disappointed one, imagination busied itself with a thousand horrors. Her first-born, her only son, the darling of her young heart, her pride in the first years of wedded life, he whom she had loved so fondly, and cherished so tenderly to what vice, what suffering, might not he be exposed! Then she had no confident, no friend to sympathise with or encourage her. Since the first disclosure, she had never mentioned Robert's name to her husband, and Ella knew only that some angry words had estranged her father and brother for a time; she was enviably ignorant of Robert's guilt and danger.

The evening on which our story commences, Mrs Lane had intended to spend abroad with her daughter; but had been prevented by the receipt of the note above mentioned. Robert had never been home since he was commanded to leave it and though anxious both about the cause and result, she could not but be rejoiced at the thought of seeing him again in her own private sitting-room. She had many things, too, to learn. She wished to know where he lived, how he supported himself, and what were his intentions for the future; and she wished to expostulate with and advise him; in short, her mother's heart told her that everything could be done in that one evening. While Mrs Lane walked up and down her little sittingroom, wishing that ten o'clock would come, her son entered his small, scantily furnished apartment in a decent boarding-house, and throwing himself upon the only chair within it, he covered his face with his hands. For a long time he sat in this position; then he arose, and taking down a pocket-pistol, examined it carefully, primed it, and laid it beneath his pillow. Immediately, however, he took it out, charged it heavily, and laying it on the table, folded his arms and gazed upon it, muttering, 'It may be needed when I least expect it. I have one friend, at least, while this is by. After pacing two or three times across the narrow space between his bed-head and the little window at the foot, he opened the door of a small closet, and taking thence a cloak and muffler, carefully adjusted them; then slouching a broad-brimmed hat over his eyes, he hurried down the stairs into the street. Two or three times Robert Lane paused and reasoned with himself, before he reached his father's door; and even when his hand was extended to the bell-knob, he hesitated.

'I must see her, at any risk,' he at last exclaimed, pulling lightly upon the cord.

The girl started when she opened the door, but gave no other token of recognition. Robert inquired for Mrs Lane; and following after the girl, found himself in the back sitting-room, remembered but too, too fondly for his composure. As soon as the door closed behind him, he cast off his mufflings, and throwing himself upon a little ottoman at his mother's feet, leaned his forehead on her knees.

'Is it any new trouble, Robert?' she inquired, tenderly, and laying her hand gently on his head, any new-guilt?' she whispered, bending her lips close to his ear, and placing the other arm over his neck. Tell your mother, Robert tell her everything-she may help you-she will -oh, Robert! you know she will love you, and cling to you through it all!'

The boy raised his head, and now she saw, for the first time, the change that had come over him. His face was bargard, his eye sunk and bloodshot; that round, rosy cheek, which her lip had loved to meet, had grown pale and thin; and, in place of the gay, careless smile, had risen looks of anxiety and bitterness.

'I shall break your heart, mother,' he said, sorrowfully, and poor little Ella's, too. Oh! it is a dreadful thing to murder those one loves best. I never meant to do it-try to believe that, dear mother, whatever comes.' 'I do believe it, Robert.'

'Ah! you know only a small part yet; but I could not go away without seeing and telling you. I knew you would learn it from others, and I wanted to hear you say you could love me after all. I knew you would, but I wanted to hear you say it.'

'I will, Robert, I will; but surely you have nothing worse to tell than I know already!'

The boy looked down; his lip quivered, and the large purple veins upon his forehead worked themselves into knots, and rose and fell as though ready to burst at every throb.

She passed her hand soothingly over them.

'Whatever it is, Robert, you are not before a harsh judge now. Tell it to your mother, my darling boy; perhaps she can assist, advise-she certainly can love you through all.'

