The evening of which I have just spoken, glided on fast and pleasantly. At an unusually late hour, when I began to think of taking my departure, I found it to be raining. The rain was in fact pouring down in torrents. Jasper urged me to stay all night at the cottage. The invitation being seconded by Mary, and feeling that I ought no longer to consider myself a stranger in the family, I very cheerfully accepted it and remained, not so much, I must confess, on account of the rain, which I was inclined to think only a shower, as for the pleasure of being under the same roof with her who was becoming more and more dear to me. I was shown upstairs, into a chamber which had been occupied by Mr. Somers, and which contained the writing-bureau before referred to, Jasper remarking that he would, in the morning, unlock the bureau and get out the papers. There was a soft, comfortable lounge in the room, and I sat down and reclined upon it. To me, as to many, there is no sweeter music in nature than the pattering of rain upon the roof. The soothing sounds soon lulled me into profound slumber. My light must have gone out in the course of an hour or two at farthest. the larger amount, may-nay, will bring I sat upright upon the lounge, and at with it hope and life, sunshine and that moment perceived what appeared flowers, causing him who gives it, to be to me to be the reflection, from some at once happy himself, and a source of brassy or other metallic substance, of a happiness to others. ray of light. I heard the noise of the filing no longer. On looking and listening more intently, I came to the conclusion that the leaf at the upper part of the bureau, forming apparently the front of a drawer, and which, when let down, constituted, with another portion of the bureau, a writing-desk, having pigeon-holes at the back of it, was being gradually lowered on its semi-circular brass slides or supporters. These had been worn to brightness by long usage, and even a slight and feeble ray of light, striking on one of them, could not fail to be distinctly reflected. This had been the case in the present instance. I had no doubt that some one was carefully letting down the leaf, and that the ray of light proceeded from a dark or partially shaded lantern. I stepped toward the bureau. As I did so the leaf and the lantern both fell with a crash. There was a rustling of garments. The wearer of them hastened to the window, and hurriedly descended a ladder placed beneath it, and by means of which the room had, of course, been entered. Satisfied that the object of this burglarious proceeding could only be to obtain the very important papers of which I have spoken, and fearing that they had been taken, I hesitated not an instant, but rushed down the ladder, taking two or three rounds at each step. It was almost daybreak. Going out of the yard of the house, and looking hastily around, I could discern the flying figure of the burglar at some distance on the road, and also, in a field directly opposite the cottage, and near the edge of a patch of woods, the retreating form, as I did not doubt it was, of a confederate. Though they were thus apparently escaping in somewhat opposite directions, I made up my mind that they would, most likely, effect a junction at some point or other, as Mortimer Carlisle-for I deemed him to be the principal or How long I slept I know not, but daylight was not far distant when I was aroused by a noise which I at first supposed was occasioned by the gnawing of a mouse. Though I did not listen very intently, it at length seemed to me to sound more like the rasping of a file, but whether it proceeded from within or without I was unable to determine. Raising myself quietly upon my elbow, I caught the sound with more distinctIt was clearly the grating of a fine saw or file; but, drowsy as I was, with but little light in the room, I still could not decide from what direction it came. The rain, I found, had ceased. ness. chief burglar-would, I thought, in all probability, turn into a cross-road intersecting that upon which stood the cottage. This was his nearest course home, and, if followed, it would pretty certainly, from its direction, bring the two together before the house was reached. I paused for a moment, and until the person, whom I deemed to be the confederate, had entered the woods, when, crossing the road and bounding into the field, I soon entered them myself. Passing cautiously through them, and emerging into an open space, I saw the confederate, not many rods ahead of me, in the act of getting over a stone wall, at the side of the cross road which, I presumed, Mortimer had taken. I crept along as closely to the wall as possible, fearing all the time that my presence might be disclosed by the occasional crackling of a stick, or the rolling of a stone, as I stepped upon it. I did not meditate the arrest of the burglars, for that, I felt, there being two to contend with, might not very easily be accomplished, but I was desirous of ascertain