Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 49, 30 December 1871, Page 6

Tales and Sketches.

NEW YEAR'S DAY IN MANY LANDS. I once resided for two years and a half with tho natives of one of the South Sea Islands. There was no Sunday, no Christmas, no New Year's Day, and no 4th of July, which to me (as an American) when a boy was the most important clay of the year. I learnt to believe there that time is worth but little to man without being measured. Its value is not properly appreciated nnless we know how much of it we are getting, for we are too apt to think that it is given to us in unlimited quantities. I have been engaged on vessels in the whale fishery, which frequently called at islands in the Pacific, where we found white men living with natives. The first question many of them would ask on coming aboard would be in reference to the time. All would want to know the day of the week, the month, and the day of the month. The more grand holidays there are in a yoar the longer people seem to live, for each happy holiday is a point on which memory can rest the sole of its weary foot, and the spirit prune its wing for fresh* flights in the expanse of time. English colonists in Australia and other places'generally keep New Year's Day in about the same manner the English do here. All are a little more particular about their dinner, and there are, I am constrained to add, an unusual number of cases before the police courts the next morning. The ways and customs of the mother country are followed with some difficulty in the Australian colonies. A hot turkey, or goose, and the national plum-puddiug, are not so inviting in appearance where the thermometer is at ninety degrees in the shade as in the much-abused climate of England. Christmas and New Year's Day seem out of season in Australia. The inh'xbicants of Cape Town, South Africa, are an exception to other English colonists. The English and their descendants there have fallen somewhat into the customs of the early Dutch settlers, and *nake a business of celebrating the advent of a new year for a week. Every "house seems full of visitors ; every one is dressed in his best, and no one seems to have, any business but that of seeking amusement, at which they work frantically. There are picnics to Table Mountain, and pleasure excursions in boats. " Cape smoke" and wine flows freely ; every one dances in the evening, and an unfortunate sailor cannot get beyond the reach of a merciless storm of music. The holiday or week passes away, and hardly a pleasure-seeker can be seen; all are again seriously engaged in business. I was one New Year's Day in Callao, the principal seaport in Peru. The town was full of English and American sailors, who could not resist the fine opportunity of having a row with each other, and many of them celebrated the latter part of the day in a quiet thoughtful manner within the walls of a gaol. The inhabitants of the Spanish-American towns search the calendar for all the holidays. They keep all the saints' days and the day of All Saints, and New Year's Day is not forgotten. They have a grand passion for bells —not bells of the " Big Ben" family, with deep and solemn tones, but they try to make up in numbers, and in perseverance in energetic ringing, what each bell lacks in quantity and quality of sound. On that bright and sunny New Year's morning I was aroused by the tormenting sounds of many bells, each quite as distracting in effect as the ringing of a railway bell at the arrival or departure of a train from a station. If tho physical exertion displayed in bell ringing in South American towns was expended in repairing their dilapidated churches, I am certain the buildings would look better, and that the inhabitants would be more healthy and happy. The Peruvians keep the New Year's Day by attending mass in the morning, a bullfight in the afternoon, and by dancing and gambling in the evening. Englishmen may call this very bad, but it would be well to take away the beam from their own eyes. There are few of these Peruvians who would degrade themselves by intoxication, and none but would think that man little better than a pig who can only keep a holiday by feasting and drinking. The French observe the day by distributing presents to their friends. The Germans devote the day to eating, drinking, music, and dancing, and the English— too many of them at least—to eating and drinking alone. One New Year's Day passed on the gold fields of Victoria I shall never forget. On the 31st of December I walked about twenty-seven miles through the rain and mud to spend the next day with an old shipmate I had once sailed with in the whale fishery. About nine o'clock that night I reached the bank of Campbell's Creek, which at that time of the year should have been nothing but a chain of water-holes. The heavy rain during the day had fed the bed of the stream until it was a broad and rapid current which I could not safely undertake to cross. I was within half a mile of my journey's end. On the valley across the stream were lights gleaming from restaurants and other places of refreshment, and an old friend was waiting anxiously to meet me ; but I was on tho wrong side of the river, on a high rocky plain—a " Bay of Biscay," where no one was living —and there I had to remain all that night and until the next day in the afternoon, when at the risk of my life, by being carried down the stream more than a quarter of a mile, I reached the other side by swimming. C. B. To these personal recollections of JN ew Year's Day in many lands by an American wanderer, we append some of the curious lore collected by Mr Hone in his " Every-Day Book," prefacing the extract, with a few sentences from one of Chai'les Lamb's genial essays : "Every man hath two birthdays : two days at least in every year, which set him upon re-

