forget our heart-aches and
remorse. We even call our lives commonplace, and, bearing our own
heaviest burdens silently, we try to keep the commandment, and to bear
one another's also. There is One who knows: we look forward, as he
means we shall, and there is always a hand ready to help us, though we
reach out for it doubtfully in the dark.

For many years after this summer was over, I lived in a distant,
foreign country; at last my father and I were to go back to America.
Cousin Agnes and cousin Matthew, and my mother, were all long since
dead, and I rarely thought of my childhood, for in an eventful and
hurried life the present claims one almost wholly. We were travelling
in Europe, and it happened that one day I was in a bookshop in
Amsterdam, waiting for an acquaintance whom I was to meet, and who was
behind time.

The shop was a quaint place, and I amused myself by looking over an
armful of old English books which a boy had thrown down near me,
raising a cloud of dust which was plain evidence of their antiquity. I
came to one, almost the last, which had a strangely familiar look, and
I found that it was a copy of the same book which I had lost in the
wall at the ferry. I bought it for a few coppers with the greatest
satisfaction, and began at once to read it. It had been published in
England early in the eighteenth century, and was written by one
Mr. Thomas Highward of Chester,--a journal of his travels among some
of the English colonists of North America, containing much curious and
desirable knowledge, with some useful advice to those persons having
intentions of emigrating. I looked at the prosy pages here and there,
and finally found again those reminiscences of the town of Boston and
the story of Mistress Honor Warburton, who was cursed, and doomed to
live in this world to the end of time. She had lately been in Boston,
but had disappeared again; she endeavored to disguise herself, and
would not stay long in one place if she feared that her story was
known, and that she was recognized. One Mr. Fleming, a man of good
standing and repute, and an officer of Her Majesty Queen Anne, had
sworn to Mr. Thomas Highward that his father, a person of great age,
had once seen Mistress Warburton in his youth; that she then bore
another name, but had the same appearance. "Not wishing to seem unduly
credulous," said Mr. Highward, "I disputed this tale; but there was
some considerable evidence in its favour, and at least th