The middle station of nature between these two opposite extremes was the earth, which was inhabited by creatures of a middle kind, neither so virtuous as the one, nor so vicious as the other, but partaking of the good and bad qualities of these two opposite families. Jupiter, considering that this species, commonly called man, was too virtuous to be miserable, and too vicious to be happy, that he might make a distinction between the good and the bad, ordered the two youngest of the abovementioned families, Pleasure, who was the daughter of Happiness, and Pain, who was the son of Misery, to meet one another upon this part of nature, which lay in the half-way between them, having promised to settle it upon them both, provided they could agree upon the division of it, so as to share mankind between them.

Pleasure and Pain no sooner met in their new habitation, than they immediately agreed upon this point,-that Pleasure should take possession of the virtuous, and Pain of the vicious part of that species which was given up to them. But upon examining to which of them any individual they met with belonged, they found each of them had a right to him: for that, contrary to what they had seen in their old places of residence, there was no person so vicious, who had not some good in him, nor any person so virtuous, who had not in him some evil. The truth of it is, they generally found upon search, that in the most vicious man, Pleasure might lay claim to a hundredth part; and that in the most virtuous man, Pain might come in at last for two-thirds.

This they saw would occasion endless disputes between them, unless they could come to some accommodation. To this end there was a marriage proposed between them, and at length concluded by this means it is that we find Pleasure and Pain are such constant yoke-fellows, and that they either make their visits together, or are never far asunder. If Pain come into a heart, he is quickly followed by Pleasure; and if Pleasure enter, you may be sure Pain is not far off.

But, notwithstanding this marriage was very convenient for the two parties, it did not seem to answer the intention of Jupiter in sending them among mankind. To remedy therefore this inconvenience, it was stipulated between them by article, and confirmed by the consent of each family, that notwithstanding they have possessed the species indifferently, yet upon the death of every single person, if he were found to have in him a certain proportion of evil, he should be despatched into the infernal regions by a passport from Pain, there to dwell with Misery, Vice, and the Furies. Or, on the contrary, if he had in him a certain proportion of good, he should be despatched into heaven by a passport from Pleasure, there to dwell with Happiness, Virtue, and the Gods.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

LONGFELLOW.

THE night is come, but not too soon,
And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams? Oh no! from that blue tent above, A Hero's armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise
When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies,
The light of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand,
And smile upon my pain,

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my heart there is no light
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquer'd will
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm and self-possess'd.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
Who readest this brief Psalm;
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm,

Oh! fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.

SILVINA D'AUBENCOURT.

MASSON.

A SINGLE day, a single moment, sufficed to ensure immortality to the name of Silvina d'Aubencourt. The noble action to which this generous child owes at once her eternal glory and her premature death, will not be numbered amongst those great events which strike the imaginations of men, and the fame of which resounds throughout the whole world. This noble deed cannot, at the utmost, form more than the subject of one of those simple and touching fireside narratives, on which the aged love to found their lessons of morality, when seeking to impress the minds of their children with the excellence of fraternal and sisterly affection—with the beauty of that devotedness which seeks to protect, even at the sacrifice of one's own life, those who are weaker than ourselves.

Silvina d'Aubencourt had two brothers, much younger than herself, although she, too, was very young; she was her father's pride, not because she was endowed with extraordinary talents, but because she was amiable and modest. Possessed of great good sense, she superintended, when only twelve years old, the household of M. d'Aubencourt, with as much judgment as the most economical and experienced housewife. Her good conduct and prudence were equalled only by her perfect grace. She did the honours of her father's house with a ready politeness and a delightful cheerfulness. Every one admired the little housekeeper, and it may be said that she herself was the only one who never forgot that she was still but a child.

Neither her household occupations, nor the tender and anxious care she lavished on her little brothers, made her neglect the studies necessary for her education. She was not destined to become a prodigy of learning, but a model of virtue. She did not seek to acquire knowledge in order to shine in the eyes of the world, but she cultivated her heart and mind, in order to become more useful, and more and more deserving of the friendship of which she was the object; and she succeeded so well, that every mother proposed her as a model to her daughters.

Silvina was accustomed to walk with her brothers in the neighbourhood of her father's château. One day, when they were alone, playing in the fields, they were surprised by a storm. It had burst over the country with so much suddenness and violence, that Silvina and her brothers had not time to look out for shelter a furious wind tore up the trees by their roots, and the roofs of the cottages flew about in all directions. Seized with

:

terror, the two little boys were unable to move a step; Silvina took them in her arms, and, drenched with the rain which fell in torrents, she endeavoured to regain the château by the shortest way; while the people of the house, alarmed at their absence, ran to meet them by the ordinary route. What was Silvina's despair, when she found her path crossed by a ravine, through which now flowed a rapid and swollen stream, which must be passed before she could reach home! To cross with the two children in her arms was impossible, for the force of the current would have borne them away; she, therefore, set one of them down, and with the other attempted this dangerous passage. Repeatedly was she near losing her footing, from the violence of the wind, and the rapidity of the current, and as often was she in danger of being engulphed, yet she succeeded in passing the stream, though the water was up to her waist; then depositing the child whom she had preserved in a place of safety, and entreating him not to cry, but to wait for her, she commended her soul to God, and prepared to save her other brother. Again, therefore, she ventured into the perilous ravine, now stumbling against some stone concealed in the gulf, now clinging to a tree to resist the sudden gusts of wind. At last she reached the other side, and calmed the cries of the child who had believed himself lost, when he found he was left alone and exposed to the fury of the storm. By dint of labour and courage, Silvina accomplished her holy mission of fraternal devotion, and had the happiness of taking back to the château the two children, over whom she had watched with all a mother's care.

The moment she was perceived, the inmates of the house rushed out to meet her. Her father carried her in his arms, she was placed in bed, but to the deadly chillness which had seized her on her arrival succeeded a violent fever and a subsequent delirium, during the paroxysms of which she incessantly repeated

“Do not weep, papa; my little brothers are here; I am well, since they are saved."

She still continued to utter these heart rending-words, even at the moment of her death. This sad event took place at Pierrefort, in Auvergne, in 1735. Silvina Joliotte d'Aubencourt had then just entered her fifteenth year.