IF

bitter words, no g.oomy sentiments, broke from her [ery, she repeated to herself a thousand times, that, lips that day; she could not have uttered such with-if only she could grow to be self-denying and out enduring the keenest self-condemnation. What religious, she knew she should be happy. then? Was life brighter to her than it had been? ONLY! a proviso of enormous significance. But of Not so; the darkness, rather, was more visible, and this she thought not. The same enthusiasm, which, she had gone further into it. But she was begin- three years before, had caused her to fix her eyes ning to suspect that there might be a reason for the on the future day of reunion, overlooking the long darkness, and to hope that there might be a light intervening separation, came to her aid now, when beyond.

CHAPTER IV.

that day of reunion had indeed come, and passed, and left her desolate; but it came to her in a saddened and purified form, full of self-distrust and Edith's dejection rather increased than dimin- self-reproach, and, therefore, less likely to encounished, notwithstanding the light which had begun ter disappointment. It feared more, and so it had faintly to dawn upon her, and which continued, reason to hope more. Alas! that the needful disthough slowly and interruptedly, to deepen. For cipline which brought this fear should have so this light, the more intensely it shone, showed her dimmed the brightness of her soul! There is unmore and more of herself; and the contemplation speakable pathos in the first great grief. When was not cheering. With all the energy of her char- the sky is already streaked with clouds, a gathering acter, as soon as she admitted a new ideal, she and deepening of those clouds may be felt to enturned in contempt and disgust from her former hance, while it alters, the beauty; but if it be stainlife, scorning its aimlessness, hating its self-wor-less blue, the tiniest speck seems a defacement. ship. But how to do better?-that was the diffi- There is an instinctive love of purity in man, culty. At the thought of all that she had lost, a whether it present itself to him in the shape of gush of tenderness, an agony of self-reproach, over- childhood's innocence or of childhood's happiness; came her, causing utter prostration both of soul and in either case, he so shrinks from the thought of its body. For, as the truth became visible to her, and first deterioration, as, in some moods, to deem death the false supports on which she had hitherto leaned preferable to it. Oh! why does love so lean upon glided from beneath her, the heart returned to its the visible? When will it realize as a feeling that natural habit of love and trustfulness, weak anger which it receives as a creed, and be content to give crumbled away and was forgotten, and the only up its treasures rather than to witness their gradual manner of atoning for the sin of past disbelief pollution, even though that pollution end in such seemed to be a renewal of confidence in more than restoration and development as is possible to human its original fulness. But her own act had separated nature? Who is there that loves, and would bethem forever; and this she had to bear. This was lieve for a moment that such a giving up implies a her bitter punishment-that where she would gladly separation? Well, indeed, may human love be have knelt in the dust to sue for pardon, she must called a mystery, though scarcely in the sense in not even testify repentance. With the strong re- which it is ordinarily so called. Its devotion and action of a naturally noble heart, awakened to a self-abnegation are easy enough to comprehend; consciousness of error, she looked upon herself only they are its very nature and essence, and without as guilty, upon Everard only as wronged. Self- them it would not be love at all. But its selfishdependence had quite abandoned her; she longed ness, and earthliness, and faithlessness-these are for some one to comfort her; she felt completely the inconceivable mysteries, these are the marvels desolate. She could not open her griefs to Amy, and the difficulties. Yet, perhaps, we feel their for, sure as she was of finding sympathy, she could strangeness only in proportion as we are susceptible not even seek it where she knew that it would not of their force; and, perhaps, they too are necessary be accompanied by an implied condemnation of her- parts of love, even in its final purification. That self, a full exculpation of Everard. According to yearning for the visible presence of the object beAmy's views, she had done no wrong, and her loved, which in one aspect may in some sort de pride would be summoned to resent a groundless serve the reproachful epithets just applied to it, yet jealousy and an unjustifiable desertion. But all this which those who most strongly condemn it do also she felt to be false and hollow-felt it with a strength most keenly feel, is, in another aspect, the very of conviction which argument could never have im-source and element of all spiritual elevation. "My parted-and she shrank almost with terror from the soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh also longeth after possibility of being again deceived by it. In this thee, in a barren and dry land, where no water is." extremity the idea of Aunt Peggy constantly recurred to her, till her thoughts grew to fasten upon it with that feverish earnestness so characteristic of an uncured sorrow, which is perpetually presenting to itself some trifling change, some minute and apparently insignificant circumstance, as the one thing which must needs happen ere it can hope to recover peace. Perhaps, when the supposed good is actually attained, it only increases the des-"My dear Aunt Peggy, olation, for one hope more fails to the sufferer, and "I have been very wrong, and am now very so he seems to be one step nearer to despair. Edith unhappy, and I want comfort; may I come to you? anticipated no such failure; Aunt Peggy seemed to You see what I think of you by my asking this her, for the time, the absolute embodiment of all so boldly; but I know how you love me, and I love comfort and sympathy; with Aunt Peggy, too, she you, and long to be with you. I want to spend the should have leisure to be good, and help in learning winter with you quietly. I want that you should to live by a new principle; and, with the invincible not make the slightest change in your way of livrepugnance which a young, energetic nature ever ing, but that I should come to your home just as it feels to submit to the afflictions which have crushed is, and be with you. I will tell you everything; 1 it, and so to speak, to be reconciled to its own mis- am not afraid of telling you my faults. I am very

