"Just so. He said they lived here-were very poor, but had received great kindness-that when the children were grown larger, they removed to Millvillage, where they all found employment, and thenceforward their means of living was less precarious than when wholly dependent upon the father."

"That is good! What is he doing now?"

"He has won himself a local habitation and a name;' is a settled minister, in the remote little village ofamong the hills.”

-, down

"Marvin a minister of the Gospel-married to Maria Grant-how strange! Do not delay the announcement of my return, and give them, in my name, a pressing invitation to pay an early visit to Glenelvan."

After our drive, and without a moment's delay, Miss Standish sent the promised missive. My father manifested great pleasure in the intelligence which had been previously communicated to me,-said, if the distance did not preclude the possibility of such an exploit, he would drive down to of a Sabbath morning, and hear his former favorite

preach.

Maria Grant had been an occasional visitor to us-was one of the young guests at Mildred's wedding, and though most intimate with Rose, yet were we most excellent friends. Her early home had been anything but a happy one, and I could but admire the moral courage she brought to the conflict, to meet and endure trials and wrongs that she could neither remove or overcome.

Others may have had trials as great, and sank beneath them, or living, arraigned Providence for its seeming injustice. Maria did neither-her motto was-" endure and prevail." Miss Standish had told me she was looking extremely well, and serenely happy, and now I felt an irrepressible longing to commune with this tried and true spirit, to gain for myself unimpeachable evidence of the genuineness of her wedded happiness, to see and to know if the wailing voices

of her early wrongs and early trials were lost in this new harmony.

I had feared that the time would seem long before I could hear from her in return, but a letter came by the earliest mail. She wrote, thanked me for my note, but declined my invitation to Glenelvan, preferring to receive me in her own, her new home. And, moreover, her occupations were so varied and so continuous, that it were impracticable to leave them for a day. She was learning how to appreciate the new happiness which had so risen upon the waters of her life, that the cares and duties of her married-life had given her a higher vocation, and in this she might forget what it were wrong for her to remember. * Her "marriage, with its duties, cares, pleasures, and forbearances was forming in her a second, if not a more beautiful nature--it was adorning her life and doing for her what the graceful woodbine does for a ruinous tenement, dinging to all the sharp corners and with its leafy mantle, covering many a frightful chasm. Differing in this, it began with the repairs. You, my dear friend, may not believe all this. Come and see."

*

Maria had now been married nearly a year. She was, I would believe, happy at last, she had aims and occupations congenial to her I must see her at once. I found my father, and gave him the letter, saying

"In the morning, I must have some sort of conveyance to Blank, (the Hudson River Railroad was not then built,) and then get into the lumbering stage coach which will set me down at Maria's door."

'By no means, dear! The distance is some twenty miles, and the way rough. I will send Yoppa for once, he is a good driver, and lighter than John; he will take the low curricles, leave you there and then return in the evening. This is the better plan."

True, my father, and thank you."

We started at an agreeable hour in the morning, and the journey had, for me, few fatigues and many pleasures, the

Ar

country through which we passed, strange and wild. rived there, I found Maria living in an old-fashioned house, high and brown, situated a little out of the village, at the head of a ravine, which led away up among the hills. There was a pretty flower-garden on one side, and some fine old trees clustering around.

Both Maria and her husband met me at the door-my coming at so early a day, was to them a pleasant surprise.

Marvin, for I did not attempt to say Mr. Noyes, was now a gentlemanly, but plain-looking man, pleasing in his manners, though somewhat grave for one of his years. He was a most interesting conversationalist, and his descriptions of the various scenes of his life amused me, though he often led me back to the days of his then hopeless poverty. He still remembered distinctly the feeling that possessed him when he for the first time scrawled his name on piece of paper-also, his feeling of pride, when at my suggestion, he began his miniature attempts at public speaking in the wellknown-"You'd scarce expect one of my age." When we had all then done laughing over this, he said more gravely, "Dear friend, this was the initiatory step to my present position."

Maria had great force of will, had pride and deep feeling. She could cover up a pang with a smile, a quivering heartwound with a lovely serenity as one might cover a scar with a rose. This was for society. But with me-ah, dearest Maria, I could look beneath all these.

She always called her husband by his first name, Edward, and in her manner towards him there was a softness and a gentle grace as new to her as it was beautiful to see. Her younger sister Elizabeth, came duly at evening to recite her lessons in Latin, and from Maria I learned that this brave girl had taken a school in their vicinity, teaching by day and reciting at night to Edward. She had some high aim— none knew what—but a thorough education was of the first import, indeed, after her capacity, which none doubted; and

in this way alone could she secure it. Not that her parents were unable to aid her in this; by no means. The Grants were people of substance, but they had other views about the sphere of women.

One evening Elizabeth had gone, and we sat together in that large, old-fashioned room, and listened to the now happy husband as he talked of the days of the long ago. He told us, Maria and I, sitting together in the low window, of the trials of his childhood, its vicissitudes, of his father's improvidence, of his mother's sufferings, her laborious life and frequent illness, of cold and hunger, and every kind of destitution, of his brothers and himself slowly rising above all these, and at last providing for their mother a degree of comfort she had never thought to see; and for their father, more than he could well enjoy. At last he paused-then said "Ladies, I have entertained you with sad tales-you may wonder why I have done so, or why I cherish these painful memories. I can only say, that what I have once suffered or enjoyed, I never wish to forget."

I wiped a lingering tear from my cheek, and at last found a few words of cheer. And he, taking his hat, walked away up the dim and shady ravine. And Maria, her dark eyes following him, said half abstractedly

"Dear Edward, he has had many and sad experiences, yet he shrinks from the memory of none. He is wiser than I am. It is better to conquer suffering than to strive to forget it."

"And will not you, dear friend?" I asked-"For now you ought to be happy."

"I will. And I am happy, tranquilly happy, as you are now willing to believe."

"Seeing is believing, Maria. I see that your heart has found rest. If it were not so, do not think you could hide it from me."

Happy, dearest Minnie-yes, more, my soul is overflowing with gratitude. For Edward took me for his wife while

all my great wrongs were yet rankling in my bosom, and my soul undisciplined to its sorrow. My ambition was great, but all undefined-neither could I discover a path or a means to reach the heights to which my eyes were lifted. He saw all this. He believed in me, he trusted me. This, and his gentle kindness, won my regard. He knew all my disappointments and crosses and privations. I told him. Like a good Christian, he took me as I was. I yielded up to him the remnant of my affections, my withering hopes and my dauntless aspirations, knowing that he could not betray me. He has been my teacher and counsellor, and now with joy I see my way upward through a patient and steady progression."

When I went up to my chamber, Maria ran tripping up the wide staircase before me, bearing a wax candle in a silver candlestick; her pink muslin dress floating about her graceful person like a rosy cloud, her dark wavy hair parted on her pale forehead, made her a sweet picture to contemplate.

Arrived within the chamber, I said—

Maria, you have grown prettier since I last saw you, and your air is perfect."

Thank you. My husband says the samethought he did it by way of encouragement."

-but, I "He believes it too. And believes, also, as do I, that you have great capacities which you will yet develop."

"I will never cheat the hopes of those who have loved me best-and these desire and aid my mental culture. I cannot yet see the good that is to arise from my early suffering and my great wrong; but I shall know in the time that is coming. That he whom I first loved, and who loved me, was untrue, shall never shake my faith in love's perfectness. I loved him so entirely, that I would have died rather than witness his falsity. I would not listen to a breath that could stain his honor, his plighted vows to me and so the thunderbolt fell from a sky where never a cloud had gathered."