'Oh, mother! you must not speak so, or I can never tell you. If you talk like this—if you do not blame me, I shall almost wish I had gone away without seeing you. Oh! if I had only listened to you six months ago! but they flattered me, and I was foolish, I was wicked. But I thought of you all the time, mother-of you and Ellaand I promised myself, every night when I went to my pillow, that I would break away from the things that were entangling me, and become all that you desired. I was not conscious then of doing anything decidedly wrong; but I knew that my companions were not such as you would approve, and I knew-I could but know-that I was too much intoxicated by their flatteries. At last I resorted to cards; I played very cautiously at first, and only to do as others did, then for larger sums, and again still larger; till finally it became my sole object to recover the moneys I had lost, and thus prevent the necessity of applying to my father for more. I still lost, and still went on, till finally the discovery, which, I believe, dear mother, all in kindness, you brought about, was made. Perhaps I was in the wrong, but, mother, it did seem to me dishonourable to refuse to pay those debts which—'

'Your father was angry, or he would not have refused. You tried his patience, Robert, and then, I fear, you were more bold than conciliatory.'

'I made one more attempt to better my fortunes that evening, and the time passed before I was aware of it; I promised-I told them-those scoffers, mother-that it was my last evening among them; I promised myself so, and repeated it to my father; and I would have kept my promise-I would. But you know how it turned. Then I was desperate.'

Mrs Lane trembled, and passed her arm caressingly about his neck, as though to re-assure him. I met you several times after that, Robert, and you did not seem so very unhappy.'

I was determined to have the money, mother, and I

got it.'

'How, Robert ?' 'Not honestly.'

The boy's voice was low and husky; and his hand, as it closed over his mother's while his forehead again rested on her knees, was of a death-like chillness.

A faintness came over her, a horrid feeling went curdling round her heart, and she felt as though her breath was going away from her. But the cold hand was freezing about hers, the throbbing forehead rested on her knees, and every sob, as it burst forth uncontrolledly, fell like a crushing weight upon her bosom. It was the mother's pitying heart, that, subduing its own emotions, enabled her again to articulate, though in a low whisper, How, Robert?'

"By forgery. No matter for the particulars-I could could not tell them now, and you could not hear. Tomorrow all will be discovered, and I must escape. Such fear, such agony-oh, mother! what have I not endured? No punishment men can inflict will ever be half so heavy. I deserve it, though-all, and ten thousand times more. But I never meant it should come to this, mother; believe me, I never did. I meant to pay it before now, and I thought I could. I have won some money, but not half --scarce a tithe of what I ought to have, so there is nothing left but flight and disgrace. You do not answer me, mother; I knew I should break your heart, I knew—'

Mrs Lane made a strong effort, and murmured brokenly, "To-morrow-to-morrow! Oh! my poor, ruined boy!'

'I know that after deeds cannot compensate, mother; but if a life of rectitude, if- Robert paused suddenly and started to his feet. I know that step, mother!'

Hush, my son, hush!' Mrs Lane had time for no more before her husband entered the apartment. A cloud instantly overspread his countenance.

'You here, sirrah! What business brings you to the home you have desecrated ?et,

"I came to see my mother, sir.'-

"Nay,' interposed the lady, anticipating the storm that seemed gathering on her husband's brow, let the fault be mine. He is my own child, and I must see him-a little while you cannot refuse to leave me a little while with my own boy.'

'It is the last time, then,' said Mr Lane, sternly. "The last time!' echoed Robert, in a tone of mocking bitterness.

The last time!" whispered the white lips of the mother, as though she had but that moment comprehended it; and, as the door closed upon the retreating form of her husband, she slid to the floor, lightly and unresistingly. Robert did not attempt to call for assistance; but he raised her head to his bosom, and covered her pale face with his boyish tears.

'I have killed her! my poor, poor mother!' he sobbed. "That I should be such a wretch! I! her son!-with all her care and with all her love! Oh! if they had but given me a coffin for a cradle! A grave then would have been a blessed thing; but it is too late now-too late!' Mrs Lane was awakened by the warm tears raining upon her face; and, starting up wildly, she entreated him to be gone. 'Every moment is precious!' she exclaimed, gaspingly. You may not make your escape if you do not go now. Oh, Robert! promise me-on your knees, before your mother, and in the sight of your God, promise, my poor boy, that you will forsake the ways of vice, that you will become an honourable and a useful manpromise this, Robert, and then go! Your mother, who has gloried, who has doted on you, entreats you to be gone from her forever!'

