village of G―, some fifty miles distant from his native town. He was accepted, and entered upon the duties of his new office with hope and energy. And then-the very first thing he did was to fall in love! foolish fellow-instead of teaching the young idea to shoot-he suffered himself to be shot-through the sparkling roguish eyes of little May Lillie did Cupid aim his dart-twang-he was gone!

See the maliciousness of Fate! If May had been but the child of some poor widow or parson-or had Harry claimed descent from some lordly aristocrat, the course of true love might not have run so crooked. Leander swam the Hellespont to reach his love, breasting bravely the surging billows, which parting before him, bore him exultingly to the feet of Hero-but how shall Harry force the adamantine chains with which Mammon bars the way to happiness! Assist him ye gods of hapless lovers.

My hero was the son of a farmer, more rich in children than in acres, and who could only afford them in schooling, value received for a few bushels of wheat, rye, or potatoes.

Young Harry had no taste for agriculture. The plough furrowed his handsome countenance, and the harrow harrowed his soul. Neither did he fancy mechanics-he turned from the anvil, the carpenter's bench, the awl, and the scissors, with equal repugnance. Books, books alone were his passion. For these all else were neglected, the cattle strayed loose in the fields, the pigs crept through to the garden, the wheat remained unshocked, and the grass uncut, while Harry under a tree lost himself amid the tattered leaves of an old book, which every breath of wind threatened to sweep far from him. This was a sore trial to his father, but after fruitlessly exhausting all his arguments to dissuade his son from the folly of "larning," he finally gave it up, and left Harry unmolested to follow his bent. The clergyman of the village admiring the perseverance of the young farmer-boy, and wishing to encourage such laudable zeal, kindly volunteered to assist him in his studies, and with unwearied toil by night and by day, Harry Warren was finally prepared to enter college.

At the age of twenty-one he graduated honorably, and left the college walls, his head well-stored with knowledge-a light heart-a lighter purse, and a strong will to persevere in the path he had marked out for himself, a path which, after many crooked windings, was, as his sanguine imagination assured him, to lead him eventually on the high road to fame. To put a little money in his pocket, and at the same time gain some leisure for study, he offered

Diogenes Lillie, Esq., professed to be a very learned man, an immensely learned man, and his library accordingly occupied one whole wing of his large and costly mansion. No one far or near could boast of so many square feet of knowledge. He patronized the arts and sciences, and hinted at many wonderful inventions at work in his brain, which were in time to burst forth and astonish the world. He also courted the muses, and was convinced that should he once plume his flight to Parnassus, there would be an immense fluttering among all soaring poets, whom he should distance at once by his bold and flashing imagery.

Could the eyes of poor old Dominie Sampson have rested upon the countless volumes which like "Alps on Alps" arose to the lofty ceiling, would not his meagre, bony jaws have ushered in-"pro-di-gious!" for there was one compartment devoted to theology, another to geology, and spaces for all the 'ologies— then there were divisions for astronomy, for botany, for history, for travels-there was the poet's corner, and the niche of romance. There were books in French, and German, and Spanish, and Russian, and Italian, and a mausoleum for the dead languages. I cannot vouch that "one poor head could carry" all this, that the brain of the great Diogenes contained as many chambers as his library divisions-but it was a very pleasant thing for him to gaze up and down, and down and up, upon their costly gold-lettered backs! Then there were also busts, and statues, and globes, and blow-pipes, and barometers, and thermometers scattered around, and here in this hall of inspiration, devoted to the "sisters three and such branches of learning," did Mr. Lillie spend the most of his invaluable time.

Now great wisdom is said to bestow upon its possessor a contempt for wealth proportionate, which, by the way, may be the reason why so many learned writers and men of genius have died in a garret. If so-there was no fear that the last breath of Diogenes Lillie, Esq., would be drawn in an attic, for he lost not sight of his gold in the depths of his wisdom, but so skillfully managed his financial concerns, that though apparently paying little heed to business, as

'In eastern lands they talk in flowers,

And they tell in a garland their loves and cares, Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears.'

Is it so do you believe this, May?"

May made no answer, but bent her head still lower over the book before her, and the little rose-bud trembled as though moved by some breath of summer.

"The the rose, May," continued Harry, "seems to have been ever a favorite and expressive flower of this mystic garland:

The rose is the sign of joy and love,
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn.'"

There was a pause.

May-May, will you give me the rose?"

The lips of Diogenes were closely pressed together-his eyes upturned with a frenzied glare to the ceiling, and deep indentations, like the rind of a musk-melon, corrugated his brow.

Reader-he was conceiving.

Bringing down his clinched hand with a force which made old Homer nod, he exclaimed:

"I will write. Yes, I will write a poem-I will astonish the world-my talents shall no longer remain under a bushel, but shall go forth like the sword

"Will you, May-will you give me the rose?" The next moment the little bud was in the hand of the transported Harry, accompanied with a look of such innocent, confiding love, as made his heart dance with rapture.

Was there ever in after life a moment of such pure and exquisite happiness as then filled the hearts of the lovers!

