be dangerously ill. Soon, however, even this intercourse ceased. Exposed every day to hear her father's sentiments respecting Inglis, she insensibly became hardened towards him, looking upon herself and her children, and her father, as forming a particular system by themselves— one of great magnificence and unimpeachable virtue and propriety-and her husband as a poor and disreputable object, which was quite alien to the former. Then came a time when the sight of her shabby husband would occasionally cross her sight on the streets, to wither all the enjoyments amidst which she lived, and she would shrink away from the accusing spectacle, like a murderer from the sight of blood-thinking that every eye in the surrounding crowds was intent in estimating the contrast between her own luxurious condition and the abject misery of one who was still, let her do what she would, a part of herself. Then came a time when her children growing up to observation of the world, would ask if they also, as well as their companions, had a father?-and where was he? -and would they ever see him?-and would he bring them home playthings, like other fathers whom they named, who were long from home?— questions that, like lashes, brought each away a piece of the very flesh along with it, though rather by the humiliation they inflicted, than any feeling of remorse. One day, the eldest girl, who, contrary to custom, had been permitted to wander into the town, came home quite breathless with surprise and haste, saying that she had been seized on the street and hurried into an alley by a horrid-looking man, who called himself her father, and insisted on kissing her several times, which, when she resisted, with cries that alarmed some people who were passing, he set her down hurriedly, and ran away out of sight, leaving her, she said, with her face all covered with his tears. Still greater care was taken thereafter to prevent the children from wandering out of sight; but not long after, as the gay and gorgeous lady was stopping in her carriage at a shop in Argyle Street, with her four beautifully dressed children around her, Catherine suddenly started up, and, pointing to some one on the pavement, cried, There, mamma! there is the bad man who called himself my father!" And, on her involuntarily turning to the object thus indicated, her eyes were met by another pair, so wild, so mournful, and so full of painful meanings, that she had hardly breath to ask the coachman to drive on.

A time at length came when this very child was seized with what appeared to be a mortal illness. Both mother and grandfather were watching over her in a state of inexpressible grief, and every moment was expected to be her last. At the height of their sorrow, a hurried but subdued knocking was heard at the outer door, and presently after there arose the sound of a scuffle between the servant and some one who wished to make a forcible entrance. "Shall I not see my own child!" cried a hoarse and broken voice, which, all altered as it was, they knew too truly to be that of the unfortunate Inglis, and presently after he burst wildly into their presence. The lady fainted, and, while Bisset stood trembling with rage in the middle of the floor, the desperate man approached the bed of the dying infant, whom he took tenderly in his arms, and kissed with the most affectionate fervour. "What right--by what-what right," cried Bisset, almost choking with passion, "do you make this intrusion ? Sir, I tell you, you have no right to be here." And he stopped from absolute inability to command his voice. "I have a right to be here," re

plied Inglis, after having carefully laid down the child. "Your house, perhaps, and yourself, and these staring servants there, are not in any way under my control; but to this child, sir, I have a right. She is mine, by the laws of both God and man, and I could this moment take her for ever from your sight, even were you to see her gasp her last in my arms before we reached the door. You know this, sir; and cruel and base as you are, you cannot dispute it. Nor that lady there," he added, with a bitter sneer, "when she revives from her amiable trepidation, could she deny it either."

"In the name of God, then," said the miser, awed by the very wrath of his wronged son-in-law, "what do you mean to do?, Your violence, however we may bear it, must be most distressing to this dying innocent, and may even prove the immediate cause of her death. Would it not be better that you quietly retired, now that you have seen what you wanted to see!"

The unhappy man could make no answer. His eye was fixed in silence upon his child, whose countenance at this moment began to exhibit the unequivocal symptoms of coming dissolution. "My Catharine-my Catharine!" he cried, and next moment clasped a lifeless corpse. A few minutes thereafter, rendered unresisting apparently by his intense grief, he permitted himself to be led peaceably to the door, and gave the afflicted house no more trouble.

