the spot, as the firelight plainly revealed them. He passed his hand across his forehead, and groaned audibly. Did he dream it? or was this really the spot which he well knew! a heap of charred embers at the edge of the forest, a lonely grave near by, and the lake and forest on either hand!

"What place is this ?" he wildly exclaimed. "I don't know exactly," one of the hunters replied; "but they say that the Indians surprised a settler here one night, a few years ago, and killed him and his family, and burned his cabin."

"The same-it is the same spot!" the hunted man exclaimed; and breaking away from the curious and awe-stricken group of hunters, he again looked round him in strange bewilderment. Then raising his clasped hands, he frantically cried :

"Not here, O, merciful God-not here! The punishment is just-I acknowledge it; but let it not be here, upon the very spot where my fiendish crime was committed! Not here, where I basely murdered her helpless babes, and where I tore poor, unhappy Edith away, to—”

His words were cut short by the sharp report of a rifle; and at the instant, the speaker fell forward upon his face. The hunters raised him up, he gave a single moan, and all was over. A bullet-hole in the centre of his forehead told the manner of his death.

The dip of a paddle upon the lake aroused the stupefied witnesses of this tragic scene; and seizing their rifles, they gazed out upon the water. The moon, which had been until now obscured by clouds, suddenly shone out bright and clear; and by its light, they were able to detect the figure of a man, seated in a canoe, rapidly urging it across the lake, away from them. The contents of a dozen rifles were instantly sent after him; but although some of the balls struck the canoe, and even the paddle in his hands, the unknown escaped unhurt. He passed away from their sight, nor did they ever see him again. His act of this night had concluded the tragedy, known to hundreds of the subsequent settlers of the vicinity, as REVENGE!

THE EARTH.

MAYBROOKE'S

Unconstant earth! why do not mortals cease
To build their hopes upon so short a lease?
Uncertain lease, whose term but once begun,
Tells never when it ends till it be done;
We dote upon thy smiles, not knowing why,
And while we but prepare to live, we die;
We spring like Howers for a day's delight,
At noon we flourish, and we fade at night:
We toil for kingdoms, conquer crowns, and then
We that were geds, but now, now less than men.
If wisdom, learning, knowledge cannot dwell
Secure from change, vain bubble earth, farewell!
FRANCIS QUARLES.

SHE was a wild, elfin-like child, with great, restless black eyes, and long tangled hair of the same dark shade. Her peculiar appearance might alone have drawn my attention to her, as she sat there upon the grass by the side of the hedge; but, in addition to this, when my eyes first rested upon her, she was sobbing violently. Reining my horse up, close by, I asked, with as much kindness as I could throw into my voice: "Why do you cry, my child? What is the

"And who are they that beat you, little Maud -your parents?"

"No-I haven't any; none but old Giles and his wife, and I know they're not my parents. But I wont be whipped so," and her wild face grew almost wicked in the intensity of its angry resolution. "I'm not bad; try to be good; but they beat me because it pleases them; and they've done it for the last time! I'll never go into the hut again as long as I live!"

Where, then, will you stay, to-night? Don't you see how black the clouds are, Maud-and hark, how it thunders! You can't stay out in the storm!"

"But I will, if I must; and I'd rather a thousand times, than go back to the hut!"

The appearance and manner of the child-for she was scarcely more than thirteen-so interested me, that I would gladly have prolonged the interview, had not the indications of which I had just spoken become so threatening as to forbid my longer tarrying. Gathering up my reins, I said:

"No, Maud, don't run away; it would be wrong, I am afraid. Go back to old Giles, and he and his wife will treat you better."

"They wont-you don't know them as I do!" was her impetuous reply."

"Well, try them once more, and see; and if

they beat you again, come over to the lodge, and I will do something for you. You know where it is?" She nodded assent.

Good-by then, Maud!" Good-by, sir!"