ing, first, whether the papers had actually been taken, and secondly, who they were who had engaged in this bold and nefarious business. I had proceeded as far as I thought prudent, when I heard steps upon the road. The confederate was undoubtedly within a few feet of me, on the other side of the wall, pacing up and down as if waiting for some one. In the course of a few minutes, during which I almost held my breath, lest my respiration should be heard, - for I believed it to be he came rapidly along from the direction of the cottage, and the following words were interchanged, in a low tone of voice and hurried manner, between his associate and himself: 'Have you secured the papers?' The answer was followed by a halfsuppressed exclamation from him to whom it was addressed, the exclamation being obviously the usual and more fa miliar appellation of his satanic majesty. That it was Mortimer who made the an swer I did not doubt. I could not, 1 felt, mistake his voice. But who was the confederate? Muttering something which I tried in vain to overhear, they both went on, almost immediately, toward the house of the late Captain Carlisle. As I raised my head above the wall, and watched for a moment or two their receding forms, I was impelled to think that Mortimer could not be content until he had added burglary to murder, one crime to another; for I was at least inclined to consider him the murderer of his uncle. Most fortunately he had not accomplished his object. But would he stop there? Returning to the cottage, I found Mary and Jasper up, and not a little alarmed. An examination of the bu reau resulted in our ascertaining that Mortimer had sawn or filed off a piece of the brass bolt, by which the leaf was fastened to the body of the bureau, and that thus the all-important documents would, in another moment, have been within his grasp. The wonder, indeed, was that they were not. I immediately took the papers to my office, having, however, first cautioned Mary and Jasper not to say a word about what had just happened, to any one but their father, and to enjoin secresy on him. It was no part of my plan to prefer a charge against Mortimer at that time, and I wished nothing to transpire which might prevent him from supposing that either the family of Mr. Somers, or Mr. Somers himself, regarded this noctural occurrence as any thing more than a mere ordinary attempt at robbery, the object of which was to obtain money, or something other, at all events, than the papers themselves. I rightly judged that, should Mortimer think himself unsus pected, he would prove less discreet than he otherwise would be. [TO BE CONTINUED.] TO ARTHUR. BY MOLLY MYRTLE EVEN though I loved thee, Arthur, If my father said, 'My daughter, Fold me close up to thy breast; Memory would be ringing, Arthur, In my heart a pleading chime, When my father's fond affection Shielded childhood's gay spring-time. He has walked beside me, Arthur, Led me up life's steep hill-side; And without my father's blessing, I may never be a bride. Turn away thy eyes, O Arthur! With their regal haunting light; Leave me to the tears that quiver It is hard to leave thee, Arthur, Hard to cover up thy face, Shining with its radiant beauty, heart's most sacred place. In my But my mother's wings are o'er me, But, O Arthur! though our pathways A JAUNT ON THE HUDSON. Ir was only to the Highlands, and on one of the smaller boats. She left the wharf at eight o'clock, A.M., Monday, the ninth of May. The evening before, the heat of a few days culminated in a concentration of electrical forces seldom exceeded, manifesting itself in forked bolts and sudden bursts of artillery, thundering and terrific, accompanied by one or the heaviest showers of rain ever witnessed, almost amounting, for a few minutes, to a veritable water-spout. Nobody was prepared for it. Many took shelter under the awnings, many resorted to the street-cars; but, when the corner came at which they must leave for home, all hesitated; some safely concluded to ride on to the end of the route and return; others plunged into the deluging rain, poor helpless ladies, without umbrellas, exposing their hats and dresses to ruin, and their health to danger, in some cases greatly retarded in their race by the necessity of dragging a little helpless boy or girl at their feet. With all its fun and frolic, its fear and fright, its drabbling dresses and its battered bonnets, how good a thing it was! All nature feels it this morning. How the earth absorbed it in; how it crept down, by thousands of rills, to the roots of the plants and the trees; how their fibrous tendrils drank it up as a divine nectar, and how the bright, warm sun, coöperating with his beams, bids the emerald leaves open wide for the touch of his genial warmth, and the velvety grass shoot its spires up higher towards his gorgeous empyrean; and how the chirping birds did join in their hallelu. jah chorus, this morning, as they caught the first faintest ray of twilight, be tokening the