It is often of advantage to a man who has entered upon evil courses, that something should occur to give an agitation to his whole system of feeling. The shock of some tremendous grief, like a thunder-storm in the elements, seems to clear the mental atmosphere, and fit him for once more commencing, if his passions will permit, the career of virtue. Inglis, apparently reformed, now proceeded to Edinburgh, where he had no evil reputation to contend with; and, on the strength of a small sum communicated to him, in a letter of partial kindness, by his wife, opened a school for such branches of education as he found himself qualified to teach. The attempt, though unprosperous at first, was beginning to be attended. with some small share of success-his manners being, at the same time, observed to continue quite irreproachable-when he was seized by a severe chronic disease, which disabled him for a whole winter, and left him, at the return of spring, without a penny in his pocket, or a pupil in his academy. His life, after this disaster, was one unbroken scene of distresses, pecuniary and otherwise, and, but for the slender succour which was occasionally rendered to him by the good will, rather than the ability, of his poor neighbours, he must have died of hunger. The unfortunate always herd with the unfortunate; the unfortunate are to the unfortunate almost a sole refuge and shelter; the unfortunate alone can judge of and feel for the unfortunate; while no other can properly be to them either a companion, or a benefactor, or a judge. Inglis, while deserted by a wife, the crumbs of whose luxury would have been to him an ample furnishing, and overlooked by all men who were once his equals, found in those who were nearly as destitute as himself, the only friendship he ever experienced; the only true sympathy for his condition; the only alms that any one would give. Blessings, double blessings, be on the generous poor!

It happened in the revolutions of life, that an intimate friend of the writ

er of this narrative became acquainted with the story and circumstances of the unfortunate Inglis, and was able to do something for the alleviation of his many troubles. He found him to be, upon the whole, a man of an inoffensive character, of some acuteness of mind, and more than the average of information, but outworn with past excesses, and the attrition of a perpetual grief. He spoke little of his misfortunes or of his family; but one day, being rather more depressed than usual, and the cause being asked, he said he had just heard that his second son, whom he had not seen for many years, was about to come to the capital, for the purpose of studying for the bar, and being certain that the young man would be there with out ever inquiring for his father, or perhaps being aware of his existence, he had experienced more than usual distress of mind from the consideration of his extraordinary circumstances. My friend could not help acknowledging, that, even after enduring so much, a new circumstance, involving so unnatural an association of ideas, might well be expected to give him additional uneasiness.

This ill-used man at length died in a humble lodging, where he existed solely upon charity; and his wife, being written to on this occasion, replied by the simple transmission of a sum of money sufficient to bury him and discharge his little debts. No notice was taken of the event by his family. His widow wore her usual gay dresses; his children were not even informed of their loss; his name was never heard."

God, however, in due time, seemed (as far as mortals might be permitted to interpret his decrees) to manifest his sense of this unholy violation of one of his earliest and most solemn injunctions. The children, in whom the mother and grandfather took so much delight, were one after another snatched away by the various diseases of childhood and youth, till not one was left to console their age, or inherit the wealth which had so absurdly been hoarded for them. The loss it may well be supposed, was mourned with tears of double bitterness, for it was impossible to take such a calamity as an occurrence altogether within the ordinary course of nature. The lady was so much exhausted by her exertions for her children, that she took ill immediately after the death of the last, and, mental anguish aiding in the progress of the malady, she did not live many weeks. Bisset, who apparently had never thought it possible that he could be predeceased by his daughter, and so many blooming children; was, by this event, struck with a kind and degree of grief altogether foreign to his nature. He yet survives-but only as a spectacle to excite the pity of those who know him. Palsied, fatuous, and blind, he is nothing but a living block; nor can all his gold, immense as it is in amount, reflect one consoling ray on his decline. His wealth, which, if well used, might have spared him the life of the only being he ever loved, and kept other hearts besides from breaking, will speedily be dispersed among a number of distant relatives, who neither care for its present owner, nor will be advantaged, perhaps by its possession.-Chamb. Ed. Jour:

EDITORS TABLE.

