o a new life.

I set him down under my arbor, now dripping with golden fruits, and
having refreshed him with cordial (angels' food), I called his attention
to the beauties around us; the birds, the flowers, and the luxurious
growth of nature, which shed such abundance around my home.

"See," said I, "how nature works. If the roots of the tree meet with
obstacles they start off in another direction. They do not wind and wind
themselves around one spot. If they did death would ensue.

"In every man's life there are deeds to be regretted--wrongs which he
would gladly undo--but painful imaginings and fruitless remorse will not
set them right. Only by being actively engaged in some nobler direction
can atonement be made.

"This woman, whom you have injured, is in magnetic rapport with you; and
while you are in this moody, self-denunciatory frame of mind, your
restless, unhappy condition acts upon her, preventing her from becoming
contented and happy; then her state reacts back upon you, and thus an
evil equilibrium is maintained."

"I see my error," he exclaimed. "Tell me what to do and I will do it."

It was arranged that he should remain with me. We worked together; he
became happy and his mind no longer reverted to the past, but active and
healthful employment engaged his hours.

When he had recovered sufficiently I took him to see his former
companion. He found her in a pleasant home, looking buoyant and happy.
All that was demoniac had vanished from her face. Surprised, he burst
into tears as he beheld her. "Weep not," said she, "for I am happy now.
The past is forgotten."

They compared notes, and found that peace had entered into her soul when
he had obliterated the past from his memory and commenced his labors in a
new life.

Thus we see that the evil passions and attributes of one nature may
awaken and kindle like passions in another, which can only be subdued by
letting them pass unnoticed, and also by arousing the higher faculties
into activity.

WASHINGTON IRVING.

_VISIT TO HENRY CLAY_.

Having recovered my health after a sojourn of two weeks amid the charming
scenery of Mount Rosalia, or the "Rose-colored Mount," I set forth one
morning, accompanied by a competent guide, to visit the home of my
friend, Henry Clay. The morning was uncommonly fine, even for the sweet
Land of the Blest, and the fragrance from the roses blooming upon the
hill-side was fairly intoxicating.

Our phaeton was a