Edith wrote to Aunt Peggy. She did not tell Amy that she had written, for she anticipated an affectionate opposition to her wishes, very hard to withstand, and she waited to receive an answer before encountering it. This was her letter :

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Yes," cried Mr. Thornton, "it was a most curious coincidence. Verner and I were on the same coach; I recognized him directly, though he had quite forgotten me, for it is more than ten years since we met. I happened casually to mention your name, and it turned out that you were the very person he was most anxious to see. So we sallied forth to find you out, if possible, and had the good luck to meet Miss Brown before we had been five minutes walking.'

unhappy here, though I am with one of the kindest | Brown; "I found you out quite by accident. I of friends; and I feel that I am ungrateful, but I have not been in England above a week, and am cannot help it. I want freedom, and peace, and on my road to Devonshire." quiet, and to learn how to live usefully in short, I want to be with you. You know when we parted you told me to write to you at any moment, and that you would always be ready to receive me; yet, now that I am taking you at your word, I am afraid lest it should be presuming or selfish to do so. Do not scruple to refuse me, if it is in any way inconvenient to you. Pray answer this note as soon as you can, and do not make any comments on what I have told you, till I have time to tell you all. Do not condemn any one but me; me you must needs "Mr. Thornton is so very kind, mamma," intercondemn, yet I know how gently it will be. Good-posed Alice, "as to bring me an order to execute bye, dear Aunt Peggy. Believe me always your some botanical drawings for a work that is just commost affectionate EDITH KINNAIRD. ing out. The order is given on his recommendation. I am sure I don't know how to thank him." "Pray say no more about it," returned Thornton; you have already thanked me a great deal more than enough."

"Forgive me if I have asked what I ought not to ask, and do not scruple to say No."

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When this letter was fairly despatched, she felt a momentary relief, succeeded, however, by a state During the civilities which followed this speech, of great impatience. So anxious was she for the and the rapid interchange of question and answer arrival of the answer, that she could scarcely con- among friends who had been so long separated, trol herself so as to conceal from Mrs. Dalton that Edith had leisure to survey the new comer, the she had some more than ordinary cause of mental mention of whose name in a conversation at Seldisturbance. It was the day on which Mr. Thorn-combe Park she perfectly remembered. He was ton was expected-(he had deferred his visit a of middle age, of slight and insignificant figure, but little, and written, out of consideration for his host, gentlemanly in deportment, and refined in manner. to specify times and seasons rather more definitely His face was very striking, both as to feature and than was his wont)—and Edith felt almost incapa- countenance; the character spiritual rather than ble of encountering him. To philosophize or to flirt intellectual, but this arose from the predominance with him, as she used to do, was, of course, out of the former expression, and not from any defiof the question; and she dreaded his observing the ciency in the latter. The brow was wide and fully change in her, and attempting to discover the rea-developed, the eyes deep-set, finely cut, calm and son of it. Besides, his idea was interwoven with contemplative, in color a purplish gray; the nose so many miserable recollections, that she could not small, but strictly aquiline in form, with that slight think of meeting him once more without the acutest pain. What would she not have given to be ready in her quiet retreat with Aunt Peggy! After wandering restlessly about during the greater part of the morning, alternating between total indifference and morbid sensibility to all outward circumstances, she took down a book which she had offered to lend Alice Brown, and set off for a solitary walk to Beechwood. Mrs. Dalton promised to follow her in about an hour, and renew her acquaintance with Edith's humble friend, which she had for some time intended to do. When Edith arrived, she found Mrs. Brown alone, Alice being From the conversation, it appeared that he had absent with one of her pupils. She almost forgot known Mrs. Brown intimately in former days, but, her own griefs for the time, in sympathy for the during a long absence from England, had quite lost quiet anxiety and unobtrusive sorrow of the mother, sight of her. He was now returned, in consewho was evidently most uneasy about her daugh-quence of ill-health, and, having been appointed to ter's health. She moved to the window, and busy-a small living in Devonshire, was going to take ing herself in the arrangement of Alice's flowers, possession of his new home; he casually mentioned was revolving in her mind the possibility of convey-its name, and Edith felt a strange sensation of ing to Mrs. Brown, in such a manner as not to pleasure when she found that it was close to Aunt wound her delicacy, a present which might enable Peggy's present abode, which, indeed, was within her to enjoy an interval of relaxation and change of scene, when she perceived the gentle object of all this care coming up the street, accompanied by two gentlemen. One of them, to her surprise, was Mr. Thornton, the other a total stranger. In another moment Alice entered the room, introducing her companions somewhat bashfully

