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Josiah made no comment on that revelation. | market by his diligence and perseverance-or, By-and-by he asked,

"What did thee think, Abby?"

"Wasn't it wicked?"

"But she changed it mighty sudden." By-and-by, after a thoughtful silence, he said, "It would kill Dinah, I think, if thee should come back from Essex like that, Abby!"

Abby looked at him as if the bare suggestion amazed and terrified her. It is safe to say that she had never imagined the possibility of such disloyalty.

"If Jane likes to buy thee pretty things, won't thee like to wear them? Thee loves the flowers-such bright colors. Does thee see a sin in them?"

"My Aunt Dinah won't ever be killed, as thee says, by such a sight,” was Abby's answer. Josiah laid it up in memory.

He repeated it to Dinah one evening when she looked so pale and sad that he knew she was thinking of Abby.

And Dinah treasured the word. It cheered her and strengthened her. It became her conviction that sooner or later Abby would come back to the old homestead on Lancaster Hill. Not only a “Friend in heart," but also one in life.

rather, we should say, by these qualities the market was created.

Aunt Jane was at the bottom of this business. She had spoken some words to Josiah which invited him to think more freely than he had dared to think before, in regard to the irksome duties of the farm-and had also expatiated, according to knowledge, on the profits of a careful and successful trade. These words were like seed-they produced a hundred-fold of thought, until finally Josiah talked with Dinah, and having once begun to talk he talked on, till he had carried his point, and was now well established in a growing business. This business brought with it, of course, new necessities: necessities of journeys-journeys to Essex and elsewhereand much dealing with the world's people. How Dinah prayed for him! What else was she doing?

She had been growing five years older in nothing except grace. Disappointments were as benedictions that tranquilized her spirit.

Heaven.

To lose Jane from the faith, Abby from the house, Josiah from the farm-these were sore trials that would have laid deep furrows in the foreheads of some women. Not so with Dinah Morril. One who should number the souls As to body, so to spirit, it happens oftentimes. sealed with her soul's peace, would have the It is difficult to satisfy the hunger of a child-census of earth as reported in the Kingdom of the full-grown man can fast-even forty days and nights could Moses and Elijah hold the body in subjection-and there was One mightier than these who may not be named here. Thus with Dinah Morril. She was living on these small hopes of the future, who had sacrificed the great hope. If Abby should return triumphant from temptation, faithful in the least, she would be satisfied.

She waited three years for a "testimony." Then Jane Bruce came home, and brought Abby with her for merely a week's visit.

They were like two birds. As bright and happy as though they wore the plumage of birds of paradise-though they came in simple garb and such garb it was evident was their usual attire.

In five long years Abby had made but this solitary visit. There were reasons for that. She was going to school-not only in Essex. In vacations she was making little journeys with Aunt Jane. Mr. Bruce had a large family connection. His friends were scattered in places far apart. He was proud of his wife. He liked to exhibit her. She must visit all these people -it satisfied her roving disposition very well to do so and wherever she went Abby must go with her. This explained to Aunt Dinah why Lancaster Hill was so rarely invaded by Essex. In these five years some changes had taken place-even in Lancaster. Josiah had discovered that he was designed for trade and not for farming; and in consequence Dinah had invested a portion of her own funds with the young man's fortune, and he had opened a dépôt for straw goods in the village, and found a

It had long been expected by Friends that Dinah would some day take her stand as a preacher in the meeting where her fathers had worshiped before her. She had the eloquence, the experience, the knowledge. Year by year her neighbors waited for her word. Often she had been exhorted to take up this cross.

One First Day morning she was thinking that the time perhaps had come. She was alone in the house. Josiah was not only absent from the house but from the village: there was nothing to disturb her thorough investigation of herself, her motives, and the probable direction of her influence in view of this fresh consecration of what power she had to sacred use.

Yet opportunity is after all not an essential condition to action. Favorable as the hour was for heavenly meditation, Dinah's thoughts had some confusion; she was in a hurry and a flutter; in the act that must be performed with utmost deliberation she felt the influence of another than divine necessity. It would be evidence of self-distrust, of fear, this word of exhortation she was contemplating, rather than the evidence of serene exalted courage. Why?

Last night when she came up from Margaret Paindle's house Dr. Grant was on the sidewalk, and he joined her as she closed the gate.

