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Nearer MP): 3 heart; and while he could not occasionally avoid laugh-

‘ing atthe romantic nature of some of her visions, he SSS SSS = lassisted by his judicious advice to give them shape and| THE PRESS. ‘tangibility. )

| Mrs. Dinorben was too good and affectionate a mo-

WY ALERED ©. SUREEte jthes to be ambitious, and appeared well content in the And last, the Printina Press! that. tongue, that foot,) prospect of seeing her child unite to him she loved. It That breath of klowledge; the four-face#, four-wing’d,| was one of her favourite maxims, that “Jove is better Asin &zekiel’s vision, looking at |than riches,” and she was right. She took, neverthe-

The quarters four of heaven; the chariot _ ‘less, a great and natural pleasure in her change of cir- cumstances, and in the new house and equipages which seemed only proper to their present position ; and above all,in the admiration everywhere bestowed on her beau- tiful Gonstance! who bore it all very well, considering that she was still so young, and that all was so new, and delightful and intoxicating.

It.has been said that “the sunniest day is not with- out, its cloud, or the sweetest rose without a thorn.” It may, be so; but sure we are that the cloud and the thorn

Of the inspired Nahum, with its torch

And lightning speed—the glorious Printing Press} iad sprung from that great wondrous fane of thought, That curious laboratory—apex bright Of bright creation—Fagle eyrie built

On Nature’s loftiest summit—erowning gem

Of all that God hath wrought—the brain of man; Knowledge leaped up and Liberty, beside Embracing, they exchanged in love their gifts, Liberty gave her scorn of ‘Fyranny

To Knowledge ; Knowledge gave to Liberty

Her starry brow ; and both, then towering up, Called out for Rient!

LOVE TRUSTS. WITHOUT TRYING.

Constance Dinorbin was young, beautiful, and well born; and if she was rich only in that best of riches— the love of friends and kindred-—she had never thought to murmur, or wish itotherwise. Constance had a thou-

sand plans for the future, some of which she talked)

openly about, while others she only dreamt of. At one time she had almost made up her mind to be a gover- ness, only then she must leave home—and, perhaps, there were other ties, scarcely Jess dear, which she would have grieved to sever herself from, and so the scheme was given up. Her next idea was to give les- sons in music, for Constance was an exquisite musician ; but her mother said, “ Why not keep a school at once, and then we might be always together 7” So Constance, assisted by her young sister, finally agreed to open a school ; and they walked together cheerfully and hope- fully of the fyture.

Gilbert. Rodney said that it was a good idea, and im- mediately offered his services in any way in which they could be mede available. Nothing was ever done with- out consulting Gilbert Rodney ; but then, to be sure, he was their cousin, and almost like. brother. but Con- stance wquid have been very sorry if he had been really her brother.

“What can he do, Rose” asked the young girl laugh- ingly of hersister. “ He is too awkward for a dancing- master; and as for writing, it is out of the question with guch a hand as he writes! which no one can make out but myself, who am used to his hieroglyphics ! I really do not believe that he is fit for anything!

“ Neither useful nor ornamental !” added Rose.

“ My dear children,” said Mrs. Dinorben, impatient- ly, * if you go on in this manner, I am_ afraid that noth- ing will be arranged in time. Gilbert has quite enough ta do to look after his own practice, without coming here so often.” pa -

“ Serie wish I had,” replied the young doctor, with a sigh.

“Courage, dear Gilbert! Courage and patience !”— whispered Constance ‘affectionately. “You only re- quire to be known. But.come now, and help us to draw| up our prospectus.” .

he prospectuses were drawn up and printed, but never sent. A few days after the conversation above recorded, Constance received a letter, informing her of the sudden death of a distant relative, by whose will she

are oftentimes—nay, most times—of our own creating.

It is the case of thousands, who make the very grief which they lament. It was the case with Constance.— Some one said one day. in her hearing, and not knowing that she was so near, “that Gilbert Rodney only wish- ed to marry her for the sake of her money, or why did he not, ask her to have him long since, instead of wait- ing till she became.rich ?” Constance knew that they spoke falsely, and yet she was silly. enough to suffer those idle words to.haunt and trouble her. Not that she believed them for a moment, but she could not for- getthem. Her first vehement contradiction was re- ceived by this injudicious and thoughtless friend, with a calm, mocking smile. She was “ sorry that it had been mentioned, but certainly it was the general opinion ; ‘people would talk, and it was a pity that. Mr. Rodney had not spoken. before.”

“How could he ask me to marry him, when neither of us had a penny ?” asked Constance, impatiently.

