beauty exercised over his commanding mind. Now his talents and graces were obscured by the murky cloud of intemperance, and her languishing beauty no longer received its accustomed incense; the corrisions of mortifica ́tion and peevish discontent became deeper and deeper, and life one scene of gloom and disquietude.

Kate grew up, amidst these opposing influences, like a beautiful plant in a barren, ungenial soil. To her father, she was the delicate but hardy saxifraga, blooming through the clefts of the cold dry rock; to her mother, the sweet anemone, shedding its blossoms over the roots of the tree from which it sprung-fragrant, though unnurtured, neglected, and lone.

It would be too painful to follow, step by step, Mr. Franklin's downward course. Since the night of his public exposure he had gone down, down, with a fearfully accelerated motion, like the mountain stream, when it leaps over its rocky barrier. Public confidence was gradually withdrawn, clients and friends forsook him, and ruin trod rapidly on the steps of shame.

Harry Blake clung to him, till he saw his once powerful mind partaking so far of the degradation of his body as to be incapable of imparting light to his. He now felt it due to himself to dissolve the connexion subsisting between them; and he called, though reluctantly, to bid him farewell. Mr. Franklin seemed much agitated when Harry informed him of his intended departure. He knew the cause, and it seemed as if the last link was about to be severed that bound him to the good and honourable. Harry had been to him a delightful companion; and, in the days of his unsullied reputation, it had been one of his most interesting tasks to direct a mind so buoyant and aspiring, and which owned, with so much deference, the overmastering influence of his own.

"Do not go yet, Harry," said he; "I have much to say to you, and I may never have another opportunity. I have anticipated this moment. It is painful, but justice to yourself demanded it."

Harry seated himself, pale from suppressed emotion, while Mr. Franklin continued speaking, walking up and down the room, every feature expressive of violent agitation.

me.

"I have never yet to a human being introduced the subject of which I am about to speak -not even to my wife and daughter. I have never rolled back the current of time, and revealed the spot, where standing on the quicksands of youth, the first wave of temptation washed over I could not bear to allude to the history of my degradation. But you, Harry, are going among strangers, amid untried scenes; and I would warn you now with the solemnity of a man who knows he has sealed his own everlasting ruin, to beware of his first downward step. You do not know me, sir-no one knows me; they know not my parentage, or the accursed stream that runs in these veins."

"My father was called the King of the Drunkards. He drank till he was transformed,

breast bone and sinew, into flame; and then, he died the most horrible of all deaths-of spontaneous combustion. Yes, he was King of the Drunkards! I remember when a little boy I saw him walk at the head of a long procession, with a banner flying, as if in triumph, and a barrel of whiskey rolling before, on which the drummer made music as they walked. And shouts went up in the air, and people applauded from the windows and doors-and I thought the drunkard's was a merry life. But when I grew older, and my mother's cheek grew paler and paler, and knew that my father's curses and threats and brutal treatment were the cause-when at length I saw her die, die of a broken heart, and heard the neighbours say that my father had killed her, and that he would have to answer for her death at the great bar of heaven-I began to feel an indescribable dread and horror, and I looked upon my father with loathing and abhorrence! And when he diedwhen his body was consumed by flames, which seemed to me emblematical of the winding-sheet in which his soul was wrapped--I fled from my native town, my native State; I begged my bread from door to door. At length a childless stranger took me in. He pitied my forlorn condition-clothed, fed, and educated me. Nature had given me talents, and now opportunity unfolded them. I became proud and ambitious, and I wanted to convince my benefactor that I was no vulgar boy. Conscious of the dregs from which I had been extracted, I was resolved to make myself a name and fameand I have done it. You know it, HarryI have taken my station in high places of the land; and the time has been when but to announce yourself as my student would have been your passport to distinction. Well, do you want to know what made me what I am?-what, when such a burning beacon was forever blazing before my memory, hurried me on to throw my own blasted frame into a drunkard's dishonoured grave? I will tell you, young man-it was the wine cup!-the glass offered by the hand of beauty with smiles and adulation! I had made a vow over my mother's ashes that I would never drink. I prayed God to destroy me, body and soul, if I ever became a drunkard. But wine, they said, was one of God's best gifts, and it gladdened without inebriating-it was ingratitude to turn from its generous influence. I believed them, for it was alcohol that consumed my father. And I drank wine at the banquet and the board-and I drank porter and ale, and the rich scented cordialand I believed myself to be a temperate man.