Galloping swiftly from the spot, curiosity led me to take a backward glance, when some distance away. The child was still standing where I had left her, her tattered dress streaming in the wind, and herself looking irresolutely after me.

My distance was barely saved, by sharp riding; hardly was I within doors, at home, when the rain came down in torrents, and continued to pour, as the night came on. Caring little for it, however, now that I was safely sheltered, and my solitary evening meal being disposed of, I prepared myself for an hour of bachelor abandonment. A cheerful fire was already burning in the library grate; and donning my dressinggown, and shading the lamp, I threw myself into a luxurious easy-chair, and commenced to think. My thoughts, of course, could be of but one subject-my approaching marriage. Pleasant thoughts, they were, too, as such usually are; and I diversified them by studying, for the hundredth time, a faithful miniature of Marian, which was now my constant companion. And thus I might have sat for hours, without a thought of my little afternoon's adventure recurring to me, had not the noise of an angry altercation in the servant's room, followed by the abrupt entry of Maud herself, closely pursued by the domestic, suddenly reminded me of it.

"She says she will come in," the latter exclaimed, apologetically, "although I told her she shouldn't. Lord ha' mercy-what should a mean beggar like her-"

I saw from the indignant snap of Maud's eye, that an explosion might be expected; so bidding the servant withdraw, I pointed a stool to the strange girl, and bade her sit by the fire, and dry her clothes, which were streaming with the rain. She did so, drawing timidly to my knee, as if still afraid of something.

"Now tell me, Maud," I said, "why you have ventured out on such a stormy night. My poor child, have you been abused again?""

"Yes," was her quivering answer, "they beat me like a dog; and all because I told you they had done so before! I'll die now, sooner than go back; and I don't much care what becomes of me!"

I looked thoughtfully into the wonderfully expressive face of the child, not beautiful, certainly, but strangely interesting, and I conceived a sudden idea, which some impulse led me instantly to adopt.

"

'Maud," I said, stroking her wet black hair, as it fell over my knee, "would you like to live with me?" Her eyes dilated, first with wonder, and then with delight; and she replied:

"What-in this great, fine house-here, with you? O, sir, do you really mean it?"

"Most certainly I do. But do as you please; if you think you can like old Giles for a master better than me, you can go back to-morrow."

Looking up into my face, she simply said, "No-I like you; I will stay here!" And in a moment more, worn out by fatigue and grief, she was fast asleep on the rug at my feet. Summoning the housekeeper, I directed her to take charge of the little waif, and provide a suitable wardrobe for her as speedily as possible; and then, when I was again alone, I indulged in a comical smile at the result of my adventure. I, Stanley Mulgrave, a bachelor of eight and twenty, suddenly favored with-what should I say?—an adopted child? Laughing heartily at the conceit, I dismissed the matter wholly from my mind, and again occupied myself with the pic

ture.

And thus Maud and I became of the same household. Her transformation, under the skillful hands of the housekeeper, was so complete, that my interest in her was heightened, and I now determined to faithfully fulfil the trust I had thus undertaken. At an early day, I took occasion to visit the hut of the morose old Giles and his wife, and purchase their consent to Mand's transfer, which was easily done. Of her origin or parentage, I could learn nothing; and nothing else, in fact, except that they had taken her from a foundling hospital, when quite young.

I must confess that it was as a pastime for myself, more than a benefit to her, that I undertook her instruction; but such was her eagerness for knowledge, and her aptness to learn, that the employment soon became a source of profit to myself, as well as her. She seemed, too, to have a wonderful intuition, and a mind far beyond her years; while her childish affection for me was almost devotional in its measure. My requirements were obeyed implicitly, and without question; and she never seemed so happy, as when sitting on her ottoman, near me, engaged in studying the tasks which I gave her. A remarkable change was taking place in her character; all of her wild, natural impulsiveness still remained, but it was being tempered by that harmony of mind which is rightly the effect of culture. And I watched her progress with daily increasing interest.

