the restless world,
an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to linger among
the pleasant places dear to him by every association of childhood, there
to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for he was no drone in the
social hive.

On the evening of that day two maidens sat alone, each in the sanctuary
of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of one, and a
glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and wet her drooping
lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter in her hand. It was
full of tender words; but the writer loved wealth more than the maiden,
and had gone forth to seek the mistress of his soul. He would "come
back," but when? Ah, what a veil of uncertainty was upon the future!
Poor, stricken heart! The other maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and
dancing eyes--held also a letter in her hand. It was from the brother
of the wealth-seeker; and it was also full of loving words; and it
said that, on the morrow, he would come to bear her as his bride to his
pleasant home. Happy maiden!

Ten years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the
glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? Has he
returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? Not since
the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a word of
intelligence from the wanderer been received; and to those he left
behind him he is as one who has passed the final bourne. Yet he still
dwells among the living.

In a far-away, sunny clime stands a stately mansion. We will not
linger to describe the elegant interior, to hold up before the reader's
imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely heightened by art,
but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one of its most luxurious
chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading atmosphere! The inmates,
few in number, are grouped around one on whose white forehead Time's
trembling finger has written the word "Death!" Over her bends a
manly form. There--his face is towards you. Ah! you recognise the
wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he here? What to him is the dying
one? His wife! And has he, then, forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes
lay wet on her pale cheeks for many hours after she read his parting
words? He has not forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he
the prize, to contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed;
yet still hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading