Selected from the Infinite Resource, To make the most of me!" Shelley's genius was deplored as wickedness, because he said that Jehovah "Planted the tree of knowledge, so that man Might eat of it-and perish Yet Dr. Holland's "poet David" affirms that "The great Salvation, wrought by Jesus Christ,That sank an Adam to reveal a God,Had never come but at the call of Sin!" And he exclaims: "I am ashamed that, in this Christian age, But it is not my province, as a layman, to cultivate matters pertaining to the office of religious teachers in our pulpits, who have never seen fit to arraign Dr. Holland's theology; and I prefer to share with him his unqualified confidence in Divine wisdom and goodness, reserving my own views of Divine ways and means. His poetic "dreams," such as "Ruth" rehearses, are of more worth, in my estimate, than his gnostic philosophy; dreams -of sunsets when the sun supine Lay rocking on the ocean like a god, And threw his weary arms far up the sky, And with vermillion-tinted fingers toyed With the long tresses of the evening star. . . . of dreams more beautiful than all, Dreams that were music, perfume, vision, bliss-Blent and sublimed, till I have stood enwrapped In the quick essence of an atmosphere That made me tremble to unclose my eyes, Lest I should look on-God!" He has passed beyond sunset gates; his inverted torch of mortal life trailed, with unnumbered torches, under shadows of earthly night. But his light, lifted lovingly in our midst, may never be separated from his identity in those abidings of eternal light that encompass his spiritual way. We cannot follow that spiral flame which escapes into impenetrable azure deeps, out of a crucible that held it only until earthly substances were precipitated under its potential heat. We gather up these precipitates of a soul that wrought their shapes from light and air, from thought and word; these pages of an author's genius; these "bitter-sweet" acids and alkalis which he dropped as lessons for mankind; these salts of intellect, white and pure-these concretions of true metal, ringing as steel, and bright as golden ore. But for the flame whence they were distilled into substances through fervent heats; for the white light of that immortal soul ascendant, beneath which these books of his are but shadows of the life he lived among men, what word upon mortal breath shall follow its pathway? Let the "dreams" he rehearsed answer this, while distillations from his works on earth, influencing lives and ameliorating souls, dispense upon air like heats from the crucible he wrought with. We may not follow those "sweet influences," any more than we may trace his soul amid "dank-bright" light above us. But we may be sure of this-that soul and works will meet again in a life which is light and love forever. DAYDAWN. BLUSHING and bright, from out the misty East In garb so fair, so mystically woven UNEXPECTED business detained me in the city of B during the Christmas holidays of the year 186. Instead of celebrating the joyous festival amid the circle of my family and relatives, I should have been compelled to spend the "sacred eve" at a hotel or restaurant, if my old friend, Justizrath Bromsel, had not been kind enough to invite me to his house to see the Christmas-tree prepared for his children. He had three, two boys and a girl, the boys as wild as imps, the girl mild and gentle as an angel. The motherWhen Bromsel called on me at my hotel-he that it cut short every word of sympathy. had happened to hear of my arrival and did not wait for me-I started at the appearance of the once vigorous man. His tall figure was bent; his thick dark hair tinged with gray. He looked like a person who had just left his bed after a severe nervous fever. He was dressed in black from head to foot. "My wife is dead," he said, in a hollow tone, when he perceived my surprise at the change which had taken place in him, and sank into a chair. The explanation was so sudden, so unexpected, I had known Henriette well. on earth," and "where it was always Christmas," as little Curt said. The old maid-servant had told them this, and She was a native of the same city-Hamburg. She had been married to the Justizrath eight years, and they were one of the happiest couples that could be imagined. | the father did not contradict the pious consolaThey seemed to have been created for each other. tion. Dore had also added, that if the children He was a highly-educated, imaginative man; she were very good the mother would come back again was a clever, practical, resolute little woman. from heaven in a few years, and bring them beauWhen my business took me to B- —, which tiful Christmas gifts. This had soothed the little occurred almost every year, I never failed to spend ones. an evening with these happy people, and when I clasped their hands in farewell it was with the firm, rough clasp which only envy can give. "My wife is dead!" Bromsel repeated. The same air of comfort that had characterized Bromsal's sitting-room in former days, still pervaded it. The fire blazed as cheerily on the hearth as it had done the last time I was a guest. And that cannot be described-a void. It seemed as I approached him, and laid my hand on his yet there was a something about the apartment shoulder. "Poor fellow," I said, deeply moved, "spare if the walls reflected a "mood." me any words." "Go down to the nursery, children!" said Bromsel. "You know we must wait for Uncle Schmidt' before the tree can