Maud, however, was but a secondary object in my thoughts; although by her assistance, I had

at least beguiled away the time which I feared would hang too heavily between me and the day of my bridal. My plans had been laid so that none of the servants knew of the approach of the latter event; and even Maud, as I bade her good-by for a few days, was entirely innocent of the least knowledge of it.

first stern word she had ever received from me, and it melted her in an instant. Seizing my hand, she covered it with tears and kisses, and then abruptly left the room.

The strange conduct of the child puzzled and annoyed me; and I followed her to her chamber. There I found her, lying upon her bed, and sob

As the carriage passed rapidly onward toward the lodge, upon the afternoon of the third day following my departure, I pointed out successively to Marian the various features of the landscape with which I was myself most pleased; and while her eyes followed the direction of my finger, mine were constantly fixed upon her face-as impassive now, in its stern, proud beauty, as when I first saw it. Yet she was now my bride; and I gloried in winning one so queenly, to reoice the home to which I was bearing her.

The lodge was soon reached, and I led Marian into the drawing-room. Maud was there, practising upon a guitar I had given her. She started up with a cry of pleasure, as she saw me, but hesitated as she noticed my wife. The latter looked inquiringly at me, and I hastened to say: "This is Maud, little Maud, my protege. And this, Maud, is my wife; you will love her for her own sake, as well as for mine!"

"You never told me of this, Stanley," Marian said, a look of displeasure darkening her face. Before I could reply, I was startled at the expression which the face of the child had assumed. It was pale, and absolutely painful in its look of scrutiny, as she bent her keen eyes upon the face of Marian, who regarded her with one of anger and contempt; until, shrinking to my side, Maud looked up into my face, and tremblingly exclaimed:

"This, Mr. Mulgrave-this your wife? This woman does not love you! I know it; and I am sure I could never love her!"

"Maud!" I angrily exclaimed. It was the

She looked up, as I softly uttered her name; and seeing me, her tears broke forth afresh. Astonished beyond measure, I sat down by the bed, and talked to her, long and tenderly. She listened in silence, until I spoke of Marian, my wife, and again besought her to love her, at least for my sake; when she interrupted, with all the bitter vehemence that had attracted my attention when I first met her by the hedge, and exclaimed:

"But I don't and can't love her! She is a cold, heartless woman, and loves neither you nor me! Nobody can love you as well as I do!"

I started to my feet in surprise; Maud, the strange, elf-like child, had betrayed the secret which her childish heart had treasured up from the day of our first meeting; and now, blushing, terrified at her abrupt revelation, she had hidden her face in the pillow. Moved, myself, at this unexpected discovery, which accounted for much in her conduct that had hitherto been an enigma, I told her, in a trembling voice, that she should always live with me, and be a sister to me; and she, bursting afresh into tears, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

"You are my brother, and my benefactor?" she murmured. "Forgive me, dear Mr. Mulgrave, for my folly; but I do love you-you are so kind and good!"

For several days after this, I saw very little of Maud; merely catching a glimpse of her, now and then, as she flitted about the house, like an uneasy spirit. But I could not ignore the fact, that she studiously avoided Marian, and seemed even more averse to her, than upon their first singular interview.

It was at this time, that we received a visitor at the lodge-Guy Montgomery, an old schoolfriend of my own, who had come at my invitation, to spend a few weeks. He was a gay, reckless fellow, a perfect man of the world, elegant in his person and address. His presence seemed to double the happiness of our life at the lodge, which Marian had already more than once complained of, as tame and spiritless. And I was gratified to discover that she found a congenial companion in Guy; for nothing which afforded her the slightest pleasure was objectionable to me. Therefore I experienced a real pleasure in

seeing them almost always together; and when Marian's gay laugh floated up from the lawn to my study, or when I heard both their voices singing some mellow air, I rejoiced in the thought that Marian was enjoying a pleasure which my society could not have afforded her.