I

thought I grew more intellectual; I could plead more eloquently, and my tongue made more music at the convivial feast. But when the ex citement of the scene was over, I felt languid and depressed. My head ached, and my nerves seemed unsheathed. A thirst was enkindled within me, that wine could no longer quench. A hereditary fire was burning in my veins. I had lighted up the smouldering sparks, and it now blazed, and blazed. I knew I was destroy

pestuous night; the wind howled and tossed the naked boughs of the trees against the windows, which rattled as if they would shiver in the blast; and the snow, drifted by its violence, blew in white wreaths on the glass, and hung its chill drapery on the walls. She sat on a low seat in the corner, her bible on her knees, a dim fire burning on the hearth; for cold as it was, she would not suffer it to be replenished with fuel which her mother might yet want for her own comfort. She was gradually accustoming herself to personal privations, voluntarily abstaining from every luxury, not knowing how soon she might need the necessaries of life. She was reading the sublime book of Job, and when she came to the words "Hast thou entered into the snow? Hast thou seen the treasures of the hail?" she repeated them aloud, struck with the force, amid the wintry scene around her. At this moment her father entered. It was an unusual hour for his return, and as he walked forward she noticed with joy that his step was less fluctuating than usual. He bent shivering over the fire, which Kate immediately kindled afresh, and a bright blaze soon diffused warmth and cheerfulness through the apartment.

"I heard your voice as I entered, Kate," said he; "where is your companion ?"

"There," answered she, lifting the bible from her knees-" there is the companion of my solitude, and a very pleasing one I find it."

Mr. Franklin fixed his eyes steadfastly on Kate for a few moments, throwing himself back in his chair, gazed upon the ceiling, and spoke as in a soliloquy—

"I remember when I was a little boy reading that book at my mother's knee, and when she was dying she told me never to lay my head upon the pillow without reading a chapter and praying to the great God for pardon and protection. But that was a long time ago. I would not open it now for the universe."

Oh, father!" exclaimed Kate, "do not say so. Young as I am, I have lived too long if the promises written here be not true. They alone have saved me from despair."

"Despair!" repeated he, in a hollow tone"yes, that is the fitting word, but it belongs to me, alone. You are innocent and virtuous, and why should you talk of despair? You have no brand on your brow, no thunder-scar graven by the Almighty's hand, from which men turn away, and women shrink from with terror. I am an object of loathing and scorn to all. Even you, my own daughter, who once lived in my bosom, if I should open my arms to enfold you, as I was wont to do, would shrink from me, as from the leper's touch."

"Oh! no, no, no!" cried Kate, springing from her seat, and throwing her arms impulsively around his neck, while her tears literally rained on his shoulder.

It had been long months since she had heard such a gush of tenderness from his lips-since she had dared to proffer the caresses of affection. She thought all natural feeling was dried up in his heart-withered, scorched by the fiery

breath of intemperance. She had locked her grief and humiliation in her own breast. She believed every appeal to his reason and sensibility would be as unavailing as if made to the granite of her native hills. She now reproached herself for her coldness and reserve; she accused herself of neglect and irreverence.

"Oh! my father!" she exclaimed, "if you still love me I will not despair. There is hope, there will be joy. You are wretched now; we are all wretched. No smiles gladden our household. My mother lies on a bed of languish. ment, where a breaking heart has laid her. My little sister pines like a flower which sun-beams never visited; and I-oh, father, words can naver tell the woe, the anguish, the agony which I have pent up in my bosom, till it threatened to destroy me. I would not reproach you-I would not add one drop to your cup of bitterness; but I must speak now, or I die."

Excited beyond power of self-control, Kate slid from her father's relaxing arms, and taking the bible, which lay upon her chair, in both hands, prostrated herself at his feet.

By this blessed book," continued she, in an exalted voice-"this book which has poured oil and balsam in my bleeding heart-this book, so rich in promises, so fearful in threatenings; by the God who created you to glorify him, the Saviour who died to redeem you-by your immortal and endangered soul-I pray thee to renounce the fatal habit, which has transformed our once blissful home into a prison-house of shame, sorrow, and despair."

She paused, breathless from intense emotion, but her uplifted hands still clasped the sacred volume; her cheek, glistening with tears, was mantled with crimson; and her eyes, turned up to her father, beamed with the aspiration of the christian's hope.

Mr. Franklin looked down upon his daughter as she thus knelt before him, and it seemed as if a ray from the divine intelligence darted like a glory from her eyes into the depths of his soul. Lost, ruined as he was, there was still hopes of his redemption. He might be saved. She, like a guiding cherub, might still take him by the hand, and lead him back to the green paths and pellucid streams where he had once walked with undoubting footsteps. As these thoughts rolled through his mind, he bent forward lower and lower till his knees touched the floor. He wrapped his arms around Kate, and, leaning his head on her shoulder, sobbed aloud. The prayer of the publican trembled on his lips —“Oh, my God, have mercy upon me, a miserable sinner! Oh, thou, who was once tempted, yet never sinned, save me from temptation!”

Kate

It was long before other sounds interrupted the hallowed silence which succeeded. hardly dared to breathe, lest she should disturb the communion her father's soul was holding with the Being he invoked; her heart ached with the fuluess of hope that flowed into it, from channels long sealed. Had he made promises of amendment in his own strength she might have feared their stability; but now, when she

saw him prostrate in the dust, in tears and humiliation, crying for mercy from the depths of a wounded and contrite spirit, she believed that he, "whose fan is in his hand," had come to winnow the chaff from the wheat before the whole should be consumed with unquenchable fire.

