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The tempter, instead of Mephistophiles, was A BENEDICTION.
Ashtaroth, with her mooned forehead. The
stone is covered with inscriptions all in the
same strain. “I filled up the wells, and broke
down the walls.” It would be tedious to give Dieu vous garde, when sunlight golden
them at length-records of his taking town

Falls upon “the narrow way; after town, “Chemosh, his god, helping him" Dieu vous garde, the lesson olden,

Learn—to follow and obey. some interpretors say, and M. Ganeau thinks that the name of Jehovah is mentioned as conquering Moab: when “ Chemosh forsook its Dieu vous garde, through toils and dangers,

Where dark Sorrow's river flows: tabernacles,” Mesha says, “I constructed for

Dieu vous garde-we are but strangers ; tresses, which I added to iny land, and Omri

He must give our hearts repose. said, 'I also will oppress Moab. Omri took the plain of Madhebha, and dwelt in it, and

Dieu vous garde, when autumn's glory built-” here the letters are obliterated in

Flutters with its leaves away, the stone. Omri was the king of Israel,

Dieu vous garde-they tell a story and reigned with Abab thirty-four years.

That should teach onr hearts to pray. From the first to the sixth line begins the relation of Mesha's victory which, he says " should Dieu vous garde, when night is falling, not be interrupted by the oppression of Omri.”

Daylight fades from weary eyes ; The Israelites never recovered the boundary of Dieu vous garde-His voice is calling; the Arnon. Isaiah xv. xvi. speaks of Moab

'Lo, the bridegroom comes-arise !" possessing the land ; and Mesha says Chemosh dwelt there in my days. In the third of Kings the whole story is given of Jehoram, king of Israel, not being able to cope with the Moabites

IN BLOSSOM-TIME. alone, gets the King of Edom and the King of Judah to help bim; and there is the miracle of

It's oh my heart, my heart ! the water appearing like blood, and frightening To be out in the sun and sing ; the Moabites so that they fled. It winds up

To sing and shout in the fields about, with the terrific account of the sacrifice wbich In the balm and blossoming. Mesha, King of Moab, made to Chemosh, of his eldest son upon the wall, which frightened Sing loud, oh, bird, in the tree ! the Israelites ; so that they returned to their own Oh, bird, sing loud in the sky! country. It seems that they afterwards adopted And honey-bees blacken the clover-bedsChemosh and Ashtaroth as their divinities, to

There are none as glad as I. gether with the worship of Jehovah; for we find the pious Josiah taking away the high The leaves langh low in the wind, places dedicated to them, so that, no doubt, they Laugh low with the wind at play; believed so tremendous a sacrifice would make And the odorous call of the flowers all the Moabites unconquerable in the strength of

Entices my soul away. their god. Ashtaroth was “the abomination of the Sidonians, and was worshipped by Mesba,

For oh, but the world is fair, is fair, the shepherd king, in company with Chemosh.”

And oh, but the world is sweet !

I will out in the gold of the blossoming mould, It seems that Mesha, despising Jehoram as a

And sit at the Master's feet. weak prince, refused him his customary tribute, and the stone is an account of the struggle be

And the love my heart would speak tween the Israelites and the Moabites, each to I will fold in the lily's rim, gain possession of the land. A curious and in

That the lips of the blossom, more pure and meek, teresting fact in connection with the inscriptions

May offer it up to Him. is that two or three of the old Phænician characters in which they are written, exactly re- Then sing in the hedgerow green, oh, thrush, present the "semibreve," “crochet," and the

Oh, skylark, sing in the blue ; sharp" in music, which are derived from the Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, oldest writings on record, of which, of course, And my soul shall sing with you. the Phænician is the oldest. I must now bid my gentle readers adieu, advising them to read a full account which Professor Rawlinson will shortly bring out on the subject of the Moabitish Many have been ruined by their fortunes ; many stone.*

have escaped ruin by the want of fortune. To obtain it the great have become little, and the little great. —

Zimmermann. * The passages of the Bible which Dr. Neubauer That which is good to be done, cannot be done too quoted in his lecture were as follows: second of Kings soon ; and if it is neglected to be done early, it will iii., Isaiah xv. xvi., first of Kings xxii., and Ezekiel frequently happen that it will not be done at all. — xi. and xiv., to all of which the stone has reference. -Bishop Mant.