coming of the King of Day to mount his chariot in brilliant array. And those little choristers in nature's cathedral, how, every morning, do they chant the praises of Him who made them, shaming God's intelligent crea tures, who, morning after morning, for get either to think or to speak of their Creator. And having chanted their hymn in exquisite melody and har mony, how busy at work they are, and how early, building the soft little nests for their coming broods, or flying back and forth from the garden or the field to the nest, gathering up the insects and the worms, and depositing them nicely in the wide-opened mouth of the little fledglings. Thus, whilst they feed their young with care, they help the gardener and the farmer much more than either is generally aware. Poor little, airy, fluttering things, pure as heaven and harmless as doves! do let them chirp, and flit about, and busy themselves in their domestic cares, while they may. Their heaven is here, as well as their earth, and short enough at best. But the Hudson! Broad, deep, placid stream, with its magnificent outlet bay, capable of floating the wealth of the world; how still it lies, this misty morn, under the soft pressure of the exhaling vapors; so quiet its slumber, that you might think no breeze could ever awaken it or ruffle its temper, much less lash it into angry waves! The white sails are up and out, to catch the first breathings of the wind that may help them bear their burdens over the bosom of the mighty stream; and the ferrysteamers are ploughing their way, back and forth, to carry in and out the crowds of busy men. Some go out to their country toil, but most in, either to ply machinery, or to sit at the receipt of custom as money-changers, or deal in crops at the Corn-Exchange, or job it as jobbers in the dry-goods trade, or wait for clients at the attorney's office, or implead their cases in the courts, or, last and not least, to undergo the patient, persistent, though oft unrequited toil of the daily, weekly, or monthly editor. But satis! how I go off. I sat down in my chair on the boat, just to chirographize a few lines about the banks of the Hudson, in spring, the opening spring, and it seems to me I have written about almost every thing else. Well, I won't be cheated by my erratic thoughts. Spring and the banks of the river shall have their portion. The gladsome Spring, On beauteous wing, Comes floating in, To bless the earth, To wake up mirth, And nature's joys begin. Sitting on the deck of the steamer, as she passes slowly up the river, Spring seems to be nestling in every nook of its banks, and infusing her soft and loving spirit into every blade of grass, every expanding leaflet, and every opening bud or unfolding flower. The sun yet too low in the eastern horizon to pour his beams over on to the slope of the eastern bank, the lovely lawns and the fresh young foliage still lie in the shadows of the morning, and give us a depth and a repose of verdure which the advancing sun will soon change into a light and dancing green; more brilliant in hue, but not so soft nor so soothing to the soul as the shadowy verdure of the earlier morn, when it is still wet with the freshening dews of the night. Look up into that retiring dell. There the shadow is still deeper, the gray rock crops out, the dun earth looks cool, the early violet peeps up and throws at you a half-ashamed glance, and wishes you would not gaze on its blushing modesty. We'll let it grow, then, in its retirement, the meanwhile only wishing we were near enough to inhale its delicious fragrance. There is a charming lawn of English grass, smoothly and closely shorn, running down the bank in a lovely slope and curves of beauty, till it touches the very railroad track. It is girt by a beautiful grove of various trees, all just putting on their fringes of green, from the lightest to the heaviest hues, and on its surface, here and there, but not too frequently, shoot up the cone-shaped arbor vitæ, or the spire-like cedar, native to the Hudson hills. Passing along, skirted by scenes of beauty, there came into view the hillside and the house, which, but a little while ago, had been to me the seat and centre of rare delights, now fallen to the lot of another, equally or more fitted to enjoy. But alas! a little further on, a mansion of magnificent proportions, in the midst of grounds combining unwonted features of beauty, and standing on a summit-level of commanding view, reminded me that a sweet lamb of Christ had been taken home to the fold of heaven, since I last stood on the porch of that happy house. Annie, lovely and beloved as few can be, the sweet, soft angel of her home, quiet, gentle, tender, inspiring the confidence of all, and making vice abashed in her presence; a twinkling star, trying to hide itself amid the glare of others, yet ever unconsciously shedding its soft effulgence aroundAnnie is gone to her heavenly home! And we cannot but think she is very near her Saviour, a sweet memorial of |