This was the first time she had met him since his mother's death, and the lips so firmly closed upon this topic in the presence of all other Friends, opened to Dinah. He told her all the steps and stages of that fatal disorder; of the hours of watching-of the days and nights; of con

versations that would never be reported for any Dinah Morril, quivering in every nerve, pickother listener. It was like St. Augustine's re-ed up these abominations and surveyed them port of the last sickness of his mother; and it with horror. Quick to resolve, prompt to exemoved the heart of Dinah so that her eyes over-cute in emergencies, she seemed at a loss here. flowed. He saw her weep.

Those tears emboldened him to take up the strain that was broken off nearly a score of years before. He left his loneliness and solitude, his bereavement, to plead for him if it might-he only spoke of his love. And that he spoke of as of something that had immortal life in it; indeed, had she not all-sufficient evidence of it in this long faithfulness? The mere story of love! He added nothing besides. He might have been in the ardor of early youth, by the way he addressed her. There was at least the freshness of youth in his pleading, but more, far more than its passion. What had her answer been? Simply, "This can never be." Whereupon he had said, "Is it really true that you require another score of years in order to learn the blessed will of God concerning us? We may die meanwhile!" 'Well, then," she answered, hardly knowing what she said. "For all this is of His ordering. I believe this as I believe nothing else. And, Dinah, you believe it too. Love dates beyond any creed. The Holy Spirit alone knows how ancient are Love's claims. Dinah, I am alone."

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While she yet hesitated-not between one course of action and another, but as to all action-her eyes fastened on a scrap of paper lying on the floor. It might perhaps contain some clew to what, alas! was probably no puzzle. She picked it up and read it. The account was made out to Josiah Morril: it was merely the receipt for certain blue broadcloth garments, buff vest, and yellow kids.

How, then, with this burden on her heart, should she dare exhort the congregation? Talk of influence and example; urge to faithfulness; encourage the desponding; prophesy the works of grace! She was dumb. Her whole life had been a failure; how attempt to teach others, herself a castaway!

Josiah came home toward the end of the week. He returned intending to make a confidante of Dinah; to confess himself before her, and if possible to obtain more than forgiveness. If he had not been wholly occupied by his own doubts and cares he would not have failed to see how disturbed and worn she had grown during these ten days of his absence.

The third day after his return, it was the First Day of the week, he stood in the kitchen door

Thinking all night of these words of his; startled by them into doubts she had never con-after breakfast looking down the valley. Dinah ceived before, Dinah, seeking safety for herself of Heaven, bethought her of this hiding-place, where she should be secure from the weakness of her heart. Once a preacher, known as such, temptation would assail her in vain. She would stand committed through all future time. would give her up!

had been busy about various household matters; but these cares were never allowed to press heavily on First Day morning, and she had now prepared herself to sit down with her book, and though he knew how little she liked to be He disturbed when her mind was intent on heavenly meditations, he took courage to himself and said to her,

But when she went into the meeting-house the purpose had deserted her. She sat as an exile in her Father's house. She saw, as the people gathered, Doctor Gray came with the rest; she knew that if a soul in the congregation had come there to worship he had come for that, yet she beheld him enter with new misgiving and despair.

"Dinah, what has become of the little green chest that stood on my table? I've missed it since I came home."

She answered as if she had long expected the question, and in truth his silence on the subject heretofore had encouraged her despair.

"The little green box that was thrown down from the table accidentally, Josiah? That was last First Day. I put it aside in the closet where father's books are, until thee should come back. Thee will find it there."

For consider what had happened. While preparing for the meeting she had gone in great haste to Josiah's room, carrying with her a large woolen shawl, which she was intending to hang from his window in the sun. One could not guard too constantly against the moths this season. In her haste the fringes of the shawl caught the handle of an old leather-so covered box that stood on Josiah's table, and she swept it on to destruction.

It came down with a crash to the floor, this venerable relic of the past, and was broken open -not from the lock, but the hinges; and when she, stooping down, tried to fasten it together, oh! Friends, was it not an evil spectacle that revealed itself to her astonished eyes! Various articles came tumbling out, and among others a buff vest with metal buttons, yellow kids, a purple satin neck-tie-all these things bearing unquestionable marks of use.

VOL. XXVII.-No. 162.-3 G

"Did any damage happen to the poor old chest?"

"The lid was broken open. The hinges were rotten."

"There must have been a great rattling out of the contents," said Josiah, striving to speak with unconcern; but discovery, he found, was another thing from confession. He might acknowledge with some pride, or at least some self-respect, what it did abase him to have merely discovered.

"There was, Josiah." Fine, mild voice-it pierced him.