But the rose-bud, the poor rose-bud, bitterly did it rue the change from its lovely resting-place to the great hand of the school-master-besides coming very near being crushed to pieces between that and the dainty little fingers of May as she placed it therein!

Well, it must have been a puzzling sum indeed to keep the master so long at May Lillie's desk! and taking advantage of his inattention, the mischievous scholars carried on a pretty little by-play of their own-there was tittering in corners, and whispering behind torn covers-and soft, soft tiptoeing from one seat to another, and little paper pellets flying like hail-stones from side to side. Ah, dear, happy children-there is no danger-you might knock the master's head off, and he would never know it!

"Young ladies-children-I give you a holyday," quoth Harry, rapping his desk with the dread ferule, insignia of his power.

"A holyday—huzza-huzza-aholyday!" shouted the girls and boys, rushing from the school-room. But the older girls looked slyly at each other, and then at the blushing May.

"Look-look!" exclaimed half-a-dozen in a breath. "The master is walking home with May Lillie!"

theme shall I first spend my genius-let me consider," (drawing the paper still nearer and dipping the golden pen into the flowing liquid,) "gold—the Age of Gold-the Golden Age-yes, 'The Golden Age' it shall be. My sublimity shall throw Milton into the shade," (with a look at the blind bard)—“ my glowing pictures of rural life shall startle the lovers of Homer," (a bow to the god)-" my wit shall cut with the keen sarcasm of Shakspeare," (looking glorious Will full in the face)" while the tout-ensemble shall form such a completeness of wisdom, as might honor even the head of a Plato!" (a triumphant glance at the old philosopher.)

And thus encouraged, the gold pen capered, and flashed, and flourished from side to side like a mad thing-pointing notes of admiration here, dotting and scratching there, and then diving deep into the sea of ink, plumed its pearly pinion for new and higher flights.

For three weeks did the poet bury himself in his library with dead and living authors.

And every morning he kissed his pretty May-flower as she tied on her little bonnet:

"There, there-go along child; be a good girl and obey the master."

And then as she came to bid him good-night: "There, there; go to bed, child, and don't forget your lessons."

Not she, bless her! Why she never forgot a single lesson the school-master taught her-she had every word by heart!

At length the Golden Age was ready to burst like a blazing star upon this dull coppery world, and was the most sublime thing, in the opinion of its author, that was ever written-and who, pray, could be a better judge!

Now Mr. Lillie having some conception of the ignorance of the critics, having once (although it is a great secret,) sent a huge MSS. to the Harpers, which

was pronounced “stuff”—it might have been very good stuff notwithstanding-resolved that ere he essayed the publishers, he would give his unique poem in all its unfledged beauty to his native village. It was a capital idea. It should be delivered before the Lyceum to an astonished audience. He could then have some faint idea perhaps of the applause which awaited its appearance in 12mo., calf and gilt.

One evening he dispatched a hasty note to our young school-master, and requested to see him immediately upon business of a private nature.

Heavens how poor Harry trembled as he perused this terrible summons! All was discovered thenMr. Lillie knew of his presumptuous love, and had sent to banish him forever from the presence of May. And then our little heroine-into what an agony of doubt and apprehension was she thrown, as she read the billet which Harry contrived to slip into her hand.

At the hour appointed, with an unsteady hand, Harry knocked at the door of Mr. Lillie's library. The great Diogenes himself appeared at the threshhold-and imagine the surprise of our hero to be greeted with:

"Come in, come in, my dear sir-I am most happy to see you," (shaking him warmly by the hand.) "Sit down, Mr. Warren," (motioning to a seat at the table of the gods.) "It has long been my wish to know you better than my very limited time would allowmy pursuits" (glancing complacently around him,) "are a great bar to social intercourse. The muses Mr. Warren, the muses I find are very jealous ladies-do you cultivate their acquaintance? No? Ah, I am surprised, for I assure you I have formed a very high opinion of your talents."

he was forced to nod his head continually like a Chinese mandarin in a toy-shop."

"Mr. Warren," proceeded the author, wheeling his chair round and regarding our hero with great benignity, "I have imbibed a great regard for you, and mean to make your fortune-to smooth your path to eminence. Yes, I like you, and am convinced there is no one more worthy than yourself to receive” Harry started his face radiant with hope, he bent eagerly forward to catch the rest of the sentence. "But, by the way, my young friend, this conversation must be strictly confidentia]." "Certainly, my dear sir!" exclaimed Harry, almost breathless.

"Yes, Mr. Warren, there is something about you which pleases me, and therefore I am about to confer upon you a most precious gift-to bestow upon you my-ah, can't you guess what it is?" smiling archly.

"O, my dear sir," said Harry, seizing his hand, "if I might dare to hope!"

"Yes, Mr. Warren, I am about to give you mypoem!" "Your poem!"

แ My poem."

"Your poem!"

"Yes, my poem-that is, the reputation of the thing."

Harry started up and paced the room as if pursued by all the furies.

"Ah, I thought I should surprise you," cried Mr. Lillie. "Come, sit down again. I said I would make your fortune, and I will. Now this poem, Mr. Warren, you shall have the honor of delivering before the Lyceum as your own-think of that-as your

Poor Harry was struck aghast. "But, my dear sir," he exclaimed, "I can never consent to such a gross imposition!"

