Then I dared to speak out plain, even to Father, you have no right to part Max and my father: "Papa, you said publicly you had forgiven him for the death of Harry." "But I never said I should forget." "Ay, there it is!" I cried out, bitterly. "People say they forgive, but they cannot forget. It would go hard with some of us if the just God dealt with us in like manner. "You are profane." "No, only I am not afraid to bring God's truth into all the circumstances of life, and to judge them by it. I believe, if Christ came into the world to forgive sinners, we ought to forgive them too.' Thus far I said, not thinking it just toward Max that I should plead merely for pity to be shown to him or to me who loved him, but because it was the right and the truth, and as such, both for Max's honor and mine, I strove to put it clearly before my father. And then I gave way, pleading only as a daughter with her father that he should blot out the past, and not for the sake of one long dead and gone break the heart of his living child: me for fear of the world." When it was said, I repented myself of this. But it was too late. All his former hardness returned as he said, "I am aware that I have no legal right to forbid your marriage. You are of age; you may act, as you have all along acted, in defiance of your father." me good-bye! Only say 'God bless you,' | few other folks were dotted about in the pews, just once, father!" but I only noticed them as moving figures, and distinguished none. The service began, which I-indeed, we both-had last heard at Lisabel's wedding, in our pretty church, all flower-adorned, she looking so handsome and happy with her sisters near her and her father to give her away. For a moment I felt very desolate, and, hearing a pew door open and a footstep come slowly up the aisle, I trembled with a vague We had better end this, Dora; I cannot fear that something might happen-somebear it. Kiss me. Good-bye." thing which even at the last moment might part Max and me. But it did not. I heard him repeat the solemn promises-how dare any one make them lightly or break them afterward ?—to "love, comfort, honor and keep me, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all other, keep me only unto him, so long as we both should live." And I felt that I also, out of the entire trust I had in him and the great love I bore him, could cheerfully forsake all other, father, sisters, kindred and friends, for him. They were very dear to me, and would be always, but he was part of myself-my husband. And here let me relate a strange thingso unexpected that Max and I shall always feel it as a special blessing from Heaven to crown all our pain and send us forth on our new life in peace and joy. When in the service came the question, "Who giveth this woman," etc., there was no answer, and the silence went like a stab to my heart. The minister, thinking there was some mistake, repeated it again: "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" "I do." It was not a stranger's voice, but my dear | up in his dear face, and read, as he in mine, father's. that to us, thus together, everywhere was THE EMIGRATION. After a single day spent at Treherne Court, Augustus went with us one sunshiny morning on board the American steamer, which lay so peacefully in the middle of the Mersey, just as if she were to lie there for ever, instead of sailing, and we with her, in one little half hour-sailing far away, far away to a home we knew not, leaving the old familiar faces and the old familiar land. It seemed doubly precious now, and beautiful-even the sandy flats, that Max had so often told me about, along the Mersey shore. I saw him look thoughtfully toward them after pointing out to me the places he knew and where his former work had lain. "That is all over now," he said, half sadly. "Nothing has happened as I planned or hoped or—" "Or feared?" "No! My dear wife, no! Yet all has been for good. All is very good. I shall find new work in a new country." "And I too?" Max smiled: "Yes, she too. We'll work together, my little lady!" The half hour was soon over, the few last words soon said. But I did not at all realize that we were away till I saw Augustus wave us good-bye and heard the sudden boom of our farewell gun as the Europa slipped off her mail-tender and went steaming seaward alone -fast, oh so fast! The sound of that gun! it must have nearly broken many a heart many a time. I think it would have broken mine had I not, standing close-clasped by my husband's side, looked WAR'S LOUD ALARMS. To battle I must go. Entreat me, then, no more to stay; And burns to meet the foe. The power of Cupid I defy When Cambria's banner waves on high, Loudly again, Sounds the trumpet's warlike strain— A signal to depart. Yet, dearest, when I'm far from thee, Still nearest to my heart. In the battle-field, With spear to spear and shield to shield, When we have made the Saxon yield And bend his haughty knee, Then will my true and faithful heart, At glory's call now doomed to part, Forsaking spear and shield and dart, Come fondly back to thee. Translation of THOMAS OLIPHANT. FABIOLA. A TALE OF THE YEAR A. D. 302. ABIUS himself, the owner of its turn, he passed for a man as good as his neighbors; and no one had a right to exact more. At home he was a kind and indulgent master. His house was well kept for him by an abundance of slaves, and, as trouble was what most