THE MARRIAGE RING.

C. F. HOFFMAN.

I "Tell her only," said the dying husband, "to replace our ring upon her finger when I am no more "-The Divorced.]

Thoughts, through Infinitude bleakly roving,
Thoughts, that to both were else forbidden,
Thoughts full-oh, full, to pain-of loving,
Were in its circle shrined and hidden,
By Faith and Reason there unchidden.

It gave the right to serve to serve

One chosen being, loved so dearly

That we must thrill in every nerve

At aught which moved her soul sincerely,
At aught which touched her welfare nearly.

The right to feel-in soul to feel

That howe'er wanting we may be

To God-to man-we still can kneel
And thank him there is one that we
Make happy by our ministry.

Then wear the ring when I'm no more! Wear it, though thou shouldst love again, "Twill teach one truth till life is o'er

He lived, who living but in pain,

While Thou wast blest lived not in vain.

PARTING UNDER A CLOUD:

A SKETCH FROM LIFE.

GRACE GREENWOOD.

In looking through a portfolio of choice engravings, in the studio of my artist friend,, a short time since, I met with a picture of "Byron at nineteen," which startled me by its singular resemblance to one I had known long and well in days gone by. A near relative of ours, and the favorite class-mate of one of my brothers, Henry Elliot, though many years my senior, was, perhaps, the most familiar friend of my early girlhood, and though we have since been widely separated, his character and history have never lost their interest to me—an interest which the sight of that picture but quickens into expres

sion.

At the time when he left college, Henry Elliot was surely one of the finest specimens of manly beauty which it was possible for one to meet. With a figure athletic and powerfully developed, yet unerringly graceful in action and repose-a face not classic indeed, but absolutely radiant with enthusiasm and the ardor and energy of a fine physical organization-an assured and elegant

manner, it was wonderful that he was not quite spoiled by the favors and flatteries of society, the involuntary deference of men, and the obvious admiration of women. His originally strong and manly character, the favoritism of which he was made the subject, could not destroy-but in one respect it was surely to him an incalculable injury. It prevented him from acquiring a knowledge of, and a power over himself. By nature fiery, impetuous, and impatient, and deprived at an early age of the wise counsels and controlling influences of a father, he never learned to curb his passionate and excitable temper. Though never sullen or vindictive, he could not, or he would not "govern his own spirit" in moments of irritation or disappointment. This was the one dark shade upon a most honorable and otherwise lovable character.

On leaving college, young Elliot made choice of the legal profession, and pursued his studies with a friend of his family, a lawyer of eminence in one of the beautiful cities in the eastern part of the State of New York. Soon after entering upon the practice of his profession, he married the object of his “first and passionate love,” the sole daughter of his legal preceptor, a beautiful girl of nineteen-fair-haired, blue-eyed, serene-browed, and soft-voiced: one who fitly wore and sweetly graced, the only true poetical name-" Mary"-the only name which universal usage and common associations have not robbed of its beauty and sacredness.

Mary Hamilton, an only child, had been from her infancy almost companionless,-just as she entered

womanhood her mother died, thus her character originally moulded in purity and softness, was deepened and spiritualized by solitude and sorrow, until it was as ideal in its serene loveliness as it well might be in our everyday life, in our profoundly real age. Hers was not a strong character, however, except it be in the strength of the affections. The single principle of love pervaded and absorbed her entire being. Her devotion was unbounded and untiring,-it could not be taxed too much, or too often, by the one beloved. With the forbearing meekness of a saint, and the depending tenderness of a child, the young wife's influence was not such as was calculated to correct her husband's peculiar faults of character. His too despotic and exacting will, and his habit of giving way to sudden outbursts of passion and petulance, were strengthened by exercise. It followed that toward his gentle wife, who never allowed a word of complaint, or defence, much less of angry retort to escape her lips, he soon unconsciously stood in the light of a master-one who would have been feared and detested, had he not been loved adoringly. As it was, his sovereignty was acknowledged with an obedient, a patient, and a willing spirit.

Mary had a wonderful power of concealing all feelings whose expression might not be pleasurable to another. She resolutely shut in upon her heart its own cares and griefs, and subjected the exquisite sensitiveness of her most feminine nature to a perpetual martyrdom. Whatever her pain, she never frowned on her husband or