volving the lapse of time, as it affects his mortal duration. The one is that which in an especial manner he termeth Ids. In the gradual desuetude of old observances, this custom of solemnising our proper birthday hath nearly passed away, or is left to children, who reflect nothing at all about the matter, nor understand anything beyond the cake and orange. But the birth of a new year is of an interest too wide to be pretermitted by king or cobbler. No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Ada/n." " Ringing out the Old and ringing in the New Year, with ' A merry New Year ! a happy New Year to you !' on New Year's Day were greetings that moved sceptred pride, and humble labor, to smiles and kind feelings in former times; and why should they be unfashionable in our own ?" " Dr Drake observes, in ' Shakespeare and his Times, 5 that the ushering in of the New Year, or New Year's tide, with rejoicings, presents, and good wishes, was a custom observed, during the 16fch century, with great regularity and parade, and was as cordially celebrated in the court of the prince as in the cottage of the peasant. " The Rev, T. D. Fosbroke, in his valuable ' Encyclopaedia of Antiquities,' adduces various authorities to show that congratulations, presents, and visits were made by the Romans on this day. The origin, he says, is ascribed to Romulus and Tatius, and that the usual presents were figs and dates, covered with leaf gold, and sent by clients to patrons, accompanied with a piece of money, which was expended to purchase the statues of deities. He mentions an amphora (a jar) which still exists, with an inscription denoting that, it was a New Year's present from the potters to their patroness. He also instances from Count Caylus a piece of Roman pottery, with an insciiption wishing ' a happy New Year to you ;' another, where a person wishes it to himself and his son ; and three medal lions, with the laurel leaf, fig, and date ; one, of Commodus ; another, of Victory ; and a third, Janus, standing in a temple, with an inscription wishing a happy New Year to the emperor. New Year's gifts were continued under the Roman emperors until they were prohibited by Claudius. Yet in the early ages of the church the Christian emperors received them ; nor did they wholly cease, although condemned by ecclesiastical councils on account of the pagan ceremonies at their presentation. " The late Rev John Brand, in his ' Popular Antiquities,' edited by Mr Ellis, observes from Bishop Stiilingfleet, that among the Saxons of the North, the festival of the New Year was observed with more than ordinary jollity and feasting, and by sending New Year's gifts to one another. Air Fosbroke notices the continuation of the Roman practice during the middle ages ; and that our kings and the nobility especially, interchanged presents. Mr Ellis quotes Matthew Paris, who appears to show that Henry 111 extorted New Year's gifts; and he cities from a MS. of the public revenue anno 5, Edward VI, on entry of ' rewards given on New Year's Day to the king's officers and servants in ordinary £155 ss, and to their servants that present the king's mckjestie with New Year's gifts.' An orange stuck with cloves seems, by reference to Mr Fosbroke and our early authors to have been a popular New Year's gift; Mr Ellis suggests that the use of this present may be ascertained from a remark by old Lupton, that the flavor of wine is improved, and the wine itself preserved from mouldiness, by an orange or lemon stuck with cloves being hung within the vessel so as not to touch the liquor. " Thomas Naogeorgus, in ' The Popish Kingdome,' a Latin poem written in 1553, and Englished by Barnabe Googe, after remarking on days of the Old Year, urges this recollection : The next to this is Newe yeares day whereon to every friende, They costly presents in do bring, and Newe yeares gifts do sende. These gifties the husband gives his wife, and father eke the childe, And maisters on his men bestowes the like, with favour milde.' " Honest old Latimer, instead of presenting Henry VIII with a purse of gold, as was customary, for a New Year's gift, put into the king's hand a New Testament with a leaf conspicuously doubled down, at Hebrews xiii. 4, which on reference, will be found to have been worthy of all acceptations, though not perhaps well accepted. Dr Drake is of opinion that the wardrobe and jewellery of Queen Elizabeth were principally supported by these annual contributions on New Year's Day. Ho cites lists of the New Year's gifts presented to her from the original