'I cannot go to-night, mother. I waited to see you, and so lost the opportunity; but there is no danger. It is too late to take a boat now. I shall go to some of the landings above when I leave here, and in the morning go aboard the first boat that passes.'

Again the mother required the promise of reformation; and it was given earnestly and solemnly. Then he again sat down on the ottoman at her feet; and, with one hand laid lovingly upon his head, and the other clasped in both of his, she spent an hour in soothing, counselling, and admonishing him. So deeply were both engaged, that neither the merry voice of Ella in the door-way, nor her step along the hall, reached them.

Has my mother retired?' was her first inquiry. 'No, miss; she is in the back sitting-room,' and before the girl could add that she was engaged with a stranger, Ella had bounded to the door, and flung it wide open.

Robert!-you here, Robert! If I had only known it, I should have been home long ago. So you are sorry you quarrelled with papa, and you have come back to be a good boy, and go out with me when I want a nice beau, and all that! Well, it does look natural to see you here.' As the young girl spoke she cast hood and shawl upon the floor; and, with one bared arm thrown carelessly over her brother's shoulder, she crouched at her mother's feet, looking into her eyes with an expression which seemed to say, Now tell me all about it. You must have had strange doings this evening.'

But neither Mrs Lane nor Robert spoke. The boy only strained his sister convulsively to his heart; while the poor mother covered her own face with her hands to hide the tears, which, nevertheless, found their way between her jewelled fingers.

The eyes of the fair girl turned from one to another in amazement; then, pressing her lips to the cheek of her brother, she whispered,

'What is it, Robin? Has papa refused to let you come

back? I will ask him; I will tell him you must come, and then you will, for he never refused me anything. Don't cry, mamma; I will go up stairs now, and have it settled. Papa cannot say no to me, of course, for I have on the very dress he selected himself, and he said I should be irresistible in it. I will remind him of that.'

'Alas! my poor Ella!' sobbed Mrs Lane, this trouble is too great for you to settle. Our Robert has come home now for the last time-we part from him to-night forever.' 'Forever!' and Ella's cheek turned as pale as the white glove which she raised to push back the curls from her | forehead.

'Yes, forever,' answered Robert, calmly, 'I will tell you all about it, Ella. You seem not to know that it was something worse than a quarrel which lost me my home. I had contracted debts-improperly, wickedly-and my father refused to pay them. I obtained the money for the purpose, and now, Ella, I must escape or-or—' "How did you get the money, Robert ?' The boy answered in a whisper.

"You!' exclaimed Ella, springing to her feet and speaking almost scornfully; you, Robert Lane! may brother! Is it so, mamma? is my brother a villain, a forger, is he

Hush, Ella, hush!' interrupted Mrs Lane. It is for those who have hard hearts to condemn-not for thee, my daughter. There will be insults enough heaped upon his poor head to-morrow-let him at least have love and pity here.'

'Pity! Whom did he pity or love when he deliberately

Ella! Ella!' again interposed Mrs Lane, almost

sternly.

"Nay, mother,' said the boy, in a tone of touching mournfulness, do not blame poor Ella. She does right to despise me. I have outraged her feelings, and disgraced her name. She deserves pity, and she will need it, when people point at her and say what her brother is. I have forfeited all claim even to that. Oh, mother! why did you not let me die in that last sickness? it would have saved a world of wo.'

Ella stood for a moment, her head erect, and her lip white and tremulous, while tears came crowding to her eyes, and her face worked with emotion; the next she threw herself into the arms of her brother. Forgive me, Robin! my own dear, darling brother! I do pity you! I do love you, and will for ever! But, oh! it is a horrible thing to be a forger's sister! I cannot forget that, Robert, and I must say it, if it break your heart to hear me, it is horrible! horrible!'

It is horrible, Ella; I never thought to bring it upon you, but

Why are you here, Robert? Will they not find you, and drag you-oh, mamma! where shall we hide him ?— what can we do?'