expansiveness of nostril which indicates natural al-energy, the lips delicately shaped, and firmly closed; when at rest, a little sarcastic, but, speaking or smiling, full of benignity. Edith felt cer tain, from a single look, that he was not the Verner who had ruined himself by extravagance, and afterwards married for money. His voice and manner were full of repose of that truest repose which seems rather an achievement than a gift; which implies both discipline and enthusiasm, if not passion; which is a perfected self-command, and not an easy self-indulgence.

"Mr. Verner, mamma, and Mr. Thornton. O, my dear Miss Kinnaird-perceiving Edith, and responding warmly to her greeting-how glad I am to see you!”

"I little thought to see so old a friend to-day," said Mr. Verner, as he shook hands with Mrs.

the parish. She felt very desirous to know more of him, and then wondered at herself for the childishness of the feeling;—a wish, however trifling, seemed a strange thing to her in her present state of sorrowful apathy.

"I shall have the pleasure of walking back to Beechwood Park with you, shall I not?" inquired Mr. Thornton, addressing Edith.

"I am expecting Mrs. Dalton to call for me," was her answer.

Mr. Verner turned suddenly towards her, as it about to speak, but checked himself. Edith summoned courage to address him. "You were speak

ing of Enmore,' said she, "do you know a family | with the eye of an artist. Edith said nothing, but named Forde resident there?"

knew them well many years ago," he replied; "the eldest daughter was my great friend, and I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with her with no little pleasure.' "What, Aunt Peggy?" cried Edith ;-" Miss Margaret Forde?"

A grown-up child!" cried Mr. Thornton; "I don't know that that is a very charming description of a middle-aged maiden lady. I suppose, Verner, you agree with Novalis, who says that a maiden is an everlasting child'-a poetical method of describing an old maid."

"Very," said Verner, laughing. "But you, and I, and Novalis, are thinking of quite different things; not but what Novalis and I are more nearly agreed with each other than either of us is with you.'

a different feeling was kindling in her face, and Mr. Verner, who had at first held up the picture in silence, said to her, with a half-smile, as he replaced it in the portfolio, "As long as we have such guidance at hand, we need obedience rather more than clear-sightedness. Don't you think so?"

Edith made no answer, but her face spoke for "The same," returned he. "Pray call her Aunt her. The feeling within her was so new, that she Peggy-the name seems to suit her exactly. If I was bashful in expressing it; when afterwards it may use a hackneyed phrase, hers was the most had grown into a habit, she was not likely to be refreshing character I have ever encountered. You more voluble, but the one silence arose from timid might call her a grown-up child." ity, the other from reserve. There seem to be two different modes of acquiring, so to speak, new feelings; according to the one, you catch them, as it were, seeing them first on the outside, being struck by them, busy with them, eloquent about them; the very earliest beginning is accompanied by consciousness, the gradual growth is a subject of observation. According to the other mode, the germ which has dropped into your heart develops quietly and silently; it is delicate, invisible, unsuspected; perhaps the first intimation which you receive of its existence is when in much wonder you hear the lips of another describe it with an unreal facility of expression, which instantly suggests to you that you have got the original, and he only the counterfeit. You stand by like Cinderella when her sisters were trying on the glass slipper, and you feel almost tempted to cry out, "Yes, it is very pretty, but it does not fit you, it fits me." The feeling confronts you at once in the shape of a habit, and as its acquisition was unconscious, so its life is a mystery. In this manner do all real changes of heart take place; mute and unobtrusive are they, as the workings of life in the earth-hidden root, known only by their result, when the mighty tree is fully grown. While the noisy and conscious self-analyzers are like children, who, having sown seeds in their gardens, are forever pulling them up to see whether they are growing, and so effectually destroying the little life they may have originally possessed.

