him. I think no one else suspected all that sum. mer, while he was stealing from her the fragrance and beauty of her richly dowered nature, that they were more than friends; but I read it in the soft depths of her luminous eyes, in the steady carnation glow upon her cheek. I had often wondered whether, when Edith should love, it would be a passionate, troubled emotion, or that still, quiet affection, which, gathering up all the springs of feeling, flows forth in a living tide, tranquil and silent from its very depth. Edith's love was the last. Her faith in him was unreserved, and that love which rests on perfect trust is necessarily entire. "One midsummer evening Edith came to my home. Would I walk with her? she asked. I knew what she was going to tell me, and I almost dreaded to hear. I had a secret fear that her sweet mine of love would turn to poison. I had too a selfish feeling of my own. I had loved her so dearly, and now he had come between us, I had lost her. But I put this aside, and we went out together. We had a favorite haunt. It was a wooded hill overlooking the village and the patches of field and forest that crowded up to the bases of the mountains. There we had a glimpse of the outward world where two giant forms recoiled from close neighborhood. From childhood we had loved to look away to the open space, and talk of the wonders beyond. To us it was the gate to the vast world. We climbed the hill in silence. My heart was too full to speak, and I knew that Edith shrank from admitting even me to that inner closet of her heart where they two had dwelt together alone. We sat down on a mossy rock, just on the brow of the hill. Sunset was kindling its crimson fires in the west, and the glory gathered about the mountain pass. "It is like the gate of paradise,' I said, 'opening out of this low, imprisoned valley into celestial freedom, or like some great affection opening to us the way out of our unloved loneliness.' "I threw my arms around her-I forgot my forebodings-I forgot my selfish fear of losing of happiness. It seemed like the hush before the tempest. "Life looks to you as fair as the scenes that we used to imagine lay beyond the Pass.' Yes, only not definite like those. I only know that there is a light shining over it which will shine forever. Linny, I have given him all the faith and love which I have hoarded up in my whole life. If he should fail me, I should have no place on earth to put my trust. But he will not.' "How could I suggest a doubt? How 'could I whisper a word that should disturb this sweet repose? It would only have grieved her sorely, and made her love him more to compensate for my ingratitude. Besides, my distrust of Mr. Bernard was founded rather upon my impressions than any positive knowledge, and these might easily deceive me. It grew dark and chilly, and when presently we came down from the hill, I noticed that the crimson tints were quite gone from the west, and gray storm clouds were settling heavily down upon the mountain pass. Years afterward that sunset, with its quicklyvanishing splendors, came back to me with a sad significance. Mr. Bernard came to meet us. I had not known the charm there could be in his manner toward one whom he loved. It was earnest and tender, touched by a courteous deference, just the manner to win Edith. I could not doubt that he loved her passionately, if only I might trust in his constancy. "Keep the secret, Linny,' said Edith, when we parted. We three will keep it.' "Yes, we will keep it a little while longer,' said Mr. Bernard. It is too precious to be given over to village gossip yet.' So we kept the secret, and summer ripened into autumn, and Ro one in Norwood knew of Edith Raymond's engagement to Norman Bernard. "It is like Norman Bernard's love to me,' self of late, that she might give him the pleasure whispered Edith. of hearing good music. I was, however, surprised when she told me that she was going to spend the winter in the city in order to avail herself of the best instruction. I knew how much ingenious planning must have been necessary before this could have been accomplished. her. "O, my dear Edith, may his love be indeed a gate leading to perfect happiness, that shall always endure !' "It will, Linny. I love him, so it cannot be otherwise. You cannot imagine what a strange sense of repose fills my heart. It is as if all the storms and sorrows of life were overpast.' Her look and tone almost pained me, they were so full intend to tell your father and Rose of your engagement before you go?' "Edith hesitated. I almost wish to tell Rose, but Norman doesn't like it, and so I shall wait till I come back.' "Do you think that is best, Edith?' between neighbors impossible. I missed Edith and Rose, and I began to be uneasy at Edith's silence. She did not write me for weeks, and when the letter came it was cold and constrained. In the midst of all this I fell suddenly ill, and for many days the world was a hideous phantasmagoria, where everything took shapes and tones, "I could not give my real reason, so I hunted caught from the recent uneasiness I had expeup another. rienced about Edith. "It would give Rose so much pleasure to know it.' "Yes, poor little Rose, I am afraid she will be lonely, but Norman has promised to be a brother to her.' "I wished very earnestly that Rose might know he was to be her brother before Edith went, but in the light of her faith my suspicions looked so unlovely that I kept them out of sight, and tried to hide them from myself. When winter came, fierce and stormy, Edith went to the city. I remember the sweet, peaceful look in the eyes that met mine when she bent her head to give me the good-by caress. I have never seen it there since. "In the months that