It was several minutes before Ella could be made to comprehend the absence of immediate danger; and then she insisted on hearing all the particulars of the crime, even though poor Robert appeared to be on the rack while giving them. She loved her brother dearly, and was distressed for him; but she thought too of herself, and the disgrace of her family; hers was not a mother's meek, affectionate heart-a mother's all-enduring, self-sacrificing nature. At last she started up eagerly. The disgrace may be avoided; papa will of course shield his own name; I will go to him directly.'

But the sin, my child-the conscious degradation ? inquired Mrs Lane, with reproof in her mild eye. What will you do with that, Ella?'.

'Poor Robert!' whispered the girl, again folding her white arms about him; he is sorry for what he has done; and our kind heavenly Father is more ready to forgive than we. You will never do such a wicked thing again, dear Robin, will you?'

Robin answered only by convulsive sobs, and Ella, too, sobbed for a few moments in company; then, suddenly breaking away from him, she hurried up the stairs. Along

the hall she went, as fast as her trembling feet could carry her, and past the room in which she had been so happy while willing hands decorated her pretty person; but when she reached her father's door, she paused in dread. She could hear his heavy, monotonous tramp as he walked up and down the room; 'and, remembering his almost repulsive sternness, she dreaded meeting him. If I had only Known it before, thought Ella, all might have been avoided; but now it is almost too much to ask. A fresh burst of tears had no tendency to calm her; and she could scarce support her trembling frame, when, repeating to herself he must be saved,' she gathered courage to open the door. The old man paused in his promenade, and fixed his troubled eye sternly on the intruder, while Ella rushed forward, and, twining her arms about him, buried Ber face in his bosom. Oh, I am so wretched!' she exclaimed, all her courage forsaking her on the instant; and then she sobbed, as Mr Lane had never supposed his daughter could. But he did not attempt to quiet her; he only drew her closer to him, as though he would thus have shielded her from the wretchedness that was bursting her young heart. At last Ella broke forth,' Come down and see Robert, papa; come and save him. They will drag him away to prison for forgery, and you will be the father of a condemned criminal, and I his sister. Oh! do not let him go away from us so, papa-come down and see him, and you will pity him-you cannot help it.' Forgery, Ella! he has not

He has! and you must save him, papa, for your own sake for all our sakes.'

Do you know this, Ella? It is not true-it is a mise ́rable subterfuge to wheedle money from his mothermoney to squander among the vile wretches whom he has preferred to us. No, send him back to his disso·Tafe

Is that the way to make him better, papa ?' inquired Ella, raising her head, and fixing her sparkling eye upon him resolutely. You sent him back to them before; you shut him away from yourself and from mamma; you closed the door upon my only brother-there was none by to say, 'take care, Robin,' none to give him a smile but those who were leading him to ruin; and no wonder that they have made him what he is. Be careful, papa. Robert has committed a crime, a dreadful crime; but it was when you, who should have prevented it, had shut your heart against him, when we, who might have prevented it, were obliged to go abroad to see him, and then could give him no more than a few stolen words. It was not just to keep me in ignorance so long, for he is my own brother, and only one little year older than I. But I know all about it now, and if Robert is put in prison, I had almost as lief be in his place as yours.'

Ella! Ella!''

I should, papa. I know that one like you cannot do | wrong without feeling remorse; and when you reflect that poor Robert might have been saved, if you had only had more patience with him, you will never sleep peacefully again.'

Ella, my child,' said the old man, cowering in spite of himself, "what has come over you? Who has set you up to talk in this way to your father? I suppose I am to be answerable for this impertinence, too.'

Oh, papa! you know this is not impertinence. I have alright to say it, for the love I bear my only brother; you know that my own heart is all which has set me up to it, and your heart, dear papa, is saying the same thing. You must forgive Robert, and you must save him and us the disgrace of an exposure.'

I will avert the disgrace while I have the power, Ella, but that will not be long, if he goes on at this rate. Do you know the amount of money he asks?'

• He asks none—I ask for him the sum that you refused before."

Ab! he has gained the victory, then. Well, tell him to enjoy his villanous triumph. Give him that, and say to him, that if he has any decency left he will drop a name which has never been stained but by him, and leave us to

'May I not say that when he is reformed he may come back to us, and be received with open arms and hearts?' 'Say nothing but what I bid you, and go!'

