in, from whom he
usually had no secrets, was not permitted to touch this hidden
treasure.

He now took another sheet, and wrote the following lines:--

To _this_ lot assigned,
This joy once possessed,
Say, can one so blessed
On earth be sad?

To cool my heart's fire,
By answering love,
To feel the desire,
Man's brother to prove;

Firm in purity,
By beauty inspired,
Ere of life weary
By death required;

The great mystery
Vaguely believing,
Germs of truth in the
Soul's depths perceiving,

Truth-germs unfolding
In the light given,
Joyfully holding
The rain from heaven,

A spark of divine fire
Into the heart hurled,
Kindles with pure desire
A child of the world.

To _this_ lot assigned,
_This_ joy once possessed,
Say, can one so blessed
On earth be sad?

Yet hours may come when the spirit will fail,
Petty cares, like a swarm of flies, assail;
Midst the current of life, with gasping breath,
Waiting I stand, for the summons of death.

Doubting, I question if earth is to me
So grand, so blissful a reality;
Outweighing all the burdens of my life,
My aimless days of fruitless toil and strife.

Sternly denied the brightest joys of earth,
My homely toil no laurel-wreath is worth;
If, wearied of the slowly passing time,
A child should break the clock, would'st call it crime?

O death!--but hark! now a bright footstep nears,
Bright eyes are sparkling, and a glad voice cheers;
My sinking spirit, roused from inward strife,
No longer asketh--Shall I live this life?

He sat still for some time with a smile on his lips, then his face grew
graver and he sighed, as if to relieve his oppressed heart and to shake
off some thought that troubled him. On the paper that lay upon his
knees his pencil sketched a profile, which was unmistakably Edwin's.
The thoughts that occupied his mind seemed again to crave utterance in
words, but just at that moment he heard some one come up stairs with a
familiar, heavy tread. A slight shade of annoyance flitted across his
brow, he hast