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Hardcastle, its origin and bonds of familiar. alism, to resign an ostensibly good venture ity. The examination was frankly respond to the caprices of affectior, or to protect her ed to, and piqued her curiosity—to gratify against the probable blight of honorable and which she suggested the propriety of a walk honest impulses. in the flower-yard, as the moonlight was With much secret joy did she skillfully very pleasant; her object, of course, being draw from the artless Simon an account of a more secluded and unrestrained interview Hardcastle's underhand practices, and yet she than could be prosecuted in the drawing- knew not what to do with her information. room.

She was consoled and confirmed that it was Her gentle management wound Simon best to put off, as far as possible, the evil day of like a string about her thumb. Without irreclaimable concession. She hoped somereservation he disclosed the whole of Hard-thing from Lessing's keen analysis of the castle's intercourse, commerce, and underta- circumstances. But what could he do on a kings with them. Gaining his confidence bed of affliction ? Her hope was against all before his suspicion was awakened, she hope. To her it appeared hard that two pledged him to communicate the further loving hearts and clear heads could not progress of the plot to her, as she felt break the chains of social bondage. From much interest in his companion. Simon her mother she could expect nothing. Her gladly yielded, finding himself on a famil- father was a rude, outspoken man, appaiar footing with Miss Esther, and being rently without tenderness, but Esther knew invited to make frequent visits to the fam- that there lay beneath this exterior a stratum ily. He asked nothing better than to be her of nice feeling. If she could awaken this agent.

part of her father's nature in the right direcIf she had felt any wavering before, now tion, there would be safety; yet she feared she was urgent to have the matter of the his scorn of all deceit, for she knew her difficulty between Hardcastle and Lessing

own guilt in this respect. But if she could brought to a decision, but not before the only show that this deceit had been her only former had entered into deeper waters.

protection for a while—that she now disThat night she immediately wrote to carded it, feeling that it was no longer a Lessing the history of her morning's inter- shield against reckless selfishness; could she view with her mother, as well as the eve-quicken his delicate sense of honor to the ning one with Simon.

black designs, as she believed them to be, of Although a girl of nerve to meet ordina- Hardcastle, the whole of his being would ry difficulties, she could see no way of revolt against the course which he now positive escape from the toils thickening

favored. around her. Her word had been given to

How to do this? She needed something her parents, assenting to a union with the

more than the moon-struck crudisies of stranger. It had been given under false Simon's impressible brain for evidence. The impressions. Her own views of Lessing's General would scout all Simon's narrative character had undergone no change. When and leave her in greater despondency and she gave her consent, she felt herself free in

hopelessness than ever. She must have fancy as in hand, and that possibly a con

something positive. Placing some reliance nection with Hardcastle was the more desi

upon Simon's revelations, she anxiously exrable establishment.

pected decisive developments — convinced, Her own emotions had not be wholly

as she was, that Hardcastle was fully disthe property of her judgment. She had

posed to traffic with Mayfair's delusions. not known herself, Nature unconsciously Suppose that Simon had overcharged the developed within her bosom strong and

story with particulars from his own bewilstronger inclinations toward the manliness dered brains? Then she could not undeceive of Lessing's behavior and parts.

her father. Then, too, on the other side, Once, however, subdued to her parents' she ascribed to Hardcastle too much caution wishes, she could devise no release from her and foresight to be caught in any damaging voluntary thraldom. She dared not trust to the magnanimity of Hardcastle. In her

Poor girl! she was in wondering mazes estimate of his disposition, he hard a composition, too grasping a materi

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

position.

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of too lost.

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XIII. Inward, beyond external sense, Clean hearts commune with Christ! What now? Where is the clear, strong evidence Or that supreme intelligence ? In the sure fact. We ask not how, But is it true? And then, what thence ?

VII. I will not play the Fool to Doubt! I will not be the Slave of Hell,

XIV.

XXII. This great Truth may? Yes: and if so, There is no power in human speech Can tear that knowledge thence; no woe In mortal anguish creeping slow Upon the shudd'ring sense, can reach The seat of those small words, I know !

Why this, that though it baffles mind,
If it be true that Consciousness
Accepts its truth, we can but find
The fact sell-proved; and close behind
This self-proved fact is proved no less
That Christ still lives! 'Tis dim and blind!

XV.
If spirit can commune with Him
That once was crucified and slain,
That fact, if sure, however dim,
Speaks like the burning Seraphim
To prove that Christ now lives again!
It borns, a star on ocean's rim!

XXIII. Weak girlhood, bound to thrilling pain, Gray martyrs clad in robes of fire, Declared they knew it, and in vain The torture lapped up heart and brain : Their knowledge grew serener, higher, That Christ still lives that once was slain.

XVI.

O, plebeian, earth-born Thought must go
And drag his muck-rake proofs away,
When with a princely tread, and glow
Of crowns and power upon its head,
The regal Consciousness shall say,
I know! who dares to doubt I know ?

XVII.
If Christ is risen-if any soul
Knows that He lives, thought could as soon
Reverse yon gleaming orbs that roll
Thro' golden cycles round the pole
While midnights sweep thro' glowing June,
As wring such knowledge from that soul.

XVIII,
Did she, then, know it? Is it true
That she communed with Jesus? I
Denied it to my heart, yet thro'
My inmost consciousness, like dew
Thro' starlit nights, sank silently
The doubt, the thought-perhaps she knew!

