the mean time he amused himself with books, seeing the young ladies only at table, at which times he and the parson discoursed at length on literary, historical, and religious subjects.

"What a bore that youth is," said Emma Walters one night while in company with several of her companions.

"He seems to be a thousand years old," remarked Susan Standish, "and in his sublime meditations entirely abstracted from the world. I get so sick of his everlasting talk about the immortality of the soul, the nature of man, and the chief good, and all such antiquated stuff. I wonder when Edward Cole is coming?"

“And would you think it," again spoke Miss Walters," Ellen Saunders is delighted with him?" "With whom?" asked Agnes Thorpe, the belle of the school; "not Mr. Cole, I hope, for I want to see him first."

"Edward Cole, indeed," exclaimed Miss Walters; "poor Ellen never aspires so high. She is a meek creature, and listens to the musty philosophy of Williams as if his words were the sweetest music."

"Yes, and I have observed," said Jane Anderson, "that she has begun to take unusual pains with her dress, and that the sentiments of Mr. Williams have already affected her mind. She will not do what he thinks is wrong, and what he praises is her delight. But here comes the lovelorn lassie herself. Ellen, they say you are in love."

The girl spoken to blushed crimson, and exclaimed, "What! I in love?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Ellen quietly; "you are all disposed to joke, I see, but I'll forgive you, for you no doubt do not intend to wound my feelings."

"Not for the world, dear Ellen," said Miss Thorpe; "you are an angel in heart, and hard indeed would be ours if we could wantonly hurt the feelings of our gentle sister. Bet tell me, dearest, what is the name of this modern Plato we have here. I never can remember his name; this sage boy who is to be Erasmus the second?" "Do you mean Mr. Williams?" asked Ellen meekly.

"That's the man!" cried Agnes;

"Phoebus, what a name

To fill the sounding trump of fame.'" "I came to call you all to prayers," said Ellen Saunders," and they are waiting for us."

A few days after the above conversation, the parson put his school in a flutter, by informing his pupils that his nephew would be at their approaching examination, and that he intended to give him a party.

"I inform you of this," said Mr. Cole, "that you may write to your parents in time, and be

66

66

son.

Nor I, nor I," put in all the others.

Suppose Mr. Williams choose?" said the parThe girls tittered, Mr. Williams blushed, and the parson continued: "Mr. Williams is a prudent young man, and one of excellent judg ment, and I'm certain would make a good choice. Will none of you speak? What say you, meekeyed dove of Glen-Mary?"

"Do you mean me?" asked Ellen Saunders, who was from Glen-Mary.

"I do," answered the parson: "as you have not yet spoken, I should like to have your views."

66

Indeed," said Ellen, "I'd be so glad to have a May-day frolic, that I'll be perfectly satisfied with any sort of arrangements you all may agree upon."

"Would you not like for Mr. Williams to choose the Queen?" asked Miss Standish, with a sly glance at the other girls.

"If the rest of you would," replied Ellen. "But tell me, dear," said the parson," who would you prefer to choose the Queen?"

"I'll declare-I have but one choice about it,"

answered Ellen; "I want the others to be satisfied, and all to be happy; and then, and not until then, I'll be satisfied and happy also."

"Well spoken," said Mrs. Cole; "those are excellent sentiments, and I hope all sympathize in them."

"No doubt all do," said the parson; "but I think I can easily settle the whole matter to the satisfaction of all. I dislike to see preferences made; you are all handsome enough, and agreeable enough we are none of us good as we might be. So that beauty, goodness, or agreeableness, shall not be the test: the matter shall be determined partly by accident, and in a way that will give general satisfaction. To-morrow morning each one of you shall go separately into the gar. den, and bring me a present; and the one whose present most becomes female royalty, shall be the Queen."

"But who is to determine this ?" asked Miss Thorpe.

"All of us," replied the parson. "If we do not all agree, then the choice shall be determined in some other way. You will find violets, tulips, roses, pinks, hyacinths, and other flowers in bloom."

