is God's prerogative, and man's own subject to His will. Nevertheless, she arrogated it to herself, and, as might be expected, was disappointed in the expectations she had formed, based on such a theory. In vain all her watchful care, all her clever precautions; the time came, at last, when her sons, long insensible to the allurements of the world, began to show decided symptoms of the proclivities inherent with the sex. Use that other capacity for love, that admiration for the beautiful and attractive in other women besides her who had so long been their sole goddess, they must and did. Still, if they formed no serious attachment, all might yet be as she wish ed. So thought Mrs. Ashe, and redoubled her vigilance accordingly. -- When it was discovered that a certain quarter of the city of Philadelphia was becoming dangerously attractive to her eldest son, Mrs. Ashe deemed it her duty to institute the most minute inquiries respecting the Wylmer family, whose residence was located in that vicinity. Now it so happened that certain young ladies, envying talents possessed by one whom they considered far beneath them socially, even while professing friendship for their owner, came within the sphere of her inquiries. For the unpardonable offence of outshining their daughters in a tourney of original composition at school (alas! she was far behind them in some other attainments, and never sought to eclipse them in that) the parents of those young ladies failed not, when applied to for their opinions, to insinuate, though they could neither affirm nor maintain, an idea of unworthiness, which the mind of Mrs. Ashe-prepared to receive, nay, to elicit, by the very putting of the question-framed and enlarged to suit the purpose she had formed. And that purpose-was to destroy her son's faith in Clarice. Poor girl! A terrible awakening from that dream of love awaited her. Carleton Ashe was first attracted to wards Clarice, by the admiration which he, in common with most who came - within her influence, yielded as the natural result of appreciation of her talents. She is not beautiful, though personally attractive; for in the evervarying expression of a countenance that intellect has stamped with unmistakable signs, one finds a constant and faithful index to her mind. Her face is open and truthful; no drooping of the eyelids betrays a cowardly fear of exposing the hidden secrets of the heart. She looks at you frankly; reading your soul with what facilities she possesses, as she permits you to read hers. A look of childhood still haunting those eyes of luminous brown, assures you that as yet she is but little acquainted with the great world on the threshold of which she is lingering. I think she is deficient in caution. She is apt to eschew conventionalisms, though she never commits any glaring impropriety. I have known her to act out her own free and ingenuous nature in open defiance of the many props and bars set around her by conscientious prudes of both sexes to restrain and render her outwardly as smooth and hard as themselves. But Clarice was incapable of receiving a hard polish; and, in spite of themselves, they laughed at her innocent mirth, and wondered at the rare and winning charm of her manner. What a pity that, forgetting that charm, that innocence, when she was no longer before them, they condemned her! And, with it all, she carried a natural dignity that enforced respect from her companions, even while they inwardly chafed at her popularity. She has pride, too, which served her well in those days, when she sometimes needed its powerful defence. Nor is it surprising that with her independence of thought and manner, her calm self-reliance, and imperturbable good-humor, those who wished to make her feel an inferiority she did not recognize, in her utter carelessness of the distinctions of wealth, should feel a sort of irritation at her cool acceptance of their patronizing attentions, and unmistakable indifference to their be longings, so freely displayed for her world, where deep and earnest thoughts benefit. She is only a scholarship girl,' said one of the envious sort, as a little clique, gathered together after their weekly reading, were discussing the merits of Clarice's last poem. 'She needn't hold up her head so high. Just see how she walks! One would think she spurned the very ground beneath her feet.' 'No, that is not it,' said Maggie S a bright-spirited little creature who loved Clarice, and defended her on all occasions from the ill-natured remarks of those who made fun of her dress and criticised her unmercifully upon all minor points, since they could not attack her genius. 'She walks with the step that nature has given her. It is proud and free; but it suits her and if you must quarrel with her manner, why, you must be hard up for an occasion, girls, that's all.' And Maggie raised her curly head defiantly. What if she is a scholarship girl, she's none the worse for that; and besides, you don't know it for certain.' 'Yes I do, too!' put in Ada Clarke eagerly. 