Ella turned away with a sigh. She had scarcely closed the door when a deep, heavy groan broke upon her ear, and she paused. Another and another followed, so heartrending, so agonised, that she grew faint with fear. For a moment her hand trembled upon the latch; and then she raised it, and, gliding up to her father, folded her arms about him, and pressed her lips to his.

'Forgive me, dear papa-forgive your own Ella her first unkind words. I was thinking only of poor Robert, and did not well know what I said. I am sorry-very sorry-cannot you forgive me, papa?'

Yes, child, yes. Good-night, darling!-there go!' 'And Robert ?'

No answer.

You will feel better if you see him, papa.'
Go! go

Again Ella turned from the door and hurried down the stairs. Still the boy sat with his face in his mother's lap, and his arms twined about her waist. Both started at sight of her slight figure, dressed, as it was, for a different scene from this. The pale, anxious face, looking out from the rich masses of curls, now disarranged and half drawn back behind her ear, appeared as though long years had passed over it in that one half hour, Poor Ella! it was a fearful ordeal for glad, buoyant seventeen.

There is the money, Robert,' she said, flinging the purse upon the table, and now you must go back with me and say to our father that you are sorry you have made him miserable.'

'He will turn me from the door, Ella.' And do you not deserve it?'

'Ella!' interposed the tender mother.

I do-that and more. But perhaps he will think I come to mock him.'

'Your manner and words will tell him for what you come. You have very nearly killed our poor father, Robert. I have seen his grey hairs to-night almost as low as the grave will lay them. I have seen him in such agony as none of us are capable of enduring. You ought to go to him, Robert-go on your knees, and, whatever he says to you, you will have no right to complain.'

، Ella, child ! Ella! ' exclaimed Mrs Lane. 'You have too much of your father's spirit-that is, too much for a woman. Beware how you break the bruised reed."

around, but they had evidently not been used that evening; there was a glass of water standing beside him, and his neckcloth was loosened as though from faintness. Had his hair become greyer, and his vigorous frame bended within a few days? It certainly seemed so; and the heart of the erring boy was stricken at the sight. The sorrow that he had brought upon his mother and sister had been duly weighed; but his stern father had never been reckoned among the sufferers. A loud, convulsive sob

burst from his bosom, and he threw himself, without a word, at the old man's feet. The mother drew near and joined her son, meanwhile, raising her pale face pleadingly to her husband's; and Ella, first kissing her father's hand, and bathing it with a shower of warm tears, placed it on Robert's head.

'You forgive him, papa-you forgive poor Robin? He shall never act wickedly again; and he is your only son.'

The old man strove to speak, but the words died in his throat; again he made a strong effort, but emotion overmastered him; and, sliding from his chair into the midst of the group, he extended his arms, enclosing all of them, and, bowing his head to the shoulder of his son, wept aloud. 'Stay with us, Robert,' he at last said; we can none of us live without you. Stay, and make yourself worthy of the love that forgives so much!'

Men never knew by what a very hair had once hung Robert Lane's welfare-that a mere breath alone had stood between him and ignominy. Years after, when he was an honoured and respected citizen, adorning his brilliant talents by virtues as rare as they were ennobling, no one knew why he should turn ever to the erring with encouraging words. The key-stone of his generous forbearance was buried in the hearts of three, and they all loved him. It was buried; but yet a white-haired old man, who watched his course with an eagle-eye, and followed his footsteps doatingly, receiving always the most refined and deferential attention, might often have been heard muttering to himself, with proud and wondering affection, This my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.'

INTEMPERANCE.

BY H. G. ADAMS.

From a forthcoming Poem, in eight books, entitled The Bottle.")