It was one drowsy afternoon at this juncture, as I was sitting by my desk, that a timid rap on my door reached my ear. Bidding the applicant enter, I turned my head and discovered Maud. But her timidity seemed suddenly to vanish, and standing before me almost with the attitude and mien of a woman, she said, while her eyes flashed earnestly:

"It is high time, Mr. Mulgrave, that you were undeceived! You have been blind for these two weeks to what has been transpiring beneath your own roof! I have watched for you, and I bring you the certainty of that of which I have more than once assured you that your wife does not love you-nay, that she loves another !" ●

"Girl!" I sternly exclaimed, "beware how you trifle with me! In heaven's name, what do you mean?"

"It is God's truth!" she cried, still more earnestly. Guy Montgomery could tell you more than I, if he would-but you may be sure she is unfaithful and-"

As the dark meaning of the girl came home to my mind, I sprang to my feet, intensely excited, and confronted her; but strange to say, she did not shrink in the slightest before my indignant gaze and threatening mien.

"Go!" I hoarsely commanded, pointing to the door, and stamping my foot imperatively. 'Go, ungrateful viper, and never let me see your face again! I could have indulged your fancies, extravagant as they have been, but this can never be forgiven! Go, depart from my sight, before I am tempted to trample you under foot!"

She obeyed without speaking. As she disappeared through the doorway, her face was turned for an instant towards me with an expression of wild, heart-broken grief, such as haunted me for days afterwards. A moment after she left me, I watched her from the window, as she flitted across the lawn, and lost herself to view among the trees. Strange, indeed, the influence which she had obtained over me; strange, that in a moment of fearful anger like this, I could still half regret her departure, final as I knew it must be!

A merry peal of laughter suddenly floated out from the drawing-room. The voices were those of Marian and Guy Montgomery. The sound, for once, jarred harshly upon my ears, although

I knew not why, and I quickly placed myself out of earshot.

I had been absent two days from the lodge, and with thoughts full of home and Marian, I was returning. It was pleasant to one whose life had been as lonely as mine had, to think there was a heart beating for me at home, and anxiously counting the hours of my absence. Home and wife! The words were coupled pleasantly in my mind, and in fancy I anticipated fondly the moment of my arrival. The first dusk of evening had passed, and the twilight was deepening into darkness when I arrived at the lodge. I could discover no light in any part of it; all seemed to be in shadow. Entering the hall, I called the name of Marian, first low, and then loudly. A servant appeared when I again repeated it. "Where is your mistress?" I demanded.

"She is gone, sir. She went away this morning, in a carriage with Mr. Guy. Here is a note she bade me give you."

My heart throbbed painfully, as I took it and broke the seal, and the heart itself almost broke, as I read the contents. The note was brief and cruelly cold in its language. It merely announced that the writer was satisfied that she could never love me, and had therefore given her heart to another. A heartless farewell followed, and that was all! Stunned by the blow, the more crushing because unexpected, I sank down upon the floor, as one utterly bereft of sense. A lifetime of thought flashed through my brain in a moment. Maud was right; her wonderful perceptions had assisted her to the terrible discovery which my blind heart fatally rejected. And now all were gone, Maud, Marian, hope and honor, all departed, leaving nothing but disgrace!

My bitter thoughts must have found voice, for I heard the words "not all," faintly spoken from out the darkness of the opposite side of the room. Then a little hand was hesitatingly laid upon my shoulder, and a well-known voice whispered falteringly in my ear:

"I knew she would go; I heard she had gone, and I wished to see you once more-only once! Forgive me, Mr. Mulgrave, and I will go and trouble you no more."

My arms tightened around the form of the dear child, and I answered, as she laid her cheek upon mine:

"You shall never leave me, little Maud, you shall stay always at the lodge, and be a blessing to my lonely life. Forgive me, Maud, for my cruel harshness-stay with me, I beseech you, for you are all that is left me now!"

Tears-great drops of grief and blighted love