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PRESERVATION.-When the specimens have been sufficiently dried, they should be carefully transferred with the forceps to a sheet of good thick white paper, in which they may either be preserved loose, or fastened to the right-hand sheet of the paper by means of thread, glue, or gum. Of these we prefer the former, as the two latter are apt to attract insects, which will in a very short time completely destroy an herbarium; to guard against their attacks, it is as well to brush the plants over with a spirituous solution of bichloride of mercury, consisting of two drachms to the pint. Some prefer keeping the plant loose in the paper; they are certainly easy of examination under these circumstances. The botanical The botanical name, natural order, habitat, and date of collection, together with any other note of interest, should be written on the right-hand corner of the inner side of the sheet. The natural orders that generally suffer most from the attacks of insects are Cruciferæ, Euphorbiaceæ, Gentianaceæ, Umbelliferæ, Salicaceæ, and Liliaceæ.

A MEMORY.

BY HARRIET E. BENEDICT.

WHEN February, cold and gray,

Shook the light snow-flakes from his wing,

She smiled to greet the dreary day,

And said, ""Twill soon be Spring."

Ah! daily did our prayers arise,

That unto her the passing hours Might bring soft winds and sunny skies, And the sweet breath of flowers.

The May-time, that she loved the best;

The days of light, and song, and bloom,
Ere death should bring the unbroken rest,
The silence of the tomb.

But late in this, our northern clime,
The hours such gifts of beauty bring,
And wearily the passing time

Moved onward to the Spring.

The March winds round our dwelling-place
Pealed their wild chorus through the sky,
And as we watched her pallid face,
We knew that she must die.

Yet life's dim taper flickered still,

And with new brightness seemed to burn, When the storm ceased, and vale and hill Smiled back the smile of morn.

Wandering beside the unchained brook That day, a group of children spied

A violet, peeping from its nook,

And brought it to her side

In all its delicate loveliness;
As if a gentle minister,

Her dying eyes to cheer and bless,
The Spring had sent to her.

At eve we wept-a mourning band;
And the sweet flower she kissed and blest,
We placed within her icy hand

To wither on her breast.

Ah, how sad memories come to me!
Without, the sunshine and the rain
Tell of the April days, which she
So longed to win in vain.

For the glad spring-time now is here,
With its rich gifts of bud and bloom;
The gifts which in the vanished year
We laid upon her tomb.

But she, whose clear immortal eyes

Are shadowed by no vain regrets,
Views not with us its changing skies,
And fading violets.

And to the heavenly heights afar
We lift our eyes, and pray that thus,
As spring eternal came to her,
It yet may come to us.

THE STORY OF AN ATOM.-The atom of charcoal which floated in the corrupt atmosphere of the old volcanic ages was absorbed into the leaf of a fern when the valleys became green and luxuriant; and there, in its proper place, it received the sunlight and the dew, aiding to fling back to heaven a reflection of heaven's gold, and, at the same time, to build the tough fibre of the plant. The atom was consigned to the tomb, when the waters submerged the jungled valley. It had lain there thousands of years, and a month since was brought into the light again imbedded in a block of coal. It shall be consumed to warm our dwellings, cook our food, and make more ruddy and cheerful the hearth whereon our children play; it shall combine with a portion of the invisible atmosphere, ascend upward as a curling wreath to revel in a mazy dance high up in the blue ether; shall reach the earth again, and be entrapped into the embrace of a flower; shall live in velvet beauty on the cheek of the apricot; shall pass into the human body, giving enjoyment to the palate, and health to the blood; shall circulate in the delicate tissues of the brain; and aid, by entering into some new combination, in educing the thoughts which are now being recorded by the pen. It is but an atom of charcoal; it may dwell one moment in a stagnant ditch, and the next be flashing ou the lip of beauty; may now be a component of a limestone rock, and the next an ingredient in a field of potatoes; it may slumber for a thousand years without undergoing a single change, and the next hour pass through a thousand mutations; and, after all, it is only an atom of charcoal, and occupies its own place, wherever it may be.