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of others. I felt no irritation when Mrs. Baynes sent for me literally at all hours of the

day and night; her anxiety about her husband They rest,” he said, “their sleep is sweet, had something touching in it, to me, for I knew And silence followed, and we wept."

that even such love and care as this


faded In Memoriam. woman could give, would be more than any

could bestow on me, though I lay in "the valley It is not in the first shock of a great disap- of the shadow of death.” When one of the pointment or sorrow that we feel its full pain. little ones came and stood at my knee, and laid The sudden intensity of suffering numbs and a small soft hand on mine, I drew the child deadens our sensibilities. For a time we move closer to me, and passed my hand over the about on our daily routine of life, finding thick clustering curls, that were like so many “The sad mechanic exercise,

golden tendrils. Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.”

Mrs. Baynes looked on amazed, never having

thought of "the doctor” as a child-loving chaWe are afraid to "sit down to count the cost” | racter! She could not tell that the touch of -afraid to think it out, and lay before our the baby-fingers had a strange pathos for me shrinking mind the bare, unshrouded truth. just then--that I felt even unwonted tenderness We try to put it from us, this exceeding bitter- towards the child, thinking of ties that might ness, this aching void that has come upon us, bave been for me, but never could be now. and welcome any imperative call upon thought “He won't die, will he, Dr. M‘Leod ?" said and energy that will aid us in finding temporary Mrs. Baynes to me that night, when we came respite from the reckoning that will come. down from her husband's room. “What should That will come—there is no appeal-sooner or I do in the world without John?” and she began later we shall have to realize our loss, our lone- to weep, in a feeble, helpless manner, what liness, our misery. The world grows to our with her tears and her neglected toilette, looking dim eyes almost " without form, and void”. more than ever like a dissolving view in the act “darkness is upon the face of the waters," the of disappearance. beautiful hope is gone, the rosy light has all Walking home, I thought (and the thought fadedwe must live, jour après jour, sans was bitter) that in "the" wide, wide world,” réver, sans attendre-without expecting ! La- there was not one who would find it a shade martine thus gives expression to a thougbt of darker because I was no longer there. O, wondrous truthfulness :

Margaret! Margaret! I loved you so dearly. “We expect nothing, because there is nothing Why was that cruel phantom-love for ever beto expect. Fate has done her worst, and we tween us! lie nerveless and unresisting in the peace of a My hurried departure from Ferndale had vanished hope."

caused less surprise than one might have I had not thought there was so much hope in fancied, medical-men being always supposed to my love for Margaret, but it died painfully, and be liable to these sudden calls. Perhaps they from the pain I learnt its presence.

missed their constant visitor in the little circle An unusual press of work, partly owing to the at the cottage. I am sure May missed me, for illness of poor Baynes, partly to other causes, I got a dear little letter, and it ended thus : now came upon me. It was almost welcome; “Mamma and I hope you will come again I could not yet bear to let my thoughts dwell soon.” much upon the blank my life seemed destined My eyes grew misty, as I said to myself, 10 become; for never, even in the most deso-Cui bono? Poor Mrs. Baynes was not deslate hours, did I barbour the thought that any tined this time to try what the world would be other woman could be to me what Margaret like "without John.” He rapidly improved, might have been.

and one sunny, spring afternoon I had the * As it was in the beginning—is now and pleasure of seeing the whole family party set off ever shall be.” Was it profane to take these for a drive in the colonel's carriage. Mrs. words to myself?

Mostyn had been the prop and stay of the My own sadness made me, at this portion of household during Baynes' illness, helping my life, more sympathetic towards the sorrows the poor wife in all the arduous duties of

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sick-nursing, keeping the youngest hope en. as she sat by the bed and held the little burntirely at her own house. There are some women ing hand in hers. As I went into the room who, like the "contented person in Tupper's she turned her face to me and smiled. Have “Proverbial Philosophy," " carry their sunshine any sobs, or tears, or cries the piteous sadness with them,” and it shines not only for them- of a smile like that? selves, but for others—making the dark places The little sufferer lay still enough, a feeble bright, causing the sad to smile, bringing com- moan now and then alone telling life yet lin. fort to the sick and suffering, and to the weary gered. Her eyes were closed and sunk in livid rest.

