tions, that make sad for a season, may they be like 'darkeyed autumn,' beautiful even in its sadness!"

"( 'Bless you for the thought! We must all experience some sorrows, and meet with some disappointments. But the faithful need not fear them, for they shall only make them stronger."

"I would that I were as strong as you are,from evil thoughts and evil passions!"

as free

"Nay, I am weak, as well as you; but in God shall be our trust! "

32

CHAPTER XXVI.

WONDERFUL DISCOVERY.

THE next morning, my uncle, with mock gravity, congratulated me upon my improved appearance; then turned to Helen, and told her she should have known better than to keep me up so late, for it was a wellestablished fact that invalids required more rest and sleep than persons who were free from disease. He hoped she would remember this in the future. My aunt, the good soul, laughed, and said, "No matter about established facts;-- if a course of treatment produces good results, and restores the patient, that is enough."

A conversation of a more serious nature succeeded this pleasant raillery. Uncle and aunt proposed that when we were married we should live with them; and they would make over the farm to us, to be ours at their decease. I objected, on account of Mrs. Stewart; but they said the house was large enough for all, and that Mrs. Stewart should be welcome whenever she wished to change her home. We made a conditional agreement, which might have been carried into effect, had

not an event happened which caused us to entirely change our plan.

At the appointed time, Thomas and Lizzie were married. They immediately left for their future home. Thomas and Mr. Harvey, the husband of Lizzie, a brother to Thomas' wife, had purchased a paper-mill of Mr. Harvey's father; and they had formed a partnership with a Mr. Vinton, also a brother-in-law, for the purpose of manufacturing paper. As I had determined to turn my attention to farming, it was the desire of Thomas and the rest of the family that I should retain the homestead. Mrs. Stewart seemed anxious that I should do So. On the other hand, Helen was desirous that I should comply with uncle's request, though she was willing to do as I thought best. I was halting between two opinions, when an unexpected development caused me to decide.

We were married, at my uncle's, in the following November. A large number of friends came to celebrate the happy event, and to bless us with their smiles and good wishes. Among the rest were Ernest and Irene Brown; or, as she wrote her name, Irene Dinneford Brown. They performed the parts of bridegroom and bridesmaid, as I had promised Ernest when he little suspected my meaning.

We returned with them to New York, on a marriage tour. We were in the city, at a hotel, when the start

ling revelation was made which rendered our future course perfectly clear. Previous to the development, Helen had related to me a somewhat remarkable vision, or dream. She said that a good and benevolent looking man came to her, and laid his hand upon her head in benediction. His eyes were blue, and looked spiritual and holy, as they were fixed upon her. A smile full of sweetness and satisfaction played upon his benignant

face.

He said, "Do you remember me?"

"I have a faint recollection of you," she answered; "I saw you when I was a little child.”

"Who am I?”

"My father! But you have long been dead, and I had forgotten you!"

"I am your father, my child! And your mother,would you know of her?"

"My mother! Where is she with the living or the dead?"

"She lives, my child, and mourns thy loss! Go and comfort her!"

"Mourns for me? O, tell me where she is, that I may fly to her arms, and gladden her heart by the sight

of her child!"

Thy prayer shall be granted! Follow me! "

"He led me into the next room, and pointed me to a pale and sickly looking man, who lay, in a disturbed

slumber, upon the bed. I looked at him attentively, and I saw that it was the melancholy invalid whom we had met at table, and had seen going in and out of the next room. He who had seemed my father said, 'Be like a child to him, and he shall direct thee to thy mother!' I was about to ask her name, when I awoke."

This dream made a deep impression upon Helen. She said she had often doubted whether those whom she had regarded as her parents were really so. She never recollected of having that love which a child should feel for a parent. And sometimes dim and confused thoughts had come crowding upon her, the cause of which she had sought for in vain. They ever ran upon one subject,— a country home, and a lady who seemed very near and dear to her. I tried to persuade her that it was because her parents had not treated her kindly; and, after placing her at Deacon Webber's, had apparently forgotten her.

"You are mistaken," she said; "for when I awoke from my dream I immediately travelled back in thought to the time when I was a little child, before I lived with Mr. Means; and I then lived with a dear, good woman, who was my mother. I am sure that it was in the country; I can see the spot now. And, unless I have had a previous existence, according to the faith of some, and had such a home then, it was my home in my early childhood!"

32*