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"HUSKS."

"And he would fain have filled himself with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him.”

BY MARION HARLAND.

[Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1863, by LoUIS A. GODEY, in the clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.]

CHAPTER VII.

(Continued from page 265.)

MR. HUNT was able to resume his place in the bank several days before his wife returned. Uncle Nathan had brought Jeannie home as soon as her father could leave his room, and the boys had likewise been written for; so that the family reunion was apparently near at hand.

Weak as he was, Mr. Hunt met his spouse and daughter at the depot, and the noise of their entrance in the lower hall first apprised Sarah of their arrival. To the bound of pleasurable excitement her heart gave at the certainty that they had come, succeeded a sigh at the termination of the free, yet busy life she had led of late-the probability that she would be compelled to resume her old habits of feeling and action. Driving back the selfish regret, she ran down to welcome the travellers.

"How well you 're looking, Sarah!" said Mrs. Hunt, after kissing her. "I declare, if you was to arrange your hair different, and study dress a bit, you would come near being right down handsome."

"Handsome is as handsome does !'"' quoted Mr. Hunt, stoutly. "According to that rule, she is a beauty !"

"Thank you, sir!" said Sarah, bowing low. *And she tried to forget, in her sister's affectionate greeting, the chill and heart-sickness produced by her mother's businesslike manner and compliment.

"Having disposed of one daughter, she means to work the other into merchantable shape!" was her cynical deduction from the dubious praise bestowed upon herself.

Mrs. Hunt pursued her way up the steps, examining and remarking upon everything she

saw.

"Them stair-rods aint so clean as they had ought to be, Sarah. I'm afraid your girls are careless, or shirks. When did you uncover the carpet ?"

"Some time ago, mother, while father was sick. There were gentlemen calling constantly, and the cover looked shabby, I thought."

28*

'It couldn't be helped, I s'pose; but the carpet is more worn than I expected to see it. With the heavy expenses that will be crowding on us this fall and winter, we can't afford to get any new things for the house."

Lucy, who preceded her sister, glanced back and laughed meaningly. And Sarah was very glad that her father had not overheard the observation, which confirmed her belief that the beauty's hand was disposed of, without the form of consultation with her natural and legal guardian.

Dinner was announced by the time the travelling habiliments and dust were removed. Sarah had spared no pains to provide a bountiful and tasteful repast, at the risk of incurring 'her mother's reproof for her extravagant proclivities. But the dame was in high good humor, and the youthful purveyor received but a single sentence of deprecation.

"I hope you have not been living as high as this all the time, Sarah !"

"No, madam. Father's wants and mine were very few. I foresaw that you would need substantial refreshment after your journey."

"You was very thoughtful. We both have good appetites, I guess. I know that I have.” "Mine will speak for itself," said Lucy.

"You have no idea how that girl has enjoyed everything since she has been away," observed Mrs. Hunt to her husband. "There was Vic. West, who took it into her head that she ought to look die-away and peaking, and refuse food, when her beau was by; but Lu., she just went right along and behaved natural, and I'm sure that somebody thought more of her for it."

Mr. Hunt's face darkened for a moment; but he could not find fault with his eldest child on her first evening at home.

"So you have been quite a belle, Lucy ?" he said, pleasantly.

"Better than that, Mr. H. !" Mrs. Hunt checked her triumphant announcement as the butler re-entered the room. "I shouldn't wonder," she resumed, mysteriously, "if Lucy 353

was disposed to settle down into a steady, sedate matron after her holiday.”

"Don't you deceive yourself with that hope !" laughed Lucy.