"What did thee do with all the stuff, I won

der?"

"Laid it back, brother. The yellow vest and

the other gear. broadcloth suit. that mean?"

Even the receipt for the blue- | Dinah recollect? Dr. Gray walked home with Josiah! Josiah! what does all her, and left her at the gate, and returned by the way he came.

"What does that mean, Dinah ?" Josiah took from the black silken cord he wore about his neck what might have been a watch-it was a miniature.

But what was Josiah saying? Ah, that such alarm as this should seize upon her heart-this strongest heart in Lancaster! She recalled her wandering thoughts.

"Look at that face, Dinah," said he. And "Tell me about it," she said, with such reshe came nearer to her. He had kept it from ignation in her voice and manner as moved Joher these three days with difficulty, for he meant | siah in a way her rigid opposition never would that in such a strait as this it should be his great have done. It was almost as if he heard imargument. As for the face, it was one of the measurable sympathy in her words. loveliest you ever looked upon. The face of a young girl on whose cheeks abundant roses bloomed.

There were abundant roses also in her hair, and lace about her neck. Her arms were bare, and on her wrists were bracelets. It was a being manifestly who rejoiced in every beautiful thing this world could show. She was alive to all its glory. This fact had been well established by the painter, and in no other way than this he had devised could the truth he had to tell be told to Dinah.

"Dinah, can't thee understand? I never knew the time when I felt any other way about Abby. Only the feeling has grown with me."

He paused. She pulled the little white shawl she wore about her shoulders, but she bared her throat. She felt at the same moment chilled and suffocated. She bowed her head. Through the very depths of what he was endeavoring to express she understood. He seemed to take some hope from the attitude in which she now waited for what he might say. Or the blessed facts themselves he must express in one way

Dinah looked-she gazed. Twice she looked and another, never with satisfying fullness, made at Josiah before she wiped her eyes.

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"Dinah, did thee ever love any thing as thee hast loved that girl?" He was not looking at her; he stood with downcast eyes. Oh, the look that flashed out from her soul! If he had seen it, an unaccountable courage would then have possessed him.

"Take her," he entreated. "Take her just as she is, and love her as thee finds her. Can thee? I want it more than any thing. It is the only thing I do want, I believe. Thy love is greater than thy prejudice."

"I like Patience Train's face better," said Dinah. "Her eyes have the holy shade of the Lancaster meeting-house in them. She was born in this valley; so was Abby. But Patience has chosen her part here; it shall not be taken away from her. I love her face-her spirit, I mean-better than this-here." "No, Dinah. Thee does not. It is because thee hasn't seen Abby this long time that thee is able to say it. Abby is coming back to Lancaster Hill and the meeting-house."

"Ah, Josiah, but thee has gone half-way after her-and more than that. Better is the stanch faith, the firm believing heart, than this lawless seeking to serve two masters; it is an insult to both. How long has thee carried this thing about with thee, Josiah, and kept these doings to thyself?"

"Only last Seventh Day she gave it to me. I was walking home with her at evening after oh, such a busy day! It was painted for me and thee, Dinah."

him bold.

"And think!" he said, "how faithful she has been to me when there's many a better she might have had, and wouldn't, for my sake. It was a very little thing for me, I think, to wear a trifling different dress when I was with her from what I wore at home. What did I care? It kept people from smiling and saying there's another turn-coat! I did it for thy sake, and father's, and Abby's-the three I love best." "And Abby will come home to live with thee?"

"Why not, Dinah? Even Jane is glad. And she! oh thee ought to see Abby's face when she talks about Lancaster. I marvel at it.

I am astonished when I think of it. That she should care! It must be for thy sake, Dinah. I never can believe it is for mine."

"She will come back to live with thee in Lancaster ?"

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"Yes, Dinah. No wonder thee thinks it strange.'

"Coming back after all! For thy sake. And thinking of old Aunt Dinah doesn't trouble her! oh world! ̧world! thou'rt weak. Could not hold even that dear child-couldn't give her as much as she comes back to the old place for! And Jane is glad. That's Justice! But, Josiah, what will thee do with such a Bird of Paradise?"

"Love her, Dinah."

That word shook Dinah's soul. She could not speak, and Josiah was impatient of the silence.

"She is homesick for the hill, and the garden, and the meeting-house! She said so. She owned it."

"Look at that face, Josiah. Can thee believe it?"

"Just because the face is what it is, I be

Last Seventh Day, at dark, how should not lieve it all."