rolls uublished in her ' Progresses' by Mr Nichols; and from these it appears that the greatest part, if not all the peers and peeresses of the realm, all the bishops the chief officers of state, and several of the queen's household servants, even down to her apothecaries, master cook, serjeant of the pastry etc., gave New Year's gifts to her Majesty; consisting, in general, either of a sum of money, or jewels, trinkets, or wearing apparel. "Dr Drake says, that though Elizabeth made returns to the New Year's gifts, in plate and other articles, yet she took sufficient care that, the balance should be in her own favor. " A record exists containing the New Year's gifts from King James I to the persons whose names are therein mentioned on the first of January, 3605, with the New Year's gifts that his Majesty received the same day; the roll is signed by James himself and certain officers of his household. " Pins were acceptable New Year's gifts to ladies, instead of the wooden skewers which they used till the end of the fifteenth century. Sometimes they received a composition in money : and henco allowances for their separate use are still denominated ' pin-money.' " Gloves were customary New Year's gifts. They were more expensive than in our times,

and occasionally a money present was tendered instead : this was called ' glove-money.' Sir Thomas More, as lord-chancellor, decreed in favor of a Mrs Croaker against the Lord Arundel. On the following New Year's Day, in token of her gratitude, she presented Sir Thomas with a pair of gloves, containing forty angels. ' It would be against good manners,' said the chancellor, ' to forsake a gentlewoman's New Years gift, and I accept the gloves ; their lining you will be pleased otherwise to bestow.' " Mr Brand relates from a curious MS. in the British Museum, of the date af 1560, that the boys of Eton school used on this day to play for little New Year's gifts before and after supper ; and also to make verses, which they presented to the provost and masters, and to each other : New Year's gifts of verses, however were not peculiar to schoolboys. " Mr Ellis, iu a note on Brand, introduces a poetical New Year's gift in Latin, from the stern Buchanan to the unhappy Mary of Scotland. "New Year's gifts, says Dr Drake, were given and received, with the mutual expression of good wishes, and particularly that of a happy New Year. The compliment was sometimes paid at each other's doors in the form of a song ; but more generally, especially in the north of England and in Scotland, the house was entered very early in the morning, by some young men and maidens selected for the purpoee, who presented the spiced bowl, and hailed you with the gratulations of the season.' To this may be added, that it was formerly the custom in Scotland to send New Year's gifts on New Year's Eve ; and on New Year's Day to wish each other a happy New Year, and ash for a New Year's gift"—this being due to the one who salutes the other first. " New Year's Day iu London is not observed by any public festivity ; but little social dining parties are frequently formed amongst friends ; and convivial persons may be found at taverns, and in publicans' parlors, regaling on tho occasion. Dr Forster relates in his ' Perennial Calender,' that many people make a point to wear some new clothes on this day, and esteem the omission as unlucky ; the practice, however, from such motives, must obviously be confined to the uninformed. The only open demonstration of joy in tho metropolis is the ringing of merry peals from the belfries of the numerous steeples, late chimes of the clock have sounded its last hour. " On New Year's Day the man of business opens new account-books. 'A good beginning makes a good ending.' Let every man open an account tohimself: and so begining the New Year that he may expect to say as its termination—in the best meaning of the word—it has been a good year." To help this desirable consummation let the reader lay to heart the counsels of an old poem:— TREASURE IN HEAVEN. Remember, man, thy birth ; Set not on gold thy heart; Naked thou cam'st upoa the earth, And naked must depart. This world's vain wealth despise ; Happiness in not here ; To heaven lift up thy longing eyes, And seek thy treasure there. Be wise to run thy race, And cast off every load ; Strive to be rich in works of grace ; Be rich towards thy God. The poor may thus be rich, Their means however small; When rich men once gave very much, Two mites exceeded all. If profit be thy scope, Diffuse thy alms about: The worldling prospers laying up, The Christian laying out. Returns will not be scant, With honor in the high'st; For who relieves his brethren's want, Bestows his alms on Christ. Give gladly to the poor, 'lis lending to the Lord ; In secret so increase thy store, And hide iu heaven the hoard. '• Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." SCATHED. [From Casselx's Magazine.] CHAPTER THE FIRST. On coming down to breakfast on a certain July morning, at a certain hotel in Bath, Fred Harden found a brief epistle written hastily in pencil by his friend Henry Willoughby, who, having been his most constant companion during his college course at