She was evidently pleased by these not over delicate allusions to her love-affairs, and, like her mother, extremely complacent over the result of her recent campaign. Sarah felt that, were she in her place, she would shrink from this open jesting upon a sacred subject; still she had not expected that her sister would behave differently. Lucy's nature was gentle without being fine; affectionate, but shallow. She would have had no difficulty in attaching herself to any man whom her friends recommended as (( a good match," provided he were pleasing in exterior, and her most devoted servitor.

The sisters had no opportunity of private converse until they adjourned to the parlor for the evening. Lucy was very beautiful in a blue silk, whose low corsage and short sleeves revealed her superb shoulders and rounded arms. Her complexion was a rich carmine, deepening or softening with every motion-one would have said, with every breath. Her blue

eyes fairly danced in a sort of subdued glee, very charming and very becoming, but altogether unlike the tender, dewy light of "Love's first young dream !"

"How lovely you have grown, sister !" said Sarah, earnestly. "Oh, Lucy, I don't believe you rightly value the gift of beauty-as I would do, if it were mine!"

"Nonsense!" The dimples, that made her smile so bewitching, broke her blushes into rosy waves, as the conscious fair one turned her face towards the mirror. "I am pleased to hear that I am passable to-night. We may have visitors. A friend of ours has expressed a great desire to see me in my home-'in the bosom of my family.' Ahem!" She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her bodice, an excuse for tarrying longer before the glass. "He came to town with you, then?" ventured Sarah.

Lucy nodded.

"And promised to call this evening ?" "Right again, my dear!"

She was graver now, for she had conceived the happy notion of appropriating to her own use a cluster of white roses and buds she discovered in the vase on the marble slab under the mirror. If anything could have enhanced the elegance of her figure and toilet, it was the coiffure she immediately set about arranging. The flowers were a present to Sarah from Lewis

Hammond; but she thought little of him or of them as Lucy laid them first on one, then the other side of her head, to try the effect.

"And you really care for him, sister?" came forth in such a timid, anxious tone, that Lucy burst into a fit of laughter.

"You dear, little, modest piece of romantic simplicity! One would suppose that you were popping the question yourself, from your behavior. Care for him? Why shouldn't I? I need not say 'yes,' unless I do, need I?"

"But you take it so coolly! A betrothal is, to me, such a solemn thing."

"And to most other girls, perhaps. (There! if I only had a hair-pin. Don't rob yourself! thank you! Isn't that an improvement?) As I was saying, why should I pretend to be pensive and doleful, when I am as merry as a lark? or lovesick, when I have never lost a meal or an hour's sleep from the commencement of the courtship until now? That is not my style, Sarah. I am very practical in my views and feelings. Not that I don't play talking senti. ment in our genuine love scenes, and I really like unbounded devotion on the other side. It is decidedly pleasant to be adored. I was surprised to find how I enjoyed it!"

"Oh, sister! sister!" Sarah leaned her forehead on the mantel, repelled and well-nigh disgusted by this heartless trifling-this avowed counterfeit-so abhorrent to her feelings. But Lucy was as much in earnest as she could be in the treatment of such a theme. She went on, unheeding her sister's ejaculation.

"You must understand, of course, that we are not positively engaged. I gave him-Goldfinch-a good scolding for violating the rules of etiquette by addressing me while I was away from home; but it was just like him. He is as impulsive as he can live. To punish him, I refused to answer him until after our return to New York, and his interview with father. He would have written to him on the spot, had I not forbidden him. He behaved so beautifully, that I consented to his taking charge of us to the city, and I suppose the rest must follow in good time. How melancholy your face is! Are you very much afflicted at the thought of losing me? Why, Sarah! my dear child, are those tears in your eyes? If she isn't crying in good earnest !"

And Lucy's musical laugh rolled through the rooms in her enjoyment of the joke. What else could it be to her, elate with her success in achieving the chief end of woman-the capture of a rich and handsome, in every respect unexceptionable lover?

"Hist!" she said, raising her finger. "He has come! Your eyes are red! Run, and make yourself presentable !"