“True,” replied her friend, with another smile.

“Gilbert is.incapable of the sentiments attributed to him,” continued the excited girl; “and that noble and generous heart has been mine from childhood.”

“'T'o be sure you ought to know best,” replied her companion.

Constance was greatly vexed ; but when she told her sister, Rose only langhed. It was a pity that Constance never mentioned it to Gilbert Rodney, or her mother; but she was ashamed, and so suffered this foolish report to prey upon her mind. Half our miseries in this life arise from want of confidence. Ifthere were no secrets, we sometimes think that there would be, comparatively speaking, no sorrows. There should be no secrets be- tween those who love.

Mrs. Dinorben having occasion to leave home fora few days on a visitto an old friend, Constance deter- mined to avail herself of her mother’s absence in order to put into practice a scheme which she had long dwelt upon, and into which Rose entered with all the thought- less romance of extreme youth, One or two of their young friends shook their heads, and warned Constance of the fearful consequences, which would attend the fail- ure of her pian,

“ What if he should not be all you so fondly imagine 2” said one.

“T have no fear.”

“ Be warned, nevertheless, and do not trifle with your own happiness.”

and remonstrances served to strengthen her determina- tion to set all doubt of Gilbert’s disinterested attachment at rest for ever.

A few days after Mrs. Dinorben’s departure, Gilbert!

upexpectedly became one of the richest heiresses in Eng- iand.. What joy! what thankfulness! for she did not |

pretend to mourn for one whom she had neyer seen, save once in her dimly-remembered childhood. Her.

first thought was heme—dear, dear home, and then she|@@joyed possessiqns forthwith to the rightful heir. The recollected some poor relations, poorer even than they, Scheme was well Jaid, and Gilbert fell at once into the

48d been—who has not poor relations? And gradually the circle widened, until it embraced al] humankind.

_ “Oh the good that I will do,” exclaimed Constance an the fulness of her heart. She called it the happiest day

ofher life. Alas! we little know what really makes our happiness, :

“ Itis well that the future is hid from our sight

Thatwe walk in the sunshine, nor dream of the cloud ;

Phat we cherish a flower, and think not of blight, © , That wedance onthe loom that may Weave us ashroud !”

Constance could not but feel that, rich as she was one thing still remained wanting to complete her felicity, and that all earthly grandeur would be in vain if her sousin Gilbert loved her not. But. he did love her; and

now that the only obstacle was removed which stood|-

between them—want of money-—he told her frankly with his. lips what she must long since have guessed from his manner, how very dear she was to him Hap- py Constance, she seemed to have nothing left to wish for,

Gilbert, at her request, agreed to « throw physic to the dogs,” although many people said it was a pity, as ke was so clever; but somehow they had never found out his cleverness until he became rich. Every one envied him, as weli they might, with such a fortune and a bride—the world always putting the fortune first ! He entered warmly and eagerly into all Constance’s plans and dreams for the future; for her first exclamation,

received a hurried note from Constance, enclosing one written in a strange hand, and informing her that in consequence of another will having been found, bearing a later date, she must be prepared to yield np her briefly

snare—how could he suspect that Constance would de- ceive him? It was a sudden and bitter disappointment to all his fondly-cherished hopea, but he grieved most | for her.

Constance had said,that he would come immediately on receiving her letter, and he did so, Jt was getting dusk, for she choge the time, and she wagall alone, but in the adjoining apartment, the door of which stood a little way open, there was alow murmuring of gay voices, which ceased all of a sudden at.his entrance.— Constance was very pale, and her hand trembled in his. She had never doubted his faith fora single instant, and yet, now that the time. had actually arrived to test it, she felt strangely agitated ; so true it is that “coming events cast their shadows before them.” | Gilbert sat down beside her on the sofa, and spoke cheerfully and hopefully of the future. He repeated to her all the fine things that had been said lately of his professional skill, and anticipated a brilliant reputation.

“One day,” said he, “my little Constance shall be proud of her husband; and meanwhile we will hope, | and work and love one another. We were very ha before, and we shall be happy again, when this brilliant.

perhaps. God is very good ; it was only this morning!

begin housekeeping, so that the wedding need not be

But Constance would not be warned, and their fears)

Facet eer RE ee

fora few years—only afew years; for whenl ame physician, of course i must keep my carriage* What not a word, Constance—not even a sinile—nay, speak to me, dearest !”