Cambridge, had been spending some few weeks—after bidding goodbye to university life —at this then most fashionable resort. The epistle ran thus : " Thursday Night. " Dear Feed, —I find that I am compelled suddenly to go up to town, and as the coach starts at an earlier hour than you will probably wish to breakfast at, I leave this line to assure you of the absolute necessity of my unceremonious leave-taking. " Ever your friend, " H. WILEOUGnBY." As the two friends had enjoyed their stay at Bath so thoroughly, and as no idea of leaving it for at least another fortnight had previously entered their heads, this sudden departure of Willoughby astonished Fred Hurdeu beyond measure ; and as with mathematical precision he helped himself to a slico of cold ham, he gave vent to his astonishment in the brief but most expressive ejaculation—- " By Jove!" The fact of Fred's being attached to a young lady then resident in Bath, prevented his brooding over the sudden departure of hi»

friend as much as otherwise he would have done, and during the next few weeks allowed him but very occasional interval? for indulging in speculation as to why he had not yet heard from Willoughby, find forming idle conjectures as to his whereabouts. A retrospect of » few hours before the time of writing the letter which Fred Harden found upon his breakfast table, will explain to the reader the mysterious cause of Willoughby's sudden departure. Amongst the families to whom Harden and Willoughby were introduced at Bath, none were so often visited by these young men as the Seymours. The Seymour family at Bath consisted of Mr Seymour, a retired civil servant of the H.E.I.C S.; Mrs Seymour, a lady who had just attained the prime of womanhood ; and their only daughter, Emily, a young lady of Fome eighteen years of age, and possessed of unusual charms of person and manner. On the Thursday night on which Willoughby's letter was dated, Fred Harden was dining at a friend's house a few miles from Bath, and Willoughby was spending his evening with the Seymours. It was after tea, about nine o'clock —the only tolerable hour of a hot July day for outdoor exercise—Willoughby and Emily were lounging in the garden. The conversation turned upon the approaching departure of the Seymours from Bath. "I can scarcely express to you, Miss Seymour," said Willoughby, standing beside ' Emily—who wasremoving from a small fernery the withering leaves —how much I have enjoyed my short stay in Bath. It will always be a delight to look back upon days spent so happily." " It is a pretty place. We too have enjoyed it much," said Miss Seymour. " It is not so much the place as those whom wo have known here," said Willoughby. "I believe you and Mr Harden have made a greatraany acquaintances since yonr arrival?" " And I hope some friends too," interrupted Willoughby. An awkward pause followed. Emily looked up from her ferns at the speaker. Her golden hair was simply fastened with a scarlet ribbon, and her big, soft blue, lustrous eyes gazed up at Willoughby, as if mutely but impei-atively inquiring the drift of his remarks. The pause •was not broken for a moment. Emily blushed as her eyes met Willoughby's as if from the expression of his face she was interpreting the meaning of his words. V* iiloughby broke the silence. He laid his hand upon her round white arm. " One friend at all events, Miss Seymour ; and can I—dire I hope for you to be even something more ?" Emily's lace blushed a deeper crimson ; she soemed to shrink back from Willoughhy's hand ; a tear of surprise and sorrow started in her eye. With her voice quivering from emotion, she j replied— j " Oh! Mr Willoughby, I am so sorry. I ' hope I have never unconsciously deceived you. I valued you as a friend of my father's; I , never thought of you as anything else." ! Willoughby seized her hand- > "But, Miss Seymour —Emily—if you Itave ! not, only tell me that you can—that you may \ yet; tell me that my love for you is not altogether hopeless." The suddenuess of this passionate outburst quite overcame the girl. Her head was bent | uown, and her tears dropped quickly. "Speakonlyone word," continued Willough- i by, not knowing how to interpret this emotion on her part; say that it is possible for you yet, | perhaps, to love" me—that I may love you." Her head was slowly raised, and she almost Bobbed out — " No ; it is impossible." " How ?—why ? Do explain." '•' My love has been pledged this very day." *• lo r There was silence for a few moments, the young girl gazing pityingly at her questioner, and then she said half sadly—- " Fred Harden." CHAPTER XII K- SECOND. Two veftivs and a half have passed since the scene described in the former chapter took place. Fred Harden has been now two years married to Emily Seymour. Their union—the result of a sudden passionate attachment has been blessed with no children, and time enough has elapsed to show the uncongenialifcy of their dispositions. Immediately after their marriage, Mr and Mrs Harden took up their residence for a season in London, after which they retired to a sequestered part of Sussex where he owned some property. To hunt with a good horse, fish in a well preserved stream, and shoot in a well stocked