"Thee hast gone all the way instead of half! | As these two walked and talked together, so Thee would give up every thing for her!" He quietly, so friendly, some fetters fell apart which did not deny that, he said. had bound the soul of Dinah. She stepped out into a freedom wonderful to feel—unlooked-for, unhoped-for, unfeared.

“And, Dinah, so has she gone all the way. Don't love always? Is there any half-way about it? Abby had the picture painted by a lady who is her great friend, so I should always know that she had given up the world for me. Yes, it is true-are we to blame? could we help it? She has gone all the way for dear Love's sake. And so have I."

"And so wilt thou!"

Did any voice speak out from any future such a prophecy as this for Dinah's heart to hear? Why, the meeting-house lacked steadfastness as much as she! Ask the village what it thinks. There is not a shadow of turning to be expected here. This is Dinah Morril, the loyal daughter of old Sylvester Morril, whose business on this earth was to perpetuate the faith. If she, for any reason, could overstep the barriers of a peculiar people, could any body understand that other action on her part would have been downright sin? And that her father's will was after all not thwarted! But she was far from reasoning with herself in this wise while she talked with Josiah. It is only in the fullness of time that all symbols pass away. That the vain shadow passes. That we walk in newness of life. Dinah Morril went down with a somewhat lightened heart to sit with a sick friend in the village. She went not "unadvisedly." The visit had been the subject of at least an hour's reflection. To such a state of vacillation this strong will was brought. An errand of mercy had become the subject of her heart's suspicion, and of her soul's hesitation. She was afraid of herself!

But at last she prepared herself to make the visit, and went. On the way home she had an escort. This was not unusual; but the escort was Dr. Gray.

The premonition of such attendance had almost decided her to lose an hour of such ministration as she had been able to bestow. And was this disturbance going to do away with the comfort of that last hour's testimony-its heavenly communion by a bed of death?

Dinah felt that he was coming before she heard a footfall. Before he spoke she apprehended clearly the crowned centre of her thinking, and of his.

She could not, therefore, be surprised into surrender if the old theme were renewed. But now, oh! women, tell me how long would it be possible for her to stand in the presence of his sovereign love and refrain from obeisance? Josiah was lost to her; though, as he would have it, not lost to the faith. Abby was coming back, if not to her, to the village and the meeting-house. Jane felt glad thereat. This man here was in mourning, alone, devoted to good works, loving God, humble, patient, generous, heroic. Well, she saw in him the virtues we need not point them out. But how was it?-by miracle? I can not tell.

Freed from fidelity? Not so-from bondage. There stood the meeting-house looking at her, but not frowning on her, and she did not tremble. Indeed it pleased her now to sit in its sacred shadow and talk with Doctor Gray. And talk!

Those silent, spiritual communings, then; those reverent waitings; those holdings, firm and reliant, on the will of God; those habits of depending on the unfoldings of Providence for the shaping of her conduct-dost think, oh! congregation, that Dinah ever lost them? Dost imagine, oh! vain world, that she could ever seek embellishment of thee? Dost dream, oh! disputatious world, that warring creeds could ever mar the peace of any household over which her loving heart presided? or that the sanctity of Belief could ever be invaded by the ruthlessness of Opinion?

Go thy way. Thou hast no part or lot in this matter. It is not thou that hast gained; nor any congregation of the faithful that has lost.

Pious pilgrims never trample on the bloom of Olivet. He who passes the brook Kedron must needs kneel in the shadows of the old trees of the Garden. Holy forever is the Mountain of Prayer and of Transfiguration!

Looking down from heaven old Sylvester Morril shall smile on daughter Dinah with a kindlier approval than ever yet beamed from his eyes, since she has sacrified to love. Why, he can forgive Jane. But as to Dinah, there is nothing to forgive. These two are not recreant alike.

Ay, though looking into this man's face who leans against the very door-post of the meetinghouse, and is not afraid, she feels that Heaven and Earth must certainly absolve her.

"Thee shall have thy way. I seem to see my duty clearer than I ever did before. Thee knows what is in my heart. Half-way is all the way. To say I love thee, is to say that I will live to thee. It is not living less to God. So be it, then!"

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But once, it is recorded, the Admiral got a retort from a plain, thick-headed Dalmatian, who, chafed at seeing a thing done so easily which had seemed to him so impossible, grumbled as he turned away, "Many thanks! If I got your pay I could do it too."