'She never has any bills but drawing and German to pay. What does that mean?' With the most unconcerned air, Clarice passed by at that moment, nodding gaily to Maggie. Going quietly to her desk, she took from thence the books required for next day's recitations, and with a cool, 'Good afternoon, young ladies,' departed, leaving no sign that she had heard the foregoing remarks. But they sank deep into her heart; and while her love for Maggie was increased, so was her pride, which encased her with more impenetrable folds from that day, even while her manner to each was unchanged. Some two or three there were who really loved Clarice for herself. Until she left school their affection cheered and comforted her unfailingly. To them she sometimes unfolded a stray gleam of the inner nature so carefully veiled from others. She suffered them to see beneath the gay exterior into the spirit were germinated and nourished in silence unbroken by the discordant sounds of false notes, struck by her inexperienced hand on the great organ of life. They did not understand her, it is true; but they knew her better than the rest, and loved her with an unselfish devotion worthy of a longer duration. Clarice could not trace the origin of the change which was made known to her by the sudden withdrawal of their friendship, from the very commencement-night, when her triumph was rendered bitter, worthless as ashes, but for the proud and happy look on the face of Carleton Ashe. For his sake, and that of her mother and brothers, she was glad. Of all the thousand faces in the crowded assemblage, she saw only one - Carleton's; and her heart bounded high within her, to sink again with a chill feeling of disappointment, as the cold looks of her companions admonished her that the eminence on which she stood was treacherous, uncertain at the base and thorny at the top, from whence, even then, she would gladly have descended. Any other reason than her innocent triumph, for the sudden deaths recorded in her heart against some of the sweetest friendships she had ever known, Clarice failed to discover. Even Maggie — but no; that cause, though unexplained, had in it no thought of envy or chagrin. Whatever it may be, Clarice suffered innocently and in silence. She was probably influenced by others. Clarice still cherishes in her heart the words of a little note, written by Maggie's mother, after a visit had been paid to her home in Germantown. One sentence will always bring comfort to the saddened memory: 'You have left a gleam of sunshine in our home, my dear Miss Clarice, a warm spot in our hearts. Come often to cheer us all with your bright presence.' Well, well! Such changes will occur. Sunshine is ever followed by shadow; and this is by no means a solitary case. Why, then, should Clarice wonder at her fate? But she did wonder and weep; though her sorrow and tears were unheeded by any eye of earth. She did not know that such discipline was needed to perfect the yet untutored mind, to render symmetrical and capable the intellect which grief was to endow with a new depth of tone, and which, in constant progression, should emerge out of its abnormal state into a new and healthier life. -- Yet I know not that Clarice was ever really happy for any length of time. A nature so high-toned and sensitive, so acutely perceptive as hers as subject to change as the very clouds above us— can rarely experience more than fugitive snatches of harmony from the subtle and exquisite melody of true happiness. Just as every feeling is, with such natures, more intense, so the reaction which follows any unusual elevation or depression of the mind is deeper and more clearly defined. Temperaments that can philosophize away vicissitude and disappointment; accepting all the phases of life as events the most common and matter-of-fact, while suffering themselves, in effortless calm, to rise or fall with the tide, may eke out their space of years with a very fair portion of what the world calls happiness; but they move in shallow waters at best; and I would rather suffer more from contact with the ills of life, to keep that higher aptitude for enjoyment given only to a few, and inhale that exquisite aroma which none but a delicate nature can detect and receive. That other source of real and deep happiness which no blast of sorrow, however keen, no fiery sirocco of grief, however fierce, can quench, was often hidden from Clarice. Her title to those riches which cannot be taken away was disputed by the questioning foes of her own bosom, where was waged a perpetual warfare between good spirits and evil, between supernal light and darkness most sadly visible. Her mind in this state, it is not wonderful that she To the well-meant but mistaken goodnature of the lady who read her examination poem on the night of Commencement, Clarice owed much unhappiness. The committee had solicited the services of a favorite elocutionist simply for the reading of this one poem, thus distinguishing it from the rest in a manner, which, though flattering to the vanity of its author, was yet productive of much ill-feeling; and this was lamentably increased, to the utter dismay of Clarice, when her name, uttered in clear, resonant tones, sounded through the hall. It was not usual to announce, before reading a composition, the name of the author; and she felt instinctively that