current of fashionable life, where, I hope, it will not be long until you form an attachment that may lead to your perpetual happiness." "No, Mrs. Preston," returned Major Austin, "you are mistaken in me.

I am not one to cherish a boyish romance, or to be mistaken in the impulses of my own heart. My regard for you is a sentiment, a deep and eternal homage to your womanhood—a sentiment that has been increasing, intensifying, purifying and exalting itself for many years. Though unrequited, it will still live. The fires upon the altar of my heart will send up their daily incense, until that heart shall cease to throb. Your answer decides my destiny. I will leave the United States as soon as I can convert my property into money. I will join the wars in Europe. Should I fall in battle, my bootless life will, happily, be too short to distill many bitter drops, and its gall and wormwood will soon be ended. Should I survive to old age, my prayers for your happiness shall ascend daily."

"Major Austin," said Mrs. Preston, "as I said before, I shall ever cherish for you, and for your name, a sense of the highest respect. I have known you long and intimately. I know you as a gentleman of high honor. Everything, all I know of you, commands my highest esteem, and most profound respect. With all this, I do not love you. I cannot be your wife. I am bound by the most solemn vows to another; and although that other may have been resting for years in the peaceful grave, those vows are as sacred as when first spoken, and are as fondly cherished as then. Although the object of my first love has passed out of my sight, the bonds of my affection are strengthened by his absence. I see him in my dreams-and I

She dropped her forehead into her hand, and wept aloud. "Pardon me, madam!" said Major Austin, rising. "I feel that I have been rude and unjust to penetrate to this Holy of Holies of your heart. I feel that I have done wrong in thus, although inadvertently, putting your love to such a test."

"Major," replied Mrs. Preston, "you are not chargeable with it; it was no fault of yours that led my mind back to the tenderest recollections, the bitterest disappointments, and the keenest anguish. It was not necessary for me to have betrayed myself into these, as responsive to anything you may have sought."

"I am but too happy to find that you do not blame me," rejoined the Major, and then continued: "Within three months I will sail for Europe, and will never return. I see how it is with you. I cannot expect a different decision. My happiness could not be augmented by being your husband, under the circumstances it would place you, if I were so void of honor as to accept your hand without your love. Mad

VOL. III.-NO. VI.-20.

am, I honor you-I love you with an undying love; but it matters not. I shall never meet you again. I

He stopped a moment, as his voice trembled, but immediately resumed:

"I bid you a long farewell. We may meet above, if not here. Farewell."

Mrs. Preston took his hand, and in a tremulous voice said:

66

Major Austin, God bless you! Farewell!"

Her eyes filled with tears, as they followed the erect military form of the Major to the stile.

It was long past midnight, and still she kept her seat beneath the old walnut tree. Just as she was about to arise and retire to the house, the silvery notes of a flute arose in the ravine below, and floated about in broken echoes among the cragged rocks. It swelled, and quivered, and softly died away again, in a plaintive melody, as the Major slowly descended the dark ravine which led from the cottage to the hamlet below. At last it died away in the distance, so softly and gently that the boldest crags could not catch even an echo to send back again. Mrs. Preston entered the house, retired to her room, and slept. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

ANCIENT RUINS.

WHY THEY WERE RUINED.

IN the October number of the FREEMASON I read with interest an article by one Doctor Alfred, on "Ancient Ruins." The learning and research of the good Doctor is worthy of all praise, and it is gratifying that we have a home Masonic periodical which occupies itself with matters of so much interest as well to the Craft as to the general reader. Although admitting much that the Doctor says of the existence of the knowledge of the true God among the Egyptians and other nations of remote antiquity, I have wondered not that they knew so much, as to be surprised that they should have forgotten so much. Their knowledge as set forth in "Ancient Ruins" would seem to be but the husk of former and better knowledge; and if you would not think me presumptuous I will give succinctly what seems to be the true theory of the state of facts.

To begin with it must be remarked that religion, the divinely appointed means of man's reconciliation, and its ordinances have been the same from the beginning, both under the Patriarchal and Jewish

Dispensations, the new being only the matured development of the law first promulgated, the first teaching spiritual things by material images, the last appealing to reason and teaching abstract morality.

Adam in the garden before his fall had daily intercourse with the "Voice of the Lord," the personal WORD. After his expulsion he knew not where to find God, but at the east of the Garden was placed Cherubim and a flaming sword to keep the way of the Tree of Life. Here was the place where God was to be found and where sacrifice was to be offered. Note that the origin of sacrifice is not recorded, it is always alluded to as if well known.

Cherubim (called Beasts in Revelations) are always introduced as accompanying the Divine personal presence, so we find a representation of them on the Mercy Seat (the cover of the ark of the covenant) in the tabernacle, and afterwards in the decorations of the Holy of Holies of the Temple, where also we find carvings of olive trees, all doubtless to perpetuate the Paradisaical original. In the presence of God who dwelt between Cherubim before the mercy seat, the Priest under the Mosaic Dispensation offered the sacrifice; under the Patriarchial Dispensation it was the same-the head of the tribe was ex-officio priest, and the knowledge of God and his worship was once known to all the tribes. When tribes and families aggregated into a larger com-. munity the king or political head was still ex-officio Priest.

