"Ah! who is rude now? Where is my fine gentleman ? my polished man of the world, my soft sybarite? Really, you have some life left, and will not die of the wrinkle of a roseleaf."

"No more! Tell me where you obtained this picture?" "Near the artificial lake on which you love to row in the still summer evening."

"Alas! she is dead! She has destroyed herself. Fool, monster, that I am! "

"Yes, fool and monster both, no doubt of that."

"Do not reproach me, old man.”

"There is no need of that, you spare me that task; but I said not that she was dead. So much innocence and virtue, such angelic loveliness, cannot die. She is safe. She lives." "In the flesh ?"

"Why ask you that? Believe you in other life than that in the flesh?”

"You mock me. Say that Katharine Howard is still in this world, and then do by me as you will.

"She is safe, and beyond your reach."

"In this world ?"

"Are not your servants trusty? Did they ever fail to do your bidding?"

"Leave me, old man, leave me. I am a wretch, and would be alone."

"No, I leave you not now. I know what is on your mind. I know the order you whispered. I know how faithfully it was executed; I see you writhe, it is well. You have a conscience after all. But where is your philosophy?"

"Old man, prate not to me of philosophy. You know I am damned, - that I suffer the tortures of hell-fire."

"But you are a wise and learned man; you have read and studied much; you know all the sciences; you are said to be a great philosopher. Surely your philosopy must serve you now; it must be able to quench these fires of hell, soothe your conscience, and give peace to your soul."

"Alas! alas! what a wretch I am! O, I am bowed to the earth; I roll in dust and ashes." And, throwing myself down, I beat the floor, I beat my head, I was a madman.

"Come, come," said the old man, "this is childish. I thought it was a precept of your philosophy never to regret the past nor to apprehend the future."

"But I loved her. O God, how I loved her!"

“Well, love will play strange pranks with philosophy, it

Here he

must be owned. But will one who loves whispered a word in my ear, which sent a cold thrill through my heart.

Well," continued he, "I see you have some human feeling left; I have some hope of you; once you have failed in your purpose, and it is not quite so bad as you fear. Katharine Howard, the daughter of my old friend and benefactor, is still alive, unharmed; but no thanks to you.

"God be thanked, do with me as you will."

"Sit up, then, and be a man; dare look your own past life in the face, and read the lesson it teaches? It is useless to ask you to listen to my tale to-day; calm yourself, betake yourself to your philosophy, and when that has consoled you, and you are free from perturbation, I will see you again."

So saying, he left me. But alas for my philosophy and my boasted life-plan! I was humbled in the dust. Katharine Howard was a sweet girl of eighteen, an orphan, left in part to my care. I had provided her with the best instructers, and had secured her the very best education to be obtained. She had grown up into a tall, dignified, and graceful lady. I can say no more of her, except that her virtue surpassed her beauty, and the firmness of her principles was superior even to her accomplishments. I believed she loved me; I forgot my trust as guardian, and, defeated in my purpose, had attempted to conceal my mortification by an act which must be nameless. I had tried to drive all thoughts of her from my mind; her picture, which had been taken for me, brought her fresh before me, and the whole enormity of my conduct rushed upon me in an instant. The old man's assurance that she yet lived, while it reassured me a little, did not reconcile me to myself at all, and that night I bent my knees in prayer, and vowed repentance and a holy life.

CHAPTER IV.

THE next morning, a little calmed by the resolution I had taken the previous night, I sent early for the clergyman on whose ministrations I sometimes attended, and who was the successor of my father. He was an amiable, companionable man; well-bred, gentlemanly, somewhat studious in his habits, and had made himself familiar with the lighter literature of most nations and ages. He was sprightly, often brilliant in conversation, and was one of my few acquaintances that was least intolerable. He came at my request, met me with a pleasant

smile and a cordial greeting, and began instantly a poetical quotation from one of his favorite authors.

"Sit down, Mr. Middleton," said I. "Sit down, I have sent for you to have some serious conversation with you." "Serious conversation with me! But but-why what is the matter, Mr. Morton ? You look grave, you disturbed. Why, has any accident occurred?"

look

"Mr. Middleton, you are a professed minister of the gospel. It is yours to instruct the ignorant, to reclaim the erring, and to aid the sinner in making his peace with God. Tell me, what shall I do to be saved?”

"O, that is perfectly easy. Repent of your sins, and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ."

"But what is it to repent? and what is it to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? "

"To repent is to be sorry that you have sinned, to cease to do wrong, to amend your life, and do right for the future. To believe on the Lord Jesus is to believe that he was a great and good man, extraordinarily endowed, and sent into the world to be the model of human perfection; and also to have full confidence that if you follow his example you will have true righteousness and be acceptable to your Maker."

"But here are my sins which I have committed. They are black, and cry to heaven for vengeance. How shall I efface them, and escape the punishment they so richly deserve?"

