Ambition's promptings were strong within me, nor was its career unprosperous. I had no reason to complain that its promises were deceptive, or its harvest tardy.

Yet, as my path was among the competitions and asperities of men, a character combining strong elements might have been in danger of becoming indurated, had it not been softened and refined by the domestic charities. Conjugal love, early fixing on an object most amiable and beautiful, was as a fountain of living water, springing up to allay thirst, and to renovate weariness. I was anxious that my home should be the centre of intellectual and polished society, where the buddings of thought should expand unchilled, and those social feelings which are the lifeblood of existence, flow forth, unfettered by heartless ceremony.-And it was so. But my present purpose is to delineate a single and simple principle of our nature-the most deep-rooted and holy-the love of a father for a daughter. My province has led me to analyze mankind; and in doing this I have sometimes thrown their affections into the crucible. And the one of which I speak has come forth most pure, most free from drossy admixture. Even the earth that combines with it is not like other earth. It is what the foot of a seraph might rest upon, and contract no pollution. With the love of our sons ambition mixes its spirit till it becomes a fiery essence. We anticipate great things for them-we covet honours -we goad them on in the race of glory. If they are victors, we too proudly exult; if vanquished, we are prostrate and in bitterness. Perhaps we detect in them the same latent perverseness with which we have waged warfare in our own breasts, or some imbecility of purpose with which we have no affinity; and then, from the very nature of our love, an impatience is generated, which they have no power to soothe, or we to control. A father loves his son as he loves himself, and in all selfishness there is a bias to disorder and pain. But his love for his daughter is different and more disinterested; possibly he believes that it is called forth by a being of a higher and better order. It is based on the integral and immutable principles of his nature. It recognises the sex in hearts, and, from the very gentleness and mystery of womanhood, takes that

colouring and zest which romance gathers from remote antiquity. It draws nutriment from circumstances which he may not fully comprehend, from the power which she possesses to awaken his sympathies, to soften his irritability, to sublimate his aspirations; while the support and protection which she claims in return elevate him with a consciousness of assimilation to the ministry of those benevolent and powerful spirits, who ever "bear us up in their hands, lest we dash our foot against a stone."

I should delight longer to dwell on this development of affection-for who can have known it more perfectly in its length and breadth, in its depth and height? I had a daughter, beautiful in infancy, to whom every year added some new charm to awaken admiration, or to rivet love. To me it was of no slight import that she resembled her mother, and that in grace and accomplishment she early surpassed her contemporaries. I was desirous that her mind should be worthy of the splendid temple allotted for its habitation. I decided to render it familiar with the whole circle of the arts and sciences. I was not satisfied with the commendation of her teachers. I determined to take my seat in the sacred pavilion of intellect, and superintend what entered there. But how should one buried beneath the ponderous tomes and Sysiphean toils of jurisprudence gain freedom or undivided thought for such minute supervision? A father's love can conquer if it cannot create. I deprived myself of sleep: I sat till the day dawned, gathering materials for the lectures that I gave her. I explored the annals of architecture and sculpture, the recesses of literature and poetry, the labyrinthine and colossal treasure-houses of history; I entered the ancient catacombs of the illustrious dead, traversed the regions of the dim and shadowy past with no coward step; ransacked earth and heaven to add one gem to her casket. At stated periods I required her to condense, to illustrate, to combine, what I had brought her. İ listened with wonder to her intuitive eloquence; I gazed with intense delight upon the intellect that I had thus embellished-upon the Corinthian capital that I had erected and adorned. Not a single acanthus-leaf started forth, but I cherished and fostered it with the dews of a father's blessing.

Yet, while the out-poured riches of

a masculine understanding were thus incorporating themselves with her softer structure, I should not have been content unless she had also borne the palm of female grace and loveliness. Was it, therefore, nothing to me that she evinced in her bloom of youth a dignity surpassing her sex, that in symmetry she restored the image of the Medicean Venus, that amid the circles of rank and fashion she was the model-the cynosure ? Still was she saved from that vanity which would have been the destroyer of all these charms, by the hallowed prevalence of her filial piety. It was for my sake that she strove to render herself the most graceful among women-for my sake that she rejoiced in the effect of her attainments. Her gentle and just nature felt that the "husbandman who had laboured should be first partaker of the fruits." Return. ing from those scenes of splendour, where she was the object of every eye, the theme of every tongue, when the youthful bosom might be forgiven for inflation from the clouds of incense that had breathed upon it, to the inquiry of her mother, if she had been happy, the tender and sweet reply was, "Yes, because I saw that my dear father was so."

Sometimes I was conscious of gathering roughness from the continual conflict with passion and prejudice, and that the fine edge of the feelings could not ever be utterly proof against the corrosions of such an atmosphere. Then I sought my home, and called my bird of song, and listened to the warbling of her high heaven-toned voice. The melody of that music fell upon my soul like oil upon the troubled billows→→ and all was tranquil. I wondered where my perturbations had fled, but still more, that I had ever indulged them. Sometimes the turmoil and fluctuation of the world threw a shade of dejection over me; then it was her pride to smooth my brow, and to restore its smile. Once a sorrow of no common order had fallen upon me; it rankled in my breast like a dagger's point; I came to my house, but I shunned all its inmates. I threw myself down in solitude, that I might wrestle alone with my fate, and subdue it; a light footstep approached, but I heeded it not: a form of beauty was on the sofa by my side, but I regarded it not. Then my hand was softly clasped, breathed upon

-pressed to ruby lips. It was enough. I took my daughter in my arms, and my sorrow vanished. Had she essayed the hackneyed expressions of sympathy, or even the usual epithets of endear. ment, I might have desired her to leave my presence; had she uttered only a single word, it would have been too much, so wounded was my spirit within me: but the deed, the very poetry of tenderness, breathing, not speaking, melted" the winter of my discontent." Ever was she endued with that most exquisite of woman's perfections, a knowledge both when to be silent, and where to speak, and so to speak that the frosts might dissolve from around the heart she loved, and its discords be tuned to harmony.