"But suppose more than one of us bring the same thing," suggested Ellen Saunders.

"That you will hardly do; but to prevent it, you must each bring a compound present. You all have studied the same botany, and you all therefore attach the same language to the same flowers but if you do not, you may each translate for yourselves."

On the morning appointed, Miss Agnes Thorpe, who was the first to enter the garden, was some. what startled as she passed the gate by the question, "Who are you? who are you?" uttered in a hoarse, unnatural voice above her head. She cast her eyes up, and saw sitting among the tangled vines over the arbor a large green parrot, to whose interrogatory, often repeated, she made no reply, and passed on, still a little flurried, to cull and arrange a bouquet worthy of a queen. Miss Standish was the next to enter, and she too, like Miss Thorpe, was alarmed by the strange porter at the gate, nor did she make any reply. Indeed every girl that passed was in her turn frightened by the strange voice above her-some, in their agitation, not even casting their eyes upward to see the mysterious questioner who vociferously demanded their names.

The last to enter was Ellen Saunders, who, when questioned at the gate, instantly looked up, being more curious than fearful, saying as she did so, "I'm Ellen Saunders: who are you?"

"I'm the Parson-I'm the Parson," replied the bird, in great glee at finding a polite interlocutor: "I'm the Parson-I'm the Parson, fearing fearing God; who are you? who are

God

you?"

The girl was astonished, and greatly amused at the discourse of the learned bird, and nearly forgetting her errand, while filled with a sudden desire for a frolic, she immediately overhauled his feathered reverence--and running into the house, immoderately laughing, flung the solemn bird into the midst of the assembly, at the same time ask. ing it who it was. "I'm the Parson-I'm the Parson," instantly replied the parrot, to the infinite amusement of the whole company-the real parson himself, though somewhat confused, joining in the laugh.

"And what do you bring for the Queen?" asked Parson Cole.

"Crown of Love, Crown of Love," replied his feathered holiness: "Who are you? who are you?"

After they had all admired the bird for a while, Parson Cole suddenly turned to Ellen, saying, But, my dear, where's your present for the Queen ?"

66

66

Father," said Miss Agnes Thorpe-a proud, majestic beauty-"father, will you forgive me, and still call me daughter? Will you love me still?" continued she, the tears starting in her eyes, and her frame heaving with evident emotion: "I have disobeyed your orders, but God only knows how I have suffered for it. I have been miserable ever since; I can bear it no longer, and I feel that it is a relief to me to confess my crime before this whole assembly. I was tempted-I could not restrain my curiosity, and in an evil hour I looked into the haunted cham. ber. As soon as I opened the door, I saw that bird sitting on your armed-chair, and his questions so frightened me that I ran down stairs, and have never yet got over my alarm. When I saw it yesterday, I thought the bird knew me and knew my guilt, and I avoided it. Will you forgive me? I know I will never again disobey."

"And I know it too," replied the parson, the tears streaming down his cheeks as he took Agnes in his arms: " daughter, I will say to you as one more mighty and more holy said to one of your erring sex, thy sins are forgiven thee, go and sin no more."

There were now other and similar confessions to be made the example of Agnes inspired her more timid companions with moral courage, and soon it appeared that every one except Ellen Saunders had taken a peep into the haunted chamber.

"And how comes it you never transgressed," asked the parson of Ellen; "were you afraid of witches and goblins, or had you no curiosity?"

"I never thought the chamber was haunted," answered Ellen: "I supposed you did not wish me to intrude into it; and though my curiosity was great, I restrained it, hoping that before I left school you would let me see the curiosities of which I had heard so many strange reports."

"And so you shall; you shall all look now to your hearts' content," replied the parson, who accordingly led his pupils into the haunted chamber.

All of course were gratified, and all were happy; but Ellen only with a lively relish turned over and examined with increasing delight the many curious relics, and specimens of art and nature, that gave a strange, mysterious air to the parson's study.