"How do you know that?" inquired Thornton; "I don't like this vague, unphilosophical method of skimming over the surface of things. Come, now, I will bring you to the point. What on earth do you mean by a grown-up child? a spiritual dwarf-eh?"

"No; the reverse. But I confess I was talking rather at random. It was childhood of character, not childishness of intellect, that I meant."

"And pray," said Thornton, "how would a childish, or, if you prefer it, a child-like character, know how to manage a full-grown intellect? Would it not be rather like the old fable of Phaeton over again?"

“I grant you,” replied Mr. Verner. "But you know, happily, all people are not called on to manage themselves, and there is no obedience so perfect as that of a child."

Mr. Verner's manner so evidently betrayed an At this moment Mrs. Dalton was announced, and unwillingness to argue, that his antagonist was too Edith stepped forward to introduce her to Mrs well-bred to pursue the subject. He turned, there- Brown, out of compassion for Alice's shyness fore, to Edith, and said, with a smile, "How do which was too genuine to be mistaken. Mr. Ver you like this doctrine of the necessity of obedience? | ner, apparently as shy as herself, drew suddenly It is a very masculine mode of passing sentence upon a woman's character, is it not?"

"Oh!" cried Edith, from her heart, "perfect obedience would be perfect happiness, if only we had full confidence in the authority we were obeying." Mr. Thornton looked at her with some surprise, and Mr. Verner with sudden interest. He was turning over a large portfolio of prints which lay on the table, and he now drew forth one, and held it up before their eyes. It was a lithograph, by some German artist, very simple and quiet in its composition. It represented a little child in the dress of a pilgrim, walking slowly along a narrow path, bounded on either side by a terrific precipice, the edges of which were hidden from him by a luxuriant thicket of fruits and flowers. Behind the child stood an angel, with tall, white wings, fading upwards into the evening sky. The palms of the angel were placed lightly upon the shoulders of the little pilgrim, as if to retain him in the centre of the path; and the child, having closed his eyes, that he might not be able to see the tempting snares on either hand, was walking calmly onward, content not to know where he planted each step, so long as he felt the grasp of that gentle guidance upon him. "Beautiful!" exclaimed Thornton, examining it

back as the new-comer entered, and occupied him self with a book in the furthest corner of the room. Thornton advanced to greet his cousin with his usual warmth, and to explain the cause of his not having come to her at once.

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"I met a very old friend," said he, "and I thought I would indulge myself with an additional half-hour of his company, an excuse which I know would account to you for more than a mere breach of etiquette. By the bye, I think he is a former acquaintance of yours also. Verner, I believe it is not necessary to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Netherby, now Mrs. Dalton.'

Salutations were exchanged, with a coldness and brevity which did not speak much for the former intimacy of the parties.

"I am so very glad to make your acquaintance," cried Amy, turning eagerly to Mrs. Brown. "I have long wished it, and I intend to see a great deal of your daughter. She must come to Beechwood for change of air. I am sure she is not well. Godfrey, you will echo the praises of Beechwood, won't you? It is, I do believe, the healthiest spot in England. You must add your persuasions to mine, and then we shall be sure to carry our point. I mean to assemble a most sociable party around me

From Chambers' Journal.

TUITION OF IDIOTS.

