dead--and dashed himself down in the snow in a fit of passion. It was the first time that the youth had ever been sorely tried--all his hidden and unconscious love for the fair lost girl had flowed up from the bottom of his heart--and at once the sole object which had blessed his life and made him the happiest of the happy, was taken away and cruelly destroyed--so that sullen, wrathful, baffled and despairing, there he lay, cursing his existence, and in too great agony to think of prayer. "God," he then thought, "has forsaken me--and why should he think on me, when he suffers one so good and beautiful as Hannah to be frozen to death." God thought both of him and Hannah--and through his infinite mercy forgave the sinner in his wild turbulence of passion. William Grieve had never gone to bed without joining in prayer--and he revered the Sabbath-day and kept it holy. Much is forgiven to the human heart by him who so fearfully framed it; and God is not slow to pardon the love which one human being bears to another, in his frailty--even though that love forget or arraign his own unsleeping providence. His voice has told us to love one another--and William loved Hannah in simplicity, innocence, and truth. That she should perish, was a thought so dreadful, that, in its agony God seemed a ruthless being--"blow--blow--blow--and drift us up for ever--we cannot be far asunder--O Hannah--Hannah--think ye not that the fearful God has forsaken us?" As the boy groaned these words passionately through his quivering lips, there was a sudden lowness in the air, and he heard the barking of his absent dog, while the one at his feet hurried off in the direction of the sound, and soon loudly joined the cry. It was not a bark of surprise--or anger--or fear--but of recognition and love. William sprung up from his bed in the snow and with his heart knocking at his bosom even to sickness, he rushed headlong through the drifts, with a giant's strength, and fell down half dead with joy and terror beside the body of Hannah Lee. But he soon recovered from that fit, and lifting the cold corpse in his arms, he kissed her lips, and her cheeks, and her forehead, and her closed eyes, till, as he kept gazing on her face in utter despair, her head fell back on his shoulder, and a long deep sigh came from her inmost bosom.--"She is yet alive thank God!"--and as that expression left his lips for the first time that night, he felt a pang of remorse:" "I said, O God, that thou hadst forsaken us--I am not worthy to be saved; but let not this maiden perish, for the sake of her parents, who have no other child."