preceding years were
spent in the earnest pursuit of wealth, as the active partner in a
large mercantile establishment. Often, during these busy fifteen
years, had he sighed for ease and "elegant leisure;" for a rural
home far away from the jar, and strife, and toil incessant by which
he was surrounded. Beyond this he had no aspiration. That "lodge in
the wilderness," as he sometimes vaguely called it, was the bright
ideal of his fancy. There, he would often say to himself--

"How blest could I live, and how calm could I die!"

And daily, as the years were added, each bringing its increased
burdens of care and business, would he look forward to the "good
time coming," when he could shut behind him forever the doors of the
warehouse and counting-room, and step forth a free man. Of the
strife for gain and the sharp contests in business, where each seeks
advantages over the other, his heart was weary, and he would often
sigh in the ears of his loving home-companion, "Oh! for the wings of
a dove, that I might fly away and be at rest!"

And at length this consummation of his hopes came. A year of unusual
prosperity swelled his gains to the sum he had fixed as reaching his
desires; and, with a sense of pleasure never before experienced, he
turned all his affections and thoughts to the creation of an earthly
paradise, where, with his heart and home treasures around him, he
could, "the world forgetting, by the world forgot," live a truer,
better, happier life, than was possible amid the city's din, or
while breathing the ever-disturbed and stifling atmosphere of
business.

And now his work of creation at Woodbine Lodge was complete.
Everywhere the hand of taste was visible--everywhere. You could
change nothing without marring the beauty of the whole. During all
the years in which Mr. Markland devoted himself to the perfecting of
Woodbine Lodge, there was in his mind just so much of dissatisfaction
with the present, as made the looked-for period, when all should be
finished according to the prescriptions of taste, one in which there
would be for him almost a Sabbath-repose.

How was it with Mr. Markland? All that he had prescribed as needful
to give perfect happiness was attained. Woodbine Lodge realized his
own ideal; and every one who looked upon it, called it an Eden of
beauty. His work was ended; and had he found rest and sweet peace?
Peace! Gentle spirit! Already she had half-folded her wings; but,
startled by some u