"And now," said the parson, after they had left the haunted chamber, "who shall we make Queen ?"

"Miss Agnes, of course," cried Ellen, who sympathized with the sorrow that still hung its sign in the bright eyes of Miss Thorpe.

"What say you all ?" asked the parson. "I say Ellen Saunders," replied each girl at the same time.

"I thought once she deserved it," said the parson, "but I've changed my mind. The first to abase herself shall be exalted highest," continued he: "Miss Agnes shall hold the first station on that day, Miss Jane the second, and so on in the order of your confessions; and you, Ellen will bring up the rear, attended by Mr. Williams. What say you, are you all content?"

They certainly all were, and none more so than Ellen Saunders, who very heartily joined in the laugh at her own expense, although she could not but feel a touch of pity for Mr. Williams, when she saw how much fun his name excited.

"A good conscience is a sufficient honor," whispered the latter to Ellen, while the girls were now too busy to notice him.

"I know it," answered Ellen," and therefore I think it right that my rank should be lowest. Indeed I wish only that all the others could be as happy as I am.”

"They'll never be," returned Williams: "in your heart is a fountain such as their breasts do not contain; a fountain that will bless you, and bless all about you. Green, and bright, and fresh is the bloom of loveliness which it will for ever produce, and the thrice happy will he be who will be allowed to garner for himself the immortal

sweetness of thy nature!" Ellen's face turned scarlet, but she did not even turn her head towards the speaker, and hurried off to join her companions.

Need we describe the preparations made to celebrate the first of May at the house of Parson Cole? Shall we picture the green, enameled mcadow in which, beneath the shade of aged oaks, the May Queen was to be crowned? Can we describe the floral decorations of the seats, and especially of the throne? Can we tell how the birds were singing-how the skies smiled, and all nature wore an air of soft repose? Shall we tell of the great crowd of people that came to witness the ceremony of the songs that rang so sweetly in those old woods, and of the delightful sports that made the day one of the happiest that any body had ever seen?

"We'll leave all these things to the reader's imagination; and we will leave him or her to fancy if they can the unutterable emotion of the beautiful and majestic Queen, as she sat upon her throne of flowers, expecting every moment to have presented to her a subject, whose arrival had that morning been announced. At length the parson came, leading up an extremely handsome and clegant young man, and approaching the royal scat, said, after a deep reverence, "I present to your majesty my nephew, Edward Cole." The Queen, as queens ought not to do on such occasions, trembled violently, and felt as if she would faint. Her senses recled, her eyes grew dim; and when she was finally able to look calmly about her, the young man, the observed of all observers, came leading up the blushing Ellen Saunders, saying, "Permit me to present to your majesty a timid young creature, who is this night to figure as a bride at your majesty's party."

The Queen again shook violently, but was soon her royal self again, and was thus enabled to see that Mr. Edward Cole and Mr. Henry Williams were one and the same person. But she was every inch a queen; her pride came to the rescue, and for the rest of the day she filled her station with unusual grace and dignity.

It remains only to be said that young Cole had got the consent of her parents before he ever breathed love to Ellen: that he declared himself to her on the day before the first of May, and after a world of trouble got her to consent to become his own the following night. Her parents and friends were there approving; and on the evening of the first of May, 18-, beneath a canopy of flowers, and in the midst of a delightful assembly, the meek-eyed dove of Glen-Mary declared before the world that her resting-place was and for ever would be in the breast of Edward Cole.

It was the morning of the Sabbath: there was a holy calm resting upon the earth, and the air seemed hushed in solemn silence. The broad light of the lately risen sun was poured through the gorge of a mountain, and down the slope, till it rested on the outspread plain below, where were blooming flowers of various hues and commingled odors. There was no rank luxuriance-that proves the fulness of blossom, and mars the hopes of abundant fruit; no vegetable decay had yet enriched the earth, by centuries' deposite, but herb and plant sprung up in their order, with size and form, with scent and beauty, as they had been fashioned by the hand of the Creator, and colored with hues drawn from heaven.