Constance wept: she could not speak, when she knew that every word that passed between them would be overheard. She was proud of him, but ashamed, bit. terly ashamed of herself; and it was this feeling which made her shrink from him in tears and silence. How she longed to tell him all, but not now. Her manner was constrained and embarrassed ; and Gilbert felt hur: and surprised at the apparent coldness with which she listened to his protestations of affection, and shrank from his caresses.

“ Leave me, dear Gilbert,” said Constance, at lengte, in a low voice; “I would be alone.”

“Ifyou wish it, Constance, I will go; but why send me from you? why grieve over this golden dream— What is the world’s. wealth to those who are al] the worid to one another?”

“Oh, go now,” exclaimed Constance, eagerly. “is an hour | wil] see you again. and explain everything.” “J will wait that hour in the library,” said Gilbert.

As soon as he was gone, Constance passed into the adjoining room, with a repid step, and a smile of tri- umph upon her pale face.

“Are you satisfied?” asked she, exultingly, of the eager group who crowded around her, mingling whie- red congratulations with petitions for forgiveness while Rose clapped her little hands, and danced for joy Gilbert heard her laughing and dancing as-he sat in the room beneath, and he remembered it. afterwards. Be few words. were spoken, and those in praise of him whe had just gone; and the tears stood in the eyes of ber young compapions as they kissed Constance, and wen

away one by one, leaving the sisters alone.

“How beautiful ?” exclaimed Rose. “{ declare is quite like a romance. Dear, dear Gilbert! what a noble fellow he is! How proud you must be of him Constance.”

“ Yes, very prond ; but lam afraid now. that it ies over. What if he should be angry with me ?”

“ Nonsense! he wil] onlyJaugh.”

“Do you think so? then I will goto kim at onre— Poor Gilbert! he must have thought. my conduct very strange ; but how could I speak—how could I tel} hire all the love and gratitude that were swelling in my heart before you all ?” .

“ No, certainly not. I shall long to hear what he says about it.”

Constance hesitated a moment before she entered the- library. “Heaven send that itmay all end wel)!”

thought she ; for she.felt that she had done very wrong. Gilbert advanced eagerly to meet her, and this time she did not. shrink from him.

“Oh, Gilbert ” exclaimed Constance, as she placed beth hands in his, “I have so much ta tell you!”

“ Not now dearest—not till you are calmer,” replied her cousin, soothingly.

“Yes, this instant, for I cannot be calm—I cannot rest until [ bear you say that you forgive.me for having deceived you.”

“It was not your fault, Constance; you. could not tel! that there was another will in existence.”

“There is no other wil!.”

Gilbert took from his pocket-book the letter whiek she had sent him, and placed it before her.

“ Doyou not recognise the hand-writing, albeit it is «

little disguised?” asked Constance, looking up in hie

face, and trying to smile.

Her companton started, and his brow contracted :

“Tt is like yours.”

“Tt is.mine,” said Constance. But when she began to tell him all, his passionate vehemetice so frightened and confiised her, that she searcely knew what she sid. and could only weep and wring her hands while Gilbert paced up and down the room, with pale, quivering lips. and flashing eyes. It was the first time, that she had ever seen him thus, and there was something fearful in the wild excitement of one hitherto so calm.

“If I understand you rightly, there were witnesses te our jast interview ?” said he, pausing at length before the terrified gir},

. - were. Qh, Gilbert, forgive me, pray forgive “ You musi.have exu]ted in your triumph.” Constance was silent ; she knew not what to say.

“It is a pity that no one will be present to record the end ef this well conceived romance.”

“The end!”

“Without faith in one another,” continued her com panion, “there can be no happiness: and the sooner our engagement is terminated the better.”

“Oh Gilbert! Gilbert! I heve deserved that you should be angry with me; but not these ermel words.”

“famnotangry now,” replied her cousin; and bie calmness frightened her eye more than his ’ passionate vehemence had previously done. “ “et us part friends, Constance, and.may God bless—and jorgive you !”

“No, we will not part!” exclaimed the girl, wildly,

\ indeed, indeed, Gilbert, I never doubted—never ceased dream of fortune has passed away—happier than ever, |tolove you.”

“ Love trusts without trying,” repiic? her eousin, bit-

that { received a small legacy, which will enable us to terly ; and gently removing her detaining arms, he pressed his lips toher foreheed, and hastily quitted the

put off after all; and your dear mother, and little Rose, room.

"Oh the good that I will do!” was not a mere transito- sy, ebullition of feeling, but the earnest wish of her!

can live with us, Itis but exchanging a large house| As Rose stood by the open window, looking out is-

fora sinall one, and contriving to do without « carriage '0 the bright moonlight, and dreaming of all sort# 2...

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