followed Edith's departure, I saw more of Rose than I had ever done hitherto. I found charms in her character whose existence I had not suspected. I had known her as a sweet, amiable girl, but I had not known of the rare qualities that were latent within her. As now in Edith's absence she let me look little by little into her pure soul, its loveliness so won upon me that I made room for her in my heart. She was like a bird that sings in the far depths of the forest. You hear the melody, you follow on to find the singer, but he has flown, and from the dim distance the sweet tones come back to you, but again he escapes your quest. I was drawn on by a loving curiosity, and daily I learned to appreciate her better. Rose was bashful. Hers was the pure, unworldly loveliness of the white rose. "Mr. Bernard was with us a great deal. My vague doubts gradually died away. We were three friends who sincerely cared for each other, and what right had I to torment myself with dark forebodings? We enjoyed Edith's letters. Rose and I threw ours into the common treasury, I exercising a prudent reticene in regard to those passages that might betray the secret. Mr. Bernard was silent about his own, and Rose was as unsuspicious as we could desire. "Edith had been absent a little more than a month, and now the deep snows of midwinter came in all their force, piling up huge drifts in the roads, and making frequent communication “When I awoke from my trance I saw Rose bending over me, looking so pale and wan that at first I was frightened; but she would not let me ask questions, and when soon some one told me how kind she had been, watching day and night, I thought it was her care for me that had paled the soft tint that was wont to flush her cheek. A few more days and the danger was past, then followed the weary convalescence, slow and interrupted. Through it all, Rose was near me with her tender hand and loving heart; but so changed, so strange! She was silent and gay by turns. If I questioned her-'It is not good for you to talk,' was the answer she gave me, and then she would chatter away herself, saying it would not hurt me to listen. "At last I could bear it no longer. The haunting fear at my heart would not be silenced. One night she was arranging something about my couch, when I caught her hand, and said: "Rose, my darling, what ails you? You must tell me.' "The hand I held trembled, and her face grew as white as the flower on her bosom. Her eyes dilated, and she tried to speak, vainly at first. At last she faltered forth : "Only tell me that Edith is not engaged to Norman Bernard, as you said in your delirium !' "My heart almost stood still. It was this, then. What could I say? "Only tell me it isn't true!' she said, watching my face with eager eyes, as if she would wrest the secret from me. "My poor darling! My white Rose!' I murmured. "She sank down to the floor. 'O, God, it is true, then!' "I drew her up-I, who was just now so weak -I clasped her in my arms, and my tears fell in showers upon her brown hair. She lifted up her head, and the wild look of agony went to my heart. "You are crying, Linny. I wish I could cry,' the quivering lips whispered. "Her head sank down again, and she laid her dry cheek upon my pillow. I do not know how long I held her there. I grew very weary and faint, and at last, gently unwinding my arms, I saw that the overwrought system was relaxed, and that now she slept. It was almost like the sleep of death. She had watched so many nights, bearing this terrible grief all the while. So she slept that night. I would not let them disturb her-she should wake in my arms. "Morning came-a spring morning-waking to life and joy so many thousands of birds. One of the saddest moments one can know is the awaking from sleep to the fresh consciousness of sorrows. Rose woke soon, looked in my face a moment, then the tears came. I was so glad, for more than anything else I dreaded that dumb woe which cannot find relief in tears. By and by, when she had wearied herself with sobbing, she could tell me about it. "If Edith had told me, Linny, this would not have happened. I never suspected it for a moment. I did not care for him until after she was gone, and he came to see me every day, and at last-' “How long is it since he has behaved like a lover to you, dear?' "O a long time, nearly three months.' "Only a little month after Edith went away. "And now what can I do?' said Rose. 'I fear he will not make Edith happy, yet he must go back to his love for her. I must do what I can to make him.' "Dear Rose! I had known she could not build her happiness on the ruins of another's hopes, but now my heart leaped up with a warmer love for her. Yet, looking at the slight figure and at the red spot which burned on her transparent cheek, I feared that this sacrifice, this crushed love, this cruel deception, would break down the frail flower. My indignation against the author of all this sorrow burst forth. "Caroline,' interposed Rose, gently, 'you must not blame him. I cannot bear that yet. He did not mean to deceive me, I dare say, at first, and he cannot help his nature. He would not love me long, I know, if he could forget Edith.' "I thought of Edith's letter, and I told Rose my fear that she already knew of his unfaithfulness. "Poor Edith! how will she bear it?' "I remembered what she said, that she had given him her whole trust and love. But there was no need to tell Rose of anything that would grieve her more. It was beautiful to see her unselfish, sisterly devotion, how completely she put aside her own wounded affections, and turned to the thought of Edith. But I knew that this was an unnatural strength, and I feared the re-action that must come. I did not see Mr. Bernard