intervals of professional duty, I became quite absorbed in digging out Greek roots. It is an important duty, this government of the thoughts; they are the avenues by which good or evil approaches the soul. Only three weeks since, Sophie, it was that I learned that you had been free for nearly eighteen months. Only three weeks since, when coming into Boston harbor, I found a letter in the Post Office, long waiting from Emily.” He fell into a reverie for a few minutes, from which he started, exclaiming:— “Eight years! just think of it, Sophie! Eight years! and you are so much more beautiful and lovable—though once I did not think that could possibly be—but you are _so_ beautiful, Sophie! Ah! indeed, I think that sorrow and thought and time are sometimes great beautifiers. You are _so_ lovely—and I, Sophie! Sophie, I am thirty years old, how do you find me?” _She replied with her eyes!_ Her head was on his bosom, and her face upturned to his. His arm was around her waist, and his hand fondly nestling over both of hers. How long they sat thus, and into what deep silence they would fall while their spirits mingled! At last he said slowly, gently breaking the holy silence, reverentially:— “My Sophie, I have but two or three days to remain in this neighborhood. My leave of absence was for three weeks. I was nine days in coming from Boston. I have twelve days left for my visit and voyage back. I must allow myself ten days for my return to insure punctuality. Now, it is demonstrated that I have but two days, to-morrow and the next day, to remain here.” “But why?” inquired Sophie, tearfully, “why? I always thought officers in returning from a voyage had a long leisure before them?” “Yes, but, my dear, I have just been appointed to take command of a store-ship lying in Boston Harbor.” “Oh!” “Yes. So that I must leave. Let us see—this is Tuesday—I must leave Friday morning. You are not attending to me, Sophie?” “Oh, yes, I am indeed.” She had fallen into deep thought. “It may be six months before I can come again.” “Oh no, not so long as that!” “Most probably _longer_, Sophie!” She turned her face down upon his bosom, quietly weeping. “_Will you leave here with me Friday morning, Sophie?_” She did not answer. “Perhaps you think it an unlucky day. Will you go with me _Thursday_ morning?” She raised her head, but did not reply. He drew it back upon his bosom, and looking down upon her blushing face, where the tear-drops lay like dew on the red rose, he said gently:— “I know where the trouble is, my Sophie; you are thinking what your neighbors will be likely to say if you marry so suddenly, to them so strangely—is not that it? But, Sophie, you will surely never weigh my affection and comfort against the gossip of a set of thoughtless neighbors? you will never do so,” said he earnestly, alarmed at her continued silence, and pressing her closely to his bosom,—“You will not weigh our happiness with etiquette!”