Though eminently ambitious, Maximilian has never lent himself to any of the numerous cabals of the court, either to abet his followers' cravings or to satisfy his own; still it has been his fate to play a prominent and distinguished part in the history of the Austrian Empire, which has yet to be acknowledged and appreciated by the world. The true extent of the wisdom and liberality shown by this prince, in his rule over the people of the Lombardo-Venete, will proba

ing his true character and worth, as well as understanding his remarkable ability-which extends not only to matters within the range of drawing-rooms and courts, but to the minutest details of scientific and manual labor. But what he had to note, and that with wonder, was the total freedom of this prince from the many prejudices which usually hang upon and overwhelm with ridiculous affectation the scions of royalty. With our Press it has long been the fashion, in imitation of that of England, to decry Austria and every thing Austrian; and the chief object of this "chat" is to correct many evil impressions that have gone forth against that nationality, as well as to prove that there are men high in its councils, who, though born and nurtured at its court, and surrounded by the tradi-bly never be known outside of a certain circle, tions and superstitious fallacies of "royal right and sovereign prerogative," are yet intelligent and far-seeing enough to value, to their fullest extent, not only the American people, but the free and enlightened institutions by which they are governed.

One such is the subject of this sketch; Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph, Archduke of Austria, Commander-in-Chief of the I. R. Marine, etc., etc., and eldest brother of the present Emperor of Austria, Francis Joseph I.

nor properly appreciated even by the people in whose behalf it was exerted. Nobly he did what he thought to be his duty. Self-sacrificing, he threw every obstacle in the way of the stern military despotism urged as a necessity by designing men upon the central Government, and not only ameliorated the position of the Italian people under his charge by vast improvements undertaken and supported by his own private purse, but proved himself, too, so kindly lenient as to win their sincere affection. The first time I saw the Archduke Maximilian was at Venice, upon the occasion of the festivities and ceremonies usual during Easter holidays. It was Easter Sunday, that day of joy and promise to the Christian world, and it was to be celebrated with all the pomp and gorgeous ceremony peculiar to the Roman church. His Imperial High

Raised in the gayest capital in Germany, or, perhaps, in the whole world; educated at one of its most brilliant courts, this prince, though always of a cheerful disposition, was never prone to frivolity or the many follies by which young men, situated like himself, usually enervate alike their brains and systems. While others were flitting the "golden moments" away-takingness, as well as the young and charming Prinpart in pompous shows, or indulging in the effeminacies of a life at court-he was immured with his professors, or deeply intent upon some erudite work of his great friend Humboldt.

Educated, too, by men who feared not to tell him the truth-men who had his welfare solely at heart, he "possessed opportunities"-I am using his own words-"seldom, alas! accorded to princes." Nor has he shown himself to be unworthy or unappreciative of the lore and devotion thus bestowed upon him by his early teachers.

cess, his wife, was to assist at the attendant procession, which promised to be a very grand affair. Being desirous of seeing a prince whom I had heard so often and so favorably spoken of, I determined to break through my usual custom, which was to avoid crowds, and become a spectator of the pageantry.

Venice-with its romantic and interesting memories, its magnificent palaces and majestic domes-possesses, even amidst its ruins, more accessories for grand spectacles than any other city in the world. Every thing there is unreal

Like all of the Austrian princes, Ferdinand-theatrical. Max, or the Archduke Maximilian, as he is called by the English, had to begin with the lowest rank of his profession, and although his exalted birth has of course been instrumental in securing him his present high position, I have been assured by those who have known him best that his talents would have placed him there sooner or later. His knowledge of nautical affairs is surprising, extending from holy-stoning a deck to close-hauling a frigate; while many are the anecdotes told of his regarding for some time a stupid "landlubber" trying to tie some complicated knot or other, and finally losing all patience, and "lending a hand" himself.

At such times he generally ends by saying: "There, you stupid fellow, your Admiral has to show you how to do things properly."

The very architecture is of a strange, gorgeous richness, which seems more like the aerial fret-work of the imagination than the substantial creation of human hands. There is a scenic fitness about what may be termed the "properties"-a tranquil serenity induced by the proud evidences of ancient glory that impresses and imposes upon the imagination; while the very quietude of the atmosphere, that perceptible absence of the noise of coaches and chariots, which at ordinary times swells the heart so gloomily, adds on such occasions a novel power to the scene, and lends the courtly show an increased awe and majesty. I was late. And by the time I arrived the procession was issuing from the principal entrance of the grand old cathedral. Slowly it wended its way along the prescribed course, ac

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