Again did the youthful spirit gaze down on earthly joy, chastened in its fulness, yet ecstatic in its nature. Love, pure, perfect, faithful love, had twined around that fair and gifted child of earth, and filled the blank which yet remained; though fame, appreciation, triumph, sympathy, affection, all were hers. She had found a kindred soul, round which to weave the clinging tendrils of her own; virtues to revere, piety to support, uphold, and cherish the soarings of her own. She had found one whose praise might still those passionate yearnings, the which to satisfy she had vainly looked to fame;—one, from whose lips how sweet became the praise of the world;—one to give new zest to her exalted genius; for by him it was most valued, most beloved; Zephon looked on the beautiful blossoming of genius, the expansion of intellect, the flowering of every budding hope; and he saw, too, the chastened humility, the unwavering love, which traced these rich gifts to their source, and lifted up her heart in universal love and grateful adoration; and again his voice joined hers in thanksgiving.

Once more, at the voice of the archangel, he sought and found the kindred essence, and love was on that heart, deep mighty, whelming love, bearing before it for awhile even the sere and withered leaves, with which its depths were strewed. He looked on the wreck of that which he had seen so lovely—the wreck of all save the gentle virtues, the meek submission which had characterised her youth; the rosy dreams, the glowing visions presented but a crushed and broken mass; their bright fragments seeking ever to unite, but ever rudely severed. Genius, in its deep, wild burnings, its impassioned breathing, feeding as a smothered fire upon her own young heart, seeking ever to find a vent, an echo—to be known, acknowledged, loved; but falling back with every effort, till even genius seemed increase of sorrow—and hope yet glimmered there, pale, sickly, shadowy, in its faint rays emitting but increase of light, to be immersed in deeper gloom. And love was there, intense, all-mighty, yet it brought no joy.

“She loves—she was beloved,” again spake the angelic voice; “but the sin of the father is visited upon the child. A little while he appeared devoted unto her, and to the memory of the departed; and tho............