ashamed to make her my bride: which destiny was not so much a doubt of my ability to maintain her, as it was a belief that I could not do it in a certain style. I had thought also that my wife must be distinguished: I must be envied for her sake. Her family must be something to boast of. Mrs. Moskey was right: I had counted upon a market for my manly attractions, and Louisa could not pay the price. To be loved where I did love was not sufficient; it was not all I asked. Here was the difficulty which separated us. But I did not reason thus at that time. No, I thought of what the world would say; of what my friends would say. 'He has married the daughter of an old washerwoman!' The thought was intolerable. Whither would go my visions and hopes; my dreams of being distinguished and eminent? My vanity and self-conceit I should have looked after, but I did not. I thought (it is astonishing how like are all men to great characters!) of Bonaparte renouncing Josephine, and contrived to see an analogy between his greatness and mine. I thought of other great characters, who have cursed the world by their example. And then I thought of Adam, in the midst of Paradise, reaching out his hand to take the forbidden fruit. The analogy in this instance was not greater than in the other, save that I am sure he did not long for it more than I did for Louisa. At last I thought, and it was the most sensible thought which had occurred to me, that I was a rascal to think of abandoning her now. My whole course of conduct toward her passed in review before me, and forcibly enough returned to mind my first letter, and my assertion that Mrs. Moskey knew nothing of me or of my affairs. Did she not? Did I wish I had not said it? What had been my reply to her answer, telling me not to seek to see her again? Above all, what had been my conduct since? I had, as it were, forced her to confide in me: to desert her now would be base, mean, dastardly. Oddly enough, I was glad when I had come to this conclusion. If I had been guilty of consummate folly, I resolved at least that I would not add to it deliberate wickedness.

During this conflict of the passions of love and pride, I had arrived at my hotel. There lay, upon the mantle-piece of my room, a copy of the New Testament. Without reflection, I took it up, and opened accidentally to our SAVIOUR's temptation, where Satan taketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth unto him all the king doms of this world, and the glory of them, and saith unto him: All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.' How forcible was the contrast to the thought recently in my mind! Adam, surrounded by every delight, fell for a single forbidden fruit ; the SAVIOUR, hungry and solitary, was tempted with all this world can offer, and fell not. Yes, the kingdoms of this world, and the glory of them - these are our daily temptations; and for these we daily fall down and worship—ay, the Devil. And was I not in the very act of doing him homage when I would so ill-treat that lovely and unprotected girl? Yes, and tear out my own heart also, to lay it a sacrifice upon his worldly altar! I felt disgusted with myself. I resolved again to do otherwise -to do better.

The next day I saw Louisa again, and as I had had some work to do to

bring myself to a right conclusion, so had I still more to make her consent to our immediate union; for with the usual consistency of a human being, I, who the day before did not believe I would marry her at all, now declared that my prosperity depended on this last proposition. My determination being taken, I had resolved at once that they could not too soon, for my pride, quit their present mode of life, and I well knew it could not be done in any other way.

All my plans of life were now changed; or rather it became necessary for me to have a plan, and not to dream any more. And first I wrote to my mother a full account of what I had done, and received for reply: My son, be always honorable, just and generous, and you will be always right.' Also came a letter from my brother, saying: 'Dear Fred., I understand you are about to be married to a very worthy girl, a bricklayer's daughter. (I had, in my account to the family, substituted the father's occupation for the mother's.) I hope you will prove yourself worthy of her. Moreover, I intend that this, my reply to your letter, shall gain me a considerable number of votes, and beg you will speak of it accordingly; it will not interfere with your own capital. I believe you are a cunning fellow, and I have a great mind to envy you your luck. Had my father been a woodsawyer, or my mother a washerwoman, or myself a blacksmith, I believe I could have won my last election. Yours, Frank.' Thus was the first great bug-bear of my imagination, what would my family say, answered. As for the world in general, they did not send in their opinions in writing.

My next business was to hire an office in P, and look me out a respectable house, both of which I furnished as well as the means at my disposal would permit, feeling all the while as if I had renounced the world, which means that I believed the world would certainly re

nounce me.