The door, opening from the hall into the front parlor, swung on its hinges as Sarah gained the comparative obscurity of the third and rear room. A strong impulse of interest or curiosity there arrested her flight to get a glimpse of her destined brother-in-law. Lucy had not mentioned his proper name, since her earliest letter from Newport had eulogized a certain George Finch, a Bostonian, wealthy and attentive to herself. Sarah's backward glance fell upon the visitor as he met his queenly bride elect directly under the blazing chandelier.

It was Philip Benson!

Chained to the spot by weakness or horror, the looker-on stood motionless, while the suitor raised the lily fingers he held to his lips, and then led Lucy to a seat. His voice broke the spell. As the familiar cadences smote her ear, the sharp pain that ran through every fibre of her frame awakened Sarah from her stupor.

How she gained her room she never knew; but she had sense enough left to direct her flight to this refuge-and when within, to lock the door. Then she threw up her arms with a piteous, wailing cry, and fell across the bed, dead for the time to further woe.

Alone and painfully she struggled back to consciousness. Sitting upright, she stared wonderingly around her, unable to recollect what had stricken her down. The chamber was imperfectly lighted by the rays of the street lamp opposite, and with the recognition of objects within its narrow limits there crept back to her all that had preceded her retreat thither. For the next hour she sat still-her head bowed upon her knees, amid the wrecks of her dream world.

Dreary and loveless as had been most of her previous life, she had never endured anything like this, unless one miserable hour upon the Deal Beach, when Philip broke the tidings of his intended departure, were a slight foretaste of the agony, the utter despair, that claimed her now for its victim. Since then, she had been hopeful. His promise of a visit, the tokens of remembrance he had transmitted to her every week, had kept alive memory and expectation. And this was his coming! this the occasion she had pictured so fondly, painted with the brightest hues Love could borrow from Imagination! She had heard again the voice that had haunted her dreams from their parting until now-heard it in deeper, softer tones

than it had ever taken in speech with her; heart-music which told that his seekings and yearnings for the one and only beloved were over. And was not her quest of years ended likewise? Truly, there are two senses in which every search, every combat may be said to be closed; one when the victor grasps his prize, or waves aloft his sword in the moment of triumph; the other, when bleeding, maimed, or dying, the vanquished sinks to the earth without power to rise!

A tap at her door started Sarah. She did not stir until it was repeated, and her father called her name. A stream of light from the hall fell upon her face as she admitted him.

Daughter, what ails you?" was his excla

mation.

"I am not very well, father."

"I should think not, indeed! Come in here and lie down !" He led her to the bed, and lighting the gas in the chamber, came back to her, and felt her pulse.

She knew what was the direction of his fears; but to correct his misapprehension was to subject herself to further questioning. Passively she received the pressure of his hand upon her head, the gentle stroking of the disordered hair; but, when he stooped to kiss her, he felt that she trembled.

"Dear child! I shall never forgive myself if you have taken the fever from me !"

"I do not fear that, father. My head aches, and I am very tired. I have been so busy all day, you know.”

Yes, and for many other days. You are, without doubt, overworked. I hope this may prove to be all the matter with you. A night's rest may quite cure you.”

"Yes, sir,” she answered, chokingly. "You will excuse me to down stairs ?" "Certainly. Would you like to have your mother come up to you?"

"Ono, sir! Please tell her there is no need of it. I shall be better to-morrow.”

"Your sister"-and he looked more serious, instead of smiling-" has a visitor. Her friend is an acquaintance of yours, also, it appearsthe Mr. Benson whom you met at your aunt's in July."

"Yes, sir. I know it."

"I understood you to say that Lucy had never said, positively, who her lover was; but this was not the name you told me of, as the person whom you imagined him to be."

"I was misled for a time myself, sir," replied the poor girl, pressing her temples between her palms.