From what we are told of the Cherubim they were figures compounded of a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle.

That the Egyptians, the dwellers in Nineveh and others had in the earlier periods of their history the knowledge of the true God and his own appointed mode of worship and sacrifice, and had fallen away from it we have the authority of Scripture which declares: when they knew God they glorified him not as God, professing to be wise they became fools and changed the glory of an incorruptible God into an image, made like to corruptible man, and to birds and to four-footed beasts and creeping things. Look now at the Egyptian Sphinx, with its head of a woman and body of a lion, placed before the doors of their Temple, here is a falling away from the Paradisaical original. They had begun to change, and the change went on until they became such "fools" as to worship a living Bull, Apis, one of the components of the Cherub, and give to him the worship due only to the true God.

Layard has placed in the British Museum, two-winged Bulls, exhurned from the Temple-Palace of Nineveh; in them we see again a corruption of the Paradisaical emblems.

When Solomon was building his temple many Tyrian workmen (themselves descendants of Egyptians) wrought upon it, they were

heathen from Tyre, they had forgotten the true worship, and were worshippers, of Dagon, they had degraded the Paradisaical Cherub into that compound figure of man and fish. Solomon to do his heathen workmen good, to teach them their forgotten true knowledge, erected a religious and moral symbolism, made the very tools they used to teach lessons of the strictest morality.

I visited one of our Lodges, an elegant hall; on its walls, among other emblems were the square and compass resting on the Holy Bible. I asked its meaning and was told that Egyptian art was in ruins, the Scriptures of Nineveh had been overthrown and buried in the rubbish for thousands of years, the rock-hewn Temples of India were decayed, for those nations had forgotten the Lord and corrupted his worship, but that one art was founded on the Scriptures and would endure forSo I mused, Tyre is blotted out, the architecture of Egypt is in utter ruin, the Temple of the Hebrews is destroyed, for all these nations have wilfully gone astray, and traditions teach us that we have received our tools and implements with their moral symbolism from the Hebrews. We acknowledge our art to be founded on the Holy Scriptures, we preserve the sacred symbols and Free Masonry still survives. It is built upon the Word of Truth. The nations corrupted it and their work perished. Let us be faithful to our trusts and our future is

secure.

J. F.

THE VOICES OF MY HOME.

How softly 'round me fall the shades of eventide,
The days' clear brightness and its sunshine, all are gone.
The mirth and laughter of the morning hours have died,
And with her mellow shades, slow steals the twilight on.

Slowly, and side by side, the bright stars take their way,
Like shining worlds, along the blue and arching dome,
And as a wing of light, the moon's clear, mellow ray

Rests lightly o'er the roof-tree of our pleasant home.

Down in his wild-wood nest, the lonely whippowill

Gives forth his sad farewell unto departing day;
And not far from me, sweetly sings a silver rill,

To the meek violets watching where its wavelets stray.

Ah! nature hath sweet voices in her twilight hours

Sweet tones and dear, that will be heard when time grows old, And they need never fear, who love the trees and flowers,

For these prove true, when trusted, human hearts grow cold.

But there were sweeter sounds that fell upon my ear,
In the old hours of grief, or pleasantness, or pain;
Low, household voices, we shall wait to hear.

Yet waiting for, perchance, may never hear again.

The ringing laughter of a little, merry child,

With large, blue eyes, and golden clustering hair,

And dimpled feet, that roamed through meadow and through wild,
And loving heart, that mirrored all things bright and fair.

And the gay tones of one, who now, with toil-worn feet,
Far from the home that knew his boyhood's play,

Treads day by day, the city's crowded street,

And shares the jostle of life's dusty way.

And the low voice of her's-the young and girlish bride,
Who vanished from the circle round our old hearth-stone,
Sits now at twilight by her husband's side,

Where gleams the fire-light on a hearth-stone of her own.

And thus the beings we have loved and watched depart,
Thus life's varying pathways will be ever trod,
Thus goes our fond heart's joy to gladden other hearts;
And thus the chain is lengthened, linking all to God.

The old sweet voices of my home! when shall I hear

Blending in well known tones, that make my heart rejoice,
The old familiar voices of my early years?

And faith, bright angel, whispers in her own sweet voice

"Ah! yet again-when sin, and pain, and grief are o'er,
Beyond the sea of death-the shadow of the tomb-
Where meet the loved and blest upon the spirit-shore-
There shalt thou hear the old, sweet voices of thy home."
MRS. FIDELIA WOOLLEY Gillette.

ADDRESS BY GRAND MASTER J. W. CHAMPLIN.

BRETHREN OF THE GRAND LODGE,-Having assembled together in our annual communication, let each one of us, before entering upon the important concerns of this meeting, implore from the Most High His blessing upon our labors, and His assistance in the discharge of our duties, that everything may be established upon the surest foundations and redound to His glory. Having had, as Grand Master for the past year, the Craft especially under my care, I am happy to report that in every part of this grand jurisdiction peace and harmony prevail, that our altar lights are brightly burning, and the lessons which they teach are bringing forth good fruits. There is, however, in some quarters, and I fear too generally, a desire to make Masonry too common; an inclination to disregard the landmarks, and