happy and well paid.

The Jews raised a great hue and cry against Paul, and said: "This fellow persuadeth men to worship God contrary to the law.' Thank God! there is no law in this country as to how we are to worship, except with prayer and fasting, and by doing unto others as we would have others do unto us. I am sorry to know that there are those here to-day who do not follow those blessed precepts. There are those present who would not believe any doctrine that did not accord with their own narrow, contracted ideas. And they would compel, if they could everyone, to worship God as they do, or not at all.

Would you

"Now, brethren, that is not the right spirit. Such were not the teachings of our Lord and Savior. Think you, brethren, that the Jews did right? They were intolerant; so are you. They persecuted those who promulgated new doctrines; so do you. have believed the blessed Savior had you lived in his time and been brought up with the Jews? Methinks not. And yet you condemn them, while to-day, in this enlightened age, you yourselves do the same thing. And we will do you the credit of believing you are sincere. I again repeat the words of the great apostle, "Ye are too superstitious.""

The whole discourse, which was a long one, was continued in the same strain. The speaker was especially scathing in his denunciations of intolerance, and he commended charity as the greatest Christian virtue. He closed with an able prayer, not forgetting all who were in their midst, and those who did not understand religion as he did, no matter what gods they worshiped, or if they worshiped the same God in a different way; as long as they were sincere they were brothers; and he believed in the end they would all reach the same goal.

When the sermon was finished, there appeared to be a more than usual commotion. The congregation collected in twos and fours and sixes, generally indorsing what had been said by the minister. A few there were who did not coincide with him, who appeared to feel that he preached especially at them. Among them were those who had been most active in their persecution of Mr. Haywood.

Mrs. Tartar waited until Elder Knocks should give his opinion, and Mrs. Cramp waited to hear what Mrs. Tartar would say; but

Miss Cutting gave an unqualified opinion, which was, that the man had come there in the interest of that wicked man, Haywood, which Mrs. Tartar could not indorse, or the infidel would certainly have been present. Mr. Cribbe, meeting the above-named ladies as they came out of church, asked them how they liked the sermon. But with the exception of Miss Cutting, their answers were rather equivocal. General Ivers and famlly were highly pleased with the discourse, and the General invited the speaker to ride home and stay the night with him, which, after some little persuasion, he consented to do.

Endura was to remain at Mr. Haywood's until Donald could return for her; but Rodney, being at home, he insisted upon taking her himself, which he did, and arrived as soon as General Ivers did with his more moderate team. Donald was somewhat disappointed when Rodney insisted on driving Endura home; and while he remained, Donald did not seem quite happy. But Rodney was obliged to return, as the mail was expected to bring a letter which would seal his destiny; besides, he did not quite like to feel that Endura's attentions would be divided if he remained.

When Rodney was gone, Donald appeared like himself. He asked Endura if she would not like to take a ramble with him across the fields, as far as one of the neighbor's. She readily consented, and, taking her sun-hat, they set off together.

They went first to the graveyard where the grandfather and grandmother of Endura were buried. They read the simple epitaph upon each tablet, and then turned to the headstone of Sally Vic. Donald lingered by the grave without speaking a word, and as he turned to go he took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes, as he said:

"Poor Sally! why was she born? The cold world is no place for such as she. And yet she made happy those around her, even when she stood upon the verge of the dark river. Endura, that poor girl made me better than otherwise I should have been. Her patient suffering taught me a lesson which I have never forgotten. And that answers my question. She did not live in vain. Shall I tell you that you, too, have influenced my life? Bad as I may be, I am the better for knowing you."

"Donald, you were always good, always gentle and kind, not alone to me, but to every one else."

"You must except Jake Young, Endura, I was never very gentle to Jake."

"Do not speak of that wretched fellow, Donald. He went to sea and has never been heard of since."

They wandered on across the fields until they were very near Mrs. Tartar's house, when Donald suggested that they go in. They were cordially welcomed by Mrs. Tartar, and introduced to a friend who was visiting her. Mrs. Cramp was there, and, as she expressed it, she was "drefful glad to see them both." She said she allers did like Donald, and if she was a gal she'd set her cap for him. And then she laughed, and Donald said what a pity she was not young. She said she 'sposed he had a gal in Boston, but said she:

"I don't b'lieve she can beat a sartin one I know who don't live fur off."

Mrs. Tarter said she did hope Donald would have found a nice girl in the neighborhood for a wife. Mrs. Cramp said, "Mebbe he will yit."

THE

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SUMMER RAMBLE.

The Spring's gay promise melted into thee,
Fair Summer; and thy gentle reign is here.

-Willis G. Clark.

HE conversation of the old woman was continued in pretty much the same strain while they remained. It was not very edifying to either Donald or Endura so excusing themselves they took their leave.

It was a lovely day. The blush of summer was upon the landscape. The lingering flowers of spring, which dotted the fields, bent to the gentle breeze, and cast their perfume upon the listening air. Their petals drooped as if in sorrow, as they looked upon the setting sun for the last time, ere death scattered them afar.

A gay butterfly flitted near and hovered above some early daisies, while a bee lodged upon the sweetest flower soon hid itself in its folds to revel in its sweetness. A swallow, happy in new fields, sunning its jet wings, shot like an arrow o'er the grassy mead and vanished like a meteor. All nature seemed to welcome returning summer; but nothing could have been more charmed than was Donald as he walked by the side of Endura. Was it a dream? Was that perfect form real? Were those soul-searching eyes of the earth; or were they lent for a time from heaven to enrapture and enslave poor mortals like himself? Were those lips warm and soft? and that golden hair, was it not that of an angel?

Donald had never realized before how perfectly lovely was the fair creature by his side. To clasp her in his arms would, as he well knew, break the spell; and, yet, how could he resist heaven when it was so near? Could the bee resist the flower? Could the flower resist the sun?

The gentle breeze played with her hair and kissed her soft cheek, while he, flesh and blood like herself, was doomed to witness all and be denied the blessed boon that things inanimate were accorded.

"Endura," said he, "I am far happier than I ever hoped to be. I have heen happy with you before; but to-day appears to be the culmination of my happiness. How much have I thought of you! How I have longed to see my little pet once more! and here I am by her side. Beautiful as she was as a child she is ten times more charming to-day, in the early summer of life."

'Donald, you must not flatter so much. We girls are easily spoiled, and you may lay some great sin at your own door by heaping praise upon me. I wanted to talk to you about your profession and your plans, but I have had no good opportunity as yet. I expect you have made many pleasant acquaintances in the great city, while poor me vegetated here among the other weeds."

"Do not mock me, Endura. Think you I could be as happy anywhere as I have been here?"

They approached a sloping rock, upon which they sat down. Donald, taking her little hand in his, said:

"Endura, I too have wished to say something to you. Will you hear it now ?"

Endura was startled, but summoning all her fortitude she bade him speak.

"I have wanted to tell you how much I love you."

"Donald, do not speak more!"

"Is it a sin, then, that I have dared to raise my eyes to you? Have I loved in vain ?"

"Oh, Donald! Donald! Why do I hear this, and from you? It must not be! You are my dear brother; you can never be aught else!"

"True, true! I had forgotten from whence I came! I was your friend, Endura, your teacher, your servant."

"Stop! stop! Donald! Are you not my brother? Ask me to be all that a sister can be and see if I falter. Have I not loved you as a sister? As a spoiled child have I not idolized my adopted brother? What restraints have I felt, what freedom have I not taken with you that I would have taken with my own brother? Have I been guilty of one act unsisterly, yesterday, to-day, or even in the past, since childish whims gave way to reasoning age? Is not that enough?