he puts on his spectacles and sits down to write a leader. Lord, it took him a week, and then it took a whole side of the paper to print it! And when it come out-ugh! whew! brikey! my eyes! ef it didn't put the whole town and county into a hubbub. Everybody was mad, and threatened to stop their paperthe Dimocrats said how you'd turned Whig; and the Whigs said you'd turned Dimocrat; and the Consarvatives said you'd become a revolutioniser and a 'cendiary; and the Free-S'ilers said how you'd betrayed your pairty! If you could get 'lected to a lamp-lighter's place this go, I'm a Hunker !" said Billy, hitching up his baskets, and trudging off towards the town. Very much disturbed by what he had heard, Mark Sutherland hastened on homeward. That his paper was injured, and his income diminished, were comparatively small matters; that his election was lost, was not a very great one; but that public confidence was shaken, and his influence impaired, was a misfortune. Anathematising Mr. Bolling's both-side-isms, which now seemed to have reached all-side-ism, he passed through the green gate leading into his own lawn.

Rosalie, who had seen his approach from afar, came down from the house to meet him. She looked smiling and happy, as she gave him both her hands. Her cheerful confidence raised his hopes. He greeted her fondly, and then drew her arm within his own. And as they walked slowly back to the house

"Well, Rosalie !" he said, "what about this confounded editorial of Mr. Bolling's? It is not enough, it seems, that he should be a kill-joy in the house and by the fireside, but he must be a mar-plot abroad, and an evil genius to our business!"

Rosalie laughed gaily.

"Oh, it is nothing," she said; "it was just one of Mr. Bothsides' grand, broad, impartial manifestoes. It took our people, both friends and opponents, very much by surprise, perplexed them not a little, and finally made them laugh. No one, for an instant, could have attributed such a leader to you, even if they had not been advised of your absence and exclusive engagement elsewhere. Besides, in to-day's paper the publisher explains that the article was from the pen of a transient contributor. Why do you still look so grave? It is not possible that poor, daft Billy has really alarmed you with his gossip. Psha! even innocents of Billy's mental calibre could scarcely impute the sentiments of that foolish leader to you."

Grave! Well he might look grave; but not upon the subject of leading editorials, public sentiment, popular applause, or popular execration. He wondered now, how such trifles could have discomposed him. There she was the angel of his life-walking by his side, leaning on his arm, looking very smiling and happy, talking cheerily laughing sweetly; but, oh! that face was so fair and wan-that pearly forehead so greatly developed, so polished from the tension of the skin-those large, shadowy eyes, so deeply luminous -those crimson flushes in the hollow cheek, so intense and fiery-that whole countenance, irradiated with such unearthly, supernal light! Why should he look grave? He answered her question in some trivial way -said he was not grave, or something to that effect, and put on a look and manner of ease and lightheartedness-strangers, alas! to his bosom, from this time forward many a day! He did not now express

any anxiety, or care, or thought about her health! he did not even ask her how she was; for oh! such feelings had suddenly grown too deep, too real, too painful to be spoken. He did not support her steps with his usual tenderness and solicitude. A sort of fierce jealousy and antagonism to disease and death took possession of him—a sort of instinct that, by denying their existence, he might disable their might-a kind of feeling that, by disbelieving Rosalie's weakness, and disallowing her yielding to disease, he might save her from the power of death.

With more refined spiritual insight than he possessed, Rosalie perceived his thoughts and emotions; and, as much as possible, avoided giving him pain. She never betrayed weariness, if the exercise of the greatest fortitude and patience could conceal her sufferings; she never complained, never even alluded to her mortal illness.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

IMMORTALITY.

"Slowly she faded-day by day

Her step grew feebler in our hall,
And fainter at each even fall

Her low voice died away;
Yet on her sweet, pale lips the while
Sat resignation's holy smile.

Calm as a child to slumber soothed,
As if an angel's hand had smoothed

The still, white features into rest

Silent and cold, without a breath

To stir the drapery on her breast,
She slept, at last, in death."- Whittier.

IN the political world, the next year, the spirit of party ran very high. A great moral as well as national problem agitated and divided the whole country. Mark Sutherland had been nominated by the Human Rights as their candidate for the United States Senate; he had accepted the nomination, and his friends laboured perseveringly and anxiously for his election. Rosalie, as usual, entered heart and soul into all his toils and anxieties. "And not for ourselves, dearest Mark," she said; "not for our own profit or vainglory-for that were a poor, mean, narrow motive, and a low, selfish aim!-nor for your own personal honour, Mark-though to him who is worthy of it, to him who appreciates and accepts its duties and responsibilities in the right religious spirit, a seat in the American Senate is a great honournor even for your future fame, Mark-not from any

or all these motives do I wish and pray and toil for your success-but for the sake of the place and power it will confer upon you of doing good; of speaking appropriate truths before the proper audience; of succouring the oppressed; of defending the right! For this I hope, and trust, and labour, and would, if need were, die!"

And upon another occasion, when he was vexed and harassed, wearied and despondent, and inclined to give up the object as little worthy the labour or the pains, she said to him, sweetly-for her very tone and manner had a soothing, encouraging spell

"Remember what Mountford says: 'Fame is a great thing for a man; it.is silence for him when he wants to speak; it is a platform to preach from, more authoritative than a monarch's throne; it is an affectionate attention from a multitude of hearers.' Win fame, Mark-win the silence that will wait for your voice; the platform more authoritative than the monarch's throne; the reverential attention of multitudes! Only let sounds of words of truth and justice fall upon the silence; principles of righteousness speak from the platform; and the confiding attention of the crowd be rivetted to the glorious right!"

High, inspiring words of holiness like these fell daily from her lips. But Rosalie was dying-dying all the faster because her failing oil of life was consumed so ungrudgingly-her lamp of life shone so brightly, giving light where it was needed. Yes, Rosalie was dying, and her husband did not dream of it. Soothed into rest by her own sweet patience, and by the slowness and beauty of her failure, he did not dream of it! He left her with an increased bur