circles, and her lips dry and blackened with the Spring was coming upon the earth, and her cruel fever that was burning her little life away. beauty grew beneath the warm kisses of the This is not a medical treatise, so I will only sun. Tiny tender sprays of green began to tip say I did all my utmost knowledge could the hedge-rows here and there; the bright, suggest, and we watched through the long night, delicate shafts of the snow-drop pierced the soft Margaret, Alice, and I. moss, and, folded in a transparent sheath, each There are some women that grief and suspure white bud came forth, and then, released pense render vociferous, but these two were not from the loving imprisonment, fell in graceful of such-like calibre. Few words passed besnowy bells, waving gently in the breeze, whose tween us, and all night long I saw that set, softness told of coming summer.

pale face, with great wistful eyes full of unI never see snow-drops but they remind me of spoken prayer, of mother love and anguish, that day—the day I first saw them after the long losing no

change of the small flushed face upor winter that was such a fateful one to me—the the pillow, framed in tangled, tumbled curls. day I went home from my country walk to find “Must I lose all I love ?I heard her the evening post just come in, and a letter lying murmur, as if in passionate protest against on my table. It bore the Ferndale post-mark, Heaven, and I knew-1, that loved and longed and I opened it quickly :

for her-knew that she spoke of one whose

grave was far away. “Dear Dr. McLeod,– Will you come to As the grey, ghastly morning began to wake us as soon as you can ? We are in great trouble and the lamp turn dim, Margaret spoke to me: here- Margaret worst of all.” (I read so far and “ I think she breathes easier now; tell me, stopped short, like one preparing himself to bear you know I like to know the truth at once, is some sharp physical pain.) There has been there bope ?" and her steadfast, questioning a kind of low fever prevalent here, and poor eyes would have dragged the truth from me, little May sickened with it ten days ago; she is even had it been bitter, but thank God I could now very very ill. The doctor bere does his say, with an honest belief in my own words, best we know, but he is an old man, and be." There is hope !" hind the day in his profession. Percy and I feel “You have saved her,” Margaret said, sure May should have more nourishment—that and bending down ber head she touched my she is being kept too low. Will you come ? hand with her lips. Their touch was like the Dear Dr. McLeod, if you only saw Magaret's rose-leaf that caused the cup to overflow. A face you

would come! Last night she turned mad impulse to clasp her in my arms came over to me with such an eager look, and said: “If me, and I turned quickly away and left the only Dr. McLeod was here! There is no one I room. have such trust in!” Percy says he hopes you From that morning little May improved daily. will come-I know you will!

It was pretty to see her pleasure in returning “Yours, most sincerely, health and strength-her clinging to her mother "ALICE NEVILLE." and the old man, who had wandered in and out

of her room like a restless spirit during the Inside the letter was a scrap of paper-only whole time of her illness. a scrap-and on it, in trembling lines, “Will “ I'll soon go walks with you again, Uncle you try and come to me?-M. A.” (I have Paul,” she said, laying her little thin face against that bit of paper still.) *

his hand. Long before they expected me I was there Yes! they would all be happy again together. there once again where all was so familiar, yet It was time for me to go-I had no part in so changed. No one in the well-remembered their quiet happy life. My work was done, it window, no one to greet me-a great silence was time to go; but as I thought of all this a over everything, broken only by the sound of the wild terror struck upon my heart-a cold shudsea that seemed sobbing and moaning over the der passed over me-for I had looked up and young life doing grievous battle with death. seen Margaret's face !

The cottage door stood open, and I entered What did I read there? softly. Alice coming down stairs saw me, and She was leaning back against the sofa-pillow, came quickly. "How is the child ?" were my and her eyes were closed; round them were first words, as I held both her hands closely in deep, dark sombre circles, and on her cheeks mine."

burnt two bright spots-fever-bright. Was my. “There is no change," she said, and the great work done, after all, or was the bitterest part of tears welled up; but the mother's eyes were dry, it to come ?