And Louisa and I were married. After which I had insisted that my mother-in-law should no longer work for the public. No, Lou.,' said I, if I cannot make out to maintain you all, you must be content to starve with me.' 'Nobody will know it,' urged the old woman. But I insisted strenuously that no such idea should be for an instant entertained; and making it a matter of personal favor to myself, my wishes were acceded to. I hired a carriage to take us all, after the wedding, to our new home; whereupon Mrs. G. and Tom. were of opinion that Louisa's castle of fancy had come down to her, so great was their sense of elevation. It was now their turn to talk, while Louisa and I were silent. For us, although no pomp of circumstance attended our simple wedding, there was deep and heartfelt happiness. I had acted rightly and honorably, in my own estimation, (oh, the blessing of a clear conscience!) and I was married to a woman whom I felt that I loved as I never could have loved again any other upon earth. No, not although I had found another as beautiful and as talented, which was scarcely to be looked for, with wealth and friends, and all to boast, another would not have been the same; another would not have been my first love. And with these reflections there came a sense of manliness and independence, which actually seemed to expand my

frame, and made me feel more like a man than ever I had felt before in my life. If there rested a shadow of anxiety upon my feelings, it was a fear that I might not have success in my business, and that what I had said in my haste would even prove a prophecy, and they would have to starve with me. How little I knew the world indeed!

I was earnestly attentive to my business. I associated with men of business, and to business alone I applied myself. My home was the abode of neatness and cheerfulness. What bright smiles ever greeted me there! What devoted hearts sought my comfort! I was a happy man. My business increased; and when at the end of a year I settled up my accounts, I found that so far from being in debt my income had exceeded my expenses. As for my clothes, one of the blessings of the Israelites seemed suddenly to befall some of them; my shirts did not wax old, nor my stockings wear out, for the garments, which were always mended, seemed never to wear out. How white was the linen washed by such careful hands! How sweet, how healthful the viands, where affection plead for economy, and economy was influenced by affection! In every part of my domestic establishment did devoted love show its superiority to careless wealth. How could I do otherwise than grow rich, with my interests so carefully attended to? My acquaintances thought it worth their while to notice my wife. My constituents boasted of my independence; and not without reason, for my eyes were opened to the real independence of an American citizen; to the nobility of birth, indeed the born of noble hearts; not of wealthy manors, not of lordly titles! My mother-in-law has become reconciled to her black silk and cap; and the kind-hearted, clever old soul, has nursed me through so many bad colds, and helped me through so many trifling dilemmas, that I have come to think her cheerful face and sound sense quite as valuable as a fashionable air. Tom has gone to college, and Louisa rides in her carriage, holding as distinguished a position as wealth and real merit can bestow. As adversity did not sour their tempers, so neither has prosperity hardened their hearts. That religion which was the support of the former caused the latter to overflow with good deeds, which are all the more judiciously planned and executed from the experience of privation and the practical knowledge of the ways and means of the poor. They have not thought it necessary to forget the friends and acquaintances of their obscurity; and their universal affability, and particular good opinion of myself, has added its quantum to my present popularity, so that, for my especial benefit, I do not know where I could have found a more influential family. And I myself have the comfortable reflection, that I neither courted the rich nor ill-treated the poor to win my present prosperity.

EPIGRAM.

EUPEPTIC ALCOTT, furious against meat,
Says men assimilate to what they eat;

Mutton makes sheepish, pork turns souls to swine,

And so should we on vegetables dine:

Granted: 'Ye gods! on what's this ALCOTT fed ??

On greens, potatoes small, and coarse bran-bread!

A FEW Sundays ago, while strolling in one of the suburbs of the city, I entered an old Catholic burying-ground, in the neighborhood of which I used to live, and within the precincts of which I had spent many an hour. Inside of the enclosure is a small church, which then was occupied by a regular congregation, but now is used only as a chapel for the burial-service for the dead. From a distance the spot has a neat and romantic appearance, being situated on a green slope, with its little chapel of brick nearly hidden from view by a cluster of fine old trees, whose dark foliage throws a sombre hue over the scene, in unison with the purpose to which the place is consecrated. A closer inspection, however, will disappoint one, for signs of slovenliness and the grossest neglect are every where seen, and the visitor cannot help contrasting it unfavorably with the Protestant cemeteries in the neighborhood, where wealth and taste have been lavished until they have become literally gardens and pleasure-grounds for the living, as well as burial-places for the dead. Indeed, the condition of too many of our Catholic burying-grounds reflects no little discredit on those who are responsible for it. This, however, I am fully persuaded, is not chargeable to the people. They, the children of Exile and Poverty, have done what they could, as the numerous monuments, some of them tasteful and highly ornamental, sufficiently testify. The fault lies rather in the authorities of the church, who from the sale of burial privileges draw a lucrative revenue, no part of which is expended, as it should be, to keep the grounds in repair. Consequently, in quite too many instances, the 'consecrated ground' in our country is but a naked,