interrupted Miss Gordon, with a smile-her smile of contemptuous amusement. "Puns are not admissible. Shall we drop the subject?"

So the dispute ended for a time, though, from the angry sounds that reached us from the dining-room, when we ladies had adjourned therefrom, I conjecture that it was briskly renewed; however, Miss Gordon soon stopped it again, by sending in coffee, which was an understood sign to her visitors that it was time to take leave.

"Capital scene that after dinner," whispered a lady, who had been making memoranda from time to time during the evening; "I would reproduce it in my next tale, but the critics would call it a plagiarism from Scott. Good night."

"Now for my museum," said Miss Gordon, the next morning. She unlocked and opened a door, and we entered a long room, built out so as to form a wing on one side of the house, corresponding with a green-house on the other. The light admitted through the ceiling, fell on a strangely miscellaneous collection of objects-pictures and statues, separately shrined in recesses, hung with crimson cloth-minerals in neat cabinets-shell and feather work from Madeira and the South Sea islands; in short, it seemed as though all ages and all countries were represented there, yet all the charm of association was destroyed by the orderly way in which the multitude of articles were placed; they seemed brought together to be looked at, so they lost their suggestive influence. "This is my whim-my folly-if you like to call it so," said Miss Gordon, with grave complacency. "In my opinion, to have models of beauty always before our eyes, would excite the imagination too much, or the objects might become vulgarised, as it were. Accustomed to dwell continually on images of loveliness, we should at length lose the power to appreciate their perfection."

"But do you find your sense of beauty at all times equally acute?" I asked. "Do you always enjoy when you come here to admire?"

"My admiration would not content you, Edith. My enthusiasm has burnt out. So long as my judgment is satisfied, I ask no more. I never wish to be sent into raptures."

"Well, I cannot think how any one who understands what is beautiful can see such exquisite works as that Madonna of Raffaelle's, or that sculptured Ariadne, so graceful in her desolate woe, without a sentiment of almost veneration."

"On the contrary, the uneducated bow before the divinity

of the beautiful, awed by its mysterious power. They who understand can coldly criticise."

I shook my head, dissentingly. "For my part, then," I observed, "I have no wish to be among the initiated."

"Shall I tell you the story of my life?" said Miss Gordon, suddenly.

"Oh, do, do!" I exclaimed, sitting down by her.

"It will be no great tax on your patience to listen to it, for what I have to say may be told in few words;" and so she began composedly, without a trace of that abandon which makes a voluntary confidence so delightful to the giver and to the receiver. "My early years were not happy. My father's income was limited and precarious, and the most rigid economy was practised at home, in everything except in what regarded the education of my three brothers and myself. In this our parents were too lavish; we were overeducated. I do not mean that our intellects were too severely taxed, but we acquired a painful superiority over our companions. Active, every-day life remedied this evil for my brothers; for me there was no help. How solitary I felt amongst those who counted themselves my equals! how irksome were the household duties that I had to perform! how I longed to fight my way up to a level with those whom I thought would understand me! My father's circumstances improved; we rose proportionably in society. I thought that now I should be happy. Never was I more mistaken. With neither beauty, rank, nor wealth, how could I expect the homage of the world in which I moved. I determined to be no longer dependent on the toleration of the supercilious few, who, having been admitted within the precincts of fashion's temple, look haughtily on the less favoured, who are forced to remain without. I turned to painting, which had been my favourite occupation in days gone by; but I had gazed on masterpieces of art till my soul was filled with their wondrous beauty; and as I could not express at once the dreams in which my fancy revelled, I thought that the godlike power to create was not mine. Perhaps I was right, but I believe that I attributed the success of the great lights of Art entirely to the gift of genius, without duly regarding the value of patient faith and persevering energy.

"My parents died, and I was alone in the world, with no

one to care for me.'

"Your brothers," I ventured to suggest.

"They had their respective interests and employments, and though we felt some degree of natural affection for cach

Y

other, little sympathy existed between us. Now comes an episode more common in books than in real life: an old uncle, in India, long forgotten, appears unexpectedly, with an eastern fortune, and adopts us as his children."

66

Oh, charming!

"For three brief years alone he enjoyed, in his native land, the wealth he had so hardly earned. We were his next of kin. My brothers he helped forward in their different callings, and well provided for, but to me he left the largest share of his possessions.

"With this change in my position came an equal alteration in the manners of those who had before treated me with chilling indifference; and I was welcomed in circles where once my presence would have been deemed intrusion. I was not of a disposition to be won by flattery; and, as my pride had formerly resented neglect, so it now recoiled from the hollow courtesies that were showered on me.