AT the conclusion of our last article on the tuition of idiots, we dwelt briefly on the methods of exciting the senses of taste and touch. We now proceed to consider the means to be adopted with a view of acting on the organ of vision. In devising expedients for this purpose, as also in every other proceeding respecting the object in hand, the condition of the young subject must be carefully regarded, and the appliances made to bear on the individual in greater or less intensity, according to the peculiarity of the case. In most idiots a vacant wandering gaze is observable; the first aim of the tutor should therefore be directed so as to fix the eye of the pupil on some object. This may, in general, be accomplished by holding up a small substance in the axis of vision, and causing it to follow the varying motions of the eyeballs. As soon as the regard is attracted to whatever is thus presented, and the eye is noticed to dwell upon the object, it should be kept stationary until the attention is fixed upon it; and then being slowly moved backwards and forwards, so as to draw the eye in a corresponding direction, a regular and voluntary action of the muscles of the eyeball becomes excited. In most instances this preliminary exercise will be followed by the desired result; but should a more powerful stimulus be found necessary, it may be advisable to employ a luminous body. If this prove insufficient, the room ought to be darkened, and a beam of light permitted to enter through a small circular aperture in the shutter. To this point the face of the pupil should then be directed for a longer or shorter time; and when the object of fixing the attention by means of this strong impression is obtained, the exercises on the organ of sight, already described, may be adopted at a subsequent period.

As soon as the efforts to fix the regard prove successful, attempts may be made to impart an idea of color. To accomplish this, pieces of wood, of the same form and size, painted with the three primitive colors, red, blue, and yellow, as well as white and black, should be provided. These should be successively and slowly exhibited. In due time duplicates of each color ought to be placed on the table; and the tutor, selecting a particular piece from the one set, intimates that the pupil should take a corresponding one from the other set which are placed before him. Whenever an indication of appreciation of color is manifested by readiness in matching the portion presented by the tutor, it will be advisable to pronounce the name of each, so as to affect both the eye and the ear with a distinct impression in relation to the quality of the object held up for observation.

In like manner, some impression as to the different forms of objects may be engendered by placing on the table pieces of wood having distinct and marked shapes-such as square, circular, triangular, &c. The exercise with these may be pursued in a way precisely similar to that adopted to impart ideas of color-namely, by first showing each separately, then by placing the whole before the pupil, and drawing from a duplicate set a particular piece to be matched, and at the same time pronouncing its form.

When conducting this exercise, it is advisable to Dring the sense of touch, as well as that of sight, into play. The hand should be caused to pass over the surface of each figure, so as to distinguish the different sensations produced by objects differently

shaped. At a more advanced period, it may serve a good purpose to bring each sense into operation independent of the other, with a view of quickening them in a still higher degree. To accomplish this, a bandage should be lightly passed over the eyes, and then each figure should be placed in the hands, in order that the sense of touch may be exercised to discover the form of the object without the aid of sight; and so, in a similar manner, the eye may be encouraged to discriminate without the assistance of the hands.

The continued action of the senses of sight anc touch may, after the lapse of a short interval, be made serviceable to communicate the separate ideas of size and number. This can be accomplished by pursuing the principle adopted to impart notions of color.

To give instruction as to size of objects, procure several duplicate pieces of wood, some in the form of squares, others oblong, and another set in long pieces. Each set being successively placed before the pupil, his attention is to be directed to them; and if he has already conceived the idea of shape from the previous exercise, he will become conscious that the objects before him have the same figure, but are different in another particularnamely, size. Whenever this conception is formed, the duplicate set may be produced, and the exercise pursued in the manner already described when speaking on the method of communicating ideas of color, using the words large or small as the corre sponding fragments are presented. In conducting this, as well as every other exercise, care must be taken that no objects except those in use are exposed to view, otherwise the attention will become distracted, and the ideas confused. It is equally important to avoid wearying or irritating the pupil by continuing any effort too long, or by an unnecessary repetition of performances in which he is tolerably perfect. A judicious variety of action, passing from the simple to the more advanced, by bringing into play the several functions of the mind, prevents irksomeness, and promotes improvement in a material degree.

Notions of number will be generated if twenty or thirty circular pieces of white card are exposed to view in two different quantities, distinguishing each by the words larger and smaller. As soon as this conception is created, equal numbers should be presented, using at the time the word same or like. Subsequently, a single portion should be held up, and indicated by pronouncing the figure one, then two, and so on. Whenever ideas of quantity and number are thus formed, attempts should be made to impress the mind with the corresponding symbol. To effect this, a blackboard should be provided having white spots painted upon it of the same size as the pieces of card, and with the figure corresponding to the number placed at the extremity of each line, thus:—

10 200 3000

A single line should be exposed separately, so as to show only one figure and the corresponding circles at the same time.

To those pupils who have the capacity, and with whom it is desirable to pursue instruction further respecting the power of numbers, the task will be much facilitated, and the object better attained, by employing the separate portions of card in preference to the arbitrary symbols. The design of tui