he dreaded, so long as everything was comfortable, handsome and wellserved about him, he let things go on quietly under the direction of his freedmen. It is not, however, so much to him that we wish to introduce our reader, as to another inmate of his house, the sharer of its splendid luxury and the sole heiress of his wealth. This is his daughter, who, according to Roman usage, bears the father's name, softened, however, into the diminutive Fabiola. We will conduct the reader at once into her apartment. A marble staircase leads to it from the second court, over the sides of which extends a suite of rooms opening upon a terrace refreshed and adorned by a graceful fountain and covered with a profusion of the rarest exotic plants. In these chambers is concentrated whatever is most exquisite and curious in native and foreign art. A refined taste directing ample means and peculiar opportunities has evidently presided over the collection and arrangement of all around. At this moment the hour of the evening repast is approaching, and we discover the mistress of this dainty abode engaged in preparing herself to appear with becoming splendor. She is reclining on a couch of Athenian workmanship, inlaid with silver, in a room of Cyzicene form-that is, having glass windows to the ground, and so opening on to the flowery terrace. Against the wall opposite to her hangs a mirror of polished silver, sufficient to reflect a whole standing figure; on a porphyry table beside it is a collection of the innumerable rare cosmetics and perfumes of which the Roman ladies had become so fond, and on which they lavished immense sums. On another, of Indian sandalwood, was a rich display of jewels and trinkets in their precious caskets, from which to select for the day's use. We will content ourselves with saying that Fabiola, now at the age of twenty, was not considered inferior in appearance to other ladies of her rank, age and fortune, and had many aspirants for her hand. But she was a contrast to her father in temper and in character. Proud, haughty, imperious and irritable, she ruled like an empress all that surrounded her, with one or two exceptions, and exacted humble homage from all that approached her. An only child, whose mother had died in giving her birth, she had been nursed and brought up in indulgence by her careless, good-natured father; she had been provided with the best masters, had been adorned with every accomplishment and allowed to gratify every extravagant wish. She had never known what it was to deny herself a desire. Having been left so much to herself, she had read much, and especially in profounder books. She had thus become a complete philosopher of the refined—that is, the infidel and intellectual-epicureanism which had been long fashionable in Rome. Of Christianity she knew nothing except that she understood it to be something very low, material and vulgar. She despised it, in fact, too much | to think of inquiring into it. And as to paganism, with its gods, its vices, its fables and its idolatry, she merely scorned it, though outwardly she followed it. In fact, she believed in nothing beyond the present life and thought of nothing except its refined enjoyment. But her very pride threw a shield over her virtue; she loathed the wickedness of society, as she despised the frivolous youths who paid her jealously exacted attention, for she found amusement in their follies. She was considered cold and selfish, but she was morally irreproachable. We find Fabiola reclining on her couch, holding in her left hand a silver mirror with a handle, and in the other a strange instrument for so fair a hand. It is a sharp-pointed stiletto with a delicately carved ivory handle, and a gold ring to hold it by. This was the favorite weapon with which Roman ladies punished their slaves or vented their passion on them upon suffering the least annoyance or when irritated by pettish anger. Three female slaves are now engaged about their mistress. They belong to different races and have been purchased at high prices, not merely on account of their appearance, but for some rare accomplishment they are supposed to possess. One is a black; not of the negro stock, but from one of those races, such as the Abyssinians and Numidians, in whom the features are as regular as in the Asiatic people. She is supposed to have great skill in herbs and their cosmetic and healing properties, perhaps also in more dangerous uses—in compounding philtres, charms, and possibly poisons. She is merely known by her national designation as Afra. A Greek comes next, selected for her taste in dress and for the elegance and purity of her accent; she is therefore called Graia. The name which the third bears, Syra, tells us that she comes from Asia, and she is distinguished for her exquisite embroidering and for her assiduous diligence. She is quiet, silent, but completely engaged with the duties which now devolve upon her. The other two are garrulous, light, and make great pretence about any little thing they do. Every moment they address the most extravagant flattery to their young mistress, or try to promote the suit of one or other of the profligate candidates for her hand who has best or last bribed them. "How delighted I should be, most noble mistress," said the black slave, "if I could only be in the triclinium this evening as you enter in, to observe the brilliant effect of this |