"I see that I am tiring you. Forgive me! but it is so natural to consult you in everything. Imust trouble you with some questions, which it is important should be answered tonight, before this gentleman and myself have any conversation. Is Mr. Benson a man whom you consider worthy of trust? Your mother represents him to be enormously wealthya reputation I had concluded he possessed from Lucy's pet name for him. It is well that your sister has a prospect of marrying advantageously in this respect, for she would never be happy in an humble sphere; but antiquated people like myself regard other things as of greater consequence in concluding a bargain for a lifetime. Is your opinion of Mr. Benson favorable as to disposition, principles, and conduct?''

Sarah's head rested on the foot-board of her couch, in weariness or pain, as she rejoined: "I saw and heard nothing of him, during our intercourse in the country, that was not creditable. His uncle and aunt are very partial to him, and speak of his character in high terms. Their testimony ought to have weight with you, for they have known him from his boyhood up."

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"It ought and does! I am relieved to hear all this! very much pleased!" said Mr. Hunt, emphatically. I have all confidence in Nathan Benson's judgment and integrity. I hope his nephew is as sterling a man. Thus far," he continued, playfully, "I have learned but one thing to his discredit, and that is that having seen this one of my daughters, he could afterwards fall in love with the other."

"I am not beautiful and good like Lucy, father."

"Very dear and lovely in my eyes, my child! Again, forgive me for having worried your poor head with my inquiries. I was unwilling to decide a matter where Lucy's happiness was involved, without obtaining your evidence in A last good-night! and God bless you, my dearest, best daughter!”

the case.

Sarah held up her face for his kiss without attempting to speak. This burning ordeal, the harder to endure because unexpected, was over. She was as weak as a child with conflicting passions when she arose and endeavored to undress. After stopping several times to regain breath and strength, she was at last ready to creep into bed, there to lie until morning broke, sleepless and suffering.

Her sharpened senses could discern her father's and mother's voices in the sitting-room, in confidential talk-broken in upon, by and by, by Lucy's pure, mellow tones, apparently con

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veying some message to the former. Its import was easily surmised, for his step was then heard in the hall, and on the stairs, until he reached the parlor where Philip awaited him. Their conference did not occupy more than twenty minutes, which time Lucy spent with her mother-how gayly Sarah could judge by the laugh that, again and again, reached her room. Mr. Hunt returned, spoke a few sentences in his calm, grave way, and the closing door was followed by a flutter of silk and fall of gliding footsteps, as Lucy went down to her now formally and fully betrothed husband.

"Husband!" Yes! it was even so! Henceforth the lives of the pair were to be as one in interest, in aims, in affection. Ere long, they would have no separate outward existence in the eyes of the world. Was his chosen love, then, in a truer and higher sense, his other self-the being sought so long and carefully? The pretty fiancée would have stretched her cerulean orbs in amazed wonder at the ridiculous doubt, and asked, in her matter-offact way, how the thing could have happened, if it had not been intended? Philip's indignant affirmative would have gained fervor from his exultant consciousness of possession-so novel and sweet. But one, above stairs, taught sagacity by the depths of her grief, looked further into the future than did they, and read there a different reply.

She heard the clang of the front door as it shut after the young lover, and in the still midnight, the echoes, faint and fainter, of his retreating footsteps-the same free, light tread she used to hearken for in porch and hall of that river-side farm-house; and as the remembrance came over her she turned her face to the wall, murmuring passionately, "Oh! if I could never, never see him again !"

This feeling, whether born of cowardice or desperation, was the ruling one, when her mother looked in upon her before breakfast, and expressed her concern at finding her still in bed.

"I am not well enough to get up, mother!" Sarah said sincerely, and Mrs. Hunt, reading in the parched lips and blood-shot eyes proof of the justice of the fears her husband had expressed to her the preceding evening, resolved that the doctor should see her "before she was two hours older."

In vain Sarah entreated that this should not be done, and prophesied her recovery without his assistance. For once both parents were a unit in sentiment and action, and the physician was summoned to his second patient.

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