War against Odd-Fellowship.-Many of our brethren complain bitterly against the spirit of intolerance towards our Order and the haste for its overthrow, which prevails among certain religionists. But to us, who, having during a long period been accustomed to witness this feeling and to observe its varied influences upon public opinion, it has never been the subject of the slightest care. There are, it is true, a few sincere and honest opponents of the cause of Odd-Fellowship among the clergy-men who distrust the ultimate security of the doctrines of Christianity in any community where abstract morals constitutes the code of action and is cherished as the standard of excellence. By far the greater number of those who are at pains to traduce the character and underrate the value of our efforts to do good as ministers of mercy and kindness, are mere time-serving men. They hope to create excitement-to stir up the public mind to a state of feeling in which reason, judgment and all its virtuous attributes are subverted, and mere passion or impulse substituted as the guide of public sentiment. Such men have a game to play-they have a heavy stake in the cast of the die. If they strike the sympathetic cord in popular feeling, and are fortunate in creating a breeze, the victory enures to their individual profit in some way or other. Although it has been often said that we live in an age of humbug, the popular intelligence resists all the efforts of these pseudo saints, and penetrates the veil which covers self under the garb of their professed religion, and we think that we but repeat what all experience demonstrates to be true, when we say to our brethren, that every assault from this quarter upon the impregnable fortress of Odd-Fellowship, only serves to contrast the weakness of the assailants with the strength of the assailed.

What has this war upon Odd-Fellowship achieved? and it has been waged for many years, with various success. We ask, what has it accomplished? Let us look at results-from a small and very humble beginning our Order has, during six and twenty years in this country, been with unvaunted and silent steps, steadily gaining on the public mind, increasing in numbers, augmenting and disbursing its means of aid to man in body and mind. From some few hundred brethren in Baltimore, we have swelled to forty thousand-and from this city we now reach from the St. John's to the Brazos-and who are we? are we good citizens, are

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we patriotic, are we moral men, are we temperate men, are we industrious, enterprising men, are we good husbands, fathers, brothers? It becomes not us to respond to the interrogatory, but we may without indelicacy invite inquiry on these subjects.

If it be ascertained that as individuals we are for the most part virtuous and useful members of society, are peaceable, industrious, orderly in cur relation as citizens, upright in our walk and honest in our dealings and intercourse with our fellow-men, we ask what great evil is likely to be worked out by such materials in their associated character as Odd-Fellows? The thing is improbable to say the least of it, if not wholly impossible, in view of the diversity of opinions relatively entertained by them upon religion and politics, and all kindred subjects upon which there should be unity of feeling and action to enable any band of men as a body to operate evil to the community at large. Is there danger to the government from such affiliation? the first pledge of an Odd-Fellow is fealty to the government under which he lives. Is there apprehension of political interference in the administration of government? the materials are wholly incongruous for such combination, and the elementary laws of the Order proclaim it to be sacriligious even to hint the subject within the walls of a Lodge room. Is there fear of favoritism to this or that religious creed? Odd-Fellowship teaches its votaries, as has been beautifully said, that man as he came from the hands of his Creator is bound to love and cherish and protect his fellow-man, alike under the wild imaginations of Pagan idolatry, the overshadowing solemnities of Jewish theocracy, the blood-stained dominion of Mahometan violence, or the cheering and consoling influences of the Christian faith. What, we ask again, can then be the hidden danger of our Order? A short time ago we read an article from a religious paper, published under the sanctions of the Baptist denomination of Christians, in which it was gravely charged, that the effect of such institutions as Odd-Fellowship were to shake the confidence of men in the capacity of the Christian religion to accomplish its great design-that if schemes of human invention were to be substituted as codes of morals, as ministers of promoting love, peace and good will on earthof improving and exalting human character-of driving man from vice and of training and leading him to virtue, that then the Christian religion was necessarily inefficient for these ends. Strange reasoning indeed, that an auxiliary to the great cause of religion, should be held to be a mean of subverting it. Strange that an institution which derives from the sacred page its precept, moral and influence, the triumph of which as illustrated in the true brotherhood of man, it unceasingly labours to achieve, should be held to be inimical to the cause its every effort tends to maintain. Strange indeed that a band of brethren loving, appreciating and acting on the sacred injunctions to do good, every where proclaimed by the Author of religion, should be regarded as adverse to the purity and excellence and preservation of its counsels and influences upon man. Of a character with this argument against Odd-Fellowship are most of the objections we have seen urged by the clergy, and it would be as idle as it would be insulting to the intelligence of our readers seriously to consider such ribaldry. With the editor of the Richmond Star we commend these Reverend gentlemen to the care of their flocks and to the strict observance of the eleventh commandment-" mind one's own business.'