"I lead two lives, one in the outside world, where all is show, and giddy pleasure; another, an inner life, with every fibre of my nature sending out its clasping tendrils to reach something substantial, enduring, satisfying. Like the delicate air-plant fluttering in the breeze, I stretch forward to grasp it, but it is gone. I have not found it yet. Who would believe it, that sees Madeline Hamilton surrounded by flatterers, intoxicated for the moment with the gay blandishments of the world, smiling, waltzing, sparkling in magnificence? Who would believe that, in the silence of the night, she mourns, and weeps, and longs for something better. "I have heard of that better part, that higher life, from Mrs. Bruce, from Aunt Clara, from Roland. I have seen it in the calm tranquillity of their daily life, in the blessed hopes of a Christian's death. * * * * * * "Last night, I was at Mrs. Rossiter's ball; it was superb! but Oh! how hollow! Even while receiving the hospitalities of their hostess, how many heartless ones did I hear whispering disparaging remarks, criticizing the entertainment, and prophesying the downfall of the establishment. I am sick of this folly--would that I were back at Woodcliff, among the green trees, the quiet lanes, the grand old ocean, the solemn cemetery, with dear Effie, my good old Hector, faithful Selim, my pets, my flowers; anything but this heartless, empty show. "O! what an hour I spent when I retired! I opened my desk, and there lay the dear old sea-weed, given so long ago by my best friend, my childish guide, my model boy--now such a noble man. I pressed them to my burning lips; what would I give for one hour's heart communion, such as we used to love in days that are gone. He could guide me, he could strengthen me, but he is gone, he is another's now. Then I prayed--yes, earnestly--fervently; and I resolved that this empty, frothy, sinful life should end. It must be sinful; it cannot be right that an accountable creature should spend the solemn days of probation in such frivolity. "Next morning, I told papa that we must go home--Aunt Matilda opposed it--she does not understand me, but Roland does. I met him at Helen Thornly's--something of the old tenderness in his manner; but still there is a gulf between us which seems impassable. But I can cherish the memory of all that he used to be, and all that he has taught me. All that I know of goodness, and high and holy things, I have learned from that beggar boy, as Harry Castleton has dared to call him, and even now! I felt as if I could wither him with my scorn, and certainly annihilated him with one of my haughtiest looks, for I have not seen him since that day. Harry Castleton scorn Roland Bruce! Roland in a cottage, struggling with poverty, as I have seen him, with the grand and lofty spirit of the Gordons; and Harry Castleton, rolling in wealth, the dweller in a palace, would be simply Roland and Harry still. * * * * * *