"When a woman is passée, she often strives to shine as a 'blue.' Without having been a belle, I immediately adopted the latter character. It was necessary to signalize myself in some way, and I chose an easy and rather amusing one. I wrote a tale; and a strange mixture it was, of philosophy, German, metaphysics, and other nonsense. it I gave vent to all my early follies, and bade farewell to them for ever. The book came out, and was followed by a critique in one of the magazines,-a pungent satire, bearing internal evidence of being by the same writer.'

In

"Do you mean that you wrote the review, Miss Gordon?" "Yes; and told a few acquaintances, in confidence, of the trick. Of course the secret soon transpired, and my end was gained. I was talked of as a very eccentric person, not without talent; and before my ephemeral reputation died away, I established myself as the leader of a 'set.' I indulged in the chimerical idea that my literary heroes were really what, from their books, one might imagine them to be; that the artists on whose works, worthy to be immortal, I had gazed till every sense was absorbed in that of seeing, were men who only lived for Art; and that statesmen were truly patriots, and whether clear-sighted or mistaken in their measures, were actuated solely, whatever views they might advocate, by a genuine love of their country. Too quickly was I undeceived. With few exceptions, I found the same want of truth in my new friends, that had disgusted me in the mere pleasure-seekers whom I avoided. Disappointed, with a spirit embittered by my experience of life-for I had learned other sharp lessons, of which I will not tell you now—I

resolved that henceforth from my existence feeling should, so far as it might be possible, be excluded. I would think without dreaming, act systematically, not from impulse, and every gush of enthusiasm should be restrained. I would not even yield to the enervating influence of music or painting. I studied the scientific principles of art, and accustomed myself to look for faults, where I had been used to see only beauty; in a word, I endeavoured to make myself a strongminded woman, and I have not failed. I am now almost as callous as I appear to be. You will soon see how little scope there is for morbid sentiment in the practical routine of my life, surrounded by sensible people."

"Mr. Plympton, for instance," I said, laughing.

"Naughty girl, to quiz my visitors. Mr. Plympton has his foibles, but he is at least honest in his opinions. I am sometimes amused by his peculiarities, but I prefer his want of polish to conventional smoothness of manner. There, now, I have told you all that you are to know. Make what use you can of what you have heard. If you are wise, you will learn from it, that to some, to yourself probably, life is a continued succession of disappointments. I would say to you, 'Do not hope, and do not trust; depend only on yourself."

While she had been speaking, I had unconsciously rested my arm on an old black-letter volume, in an oaken cover, with massive brazen clasps. As I moved, Miss Gordon observed, "That is a copy of one of the very earliest editions of the Bible."

She

I looked up at her with involuntary significance. understood my glance. "My religion, rather of the head than of the heart, I fear," was her answer.

CARLA MEREX.

THE BIBLE IN EVERY LAND.

THE FAIR AT USINGIOVA.

OUR attention has been drawn of late, amongst other things, to the great fair of Usingiova, in Bulgaria, which is held in September, and lasts a fortnight, and where a vast concourse of persons of all nations resort for mercantile purposes. We have also forwarded our commodities to that interesting

mart, consisting of 1197 copies of the Sacred Scriptures, in various languages; besides which, Mr. Mayers has sent a man to the same spot with 2000 Bulgarian Testaments, but who is also to dispose of them in the towns and villages on his way thither. We always disposed of, at this yearly fair, all the Bulgarian New Testaments we sent there, about 300 to 400; but this year we have sent there a variety of other Scriptures, and we trust they will meet with a good reception. The demands for Scriptures at the different Missionary Stations continue unabated, and we meet them with alacrity.

THE BRAVE COLPORTEUR.

Mr. Sellar came ill from Balaklava, and was preparing to return again there as soon as he got better. He did so, but soon after caught what is termed the Crimean fever, which is always attended with dysentery, and returned in an alarming state. The change of air has done him some little good, but his dysentery continues, which causes him to suffer from great debility; so much so, that if he does not get actually better, he seriously thinks of returning to England, in the hope that a sea-voyage may prove beneficial to his health. Before he was actually compelled to quit Balaklava, he distributed about 1000 copies more of New Testaments amongst the Sardinian troops, principally in the following peculiar manner. The Sardinian soldiers, either invalids from the hospitals, or sent on a mission to Balaklava, discovered Mr. Sellar's retreat, and found him prostrate on a bed of sickness. Pleased to see them seeking so earnestly the word of God, Mr. Sellar, ill as he was, readily furnished them with Testaments. In this way, whilst unable to move about, he had opportunities of giving the Scriptures to groups of soldiers who daily visited him, evincing a great desire to possess a book of which they were