Since man against his Maker did rebel,
And the great primal curse on Adam feli
Since sin first walk'd abroad upon the earth,
And evil, in its many shapes, had birth-
Since wasting pestilence and fell disease
Scatter'd the seeds of death upon the breeze,
Gave to the genial sunshine power, like flame,
To scorch the blood and rack the human frame,
Bade the soft shower accomplish fever's work,
And pain and anguish in the night-dews lurk
How much of misery, how much of crime,
Hath man beheld since that unhappy time-
Beheld, and wrought, and suffer'd, striving still,
And still opposing the Almighty's will:
Still disobedient, headstrong, stubborn, proud,
Though impotent, and frail, and sorely bow'd
Beneath the load of sorrow and remorse
Which he must ever bear--the daily cross
Of cares, anxieties, and doubts, and fears,
Wherewith he journeys on through all life's toilsome years!

How much of misery and guilt; how much
Of sorrow whereupon we dare not touch-
Of wo almost too deep for words to paint,
Which to contemplate makes the spirit faint,
And fills the mind with anguish and despair,
Much less to do, to suffer, and to bear—
Have been and are; still making carth a home
Where perfect happiness can never come;
Still making angels weep and men deplore
That innocence can dwell with them no more,
That radiant peace hath spread her wings and flown
To watch and wait beside the eternal throne.

Of the dire train of evils which, through sin,
The arch deceiver, did admission win
When earth lay smiling on creation's morn,
And man and all God's creatures, newly-born,
Were fill'd with love and joy, and wander'd here
Without a careful thought, without a fear-
None hath so fruitful been of crime and wo--
None hath so wrought to crush and overthrow
The purest pleasures unto mortals given,
The earthly hopes, the longings after heaven,
As the fell fiend INTEMPERANCE, that o'er
Its victim millions gloats, and craveth still for more.
Intemperance! Oh, word of fear- of dread!
On all domestic comforts art thou fed.
By thee, what homes are render'd desolate!
What loving hearts are crush'd! what hopes elate,
What aspirations, and what proud desires
Are daily cast in thy devouring fires!
Since first thy poison cup to mortal lips
Was held, what suns have sunk into eclipse,
Bright with the light of genius! what great souls
Have turn'd aside from their immortal goals,
Forgot their holy missions, and beneath

Thy chariot-wheels have bent, and twined the wreath
Triumphant which adorns thy brow, the while
Thou lured them onward with thy mocking smile
And sensuous delights, till they became
Debased, degraded-men in nought but name-
Wrecks of what had been noble-what might be
Still good, and great, and glorious, but for thee!
Intemperance! what pictures there arise

Of vice and suffering before mine eyes,
As thee I name! what forms around me press--
Madness, disease, and crime, and wretchedness!
What words of blasphemy, and wo, and fear,
And idiotic mirth, on every side I hear!

The mighty murderer War, may scarce with thee
Contest the palm, or claim equality,
Though countless millions of the human race
He hath down-trodden; though no pen may trace
The fearful ills which follow in his train-
The woes and horrors of his world-wide reign,

With due effect: yet unto him belong

The historic blazon and the poet's song,

While none have sought, in high immortal verse,

Thy deeds and thy achievements to rehearse;

To him the painter, and to him the sage, Have dedicate the canvass and the page, And still to him, in glory false array'd, The blinded world hath senseless homage paid. At times, however, as intent we scan The record of man's intercourse with man, We learn of thee, and of thy direful works; We find that everywhere temptation lurks, Arm'd with thy poison, to delude-betray; We own how universal is thy sway. At times, too, hath the moral painter caught Thy lineaments, and on his canvass wrought Scenes such as those whereon we shudd'ring gaze, Drawn from the life by him-the Hogarth of our days.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT WINDS. WIND is air in motion. This phenomenon is caused by the sun's heat and the elasticity and fluidity of the atmosphere. A particular part of the earth's surface is acted on by the solar rays, and this heat operating upon the air rarifies it, and, causing it to expand and ascend, produces a motion in the atmospheric fluid like the motion of the waves of the sea, towards a central point. This is what may be termed the fundamental law of winds; other causes operate in producing the great variety of eolian phenomena. We intend to confine ourselves at present chiefly to the names and character of the winds, referring to No. 60 of the INSTRUCTOR for a more particular notice of the phenomenon.

Winds assume names as numerous as the human sentiments and passions, and of which they may be termed