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I left my place and sat down by her side, ; ing bitter cry, "My darling, do not leave me Alice and Percy watching me in silence. without a word! I cannot bear it. O, my

"Are you tired, Mrs. Armytage?" I asked, God, give her back to me if but for a mofeeling some shame that I could not control the ment!" And He heard, in His great mercy; faltering of my voice.

for the dear eyes, that were all the light of the She opened her eyes and looked at me dreamily. world to me, opened and looked upon me, not “Yes," she said, “ very tired. There has been vacant, unknowing, as I had seen them Jast, something strange over me all day. I think I but calm and beautiful even in death. With a will go upstairs."

sob that all my manhood could not keep back I She rose with an evident effort-grew sud- met their gaze. Perhaps in that moment denly pallid, even to her lips, staggered. threw Margaret knew how I loved her ; but I out her hands to save herself—but I bad caught shall never know, never in this life, never till her in my arms. I held her there for the second we meet where nothing is seen as in a glass, time in my life.

darkly," but all face to face.

It was some time before she spoke : she

seemed rallying her powers of memory to recall Never have I seen a deadly disease do its something long past ; then at once she smiled, work so quickly. She was worn out, to begin put up her hand to my face with a soft cawith, by anxiety and loss of rest. I had never ressing touch, and spoke. any hope. She sank away from before our “You are very good to me: you know I aleyes, and every recourse failed us. The day ways trusted you. followed the night, the night the day, and we Ånd thus, after long years,"

was the silooked in each other's faces, reading only hope- lence of a dead past broken. She had “always less, helpless sorrow. Care, skill, friendship, trusted me," and I had never failed her- thank love-what did they avail? They could not God for that! The love that I had craved was keep the sweet life that was going from us. never to be mine, but no one could rob me of

These days and nights often come back to her faith. me now. They are among the “ Ghosts that I

I cannot, even now, bring myself to record see” – very sad ghosts, very sad memories ! every word of that parting hour. It is enough Clearest of them all rises before me one night to say that I promised to be a friend to the when I urged with importunity the absolute motherless child, and that I have kept my vow. need that Percy's wife should take some rest. She trusted me in this as in the rest. She looked worn out. But it was not that so When time hangs heavy on us, as we wait much: no. My reason lay deeper, and I would impatiently some coming joy, we would fain have my way. I did not tell them, but I knew hasten the falling of the sand in bis hour-glass: that my dear love was going from me, and just when the moments are stealing from us what for these few last hours I wanted her to myself. is dearer than life itself, we would fain stay their And so it came about-we were alone.

passing. But, unheeding alike of our prayers They had taken poor May away from the al for him to linger in pity, or in mercy hasten, most unconscious form, lying so calm and still, Time goes on at his appointed pace, and brings amidst the passion of her child's grief. l'hat to us the longed-for joy or the dreaded pang. pitiful cry," Mammal manma ! speak to me!" I felt the hand in mine grow colder. I told had brought no sign from the spirit that was myself I ought to summon others to her side, 80 near the "silent land." They had loosened but could not leave her; each instant was so the little arms that clung about the mother's priceless to me then. I raised her in my arms, neck, and carried the poor sobbing child away. for the death-struggle had begun, and she gasped The nurse, wearied with watching, fell asleep, for breath. I held her thus, and who could and I softly closed the door between the rooms. read my heart the while? God knows all. So I had my darling to myself. Who should In a few moments the struggle ceased ; the watch with her through the dark valley, but I dear eyes gently closed, to look on me no more. that loved her so dearly! All was so still! I She only spoke once again : it was but one could hear the murmur of the water breaking word, breathed rather than spoken-" Oscar!" on the shore, never ceasing, ever the same - And, with a long, low sigh, as of one finding the voice of the sea she loved. She lay very at last a long-sought rest, Margaret died. Her still, and I knelt beside her with her hand in lips were yet warm, from that last quiveriog mine.

sigb, parted softly in a faint, sweet smile, less My strange dream was coming true. Love sad than they had been in life ; and I longed had been "strong as death,” and Margaret was once, for this first and last time, to press my going to her dead love. Hour after hour passed own to the poor faded roses ; but though there on. A vigil of anguish to ine that watched any was no eye to see, I would not take from the darling, lying so low in all her fair sweet dead what the living would never have given : beauty. The faint grey dawn came at last, so I laid her gently down, my lost love, my in soft long lines of light upon the water : then darling, and my tears fell hot and fast on the day came “ blushing o'er the sea,” and the sun- quiet face of the dead. rise fell upon her face, and I saw its pallor was of a more ashen, deathly shade. I bowed my face upon her hands; I cried, with an exceed