often. He must have guessed that I knew of his double treachery, and the unworthiness of his conduct could scarcely be entirely concealed from himself. He need not have feared reproach or injustice from me. I was glad to allow full weight to any excuse that might palliate his fault. I considered his peculiar temperament, imaginative, fickle, excitable and fond of novelty It was not in his nature to be true to anything or to any one for a great while. I acquitted him of any deliberate intention of wronging Edith or Rose. I knew he loved Edith when she was with him, but once separated from her, and constantly within the sphere of Rose's attractions, his first affection died out, and a new one sprang up, to die, perchance, as quickly. "It was now the last of May, and time for Edith to come home. The first news I had of her arrival was from Rose. She came into my room in the soft, spring twilight, and sitting down at my side, said quietly: "Edith has come.' "I had been expecting it for days, and now I trembled to hear it. ""How does she look, Rose?' I asked presently. So changed you would hardly know herlike one crushed.' "We were silent a moment, and then Rose said: "We have talked it all over, Linny, and Edith asked me to tell you. She says she saw a change in his letters very soon, but it was long before she could really believe it. Then she wrote to ask him, and from something he said in reply, she suspected how it was. She gave him back his promise-O, Linny, it was not till after that letter was written that he asked me to love him!' "I was glad to hear that; it was not much, but I was glad. He had not been dishonorable in words, at least, yet the sin was as dark. "Edith says we must not speak to her of it,' continued Rose. 'It is all we can do for her, she says.' "This, then, was the end of all Edith's dreams, the fruit of her entire faith and love! So we were silent about the past, and both Edith and Rose strove to forget. I do not think now that this reserve was wise. Forgetfulness was not possible to such natures as theirs. The imagination brooding in silence upon one subject adds to it daily something more and more terrible. Rose struggled too much against her sorrow; the very effort she made to throw it us. off only made it chafe her more. It is by bearing the burden quietly that it rests easily upon There are those who seem born for happiness, and when sorrow falls upon them it terrifies and agitates the soul, and it is tossed about in vain strivings after the peace it has lost. Rose sunk under the unequal contest. She grew whiter every day, only the red spot on her cheek burned with ever increasing brilliancy. The community of sorrow had made her dearer than ever to Edith, and my only consolation was, that in caring for Rose, Edith was prevented from dwelling upon her own grief. "The old feud between conservatism and progress had ceased to agitate the parish. The energy of the young people had found an outlet in another direction, and failing to inspire the old enthusiasm, Mr. Bernard asked to be released from his relation to the society. We were all glad when he was gone-it was a relief not to hear his name every day. "Edith had nothing to sustain her now that Rose was gone. She let her forced energy go, and the state of listless apathy into which she fell alarmed me more than any violent grief would have done. But she said: "Let me rest, Caroline, I shall get stronger by-and-by. I shall find peace sometime. You know I told you once that if he should fail me, I had nothing else on earth to trust in. Now I am afloat on a wide sea, but I shall come safely home at last.' "And so she waited patiently, and at length she found her way over the dark waters to the tranquil shores of content. She was never again the Edith of old-she had been too utterly crushed and broken, but she learned to smile again, and to interest herself in the common affairs of life; but she never dreamed, never lived in the future. I believed no joy or sorrow could ever again touch her deeply. Life was monotonous, but it was peaceful. I used to think it would always flow on thus, but there was a change to come. Bernard. He had not been to Norwood since he ceased to be our pastor. He stopped and shook hands in his usual cordial way. The years had not flown lightly with him. His restless temperament had worn away his youth, and he looked careworn and ill. He had many inquiries to make. "And now, though June flushed the earth with beauty, our white rose faded. All through Once, as I was coming home at night after a the golden days we watched Rose with an anxiety day spent with Edith, I saw coming toward me trembling between fear and hope. I was within the distance a familiar figure. I started, tried them always. I could not bear to be absent, for to think I was mistaken, but no, it was Norman then my thoughts wandered so busily in the past. Rose had always been a favorite with the villagers. Her ethereal loveliness had made her seem to these people of rougher mould, as something very frail and precious, and many ominous prophecies had been pronounced over the slight child whose dreamy, blue eyes had such a look as an angel's might have. But it was not much to the father in his passionate grief that all the village shared it with him-only one sweet drop in the bitter cup. It seemed as if our love might hold her back from death, and yet it is of such pearls the Lord of hosts makes up his jewels. "August drew away her blue, misty veil, and ushered in the glowing September. There were still warm, sunny days, but the nights soon grew chill. October poured out its fiery splendors upon the waiting forests, and now Rose was very weak. I was sitting by her side in the Indian summer noon, and