Thus was she my comforter, and in every hour of our intercourse was my devotion to her happiness richly repaid. Was it strange that I should gaze on the work of my own hands with ineffable delight? At twilight I quickened my homeward step with the thought of that countenance which was both my evening and morning star; as the bird nerves her wearied wing, when she hears from the still distant forest the chirp ings of her own rest.

I sat in the house of God in the silence of Sabbath meditation, and tears of thrilling exultation moistened my eyes. I gazed upon my glorious creature, in the stainless blossom of unfolding youth, and my whole soul overflowed with a father's pride. I said, What more can man desire? I challenged the whole earth to add another drop to my cup of felicity. Did I forget to give glory to the Almighty, that his decree even then went forth to smite down my idol?

I came from engrossing toil, and found her restless, with strange fire upon her cheek: fever had lain rank ling in her veins, and they had conceale d it from me. I raved-I filled my house with physicians-I charged them wildly to restore her to health and to me. was in vain: I saw that God claimed her; his will was written upon her brow; the paleness and damps of the tomb settled upon her.

It

I knelt by the bed of death, and gave her back to her Creator. Amid the tears and groans of mourners I lifted up a firm voice. A fearful courage entered into me. I seemed to rush even upon the buckler of the Eternal.

I likened myself unto him, who, on Mount Moriah, "stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. The whole energy of my nature armed itself for the awful conflict: I gloried in my strength to suffer. With terrible sublimity I stood forth as the high-priest of my smitten and astonished household. I gave the lamb in sacrifice, with an unshrinking hand, though it was my own heart's blood that steeped and streamed over the altar.

It was over-she was gone-she stayed not for my embraces-she was permitted to give me no parting token -the mind that I had adored shrouded itself and fled-I knew that the seal upon those eyes must not be broken till the sound of the trump of the Archangel.

Three days and nights I sat by the dead. Beauty lingered there in deep, and solemn, and sacred repose. I laid my head upon her pillow-I pressed my lips to hers, and their ice entered into my soul. I spoke to her of the angels, her companions: I talked long to the beautiful spirit, and methought it answered me; then I listened breathlessly, but "there was no voice, nor any that regarded"—and still I wept not.

The fatal day came, in which even that clay was to be no longer mine. The funeral knell, with its heavy yet suppressed summons, came over me like the dividing of soul and body. There was a flood of weeping when that form, once so replete with every youthful charm, so instinct with the joyous movement of the mysterious principle of life, was borne in marble stillness from its paternal halls. The eye of the mother that bore her, of the friend that had but casually beheld her, even of the poor menial that waited upon her, knew the luxury of tears. All were wet with that balm of sorrow to overflowing-all, save mine.

The open grave had a revolting aspect. I could not bear that the form which I had worshipped should be left to its cold and hideous guardianship. At the hollow sound of the first falling clod, I would fain have leaped into the pit and demanded her; but I ruled myself. I committed her to the frozen earth without a tear. There was a tremendous majesty in such grief. I was a wonder to myself.

I returned to my desolated abode :

the silence that reigned there was appalling; my spirit sank beneath it, as a stone goes down into the depths of the ocean, bearing the everlasting burden of its fathomless tide. I sought the room where I had last seen her arrayed in the vestments of the tomb. There lay the books which we had read together. Their pages bore the marks of her pencil. I covered my eyes from them, and turned away. I bowed down to inhale the fragrance of her flowers, and felt that they had no right to bloom so fair, when she, their culturer and their queen, was blighted. I pressed my fingers upon the keys of her piano, and started back at the mournful sound they made. I wandered to her own apartment. I threw myself on the couch where from infancy she had slumbered -I trusted to have wept there; but my grief was too mighty to be thus unchained it disdained the relief of tears. I seemed to rush as upon a drawn sword, and still it refused to pierce me.

Yet all this was when no eye saw me. In the presence of others I was like Mount Atlas, bearing unmoved the stormy heavens upon his shoulders.

I

I went forth amid the jarring competitions and perpetual strifes of men. I adjusted their opposing interests, while I despised them and their concerns. I unravelled their perplexities. I penetrated their subterfuges. I exposed their duplicity. I cut the Gordian knots of their self-conceit. I made the "crooked straight, and the rough places plain," with an energy that amazed them and myself; it was like that of a spirit which has nothing to do with the flesh. I suffered the tumult of my soul to breathe itself out in bursts of stormy declamation. I exerted the strength of a giant when it was not required. scorned to balance power with necessity. The calculations of prudence, and the devices of cunning, seemed equally pitiful and despicable. I put forth the same effort to crush an emmet as to uproot the oak of a thousand centuries. It was sufficient for me always to triumph. While men marvelled at the zeal with which I served them, I was loathing them in my heart. I was sick of their chicanery, and their sabbathless rush after empty honours and perishable dross. The whole world seemed to me "less than nothing, and vanity." Still I was sensible of neither toil nor fatigue, nor physical exhaus