Spread abroad were flocks of sheep and goats, whose milk and wool compensated the watchfulness and care of their owners, but whose herding was the result of their gregarious nature, rather than the teaching and discipline of man.

Though the whole scenery was made beautiful by the irregularity which marked the surface of the earth, yet there were no ravines, no upturning or wasting of the hill sides by torrents; for, as yet, there were no inequalities in the movement of our planet, the poles of the earth were then the poles of the heavens, and no change of position disturbed the atmosphere, or excited to meterological phenomena. The dew dropped from heaven, like angels' tears, to moisten and refresh the flowers; and the clouds sent forth at times their treasures of rain to gladden, not to mar, the earth.

The trees, though of the oak and especially the plane, were yet of slender growth; no decay had reached a single stock, nor had time destroyed a branch. Here and there, however, towered up samples of trees of giant size, but not of giant growth: they were of the creation, and knew no culture or bending of the twig; the hand of the great architect had placed them where they were, and their first fruits had produced the beautiful clumps that dotted the scene. Young nature was there in all her loveliness, her maiden charms, and maiden purity; and the sun, the great source of light and day, seemed to derive pleasure from the scene, which his own presence made so lovely.

Perhaps it would be better to say that the sun

assisted to make it lovely; for beside the profusion of beauty that was manifest in the scene,-hill and dale, mountain and plain, stream and lake, tree, plant and flower, and the gorgeous sunlight that seemed to rest upon their impalpable richness -beside all these, there was to be seen a beauty in all, and around all, that seemed independent of the combination of visible charms: one, in happy association, as if present to make all else more lovely, but still referable to an independent and invisible cause.

In the infancy of nature the spirit of the great parent of all hovered over the cradle, and whispered peace, and safety, and love; and the conscious presence of the divinity diffused over the face of earth a smile of grateful recognition. And the incense of warbling and of odor mingled with that of enjoyment, as a tribute to Him whose hand had spread abroad such expressive loveliness: all was altar, all was sacrifice, all was priesthood,and in all and over all, beautifying and sanctify. ing was the object of adoration.

Up from the centre of the lovely scene rose, in delightful harmony, two voices hymning THE GOD. Intelligence was in the sound; and in words meet for praise, two hearts blessed their Preserver for the peace and rest of the past night, and for the love with which each was animated for the other -and both for the Creator. Two beings, members of the first family of earth, were sitting beneath a tree whose pensile branches shut out the rays of the sun, while they invited the morning breezes that came over meadow and upland, bearing the fragrance of every lovely flower, and imparting health and delight.

The morning hymn died away, though gentle sounds, as if echoes were multiplied in the air, seemed to repeat and protract the notes. There were auditors, not visible, and worshippers, unseen, whose office was to bear upward the prayer and praise of contrite, grateful hearts to the visible presence of Him who was invisibly present everywhere, or seen only in and by his works, and heard by his providences. When the aerial sounds had ceased, the pair rose from their knees; and as the youngest, and most delicate, assumed an upright position, her long hair fell gracefully backward, and displayed a face

of exquisite loveliness, on which rested a smile of humble devotion, mingled with a consciousness of accepted sacrifice.

"Have you felt as I have," said she, "when rising from our devotion-some sense of peculiar presence-awful, yet delightful; and as the sound of our own voice is wafted away, or taken up for repetition by the invisible guardians around us, an influx of spiritual warmth has come, as if the perishable breath that passed from our lips had been replaced by the warmth of seraph respiration?"

"I have remarked, dear sister," said the other as he threw his vigorous arm over the delicate shoulder of his companion,-"I have remarked that the answer to our prayers seems often to precede the petition, and that heavenly-mindedness, which begets prayer and is the end of prayer, seems in the heart before we ask the gift: its own loveliness inspiring a wish for its continuance."