be lighted." The little ones obeyed, and their merry shouts and laughter soon reached us from the ground "Henriette is drowned!" he burst out, and floor, while an occasional shrill cry betrayed that convulsive sobs choked his voice. the boys were very noisy in their delight, and "Drowned!" I exclaimed in horror. "For perhaps practicing acrobatic exercises with chairs God's sake, man! How? Where?" "Let us go," said Bromsel. "I'll tell you about it at home. Not here! Not here!" We took a carriage and, sitting side by side in silence, drove to the suburbs, where my friend had a charming villa. The snow fell in large, heavy flakes, and smothered the rattling of the wheels. It was real "Christmas weather" without the Christmas cheer, which in warm, cosy rooms makes us forget the gray December sky. The children rushed down the steps to meet us as we alighted. They were a merry little party, full of joyous anticipations. The boys tried to climb up our legs; the little girl pulled at our hands. and tables. Bromsel took from a cupboard a bottle of port wine and two glasses, which he placed upon the table. "Henriette used to do this," said "he. "There were three glasses then. Now there are only two." "Pray, Bromsel, satisfy the interest I feel in your fate!" "Then listen," replied the Justizrath. "The story is simple as it is short. My wife had some property left to her by a relative in San Francisco. The settlement of the estate would perhaps have required years if we had merely sent an agent to attend to our interests. My business detained me here. One day Henriette told me she would take "Gretchen wanted to peep through the keyhole," cried one of the boys. "That isn't true, Eugene," replied the child; the journey herself. Hamburg ladies are not like "it was Curt." "No, it was Eugene," said the youngest boy. So the merry little ones mutually accused each other of having a desire to peep through the keyhole into the room where the fir-tree stood-the fir-tree, that central point of Christmas delights. Life affords strange contrasts. The three children, like their father, were dressed in black-in mourning for the mother who "had gone to the dear God, where it was much more beautiful than those who live in inland cities. The bustle of the great seaport gives them different views of the ocean and ocean travel. A voyage to New York is a passage, and Henriette, when a young girl, had taken the trip twice to visit a married sister who lived there. She laughed when I expressed my reluctance. "What is a passage to New York?' said she. From there you go in a comfortable steamer to Aspinwall. Then a few hours of railway travel across the isthmus, and then eight or ten days on a steamer to San Francisco!' "Henriette spoke English fluently, and I know very little about the language. In short, she represented the matter so plausibly that I was really ashamed to oppose her. "She left here the first of May. Her reports of the journey to New York, Panama, and San Francisco entirely soothed my fears. The finest weather, the quickest passages, and the speedy settlement of the estate were announced. The property had increased in value, but the uncertainty of business induced Henriette to invest the whole amount in bank notes instead of bills of exchange. A few failures, such as were of daily occurrence, and everything would have been lost. She told me that she should sail from San Francisco on the steamer Ohio. I could almost calculate the day of her arrival in Europe. Four weeks ago to-day. "Yes, on the Ohio," repeated Bromsel, as he saw my startled look. "The passengers on this steamer reached Panama safely, and crossed the isthmus to Aspinwall. There they went on board the steamer Central America. You have read her fate in the newspapers. Out of nearly two hundred persons, only sixteen were saved. Henriette was not among them. But"-and Bromsel's voice was almost inaudible—" in the list of the lost I read her name. "The property was bought dearly enough. I thank God that it sunk with her," he added bitterly, after a long pause. Bromsel was silent. I felt that it was my duty to say something, but knew not what consolation to offer. I was familiar with the particulars of the accident, and knew that an American schooner and English bark, which happened to be near the fated steamer, had cruised about all night and half the following day in the vicinity, to save all who remained alive, and with the best will I could not give my friend even the slightest hope. The certain disappointment would have been even more terrible than the present terrible certainty. "Bear it as well as you can, dear friend!" I exclaimed at last, pressing his hand. "I can give you no consolation. You have lost what cannot be replaced." Bromsel burst into loud sobs. Bromsel's outburst of anguish lasted fifteen minutes. Neither of us heard a carriage drive up, but after a short time both distinguished louder shouts of delight than ever from the children below. Soon after a servant appeared, and asked me to come down-stairs. A messenger had come from the hotel, who wished to speak to me in person. I obeyed, and--but I won't anticipate my simple story. "What is the matter ?" exclaimed Bromsel, when I returned to his room. "Nothing," I replied. "Unpleasant news from home-family troubles. I shall be obliged to leave here early to morrow morning. But let us talk of something else.” "Of what?" replied Bromsel. "Yes, of what?" I rejoined, struggling to repress my