strive on, let us die striving. Then shall we find that that same Jesus will leave those of his flock whom he hath safely gathered home, and will go through the dark night seeking us, even us, the most erring and the most unworthy of all God's children; and when he has found us, he will carry us in his arms, and “ there shall be one fold and one shepherd.”

E. M. W.



“But if the children chanced to die

Ere they to age did come,
Their uncle should possess their wealthe,
For so the wille did run."

Old Ballad.

THE UNCLE (in the Portrait Gallery).
Always thou wert my foe, most envied one!
And yet unknowingly! For woman's heart
Not gentler is, nor purer, than was thine !
But thou art gone,

-and now, why may not I
Be lord of this fair castle and domain ?
A fragile boy of scarce three summers' age
What more? an infant girl – doth stand between
Me and my pride's ambition! A light touch
May scatter, or a breeze of heaven blight
The tender lily-buds, and -- didst thou hear
Unspoken words, mute picture? Ah, thou canst
Not search the deep and secret labyrinths

Those of our readers who may be desirous of seeing the main idea of this article presented with great clearness, beauty, and power are referred to a published sermon on Regeneration, by Rev. Chauncey Giles of Cincinnati.

The reader will please refer to the February number (1859) of the Magazine, for the first part of this beautiful little drama. We suppose a Third Part is yet to come. — Eds.

Of this dark, tortured heart! E'en in thy life
Thou wast unconscious of the fire that burned
In smothered flames, hidden from human sight
Down deep in this despairing breast, - a slow,
Consuming anguish, which, in thy calm soul,
Thou couldst not feel nor comprehend! I did
But fancy that thine eye

had read


heart's Most secret thought ! Thou too,

thou too art gone, Pure, lovely Edith! and my vow to thee Shall be fulfilled! Thou art an angel now, And I will guard thy tender lily-buds From blighting, for thy sake!

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The Castle Terrace.


She's gone to Heaven !

EDGAR. And will she come again ?


Ah, no! my child ! Not here, — but she will wait for thee to come To her in Heaven.


Bertha, when shall we go?
Is Heaven where our Nelly lives, — in yon
Dark forest, where sweet posies grow, covered
With fallen leaves, - so she must look to find
Them, as they peep from out their hiding-place?
Then shall we go, dear Bertha, very soon?


It now,

Ah, no! my child! It is too far to find

- but, by and by, you both shall go, And be with her you love, forevermore!

[BERTHA leads him away.

THE UNCLE appears on the terrace.
Why haunt me thus, tormenting thoughts ? Awake,
Asleep, ye come ! forever with me! Hence !
Begone! ye temptings of the Evil One!
Cursed through all my life, most deeply curst
I've been,

and, Edith, if my vow to thee
Be broke, I shall be doubly cursed ! — Hence!

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(BERTHA watches the sleeping babes).


Ah, sad, sad fate, to lose thee, dearest one !
Methinks I weep fountains of tears, that thou
Art gone! Cease, selfish heart, thus to repine !
Thou art far happier now, than dwelling here,
In this dark, gloomy castle, - desolate.
How sweetly now they sleep, fair orphan babes!
And is their mother's dream to be fulfilled ?
I cannot hope so! Will they pine away
From sorrow that she comes not ? Edgar mourns,
And is almost heart-broken! Ah! he sighs
So deeply now! The little Jane forgets
How many days are gone since her last kiss,
And thinks she'll wake to see her in the morn.
Sleep, little slumberers ! Her unseen watch
An angel mother keeps around you! Sleep!

“ Reconcile the events of things unto both beings, that is, of this world and the next; so will there not seem so many riddles in Providence, nor various inequalities in the dispensation of things below. If thou dost not anoint thy face, yet put not on sackcloth at the felicities of others.”



am a

I will take you, reader, to an institution which not many American travellers have the leisure to visit, but which is one of the noblest and most worthy of Great Britain. I speak of the new Reading Room of the British Museum. The Museum is itself one of the London lions, and few Americans visit London, I trust, without spending a day among its ample collections; but the library itself is more out of the way, and is not a publicly exhibited curiosity. So I think I shall be on fresh ground, if I give you a little account of this interesting department.

The visitor to the British Museum sees close by that startling statue of Shakespeare, the "eye in fine frenzy rolling,” two glass doors, over which are the words “ TO THE READING-Room," and on which are in gilt lettering, “ For Readers only.” Taking advantage of my guidance, for I

“ reader," and have a bit of pasteboard in my pocket which will admit us, we pass through a long corridor to another pair of glass doors, where a keeper tests our right to enter, and, finding all correct, ushers us into one of the most splendid rooms in the world. When I was in London years ago, and used to study in the Museum library, the old reading-room seemed sumptuous and most convenient; but this one makes the other so insignificant, that I cannot recall even the rudest outlines of its appearance. Well, here you are in a room which is a dome in itself, and nothing but a dome, — rising one hundred feet from the ground, and yet with a diameter of a hundred and forty feet, one foot more than that of St. Peter's at Rome! The top is richly but softly gilded, and all the light of the room falls from those shaded windows which you see there. Climbing up the sides of this great dome are the circling rows of books, about twenty-five feet high, with galleries running around to accommodate the attendants. There are twenty-five miles of shelving in this room, and eighty thousand books. And yet this is not the quarter of all.

And now, when you have feasted your eyes on the sight of so vast a dome, and of such throngs of books, look at the arrangement on the Aoor. What are you treading on? I cannot think, unless it be leather, for it is firm, but soft, and has a decidedly leathery look. That deadens all the footfalls, and so the scores of readers and attendants go to and fro, and no student is disturbed. Let us go up into the first gallery that runs around the dome, and look down upon the floor and note its arrangement. It looks like a star, or like the city of Carlsruhe in Germany, if that be a more evident and palpable illustration. In the centre of all is a circular table enclosing a space about twelve feet in diameter, where sits the Superintendent with half a dozen assistants. His throne or dais is elevated about a foot above the floor. Around this is a walk, about five feet broad, and then another circular table, beneath which stands, in huge folios, the catalogue of the library. This table or counter must be over seventy, feet in length, and of course is broken up by a number of alleys through it. Outside of this is still another walk, and still another circular table of yet greater length than the last. This too has the ponderous catalogue running along, folio after folio, under it. Thus as you look down upon the whole from above, you see three concentric rings; the inner table for the officers, the outer two for the readers. Of course persons consulting the catalogues can stand on the inside or the outside; that is, nearest the centre of the room, or nearest the walls. I wish I could tell you how many scores of those great folio volumes make up the catalogue, but I cannot. There are so many, however, that very rarely do two readers want the same volume at the same time. Of course they are in manuscript form, and there is only one copy in the world; and yet the rate of increase of books in this library is so



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