"Even, dear Abel, as but yesterday, our father besought the heavenly messenger to continue his visit, because the presence had created a desire for augmentation of the companionship."

"But now, that my flocks rest from their night grazing, and need less my watchfulness than at evening and early morning, let us repair to our father's abode, that, having exchanged vows of love to each other, and offered praise to God, we may exhibit obedience to our parents, and unite with them and our brother and sister in the worship which our Creator demands, and to which this day is specially devoted."

"I would gather a bunch of flowers for dear Cain," said the female, "but that I have marked that he never exhibits a love for flowers, though his life is devoted to the cultivation of the earth. It is strange that he should find no pleasure in what may be considered the most delightful branch of his pursuit, especially when that pursuit is voluntary!"

"That is, because the end of his labor is that which occupies his thoughts-he has less joy in the pursuit than in the results, and the accumulation of perishable products is the object which excites and rewards his exertions."

"But Cain has a heart susceptible of the finest feelings, of the deepest, purest love. Oh, Abel, could you have heard his impassioned appeal to me when last we met, and when all I could say to him was that he could never have less from me than a sister's love-and I had nothing more to offer-could you have heard or seen him then, you would have confessed that Cain possessed all that power of love which you say is necessary to an enjoyment of nature's wonders, as they lie stretched out before us!"

"Susceptibility of strong feelings, of love, indeed, my dear sister, is not the evidence of that quality which makes lovely-the most sordid selfishness is quite consistent with the most violent passion. But the delicacy of sentiment which you describe, of which I know you possessed, and which alone

gives attraction to love, has in it nothing of self. True love-pure affection, seeks the good of its object. Think you, my beloved one, that I could claim the fulfilment of your promise to wed me, on the morrow, if there lurked in your heart a wish to marry Cain? Or, could I desire, loving Cain as I do, that he should lose you? Do you not remember the remark of the blessed angel: that the peace of heaven was more peaceful, if not preserved, by the association of divine feelings of corresponding affection, corresponding powers and corresponding views ?"

"But could Cain have sought only his personal gratification in his efforts to bring me to his tent ? Might he not have sought my happiness as well as his own, and intended to devote himself to the promotion of that peace which arises only from mutual sacrifice?"

"Do you believe, dear sister, that he could thus have acted, and thus have made you happy?"

"I do believe, Abel, that he had thus resolved, and that I might have found happiness in his resolve. I think there is in my heart, and I have thought that I discovered the same in our mother's, a feeling of pride in man's devotion which would supply to us the place of affection, if the devotion was constant."

pure as an

"But can that devotion be constant without love? Will not the accidents of life disturb the devotion of man, and thus destroy the occasion of pride in woman. Alas, what but love angel's affection-could bind our parents now. What, dear Mahala, would supply to you the place of love, when the rash humor of our elder brother should manifest itself, if not in unkindness, at least, in restlessness and neglect."

"How often, Abel, have we seen the sign of grief, almost of anger, pass from our Father's brow, and the smile of affection take its place, as he cast his eye upon his group of children, upon Cain and you, and little Ada and myself; may not the Creator have placed children in the tent of man, not more to perpetuate the race than to soothe present irritation, and bring back to the heart the affection which disappointment and vexation seem to be expelling thence?"

"All your thoughts! Mahala-all your arguments are urged with the loveliness of your own affection. So pure, so clevated are all your feelings, that the angels who are invisible around us constantly commune with your spirit, and culti vate and strengthen those sentiments of good which influence your motive and direct your action. But, alas, my dear sister, what would that heart be, if good affections with angelic influences did not fill it all? Be assured, when once the sanctuary of love is violated; and envy and desire for revenge enter the enclosure, then all true affection is driven forth as were our parents from Eden, and flaming swords guard the desecrated spot."

"But let us hasten, Mahala, for I see our father