this innovation on old-established rules would prove embarrassing to her. And doubtless the mistake which covered her with confusion, was attributed to a wish on her part to be rendered conspicuous as the writer of the poem, which had excited so much favorable comment. Even this was made the foundation of disparaging remarks; and poor Clarice was suffered to receive no pleasure from the honors she had won. From child Clarice was ambitious. hood she had dreamed of fanning the divine spark within her by the inspirations of genius, until, mounting in a flame of wonderful effluence, it illumined the very summit of the templed hill, which might prove to be not all a fable. For a time this desire was held in abeyance by the deep and delirious joy of a first true love. Never before had she tasted the intoxicating essence that thrilled with a new and exquisite rapture every pulse of her being, flooding her soul with a radiance so dazzling that all other lights grew pale beneath its wonderful beamings. With a nature like hers, however, such a bewildering joy could not fail to bring with it pain. To love with her was to suffer, to accept suffering willingly, so she could but dispense happiness to the object of her devotion. And this love, this mystery, for a time overwhelmed that which had hitherto been the ruling passion of her life the desire for fame. The very power to write seemed swallowed up in a chaos of beautiful thoughts which love alone could interpret. She lived in a new creation of her own, in which she had found as yet no shadow of night. Carleton was disappointed. He had expected to monopolize the heart of Clarice Wylmer, and yet leave the intellect free to pursue its upward flight for his pleasure; not recognizing the great rule of spirit over mind; a rule that with Clarice could never be broken but by the crushing weight of a great woe, which should shatter all the new-born hopes of her life, and lead her once more to the foot of the mountain, whose rugged sides her weary feet would again attempt to climb. Thou art wrong, Clarice. Fame can never give thee peace or restore beauty and health to thy spirit. Bear meekly the sorrows that Infinite Wisdom apportions for thine earthly discipline, remembering that "THE furnace doth the gold refine.' Meantime, the course of true love was more than usually rugged. Mrs. Ashe, determined to leave no means untried to wean her son from what she termed his unworthy attachment, soon found out that his, affection was based on esteem, that surest of all foundations; and she therefore sought to prove, as she tried to believe herself, that Clarice was unworthy. Now then arose a difficulty, the popularity of her intended victim. To be popular, however, is the surest way to win enemies; and therefore, she thought, after anxious deliberation, even that might be made to assist her designs. Thus her very difficulties she, by her astute reasoning, turned into powerful allies. It was easy to insinuate, as she dexterously plied her inquiries, that no favor. able opinions were desired; it was easier still to convey an impression against Clarice to the minds of the very people whose knowledge of her, necessarily extremely limited, she was taxing for proofs of the hypothesis she had advanced, and was resolved to maintain. Alas for weak human nature! Those who had hitherto admired Clarice, and laughed at her merry pranks, as the natural exuberance of a mirth-loving nature, now recalled them with grave looks and graver comment, as signs of an erratic and questionable disposition. Once convince certain people, of whose appreciation of Clarice, Carleton had spoken exultingly to his mother, that the influence of the young lady was contaminating, and it was easy to inform her son that Mrs. Thus and Mr. So had decided to withdraw their daughters from the acquaintance of so dangerous a person as Clarice Wylmer. All this and more Mrs. Ashe did to her own satisfaction, and at least to a partial conviction of a something — indefinable, but full of painful doubt in the mind of Carleton. [TO BE CONTINUED.] LINES DESCRIPTIVE OF THE TERRIBLE CONFLAGRATION WHICH TOOK PLACE IN THE CATHOLIC CATHEDRAL AT SANTIAGO, IN DECEMBER, 1863, IN WHICH UPWARDS OF TWO THOUSAND PERSONS, PRINCIPA LLY FEMALES, PERISHED IN THE FLAMES. HARK! the bell from yon antique tower Is inviting the victims to come, Where that fated church, in one short hour, Will be changed to a burning tomb! 'T was night, and the lamps were all lighted above, Streaming around like the fire of love That burns in the spheres where 'angels are And their tissued costumes And their light nodding plumes Draped gracefully down towards faces as bright They were kneeling and standing around, With such thoughts as their own Virgin Saint could inspire, 'The Virgin and church are on fire!' One moment they paused all was silent as death, Another passed on, and that harrowing call Seemed shouted again from some saint on the wall: And now began the dreadful cry Of the multitude there who came to die: 'O save us from the fiery blast That is blazing so fierce and is coming so fast! Save us! it meets us at every turn! O GOD! O GOD! we burn! we burn!' A thousand manly bosoms there |