"Give yourself no trouble about them. This idea of punishment is all a mere bugbear. There is no other punishment for sin than its natural consequences. You put your hand into the fire, it is burned, because such is the law of your nature. You do wrong, you suffer the consequence, for the same reason; cease to do wrong, do right, and then you will experience the natural consequences of doing right."

"But will not the memory of the past remain, and also the consequences of my past wrong-doing? Is there or is there not remission of sin ?"

"Why, Mr. Morton, in what school of theology have you studied? Forgiveness of sins there certainly is, but no remission of the penalty which the order of nature attaches to transgression. The forgiveness is nothing but the complacency with which God regards the penitent. When you cease to do wrong and come to do right, you are regarded by the great Author of the universe precisely as if you had never done wrong. He looks upon you in the same light he does upon those who have always walked uprightly. This is forgiveness.

It is admitting you, notwithstanding your past errors, to the rewards which are attached by the order of nature to well doing. Beyond this there is no forgiveness. As I live,' saith the Lord, I will not clear the guilty.' The remission of the punishment of sin is a notion that sprung up subsequent to the times of Christ; it is without foundation, and, withal, of dangerous tendency. No, Sir, if you have sinned you must suffer the consequences, be they what they may. We can hardly expect the Almighty to work a miracle in our behalf. He has made all things well. He has given us a perfect law. If we conform to it we receive good; if we do not, we receive evil. Here is the whole mystery of redemption and reconciliation."

"But what am I to do with this terrible remorse I suffer ?" "Bear it like a man. You have brought it upon you by your own folly, disdain to pine and whimper under it, or to ask Almighty God to change the beneficent order he has established to interpose to relieve you from it. No man should ever shrink from submitting to the natural consequences of his own actions. You are to be submissive and humble. But true submission is in accepting the order God has established; and true humility is in being satisfied with it, and in bearing without a murmur whatever it requires you to suffer."

"But is there no mercy ?"

"Mercy? Yes, in the order itself, but no extra-mercy. The order established is good, and if good it is merciful; for mercy is nothing but a special aspect of goodness, the face of goodness turned towards the suffering."

"But what am I to do in order to do right, and to bring myself within the category of those who will receive good?" "Love God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, and your neighbour as yourself. You love God by loving his children, the same as you see and know God in his works. To love him you must love your fellow-men, and seek to do them good."

"But what is for their good?”

"Their good? Why, you must seek to relieve their sufferings, to elevate their condition, to enlighten them, to aid them in cultivating their natures, and in attaining to perfection." "But tell me, Mr. Middleton, what is the destiny of man? What were we made for ?"

We were made

"Made for? For perfection to be sure. imperfect; our law is progress, and our end is perfection. We must become men, full-grown men, with all our faculties fully and harmoniously cultivated, and then we shall have fulfilled our destiny ?"

"And then?” "Why, then-nothing. When a being has fulfilled its destiny, it has nothing more to do. But we shall never fulfil our destiny, but be always fulfilling it. We shall grow larger and larger for ever, but never fully attain our growth. Thus we are destined, properly speaking, to eternal progress, to be eternally rising higher and higher, and approaching nearer and nearer to God."

"But, Mr. Middleton, I have no heart to go into these speculations to-day. I feel that I have made a mistake and done wrong. I am here, a sinner, and I wish not to be one. What will you do with me. I want the inward peace of mind which flows from the consciousness that we have done right, and the full conviction that we are now in a state of reconciliation with the Supreme Being. How shall I get it?"

"Repair the wrong you have done so far as in your power; resolve to do wrong no more; be on your guard against temptations; cultivate a serious state of mind; acquire habits of reflection; and seek out opportunities of doing good to those around you who may need your good offices. Be not cast down, nor unduly elated. You may have done wrong, but you must know that your wrong-doing has not offended God, or alienated his affections from you. He is always placable. Your good actions cannot benefit him, and your evil actions cannot injure him. Have no uneasiness so far as he is concerned, and so far as concerns yourself cease to do evil, and learn to do well, and all will go well with you. You will become absorbed in your plans of reform and works of beneficence; your remorse will soon spend its strength; and, your conscience now satisfied, you will recover and maintain inward peace and serenity.

Our conversation lasted some hours, but all that was said was to the same purpose, and, strange as it may seem, afforded me no little consolation. The old man had assured me that Katharine yet lived, and was safe. It was true I knew not where she was, and it was no slight torture to be separated from her. But I trusted I could find her, and could easily pacify her for the great wrong I had meditated against her. The wrong I had already done her, I could therefore undo. Then my remorse was not for having sinned against God. I felt no compunction for my conduct before God, but only because I had done foul injustice to a human being whom I loved. If this injustice towards her was repaired, I should be freed from all remorse; and, if I could but recover her I could go on