was from Louis, and announced his speedy return.

Besides this good news in itself— for she had begun to long for his return, forgetful of past unhappiness - the formal "My dear wife," he had hitherto used, was exchanged for "My bird," as in those days of happiness, before he had a right to address her by the first title. And then the signature was as affectionate as her heart could desire. There was no allusion to their past estrangement, it is true, but Marian had almost forgotten that.

"Isn't three days a long time to wait, Miss Margaret?" she said, suddenly, that evening.

The sisters smiled to each other, as if to say, "How she loves him!" and Miss Margaret answered, gently

"Why not call me sister, Marian?"

"May I? Oh, thank you!" and she kissed them both heartily as she bade them good-night; though she could but confess that she liked Miss Margaret much the best.

How pleasant her room looked, as she entered it! A bright harvest moon silvered the dark and heavy furniture, and "slept on the inner floor." She wondered she had ever thought it gloomy, and how it had happened that she should have been so unhappy in her new home, where every one was so kind to her. And then a gush of thankfulness filled her heart, and she knelt, with the moonlight surrounding her like a halo, and, with hands clasped, prayed most fervently, giving thanks for the kind counsel of a faithful friend, and for the strength that had supported her in her self-conquest.

Oh! how beautiful every thing seemed as she looked forth again upon the night! for her spirit was in harmony with itself, the repose of earth, and with its Creator. She had learned at last the beautiful lesson of Holy Writ, that "tribula

tion worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience HOPE."

She sat there for a long time, by the low window seat, thinking every moment she would go to rest; but at last she forgot her resolution; for her head dropped upon the window-ledge, and she slept.

Ah, what a dream of joy! Louis had returned, she thought, and all was explained, and forgiven, and forgotten. He had taken her to his heart again, and she felt his kisses upon her forehead; and there came something like a pang lest she should wake too soon. No; she could not wake too soon; for she found the dream reality. Louis bent over her as she unclosed her eyes, and before she could realize his blessed presence, his arms were about her, and she felt the strong throbbing of his heart.

Marian could not have spoken if life— nay, more, if lovehad demanded it; but she laid her head upon his breast, and looked up into his eyes with a gaze so intense, so full of hope and confidence, that no words were needed.

Louis told Laura, herself, long afterwards, when he found to whom he was indebted for that hour of happiness, the workings of his heart in that absence. How he had traced back each incident of his married life, till he saw how hastily and unkindly he had acted. That he had allowed the opinions of others to have an undue influence over him, instead of judging Marian's actions by the knowledge of her character which he alone possessed. Then came remorse for his long coldness, and tenderness when he thought of her gentle endeavours to please them all for the past few weeks; and at last a yearning to see her, that had brought him home ere he was expected, to hear her praises from his sisters, and to waken her with a kiss of reconciliation.

How fully was Marian rewarded for its delay, by the happiness of the journey which they made together to the scenes of their early acquaintance, and how often she congratulated herself that her mother had never been a witness or a confidant of her early unhappiness; an experience which she had ceased to regret, for it had subdued her gayety to cheerfulness, and her thoughtlessness had given place to an unselfish care for the happiness of others.

None but Mrs. Lawton ever knew how nearly shipwrecked had been the happiness of the now united family at Maple Grove; and when she came among them, a favourite and warmly welcomed visitor, and saw how this union was daily cemented by mutual acts of forbearance and consideration, she could but be grateful that, while domestic happiness had been denied to her, she had aided to secure it to one so well-beloved as her friend, Marian.

BLIND.

PART I.

The hand of the operator wavered — the instrument glanced aside in a moment she was blind for life.-MS.

BLIND, said you? Blind for life?

'Tis but a jest-no-no-it cannot be
That I no more the blessed light may see!
Oh, what a fearful strife

Of horrid thought is raging in my mind!
I did not hear aright-"for ever blind!"

Mother, you would not speak

Aught but the truth to me, your stricken child;
Tell me I do but dream; my brain is wild,
And yet my heart is weak.

Oh, mother, fold me in a close embrace,
Bend down to me that dear, that gentle face.

I cannot hear your voice!

Speak louder, mother. Speak to me, and say
This frightful dream will quickly pass away.
Have I no hope, no choice?

O Heaven, with light, has sound, too, from me fled?
Call, shout aloud, as if to wake the dead.

Thank God! I hear you now.

I hear the beating of your troubled heart,
With every woe of mine it has a part;
Upon my upturned brow

The hot tears fall, from those dear eyes, for me.
Once more, oh! is it true I may not see?

This silence chills my blood.

Had you one word of comfort, all my fears Were quickly banished faster still the tears, A bitter, burning flood,

Fall on my face, and now one trembling word Confirms the dreadful truth my ears have heard.

Why weep you? I am calm.

My wan lip quivers not, my heart is still.
My swollen temples-see, they do not thrill!
That word was as a charm.

Tell me the worst; all, all I now can bear.
I have a fearful strength-that of despair.

What is it to be blind?

To be shut out for ever from the skies

To see no more the "light of loving eyes”— And, as years pass, to find

My lot unvaried by one passing gleam

Of the bright woodland, or the flashing stream.