park, was Fred's idea of enjoyment, and in all these pastimes he could revel in Sussex. To such a man Emily was indeed an ill-matched spouse. Being sprightly and active in disposition, the retired country was, as a permanent abode, quite unsuited to her taste. The second year of their married life, though marked by no actual rupture of their mutual affection, had witnessed so many little disagreements, that the truth began to dawn on Fred, that either he had married a girl unsuited to him, or that the love she bore him two years ago was gra- ■ dually becoming less strong and ardent. The match had no doubt been on the whole rather hastily got up, but the smallest sacrifice of self-comfort on Fred's part would have pre- j vented all those little unpleasantnesses. Emily was a girl of more real deep feeling j than her manners would have indicated, j When she married Fred she loved him thoroughly, and without any misgiving as to their future happiness. She was beloved by ! all their humbler neighbors in Sussex. She valued her husband's love above all things earthly; when once or twice since their marriage Fred mentioned Willoughby's name, and expressed his surprise that he had never written since his mysterious disappearance from Bath, she never told of that little seene id the garden the evening after Fred had pro*

posed to her, lest he should imagine that she had ever given Willoughby any encouragement whatever. She would not have the smallest mote float across the bright sunshine of her husband's lova. Once or twice, however, during the last year, she did feel inclined to tell him of it when they had a little tiff; but he had not mentioned Willoughby's name of late, and she, remembering that Willoughby had loved her deeply and earnestly, did not like to drag his name into an unpleasant conversation.

One cold January evening, Fred Harden was returning from the neighboring town of Saltley, situated about seven miles distant from his house. Though the hour was still early, evening was fast gathering in darkness over the landscape; and Fred's horse, evidently aware of their destination, stepped out nobly. When within about two miles of home, a man passing, wearing a bettor-made coat and hat than were usually to bo seen in that neighborhood, attracted Fred's attention; his great-coat, however, was buttoned up so high as to con- \ eeal nearly all that portion of his features which his slouched hat had not already rendered invisible. As Fred Harden looked after the retreating figure, he felt a vague imagining that he had seen it somewhere long ago. And he occupied himself during the remainder of his ride with conjectures as to who the stranger ' he had met on the road could possibly be. The event was not sufficiently important, however, either to suggest any inquiries, or even to induce Harden to mention it in the course of conversation. It made no further impression upon him, and the strange -asserby on the road would rioubless have never been recalled to memory, had not Harden, about two days afterwards, when riding towards home, again seen thesame individual approaching him, with head bent down thoughtfully, and eyes fixed upon the ground. This time it was bright daylight, the sun being little past meridian ; and at the sound of the approachI ing equestrian, the man, though still some way off" raised his head, and immediately, as if desirous of avoiding a meeting with Harden, struck off into a path which lay through the adjourning fields. This time, however, Harden had obtained a more distinct view of the man's figure, and the glance which he caught of the traveller's side lace as he entered the fields, confirmed his suspicions. The only thing which prevented him from finally deciding that this man was his old college friend Willoughby, was the impossibility of giving any satisfactory answer to the inte-rogatory which he put repeatedly to himself, ,: What on earth could Willoughby be doing here, without having written to say he was coming ?" Possibly it might be that Willoughby had come to give him a surprise, as he had never written since his sudden departure from Bath. He might have called and no one being at home; and after all, Harden might have quite mistaken the motive which led the man to turn off from the road ; it might have been merely for the sake of saving some little distance. However, when he reached home, and mentioned to his wife that he thought he had seen Willoughby, and inquired whether any one had called, she settled this matter beyond .doubt by telling him that she had not left the house all day, anS that no ov.e at all h'/d called j Harden thought no more of the matter that night, having arrived at the conclusion that it was all a case of mistaken identity on his part. In spite of the summary dismissal of the subject on the previous night, it recurred to him on waking in the morning, in a 3trange, troublous fashion ; and now, for the first time, Fred Harden learned truly the meaniug of the word " doubt." CHAPTER THE THIRD. Important business compehed Harden to go to Saltley next day. If the business had not been very urgent, it was scarcely such a flay as a man would select for a ride of some miles along a bleak