It was midnight before she arose to retire to her chamber. She felt unwilling to leave her father. It seemed to her that this night was the crisis of his destiny, that angels and demons were wrestling for his soul, that the angels had prevailed; but might not the demons return? or the good angels, too sure of their victory, wing their way back to the skies? Long after she had retired to bed she heard him walk backwards and forwards, and sometimes she heard his voice ascending as in prayer.

"Hear him, gracious Father!" cried she, from her moistened pillow; "hear him, answer and bless him!"

Then folding her arms closely around the infant, who slumbered by her side, she gradually fell asleep, and it will throw no shade over her filial piety to believe, that one thought of Henry Blake, associated with pure images of future felicity, gilded her dreams. How long she slept she knew not; but she awoke with a strange feeling of suffocation, and, starting up in bed, looked wildly around her. She saw nothing, but the chamber seemed filled with smoke, and a hollow, crackling sound met her ear. The dread of fire for a moment paralyzed her limbs. It was but a moment, when springing from her bed, the infant still cradled on her arm, she opened the door, and found the terrible reality of her fears. Such a rush of hot air pressed upon her, she staggered back, panting and bewildered. The flames were rolling in volumes through the next apartment, and the wind, blowing in violently through the outer door, which was open, fearfully accelerated the work of destruction.

"My father!" shrieked Kate; "my father! Where is he?"

That fearful cry awoke the child, who screamed and clung in terror closer to her bosom; but her mother, who seldom slept except under the influence of powerful opiates, lay still unmoved, unconscious of the terrific element which was raging around her.

"Mother," cried Kate, franticly, "wake, or you die! The house is in flames! they are rolling towards us! they are coming! Oh, my God! mother, awake!" She shook her arm with violence, and shrieked in her ear; but though she moved and spoke, she seemed in a lethargy so deep that nothing could rouse her to a sense of her danger.

The flames began to curl their forked tongues around the very door of the chamber, and the house shook and quivered as if with the throes of an earthquake. Kate knew she could make her own escape through a door in an opposite direction, but she resolved, if she could not save her mother, to perish with her. She would have lifted her in her arms were it not for the

infant clinging to her bosom. Perchance that infant might be saved. She rushed through the door, made her way through the drifting snow to the street, laid the child down on the chill but soft bank by the wall side, silently commending it to the protection of God, then winged her way back to the building, though the flames were now bursting from the roof, and reddening the snow with their lurid glare.

Mother, dear mother, speak, if you live," cried Kate, shuddering at the supernatural sounds of her own voice.

A faint groan issued from the bed round which the flames were rapidly gathering. It is astonishing what strength is given by desperation. Kate was a slender girl of delicate frame, unused to physical exertion; but now she felt nerved with a giant's strength. She took up her mother in her arms just as the fire caught the bed curtain, and communicated even to her night-dress. Smothering the blaze with the blanket she had dragged from the bed in rescuing her mother, she flew rather than walked, burthened as she was, the flames roaring and hissing behind her, gaining upon her at every step-the hot air almost stifling her breath, even while her naked feet were plunging through the snow drifts, and the frosts penetrating her thin night wrapper. It seemed as if ages of thought and feeling were compressed in that awful moment. Her father's dreaded fate-her little sister freezing on the snow-the servants probably perishing in the flames-her houseless mother fainting in her arms-her own desolate condition-all was as vividly impressed on her mind as the lurid blaze of the conflagration on the dark gray of the wintry night. She bent her steps to the nearest dwelling, which was the residence of Mr. Blake, the father of Harry. She reached the threshold, and fell with her now senseless burthen heavily against the door. She tried to call aloud for assistance, but no sound issued from her parched and burning lips. She endeavoured to lift her right hand to the knocker, but it was numb and powerless; and in her left, which encircled her mother, she felt for the first time the most intense pain.

"Merciful Father!" thought she, "thou who hast sustained us thus far, leave us not here to perish!"

Even while this prayer burst from her soul, footsteps approached, the door opened, and Mr. Blake, accompanied by a servant, bearing a lamp, stood upon the threshold. He had been awakened a few minutes before by the reflection of the blaze in his chamber, and had just aroused his family, when the sudden jarring of the door excited his alarm. He recoiled at first with horror from the spectacle which he beheld. Mrs. Franklin, white, ghastly, and still, lay to all appearance dead, in the nerveless arms of her daughter, who, pale, prostrate, and voiceless, could only lift her imploring eyes, and moan the supplication her lips vainly sought to express. Mr. Blake had forbidden his son to marry a drunkard's daughter, and he had looked coldly on Kate, secretly condemning her for the in