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As the most beautiful woman of her day | memoirs, published in 1859, ten years after her Madame Récamier is widely known; as the death. They are from the pen of Madame friend of Chateaubriand and De Staël, she is Lenormant, the niece of Monsieur Récamier, scarcely less so. An historic as well as literary and the adopted daughter of his wife. To her interest is attached to ber name; for she lived Madame Récamier bequeathed her papers, with throughout the most momentous and exciting the request that she should write the narrative period of modern times. Her relations with of her life. Madame Lenormant had a delicate influential and illustrious men of successive and difficult task to execute. The life she was revolutions were intimate and confidential ; and to portray was strictly a sociable one. It was though the rôle she played was but negative, closely interwoven with the lives of other the influence she exerted has closely connected persons still living or lately dead. She owed her with the political history of her country. heavy obligations to both. It is, therefore, not

But interesting as her life is from this point surprising if ber narrative is at times broken of view in its social aspect it has a deeper and obscure, and she a too partial biographer. significance. It is the life of a beautiful woman, Not that Madame Lenormant can be called unand so varied and romantic, so fruitful in trustworthy. She cannot be accused of misincident and rich in experience, that it excites representing facts, but she does what is almost curiosity and invites speculation. It is a life as bad, she partially states them. Her vague difficult, if not impossible, to understand. allusions and half-and-half statements excite Herein lies its peculiar and engrossing fascina curiosity without gratifying it. We also crave tion. It is a curious web to unravel, a riddle to know more than she tells us of the heartto solve, a problem at once stimulating and history of this woman who 80 captivated the baffling. Like the history of the times, it is world, to see ber sometimes in the silence of full of puzzling contradictions and striking solitude alone with her own thoughts, to gain contrasts. The daughter of a provincial an insight into the inner that we may more notary, Madame Récamier was the honoured perfectly comprehend the outward life which so associate of princes. A married woman, she perplexes and confounds. Instead of all this was a wife only in name. A beauty and a we have drawing-room interviews with the belle, she was as much admired by her own as object of our interest. We see her chiefly as by the other sex. A coquette, she changed she appeared in society. We have to be con. passionate lovers into life-long friends. Accept. I tent with what others say of her in lieu of ing the open and exclusive homage of married what she might say of herself. We hear of her men, she continued on the best of terms with conquests, her social triumphs; we listen to their wives. One day the mistress of every panegyrics, but are seldom admitted behind the luxury that wealth can command, the next a scenes to judge for ourselves of what is gold bankrupt’s wife. One year the reigning “Queen and what is tinsel. We, moreover, seek in vain of Society," the next a suspected exile. As for those unconscious revelations so precious much flattered and courted when she was poor in divining character. The few letters of as while she was rich. Just as fascinating when Madame Récamier that are published have little old and blind as while young and beautiful. or no significance. She was not fond of Loss of fortune brought no loss of power, writing, still she corresponded regularly with decline of beauty, no decrease of admiration. several of her friends ; but her correspondence, Modelled by artists, flattered by princes, adored it seems, has not been obtained by her by women, eulogized by men of genius, courted biographer. The best insight we get, there. by men of letters, the beloved of the chivalrous fore, into the emotional part of her nature is Augustus of Prussia, and the selfish, dreamy from indirect allusions in letters addressed to Chateaubriand, with the high-toned Mont- her, and from conclusions drawn from her morencys for her friends, and the simple course of conduct in particular cases. Some of minded Ballanche for her slave. Such were the incidents of her life are so dramatic, that if some of the triumphs, such some of the con- fully and faithfully told they would of themselves trasts in the life of this remarkable woman. reveal the true character of the woman, but as it

It is hard to conceive of a more brilliant is we have but little help from them. It is career, or of one more calculated from its impossible to resist the conviction that Madame singularity to give rise to contradictory im- Lenormant would not hesitate to suppress any pressions. This natural porplexity is much circumstances that might cast a shadow on the increased by the character of Madame Récamier's memory of her aunt; it is true that she

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