“Dear Lucy,” answered she, her pure countenance radiating with an expression of heavenly beauty, “there is a higher and holier object of love than is found on earth, and to which all human affections should be subservient—the love for a crucified Redeemer! In possessing this, we love all that his eternal Father has created—all for whom that Saviour died.” “Then do you mean to say, Cousin Ellen, that in order to make ourselves acceptable in the sight of Heaven, we must all devote ourselves to a life of single-blessedness?” “Far from it, dear Lucy. Matrimony as instituted by God, and blessed by the presence of his divine Son, can but be holy, and consequently acceptable. But since, dear Lucy, we have seen the ‘Revealings of a Heart,’ I feel that there could be so much misery relieved—so many hearts gained for Heaven, by a knowledge of _self_, and the perfections of the Deity—not taught in dry, dogmatical truths, addressed only to the reason, but in words and acts of sympathy and love, which soothe the torn and lacerated heart, and bind in sweet captivity the young and pure. And since, dear cousin, I feel convinced of this truth, I have resolved to devote the fortune, together with the few talents intrusted to my care, to the relief of the unfortunate and distressed. And the reason _I_ do not wish to marry, is, that my duties, my affections, would claim much of my energies, and where the force is weak, dear coz, you know that it were better not divided.” “My dear, my noble cousin,” said Lucy, throwing her arms around her, “I fear that I shall never understand you. It was Dr. Warner himself who told me of his rejection. He is so good, so noble, and was so kind to poor Arthur from the first, that I promised to intercede for him. Then papa was anxious you should marry him; for he thinks, as he must part with you some day, that Dr. Warner is the only person he has ever met worthy of you. And now, dear Ellen, shall I not tell them of your noble resolution? They must love you for it as I do!” Ellen was silent. At length, while a mischievous smile danced through her tears, Lucy cried—“I wonder if _I_ wouldn’t do for the doctor! and then papa can retain all his treasures. There he comes! I must run to tell him of this new plan!” And away she flew to meet her father. * * * * * FANCIES ABOUT A PORTRAIT. BY S. D. ANDERSON. O SWEET the dreams that gather now, Around me with their magic power, The years are falling from my brow, And hope, and joyousness, and thou, Are back again with childhood’s hour. Thou, thou, a bright-eyed laughing girl, With voice as sweet as summer glee, And hair upon whose clustering curl The sunbeams rested gloriously.