XIX.
Christ loveth thee and me, she said.
She said she knew it; she is true!
Aye, my poor girl, true as the tread
Or white Orion yonder! Dead?
Ah, no! Death was not made for you!
Beautiful spirit, whither fled ?

XX.
That Christ is risen, ah, who can show?
That He is not, no man can prove!
The spirit's other eyes may know
That He still lives; for truth may flow
From revelations of His love.
Is it, then, true! Who dares say No?

XXI.
This mighty Truth may sit within
The spirit like a king whose eye
Sees where the rebel mind could win
Eternal triumphs over sin,
If leagued with Faith that can supply
Strength where its weaknesses begin.

VOL. IV.-No. 1. 83

XXIV.
And what of that? Why this, that they
Were honest to the heart-core, when
They said they knew it!-Day by day,
Nature's strong instincts fade away
Before this truth, and vilest men
Do holy deeds and learn to pray!

XXV.
And what of this? That while each creed
Hath its own martyrs, this alone
Renews the heart, supplies the need
That Nature cries for, and doth read
By clearer light than mind hath known
The will by which all things proceed.

XXVI.
Is it, then, true that Christ reveals
Himself to them that love Him ?- 0,
It is too much! and reason reels
Under the glory which it feels
Would burden me, could I but know
That Faith can know what thought conceals.

XXVII. She knows and loves that strange, strange One, Who meekly suffered, bravely died ! She thinks her soul, when life is done, Redeemed and blest, shall rest upon The great heart of the Crucified !So melts a star into a sun !

XXVIII.
Whence came this Faith of theirs that knows-
This all-redeeming, boundless Faith ?
Intelligence can not disclose
The founts whence this fine wisdom flows;
For learning, thought, and passion saith,
I can not balm a spirit's woes !

XXIX.
How Paley's " Evidences " fail!
How Alexander McIllvaine
And all that seek to lift the vail
From darkness, miserably fail!
The gross, material, earthly brain
But makes the captive spirit pale!

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XLVI. No mortal Colon can explore This boundless waste of waters, nor Beyond Death's chill stream map the shore, Though kings may order it! Before The soul can cry San Salvador, The unknown Pilot cometh o'er!

LIV. Brothers, your arguments were vain! He knows ho suffers : consciousness Thrills with the bitter sense of pain! Go sprinkle him with speechlike rain, And see if cunning words redress The anguish throbbing thro' his brain!

XLVII.
But, brothers, though the Magi fail
To show this perfect evidence,
And our mortality turn pale
When Pagan bands of Doubt assail-
Fear not : God's vast intelligence
Knows, and His wisdom shall prevail

XLVIII.
God's evidence is to fulfill
The silver-sandaled Hope that trod
In words like these which tell us still,
If any man shall do His will,
He knows the Doctrine is of God:
Peace! peace! O, doubting heart, be still!

XLIX. This is the Evidence alone : Experience proves it true ; it stands Firmer than Andes, based upon The roots of consciousness; is known Just as one knoweth when his hands Are burned with fire or crushed with stone!

LV. Brothers, the consciousness of sin Is all as real: we do know We suffer bitterly within Our spirits with the pangs of sin. Who dares to say it is not so ? How prove it? Where can you begin ?

LVI. And so we know we do believe, And know that we do find relief Thro' Faith from pain: know we receive The Teacher's promise; we believeWe do His will; we know Belief Is knowledge that can not deceive.

LVII. Ah! the sublimest thought is thisTo trust in Christ! I felt the tip Of some white angel's wing of bliss Strike on my heart soft as the kiss Which sweet dreams left upon the lip Of Shelley's tortured Beatrice!

LVIII. It was no clear intelligence, But was as if the winds that rove Thro' Paradise bad wasted thence And left upon my heart a sense Of His redeeming love, That promised summer affluence.

L. It saith, I know : 'tis not belief; I know as agony profound Withered my spirit like a leaf : Know I believed, and in belief Know that my weary heart hath found This eloquent, divine relief.

LI. The facts of conscious guilt, of pain, Of faith in Jesus, of belief, Are facis as simple and as plain As any nature knows. Explain (If Faith is false) whence comes relief To the o'er-labored heart and brain.

LIX. I was like one that, long before Music was known, did vex his brain To build the lyre: by the lone shore He heard its first soft pleading soar, And feared to touch the chords again Lest that sweet voice should speak no more!

LII. Delusion! Ah, my brothers! go With me to Shiloh's bloody plain; Behold a dear friend mangled so That superhuman pangs of woe Mar all his heart, and ashy pain Whitens his bronzed cheek and brow!

LX. But, day by day, my spirit grew To quiet strength : at last I said, The Good, the Beautiful, the True, or all the schools I wandered thro' Is Jesus Christ! All darkness fled: Because I had believed, I knew.

LIII.

Which of you, brothers, will declare
This a delusion? Who will say,
You think you suffer, and a prayer
Goes shudderingly into the air :
'Tis but delusion! Laugh away
This sense of anguish and despair

LXI. She kept a hope that this might beA hope that never passed her lips ; But silently and tenderly Her yearning heart hung over me: And thus a year went by like ships Tbat vanish on a moonlit sea.

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