As they passed down to the leeward, a broad beam of light from the cabin windows, shone upon them. "I saw my poor boy's face," he said, "and I think he knew me,and his mouth worked as if he wanted to speak, to send, it may be, some dying word to the poor mother that was watching for us at home, but the wind swept us into the dark again, and before long, I knew that he was dead!"

A vessel picked him up next day, still driving before the storm with his dead child at his feet. When we first knew him, he was as noble looking a man as we ever saw; but when he told us this tale, and it was not many months after, his frame was bowed and his strength gone, for that one terrible night had brought premature old age upon him.

Q. X.

THE WARNING.

Oh! dream not of Life, it is bitter and dark,
Tho' Fancy may paint it with bright sunny hue,
Tho' Hope o'er the billow lead onward thy bark,

Till the bright shores of promise heave gladly in view,

Oh! think not then fondly thy voyage is o'er,

'Tis a mirage that tempts thee with flattering delay; For e'er thy young footsteps can reach that bright shore, The vision of beauty has vanished away.

Oh! dream not of Love-when at eve's gentle hour,
Fond visions of happiness steal o'er the mind,
When the look and the tone have a magical power,

And the dreams of the Past leave the Present behind.
When thy spirit is yearning for childhood's glad years,
For the kiss of some loved one-now vanished and gore;
Oh! think how that love was embittered by tears,
And, steeling thy spirits, unloving live on.

Oh' dream not of Fame-tho' bright visions of glory
Have haunted thy day dreams, thy slumbers perplexed,

For Hope, like the bird in the Talisman story,

Scarce lights on one bough, e'er he flies to the next.

Then dream not-for visions afar that are glowing,
Mislead like the swamp-lights that burn thro' the gloom,

For like them, those bright hopes unattained, are but throwing
A light o'er the pathway that leads to the tomb.

THE ELDONFIELD PAPERS.

Seely E

No. II.

THE FORGED CHECK.

JUST at the head of one of the streets of Eldonfield, within a stone's throw of the village church, stood Bentley's Variety Store. It was a large two story building, built of brick; with thick doors, and heavy brown colored shutters, and, lest one should mistake its use, this, together with the name of the owner, was fully set forth in the gilt letters of the huge sign, which adorned the capacio us front of the edifice. It was the chief center of the village trade. Within, were goods of almost every description, piled up on the counters and shelves, or stowed away in the numerous drawers, or distributed variously through the boxes and barrels which appropriated to themselves one entire side of the spacious interior. Mr. Bentley himself, who was proprietor of some half dozen factories, had but little to do with this department of his business, but gave it up almost entirely to the management of one of his clerks, whose long service had convinced his employer, that he was worthy of all the confidence which was so freely reposed in him. Men are frequently apt to be mistaken on such points, and perhaps Mr. Bentley was, in the present instance. At any rate, a stranger, at first sight, would hardly have selected James Wilson, as the object of his trust. True, his manners were perfectly polite, he would meet you with as cordial a smile as it was possible for the face of a friend to wear when greeting a friend, and would treat you with every mark of kindness and regard, but when you would look up and meet his glance, you caught a strange fire which burnt up all the feelings that had begun to rise within your heart. It was an indefinable sensation, which you would then experience, and as these glittering black eyes flashed upon your own, you would draw back instinctively, and think of the basilisk that is said to fix his gaze upon his victim, till he can draw it to himself and

destroy it within his folds. Perhaps it was all imagination, doubtless it was in part owing to this, but I never met James Wilson without a shudder. There was that in his very presence, which seemed to tell of some dark passion burning within his soul. It was not awe, and it could hardly have been fear with which he inspired one, but yet it was a feeling very near akin to both of these emotions. One felt a dread of something indefinable in the nature of the man, which would appear, and which all his smiles and urbanity were but the hollow attempt to conceal. Some would wonder that Mr. Bentley should give him so much confidence, while others would wisely shake their heads and prophesy that he would still repent it. And yet James Wilson still continued head-clerk in Mr. Bentley's store, and year after year rolled round, and found him holding as large a place as ever in the confidence of his employer. It might have been merited, and perhaps all the suspicions which were felt, were the mere fancies of a jealous mind, but we shall see.

William Leslie was youngest clerk in the same store. Every body loved him, and no wonder, for his kind nature and winning manners were such as to readily gain for him the affections of all. His frank, open countenance and pleasant smile convinced you that they were the true index of a warm and generous heart. If you shrunk back from Wilson you found yourself drawn towards Leslie with real affection; if you found it impossible to love the one, it was equally impossible to prevent your whole heart from becoming enlisted in favor of the other. Both were capable of very different emotions themselves, as well as of inspiring those of a very different nature in the breasts of others, and yet the lives of both were woven strangely together in the web of destiny.