"I honor you the more for your delicacy young man," replied the poet; "but banish it-there is no need of it between friends, we perfectly understand each other you know-you shall deliver this poem." ("The Lord deliver me!" mentally prayed Harry.) "Listeners will applaud-copies will be solicitedyour fame will reach the city-Morris and Willis will rank you among their favorite young poets-the

"But, Mr. Lillie, why not deliver this poem your. self-why not wear your own laurels?" interrupted Harry.

"I

"Ah, it strikes you I see," said Mr. Lillie. knew it would. Yes, I see it hits your vein exactly -this convinces me that our tastes are congenial."

stealthily at the fount of Helicon, and tread with felted footsteps the Parnassian hill-stop, that's a new idea, I'll note it. So long as I have the mental satisfaction of knowing the poem is mine, what matters it whether you or I have the reputation! Say no more-you accept my proposition of course." 'Mr. Lillie-"

This latter clause sufficed to check all further opposition from Harry, for the moment at least, and with rapid steps he now sought the drawing-room.

"Dear Harry!" cried May, springing toward him as he entered, and looking up in his face as if to read there the stern mandate which was to separate them forever.

"Dearest May, do not tremble thus," replied Harry, leading her to a seat; "believe me you have

no cause."

"Ah-does he then approve of our love!" exclaimed May, her sweet young face illumined with hope.

"Your father has been kind, my dear girl, and that he does not even suspect our love I am convinced, or he would have been less so. His kindness, however, if it may be called so," (and the lip of Harry curled doubtingly,) "has placed me in a most awkward predicament. Listen, dear May, and help me if you can."

He then as briefly as possible related the conversation he had just held with her father, and the strange proposition made him. No wonder he felt provoked at the merry laugh with which the little maiden closed his rueful communication.

"Confess now, Harry, you deem papa's poem most execrable stuff!" she said, looking him archly

in the face.

"Dear May, you know I-"

From that evening, dear reader, only imagine my unlucky hero imprisoned hour after hour with the learned author, declaiming that "infernal poem," (I quote Harry's own words.) Do you not pity him? But then-the stolen half hour below, assisting little May in her lessons-do you not envy him!

In the meantime Mr. Lillie had not been idle. He had forwarded letters to some of the most influential men of the neighboring towns, inviting them to at tend the next Lyceum, where as he informed them, a young author, a poet, was to make his début before their intelligent community. In confidence he assured them they would be astonished at the depth and power of his genius. He had himself looked over the poem, and although he would not wish to forestall their admiration, thus much he would say, that he had never read such a production!

The eventful evening arrived, and from every turnpike and cross-road people came flocking in to listen to the young author-some because of the favor of Mr. Lillie, others to compliment their favoritethe school-master.

Escorted by the great and learned Diogenes Lillie, Esq., and a few of the leading members, Harry was conducted to the hall, and seated within the inclosure of the platform.

To depict his feelings would be impossible-he knew he was about to make himself ridiculous, and was tempted more than once to turn his back and quit the scene of his approaching disgrace. Notwithstanding the tempting reward he had in view, the alternative was a hard one-but his eye turned to a distant corner of the hall where the sweet face of

"Well, May, I will be honest then-you know, dear one, I would not for worlds wound your feelings, but really I must confess I never listened to more senseless jargon!"

"That's excellent-the more absurd the better," said May, laughing; "and you will deliver it, Harry."

"May!" exclaimed her lover reproachfully, "you surely cannot ask me to make myself ridiculous!" "Hem-do you love me, Harry?" "Can you doubt, it dearest May?" "Then if you love me, as Hamlet says, 'speak the speech I pray you.' No doubt it will be hissed-so much the better-you will be laughed at-better still-"

"May, May!" cried her lover, turning away from her, "if you loved me you would not say this!" "Ah-not if it gains papa's consent to our union!" "That indeed-but, dearest May, to become a laughing-stock-to have the finger of derision pointed at one-to feel the lash of the critic, and-"

"To call little May your own!" added the coaxing gipsy.

Who could resist such an appeal from such a pair

couragement. He wavered no longer.

Resolving to meet his fate like a hero, Harry now arose, and after a few preliminaries introduced"The Golden Age."

The two first stanza elicited a general smile from the audience, the third and fourth exerted a different influence—influenza became universal, to judge from the coughing and hem-ming! Between the fifth and sixth, many persons left the house, and as Harry with the energy of despair drew near the close of the first canto, the hissing and hooting of boys outside and in the building was almost deafening, while one of the committee arose and advised the orator to sit down!

With the self-satisfaction of a martyr he was preparing to do so, when his eye suddenly fell upon the author, whom he detected at a glance to be the most active in the war of ridicule which was waging against him. Rage for the moment overcame his discretion. Hurling the manuscript upon the floor, he sprang from the desk, made one leap down the steps, and rushed upon his deceitful patron!

"Do you dare to laugh at me!" he exclaimed, pale with anger, "do you dare to utter a word, you—you who are yourself the "

A little hand was on his arm, and a soft voice