voad, and with the prospect of a journey back after dark. The cloudy sky, and the peculiar sound and temperature of the wind, foretold the near approach of a snowstorm. Nor was theproplncy long unfulfiled. A? the brief twilight set in, the snow dec-ended in large flakes, and the howling wind drove it in great drifts to she roadside, and dashed it violently in the face of the horseman, who had just set out on his homeward ride. Still, having began the journey, Fred Harden was not the man to turn back, and spite of snow, and storm, and darkness, he found himself at last safely at his door, without worse mishap j than a thorough drenching and blowing, j Harden had not, however, much time to devote I to himself, for the small household were some- j what unusually disturbed and anxious for I their master's return. A glass of hot brandy j and water, which the thoughtfulness of his old butler had prepared for him quickly relieved t the frozen sensation that he had contrasted I during his bleak ride ; and while he drank I it in the outer hall, and the old man relieved j his master of his snow-covered coat and boots, he explained cautiously and hesitatingly to him that the mistress had gone out in the daytime, and she had not yet returned, expressing as his opinion that she had gone to visit some of the cottagers, and that, the storm coining •on, she had been forced to remain there for the night. With this explanation Harden, of course, thoroughly agreed ; and it was the less improbable that his wife should not be over-anyious about any uneasiness her absence i might cause, as Harden had mentioned the ■ probability of his stopping the night in Saltley, I if the storm set in before he could get away. , It was not till the whole of the next day had j been sper t in limitless inquiries at every cot- | tage in the neighborhood, that another view j of the matter began to dawn upon Harden— j and with his wife's sudden disappearnce he ' coupled the mysterious appearance of the man i he believed to'be Willoughby, twice recently j in the neighborhood ; and now he remembered that when he mentioned Willoughby's name : to her she had started and changed color, and there had been something very earnest in her

manner when she assured him that she had been indoors all day, so that nobody could hare called without her knowing it;; and then ! it Avas she changed the conversation to another I topic. And in his terrible and lonely sorrow, his mind wandered back to the sudden disappearance of his friend from Bath. The occasional little differences which he had lately had with his wife came in as a back-ground to the gloomy picture. Harden could doubt no longer. His heart was wrung with a fearful anguish. And now so much time had elapsed, that to trace the fugitives was impossible. We cannot venture into the secret recesses of so holy a sorrow. Let the veil drop here ; but before this scene vanishes entirely from our view, we catch a glimpse of a man with wild eyes and haggard face pacing through the solitai'y room, that once was the centre of his homo and joy ; hi? eye lights i pon the open page of a large volume whish lies on the sidetable. Solemnly he lays his hand upon that page, and with an awful oath he swears eternal hatred, and cries out for vengeance on Henry Willoughby. The volume was a Bible, and the page bore the inscription of his marriage. CHAPTER THE POURTn. Twenty long and uneventful years have passed since the first sorrow fell on Harden's life. It is a Sunday morning in the populous and busy town of York, and crowds are early thronging towards the splendid Gothic church in which the Rev Mr Eversley, the renowned and eloquent preacher, ministers. Amongst the crowd that throng into the seats provided for strangers, is a man bowed down with sorrow rather than years, and wiio could be recognized by few of his former acquaintances, as the Fred Harden of old times. Passing through York on a business journey, connected with some property recently left in the North he has availed himself of the opportunity to hear the eloquent preacher, and is somewhat disappointed as a whisper passses round that Mr Eversley may not preach that morning, as he has been slightly unwell. When, however, the service had just concluded, and the hymn before the sermon was being sung, the vasit multitude were gratified as the well known stately form issued from the vestry door. When he readied the pulpit he stood erectile looked every inch the ambassador of a great king—his hair was snow white, and strangely contrasted with a face care-worn, indeed, but bearing no traces of age ; and his bright piercing eyes seemed, at a glance, to read the secrets of that great assembly. A solemn stillness reigned as the last echoes of the hymns died away. In that great crowd reverence and awe filled every heart bub one—and that was Frederick Harden'*, for lie saw before him the man who had ruined his wife's honor, and blasted his own happiness for evar. But before he could recover the almost unconsciousness whi-jh this terrible surprise occasioned, the orator had commenced his discourse, his text being " In that day shall the secrets of all hearts be revealed." How marvellous that voice, how