One morning Wilson entered the store much later than usual, and without noticing any one, walked into the counting room, and silently took his seat at his desk. Evidently something had gone wrong with him, for instead of opening his ledgers and proceeding with his usual business, he sat with a thoughtful air, mechanically tapping the desk with his pencil, and ever and anon biting his lips, while a bitter scowl would spread itself over his features. After a while he took out a letter which he had that morning received, and appeared to be carefully studying its contents. He then crushed it together in his hands, and bending forward became once more absorbed in his meditations. The letter, which appeared to give him so much anxiety, informed him that a speculation, into which he had entered, and

pledged himself for a large amount, in the hope of sure success, had entirely failed, and that the liabilities for which he had bound himself would speedily become due. Utterly unexpected as the intelligence was, it came like a thunderbolt upon the deluded man. He instantly set himself at work to devise some scheme for arresting the evil which seemed impending over him. But whatever plan he proposed to himself, he had no means to allow him to put in execution, and there seemed no way but that discovery and ruin would inevitably ensue. "No way," he whispered to himself, "no way, but," and he started up, "is not Mr. Bentley's credit good for an unlimited amount, and will not his name supply my wants?" The thought of using his employer's signature had no sooner entered his mind than he resolved upon its execution. He thought not of the consequences, or how he should escape detection for such an act;-his whole mind was bent on avoiding present danger and he cared not for the means he used, and thought not of the result. This was his character.

The deed was done. James Wilson was a forger. Crime was no new experience to him, for his memory was a long black catalogue of guilt, and he was already hardened for a far more fearful deed. He had previously covered up one sin with another, and thus concealed his crimes from the knowledge of his fellow men, and this was all he sought or cared for. It troubled him not that the burning gaze of Omniscience looked down into his soul, or that all his dark plans and purposes were laid open to the view of the All Searching Eye. Little cared he for the book of rememberance which registered the guilt of creation, so long as it could be kept safe from the inspection of the world with which he had to do.

"Murder will out" is a true proverb, and no less true when applied to many crimes of less heinous dye. Before a week had elapsed, James Wilson's breast was not the only one which possessed the knowledge of his forgery. This he knew, and it filled him with alarm. How William Leslie had learned the fact he knew not; how he could prevent him from divulging it, was all he cared for. To solve this problem now became the chief object of his thoughts. Poor Leslie, who had become acquainted with the circumstance from accident, little knew the dark schemes of which he was now made the object. Pure and innocent as a child in his nature, he was shocked at the crime, and the knowledge of it lay with a heavy weight upon his heart. He did not wish to injure Wilson-he would not for the world; but when he thought of his duty to his employer, he was

troubled to know what course he ought to pursue.

He wished he had

not known the fact, for how could he conceal it, and thus injure his employer, and how could he divulge it, when this would ruin his associate? He knew not how to act, and so he kept the matter to himself, and while it was always in his thoughts, he never allowed a word of it to escape his lips.

One evening, after all the rest had left the store, Wilson stood at his desk arranging that day's accounts, while Leslie was without, putting up the shutters for the night. As the latter came in, the other threw down his pen; deposited his books in the safe, and in an easy, familiar manner, said: "Come Leslie, what say you to our long-talked of fishing expedition to the pond? A cloudy night like this is just the time you know, and as we have finished business earlier than usual, it's too good an opportunity to be lost." Leslie was accustomed to yield to his slightest wish, and the other knew it, and so taking the tackle and bait which Wilson had prepared for the occasion, they sallied forth without the knowledge of any one. The pond lay about a mile from the village, and during their walk thither, Wilson used his best efforts to make himself agreeable to his companion. In this he fully succeeded. By the time they reached the pond, Leslie was in high spirits, and readily acceded to a proposition, that they should enter a boat that was drawn up on the shore, and try their success out on the water. Having made this ready, they leaped merrily in, and seizing the oars they glided out into the middle of the pond. Here they paused; let down their stone anchor; threw out their baits and began their work. The sport was a novel one to Leslie, and he was enchanted with it. As he drew in his lines. again and again, overjoyed at his success, he little knew of the designs that were then revolving in the mind of his companion. He did not notice that Wilson had not once taken in his line, and that he sat in moody silence; looking out into the darkness, apparently unconscious of every thing but his own thoughts. Could William Leslie but have read those thoughts, how he would have shrunk in terror from the demon that was harboring them.

"Well," said Wilson, at length, turning suddenly around and confronting his companion," and so you would ruin me, ha?"

The lamp-light flickered over his countenance, and revealed his features wrought up into a look of perfect phrenzy. The poor boy looked up, but as he met the fierce, unearthly gaze that was leveled upon him, he covered his face with his hands, and his heart sunk in