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Only think of their enjoying the advantages of this famous old University in our mothercountry;-boys who, a few months ago, studied Latin and Greek by the light of a fire in a rude log-cabin of the far West. Kate is to spend the coming winter in Paris, with her friend, Ellice Manvers, whose aunt is to reside

there for a year or more. I need not tell you that sister is half wild with delight. To be in Paris with her friends is to reach, for her, the very summit of earthly felicity.

And now, Marie, shall I have to plead for your coming hither? Must I urge you by our past friendship not to deny me this pleasure? We have been long separated. You surely wish to see me. Come then at once. I expect a letter, but I expect yourself, also, almost as soon. I shall not be married until you have come.

Larry, who has read the concluding paragraph over my shoulder, remonstrates, but finding me firm, threatens to go for you himself, if you prove unpersuadable. Marie, be reasonable. I await you with hope.

Yours always,

BESSIE WILMERTON.

"I have passed through the desert of life; I have fought my way up to that Horeb, from whose summit I behold the promised land, and this long-suffering and this great joy have made for all time the splendid figures of this world, its crowns, its laurels, and its roses, pale before my eyes. I may be fascinated or charmed by them for a moment, but it is soon over; that which they give makes me no richer; that which they take away, no poorer; and many a time I say to them, as Diogenes to Alexander, 'Go out of my sunshine."" FREDRIKA BREMER.

B

UT reader, I did not need to be urged

to go to Bessie. The letter which accompanied the written history, and which I read first, although it did not urge my coming, prepared me for a happy change in my friend's circumstances, and upon the perusal of the MS., I felt that I must see my dear companion before a greater distance

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separated us. Taking a hasty leave of the circle with whom my lot had been so long and so unexpectedly cast, I journeyed to the North, and arrived in time to be present at my friend's wedding.

Lawrence and Bessie were married, in a plain, Presbyterian fashion, by the aged minister who had officiated when Bessie's parents took upon themselves vows at her baptism to train up their child for God's service upon earth. Two white-robed and beautiful children stood beside the bride during the ceremony-Lillian Forrester and Edith Manvers; and Lillian wept, though she did so quietly and with an effort to conceal her tears. Mrs. Forrester, and Mrs. Seytoun, and Mr. and Mrs. Poinsett, and Tommy and Frank, and Philip Arran, the poet boy, and Mrs. Grey, were all there. If to be surrounded by loving hearts could add to Bessie's happiness, this day she was richly blest. Her parents looked at her with a tender joy, and her brothers with an ill-concealed and boyish pride it amused me to mark. It was not until the wedding was over, and the guests departed, that it

occurred to me to inquire for Walworth Forrester. He had not been present. Kate put into my hands a note from him to Bessie, offering his congratulations, but declining, without excusing himself for so doing, the invitation to her wedding. The note ended with a wish for her happiness, that was almost a prayer.

"It is not likely that Mr. Forrester will ever marry," Kate said to me as I returned the note.

"No," I answered; and as I turned away I thought, "the burdened prisoner he told Bessie of, who sang in his cell and comforted other prisoners, until the pale Messenger came to loose his bonds and give him freedom, is like him. For him earth has neither rest nor bliss. For such as he Heaven only can afford fruition."

My friends had not been abroad a year when I received a letter from Bessie informing me of Ellice Manvers' marriage with Colonel Aicheson, who had followed her to Europe. They were to spend some years in travel on the Continent.

I cannot well describe the feeling with which, in after years, I regarded Walworth Forrester; for I became acquainted with him some time after my friend's departure, and knew him for an earnest worker and a true thinker; a man "set apart " for God's service; albeit he preached from no pulpit, and exhorted none in a ministerial capacity. He kept on his course over the buried ruins of his earthly hopes, as men sail above beloved dead, beneath the sea-waves, knowing them to be there in the caverns and hollows of the great deep, but steering straight for the haven for which sails were spread and the ship given to the breeze.

To use the language of Sartor Resartus, Walworth" was not in the everlasting no, he had reached the everlasting yea; he had received its sweet and solemn evangel-he did not tarry long in the valley of the shadow of death; he did not spend needless hours in the dungeon of the giant Despair;" he looked abroad upon a world filled with much good, but also with much evil. The good he did all in his power to encourage; the evil he set