agitation. "My friend Schmidt must have missed the train," said Bromsel. "It's nearly seven o'clock. He ought to have been here long ago. I forgot to tell you that he went to Hamburg on business, and was to have returned to-day, that I might not be alone this evening." "Perhaps he wanted to buy some presents for you or the children, forgot it in Hamburg, as often happens while traveling, and is now getting them here," I observed. "No," replied Bromsel; "Schmidt is very particular about such things. He has missed the train, and won't come until to-morrow. It's fortunate that you are here," he added; “but you seem very thoughtful." "Ah!" said I, rubbing my forehead, "an idea just entered my head—but no, it's too fantastic, quite too romantic. An author's fancy." Bromsel smiled mournfully. "Perhaps my fate will afford you a subject for a novel." "Perhaps so," I replied; "wherever we writers find a subject, or even the skeleton of one, we deck it out with all sorts of inventions, and then put it into the book market." Again merry shouts and laughter reached us from the nursery. "Oh, yes," replied Bromsel gloomily, "you can even restore the dead to life, and have imagination enough to bring my Henriette back from the depths of the sea. But it is growing late. . I'll light the candles on the Christmas-tree. Would to God the festival were over!" "Go on !" "It is a gleam of hope which I thought I could "Call it imagination, "Wait a little while," said I. "Come, let us give you," I continued. drink to happier days." "Yes, to happier days!" murmured Bromsel, swallowing the contents of his glass. "With her! You were down-stairs a long time," he added. I hope the news from home wasn't very bad?” "I gave the messenger a dispatch to take to the telegraph office," I replied. "Let's have another call it what you choose. Life too often touches the extremes of happiness and misery, for us to despair of either. Henriette might have bought a ticket for the Ohio, but some illness might have prevented her from sailing on the ship, and she might therefore have sold it to some other lady. Americans think more of the money than of the identity of the individual, and such sales of tickets "I can drink no more!" cried Bromsel, push- happen every day. If that occurred, Henriette ing his glass away. was not on board the Central America, which "Do it for my sake," said I. "You need connected with the Ohio. strength for this evening." The fire blazed cheerily on the hearth. A fresh lump of coal had caught the blaze and snapped and crackled so joyously that it was a real pleasure to look at it—or might have been. "If I were sure that it wouldn't cause you pain," I continued, after Bromsel had drunk the contents of his glass, "I should really like to give my imagination the rein, andand-' "Wake the dead ?" cried Bromsel. "That I cannot do," I answered quietly. "But my imagination would not need to work miracles if it took your Henriette for the foundation of a story, and said to you, 'all hope is not yet lost.'"' "An excited imagination would reproach you for trying to increase my misery by fanciful pictures," said Bromsel. "But you are incapable of that, dear friend. So go on with your romance." "First take another glass of wine." "Well !" exclaimed Bromsel, half angrily, pouring some wine into the glass and drinking it. "But I've had enough now." "Listen!" I began. "The Central America was lost. You read your wife's name in the list of the missing. But who told you Henriette was really on board of that ship?" "Man, don't drive me mad!" cried Bromsel, starting from the seat on the sofa at my side. "Be calm, my friend!" I said warningly. "You wished the author to set his imagination at work. Will you hear me out, or not." Bromsel let his arms fall by his side, leaned back upon the sofa, and said quietly: "Your wife might have sent a letter informing you of the delay in her arrival, and this letter went-I mean might have gone to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean in the Central America, while Henriette was sick in San Francisco. So you see, without any wonderful adventure, without being cast on a desert island, without clinging to a chair that kept her above water for one and twenty hours, which, by the way, no woman could endure, the author's imagination' might devise a way of escape in your case. Henriette might have remained ill until the departure of the second steamer after the Ohio. Meantime, she would have thought your mind was at ease, for she knew nothing about the fate of the Central America, and did not learn it until too late to calm your anxiety by letter. Finally, she might have returned from Aspinwall to Europe by the West Indies, in order to reach you more quickly, thus avoiding the roundabout way by New York, which she at first intended to take. All this might-may have been. You see, old fellow, this was the idea that darted through my mind as I was coming up-stairs." Bromsel had turned very pale. "Man!" he cried, "if it were any one else, I should say that you were a fiend with your sophism. You would probably prolong my tortures by arousing a belief that there was still a doubt, and that would be infamous. Pardon me," he continued, "I don't say it is So, for you are my friend." He pressed my hand. "And I tell you now, Bromsel," I eagerly exclaimed, "you have no right to despair yet." Author's fancies," replied my friend. "Let us drop the conversation." "That's the way with you laymen!" I ex |