes of his head, and at length said: "No, I cannot distrust your words; you have too honest a look! Yes, I must believe, that you are in earnest."

son.

"In solemn earnest," responded Steffen"I cannot do otherwise. The servant that knoweth his master's will and doeth it not, shall suffer double stripes."

"Certainly, certainly," exclaimed the merchant. But you will allow me ;-the thing is too wonderful,-or, since I do not in the least doubt such manifestations of the divine will, too sudden, too unexpected for me to become at once reconciled to it." "The wonderful is at all times unexpected," replied the clergyman.

"Yes, yes," responded Mr. Silberschlager again: "But, my dear sir, had you then some previous acquaintance with my daughter? Or have you, perhaps, already addressed her on the subject?"

"Neither," was the reply. "But I know for all that what Miss Catharine will say to it; besides, I also know what you intend to do."

"Well?" asked he, in some confusion. "I know," continued Steffenson, "that Miss Catharine will become my wife, and that you, noble sir, have already determined in your heart to give us your parental blessing."

"Singular man!" exclaimed the merchant. "Do you possess the power of reading a man's thoughts?"

"No!" replied the minister, with a smile. "But I do know, that God does nothing by halves, but always brings to a glorious issue whatever he has once begun. And are you, my dear sir, and your daughter, Miss Catharine not equally subject to the sovereign will of God."

"Certainly," said Mr. Silberschlager, who seemed in a manner confounded by the ministers remarks and answers. "But

even though I should have no personal objection to your suit, it is yet altogether opposed to my feelings to compel my daughter to comply with my wishes."

"Miss Catharine will not be unfavorable to my suit," replied Steffenson, in a determined but calm manner.

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"Do not believe this too readily," answered the merchant. 'My Catharine is upon the whole, a good child, and does not knowingly and intentionally offend me ; but she is my only child, and on this account it may have so happened, that I have not brought her up as strictly, and,—I confess it with shame,-been as careful in breaking her will, as I should have been. Besides, my daughter is a great deal more fond of worldly show, than I like to see, and than she ought to be, nor is she any too regular in her attendance at church, but indeed would rather go to concerts and balls, and has in general a decided aversion to a quiet and retired mode of life. Hence you perceive, my dear sir, that no one can possibly be less qualified for an humble minister's wife, especially for one residing as you do, in a small and almost deserted village."

"Noble sir!" replied Steffenson, "humanly speaking, all this is certainly true; but when we look at it in the light of the word of God, every doubt must vanish. May I ask you, to inform me, first of all, what your own heart says to my suit?"

"Mr. Steffenson," replied Silberschlager, "I am a wealthy merchant, and Catharine is my only child and heir, and I can say, without boasting, that many a suitor has already applied for her hand. But Catharine had some fault to find with all, both as regarded their personal appearance and rank in society; which almost leads me to believe that the foolish girl, in the pride of her heart, has set herself up for some count or nobleman. Since, however, I have secretly vowed before God, never to interfere by either compelling or persuading her to make a choice, she has remained single and unengaged to this day. Now, sir, I have no acquaintance with you,

POMPE

POMPEII.

OMPEII was an ancient town of Campania, situated about thirteen miles south-east of Naples, in a plain at the foot of Vesuvius, through which runs the little river Sarno. The town appears to have been once close to the sea, but is now nearly two miles from it, in consequence of the physical changes which have taken place in this district. It stood on an eminence formed by a bed of lava, which seems to have been thrown up from the ground in this spot, and in several other places round the foot of Vesuvius, long before any of the eruptions recorded in history.

In the year 63, a fearful earthquake threw down a great part of Pompeii; and in the following year another occurred. In August, 79, the first recorded eruption of Vesuvius took place, which is well known from the letter of Pliny the younger, whose uncle lost his life on the occasion.

In this eruption both Herculaneum and Pompeii were buried; the former under a mass of lava, the latter under showers of stones, cinders and ashes. The ceilings and upper stories of the houses, being

chiefly of wood, were either burnt by the red-hot stones and cinders ejected from Vesuvius, or were broken down by the weight of matter collected on the roofs. The catastrophe was not so sudden but that most of the inhabitants had time to escape with their moveable property; indeed, it would appear that the town was not altogether buried in one eruption, but that this was the work of several consecutive eruptions, between which the inhabitants had time to come and revisit their half-ruined habitations and recover some of their property. Successive layers of volcanic matter are clearly traced, and the lowest has evidently been moved, but the others are untouched. A bed of soil at last formed itself all over the town, filling up the vacant spaces between the buildings; grass grew upon it, corn was sown, and the vine was planted in the fields thus formed above the ruins of Pompeii, whose existence was forgotten until 1689, when the first indications of ruins protruding above the ground were noticed. In 1755, the excavations began. They have been interrupted and resumed at various times, and the result has been that about a fourth part of the city along the western side of