tender that pathos, how persuasive that pleading with the sinner! Who could thus preach, but one who had folt himself the blackness of a terrible secret sin ? But to Fred itiirden the eloquence and pathos were nothing save crowning proofs, if even such had been needed, of the foul crime which long ago he had committed against the friend of his youth and boyhood. The hair permaturely white, the name changed, the hidden sin adding unwonted energy to the denunciations of crime—these were the justification of the hate for Willoughby which for twenty years Harden had cherished. At the hotel where Harden stopped, he ascertained the preacher's residence; lie also heard that he was not married. With the coming morrow Harden resolved that from his own lips the leading men in Eversley's congregation should know that ho, in truth, bore a name stained with the foulest crime. First, however, he would that very Sunday evening confront the destroyer of his wife, and then on the morrow openly denounce him At last the long waited for revenge was nigh. With nerves strung to the last degree of tension, Harden stood at the Rectory door. Mr Eversley was not expected home till late at night; he had gone out of town to visit a sick friend. Well, at all events, revenge could keep for twelve hours—it was a small addition to twenty years. CHAPTER THE PIFTH. It would be scarcely possible, as indeed it would b«i useless, to attempt to describe the feelings with which Harden read next morning, in the local paper of York, a paragraph headed " Sudden death of the Rev H. W. Eversley." After great laudation of his talents and ability, the paper announced that on his return from outside town last evening, he complained of a slight pain, and in an hour was dead. Over care and excitement were the supposed causes. Thus was Harden's revenge baffled, and the loss of it did not now seem to him so disappointing, when it was the hand of God which had so iirectly interfered. Still he had a yearning to know something more of Eversley's or, as he afterwards found he was really called, Willoughby Eversley's, career. Two nays afterwards, when sitting at breakfast, the waiter brought in a letter in a handwriting he knew too well as that of his false friend—a letter he learned to have been written by his friend, who had recognised him in church on Sunday. The missive, which in his excited state Harden could only with difficulty decipher, run thus : " Dearest old Friend, —That for nearly twenty-five years you have never heard from me, may seem to you surprising. Many things require explanation. I have long since written such, and as I feel that I am now dying, I append the explanation of what must have seemed so hard in me to you. God Almighty

bless and keep you. is the dying prayer of your friend. " Willoughby Eversley." Tim statement to which Willoughby Eversley referred, informed his friend of two circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted—his true love for Emely Seymour, and his rejection by her on account of her engagement with Harden. It further stated that Willoughby was bo overcome by the rejection of his love, that he thought it better never to see Emily or her accepted lover again; ho therefore took holy orders, and at length determined to set off as a missionary to India. A few days before starting he felt an uncontrollable impulse to go and pay a visit to his old friend, and indulge, at any coat, in the pleasure of being for a day or two in company with the woman for whom he still felt an unconquerable passion. With this object in view ho sets olf for the town near which Harden lived, and on three different occasions set cut on foot to pay the intended visit. Each time as he neared the house, he felt moreintensly the depth of his love for his friend's wife, and there was a terrible struggle between the passionate desire to indulge in the luxury of her society for a few hours, and the conscientious conviction of what he knew to be right. Thrice was the battle fought—twice his better nature triumphed, and conscience won a final victory, when on the lest occasion he had actually reached the gateway, and there solemnly swore in the sight of God that he would tamper with duty no longer, but quit the neighborhood that evening. For twenty years Willoughby labored in India as a missionary; at the end of that time, having inherited some property, which compelled him to take the additional name of Eversley, ho returned to England aud obtained the living which he held till his death. Not many weeks after Fred Harden became acquainted with the above particulars, which awakened in him such united feelings of wonder and regret, he received from his agent intellignce of the discovery, during quarrying operations, of some human remains, which had evidently lain for many years beneath a slip of land, that must years since have fallen into and blocked up an old and long-unused quarry hole. Some portions of jewellery still clinging to the fleshless bones left no doubt that they were the remains of Harden's wife, who, twenty years since, must have lost her way in the snow-storm, fallen into this hole, and been buried beneath a mass of snow and earth. Horace Saltoun.