she raised her small, thin hand, and let me see how transparent were the taper fingers. "When the leaves fall I shall go home,' she said, softly, a sweet smile flitting over her face. "I turned away from her to hide my emotion, and looking from the window I saw one yellow leaf waver slowly through the air and fall upon the grass. Ere many days they came down in showers, and then Rose died, and in the still, autumn day, when the south wind rustled the elms, we laid her down beneath the shadows. "Edith was a charming girl. I loved her a great deal at one time. Is she changed much?" he said. ་ "My pride for her rose up. Edith has had some sorrows and cares-Rose's death- and her father is now quite feeble, but she is beautiful yet,' I answered. “And Rose was very pretty. It must have been a great loss to the family. I missed her, too.' "So he passed on, and I saw him enter Edith's door. My head was in a whirl. I could not sleep that night. I scarcely knew what I hoped or feared The next afternoon I heard that Mr. Bernard had left town. I hastened down to Edith. She was calm, as usual, but there were traces of tears on her cheeks. It was a long time since I had seen them there. "You know he was here last night?' she said. "Yes.' I waited for the rest. "He would renew our old relations, and forget the past.' "And you?" "I have something to tell you, Linny.' "I knew what it was. I had been dreading it for months. "I have told Mr. Pierson that I will be his wife. You know father has wished it so long, and now I have promised.' "Edith! I could not conceal my pain. A common-place man, utterly incapable of appreciating her-how could I have it so? "It will please my father,' she said, trying to smile, and it is only one thing more.' "So there was a wedding. It was a June morning-there were joyous faces around-the house was gay with flowers, and Edith was beautiful in her white silk; but I remembered the funeral in that autumn day so long ago, and I did not weep then as I wept now. "Yet perhaps it was best for her. When, a year ago, Edith drew away the soft coverings from about a tiny form, and let me see her child, there was something of the old gladness in her eyes, and I prayed that these small hands might lead her to real happiness and peace. THE JEWS. The Jews themselves have not preserved everywhere their primitive color. In the northern countries of Europe they are white; in Germany many of them have red beards; in Portugal they are tawny. In the province of Cochin China, where a number of them have settled, they have black skins, though they do not contract marriages with foreigners. Prichard says, that there is also at Mattacheri a colony of white Jews, who are called in India "Jerusalem Jews.' And, lastly, there are black Jews dwelling in Africa, in the kingdom of Haoussa. Thus great varieties of color have been produced among this people during eighteen centuries, but no change has occurred in their cast of features, habits or ideas. Under a black skin or a white (observes General Dumas), in Soudan, in the Sahara, or the seacoast towns, everywhere Jews have the same instincts, and the twofold aptitude for languages and commerce. Color, then, is not a fixed characteristic. It may vary among members of one and the same race, or of one and the same tribe. And this is frequently observable also in domestic animals.-Journal of Psychological Medicine. [ORIGINAL.] A TERRIBLE NIGHT. BY FRANCIS A. COREY. MARK WALTON, almost immediately after his marriage to Ruth Ashby, had departed, with his young wife, from his pleasant home in one of the New England States, for the wilds of the West, which, just then, was fast becoming the land of promise to all adventure-seekers from every nation. The young couple were accompanied by Lucy Walton, Mark's sister, who, like the good, true woman she was, had left all the old friends and associations, and even the luxuries of civilized life, to share, with her brother, the trials and perils of establishing a new home in the wilder ness. It had cost her, at first, a great sacrifice to break all her old attachments, and leave all the old, loved spots which custom and time had rendered so dear and almost necessary to her, yet for her brother's good, and for the sake of the fair, young being who had so nobly promised to bear with him life's trials and triumphs, she had yielded it uncomplainingly, and even joyfully. Nor was sweet Ruth Walton undeserving of some little praise for the entire trust, love and faithfulness which had prompted her to bid adieu to all once-loved scenes and pleasures, knowing well the trials and even dangers which lay before her for Mark had concealed nothing when he had asked her to become his wife, but had placed the plain, naked truth before her, and asked her to judge from it-and accompany her husband almost into the very heart of an uncivilized and nearly wild country. To be sure, her sacrifice was less, for she had left father, mother and kindred for one who was to be more than all of these, still it was very great A few months previous, Mark had cleared a tract of land in a delightful valley, through which ran quite a large stream of water, and erected and furnished a rude but strong and comfortable log-house, so that there was very little for the happy family to do, when they had reached the place of their destination, after many days of weary travel, but to settle down quietly to the pursuits of the new life which had opened before. them, and the new duties which had devolved upon them. A single year produced many changes in the appearance of the little cleared spot surrounding the new home of the young couple. Mark Walton, by great diligence and perseverance, had rendered it much more extensive, and had even |