tinued enthusiastically, led away by the train of pure and pious thoughts her filial love awakened, rather in soliloquy than reply, " is really worthy of our best affections, heightens the sunshine of prosperity, sheds a radiance on the darkness of adversity, and reconciles us to the bitterest sorrows of humanity. The most acute pang which can be inflicted on a father's heart, is to feel that his child's guilt has not only quenched the divine flame for ever, but, alas! also rendered him powerless to defend her against the taunts of the uncharitable, and the reproaches of the virtuous. Such a pang, but for the intervention of the Almighty, you, my lord, would have inflicted on that defenceless, heart-stricken old man.

"Farewell, and for ever. Whatever your mortified pride or hatred may devise against us, will be cheerfully borne, for, that you will revenge yourself, I have not the smallest doubt."

"Cruel, ungenerous girl, to think me capable of revenge! But, since you DO dread its power, for your implacability, it may, perchance, fall heavier than even your haughty spirit can brook."

"Do your worst, my lord ;-drive us from our home,-snatch the pillow from under our head,-warn us off your estates as trespassers and vagrants; we shall go forth with a conscience void of offence,-martyrs,-victims of persecution,-slaves, yet glorying in our chains, for the soul will be free from the skackles of guilt oppressing your own. This is still our home; I am still mistress here:-give me, then, the key, I command you, sir."

"Wonderful, extraordinary girl! I feel I must obey you!" So saying, he unlocked the door, and bowing respectfully, slowly quitted the apartment, remounted his horse, and returned to his splendid but distasteful home, overwhelmed with humiliation at the cowardly part he had acted, cursing the now abhorred Greville, for giving him such demoniac advice, and admiring the immeasurably superior mind of the poor girl who had the fortitude to resist it.

More than once he was on the eve of returning, to fling himself at her feet, declare his contrition, implore her pardon, and offer his hand, heart and fortune, as an atonement for his conduct; but pride, and the recollection of Lucy's almost sarcastic scorn, deterred him.

(To be Concluded in our next.)

THE CURSE OF THE LAND.

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

There was a land, a fair, broad land,
An isle of the Northern Sea,

It was called the land of the wise and brave,
And the home of liberty.

Ages on ages rolled away,
Bearing their myriads on;

Leaving them gulfed in the dark abyss
Of the ages that were gone.

And a world of human wretchedness,
And a world of human strife,

Sorrow, and wrong, and weariness,
That began and closed with life-

Sin, that was born of ignorance,
Headlong, because 'twas blind;
Utter wrecks of humanity,

In spirit, heart, and mind

Passed with those myriads down the stream,
That flows back eternally;

And none looked on with regretfulness,
That this might no better be.

For the curse of a festering selfishness,
Ruled the few that ruled the land;
And to human weal these could give no heart,
And to human woe, no hand.

Crushing down, ever crushing down,
Whether to curb or kill;

Crushing down, always crushing down,

They worked with a right good will.

But men arose, with a wondrous power,
Of the good and ill to speak;

They shook the pride of the selfish strong,
And spake cheerly to the weak.

And the power of mind with which they came
Was a torrent none might stay,

For their ranks were swelled, as years pass'd on,
With mightier men than they.

Mightier to rouse the common heart,
And to lead the myriads on;

To waken the slumbering energies
Should be stilled again by none.

The human masses swarmed and swarmed,
And the men of mind waxed strong,
And they said, "the good came on apace,
That was waited for so long."

But meanwhile, the wail of myriads rose,
And dense darkness filled the land;
For good, when it dwells not in the heart,
Is never found in the hand.

And nought sprang up from the sounding words,
Nor no blessing with them came,

-

They were written neither for God nor man,
They were written alone for fame.

And the curse of a festering selfishness,
Lay on them that ruled the pen ;
And the darkness of the darkest times,
Threatened the land again.

The curse of a festering selfishness,

Through their lives and actions ran;

They would help with words the whole human race,— With deeds not a single man.

Never a single human soul,

Would they help in human strait,

The while they cried, in their hollow zeal,— "Wait yet a little, wait!"

Least of all, would they hail the light
Of mind that around them shone,
In the selfishness that might not brook
A "brother near the throne."

Crushing down, ever crushing down,
Whether to curb or kill,

Crushing down, always crushing down,
They worked with a right good will.

And they bore with this weight on all that sought
For good not to work in vain,

Till death upon many a heart had seized,
And madness on many a brain.

Many a noble heart and brain,

That had wrought for the common weal, Fell in that war of selfishness,

Fast as men fall by steel.

And the hollow hearts, and the ready hands,
Placed the cause where they list,-
"Anywhere, anywhere but with us:
"Öf their need we did not wist !"

Selfishness, selfishness everywhere-
'Tis a fearful thing to see!

And never to find, in a lifelong search,
Aught from its black taint free.

Selfishness, selfishness everywhere,
From the teachers to the taught!
They are wrong indeed, that say, the creed
Of our day shall come to nought!

Selfishness, selfishness everywhere!
God save us from the time,

When the myriad hearts it is charging now,
Shall start up as one :-so prays, I trow,

The rhymer of this rhyme.

CORDELIA.

BY WALTER R. CASTELLI.

WELL might the philosophic Hamlet exclaim, "What a piece of work is man!" The human heart presents an infinite field for the exercise of thought, and the more deeply we study it, the more palpable and startling does its complexity become. We may seek to unravel the mazes of our nature, and wander on and on, till wearied and bewildered by the ever increasing multitude of fancies, we sink exhausted, with a thrilling sense of the boundless space that still extends beyond us; whence, though we know not how, many a resistless impulse flashes on us, like a meteor whose flight we see, yet know not how it cometh nor whither it goeth. Yet whilst the study of character is so difficult, few could be found more interesting or profitable. The traveller who wanders over the face of the earth, with inclination for his only guide, does not see more varied and picturesque scenes than doth the student of the heart; indeed, there is a singular sympathy between the two pursuits. The one wends gaily to the sunny south; he passes through a land of flowers and fragrance; the skies above him are blue and cloudless, the breezes gentle and refreshing; fountains murmur round him with a placid coolness, a peaceful pleasure, as though their very life were music. He passes on; the path becomes less downy, the thorn ofttimes usurps the place of the graceful rose, the gale is colder, and the skies less liquid. On; and he is 'mid the mountains, where he hears the tempest groaning through the pine trees, the waters thundering o'er their rocky courses, and the avalanches tearing down the rugged slopes, with terror and destruction on their breath. The other views a gentle heart, where innocence and truth have made their dwelling; where heaven is yet the firmament of its purity, and where the fragrant breath of memory has yet no sting to nip the opening flower-buds, that fling their sweetness o'er it. He watches the o'erstealing beams of love expanding every thought and hope beneath their holy influence, and blending with each word, each sigh; and here he lingers, for this is beautiful. But away! there comes another; the outward guise is not so fair, and inwardly there is a passion-selfishness; the warmth and