away on life's great highway, where the dust, rising at every step, blinded her eyes.

Thus semi-entranced, Dawn sat unconscious of the presence of her friend, and everything earthly around her, until the spell was broken, and her attention was attracted by a sheet of note paper, which fluttered at her feet. Almost involuntarily she picked it up, and her gaze was fastened upon the writing with which it was covered.

"'Tis love which mostly destinates our life. What makes the world in after life I know not, For our horizon alters as we age; Power only can make up for the lack of love-- Power of some sort. The mind at one time grows So fast, it fails; and then its stretch is more Than its strength; but, as it opes, love fills it up, Like to the stamen in the flower of life, Till for the time we well-nigh grow all love; And soon we feel the want of one kind heart To love what's well, and to forgive what's ill In us--"

Then followed these lines, written with a trembling hand, some of the words being almost illegible:

"I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life, To feel all feeling die; And one by one the heart-strings snap, As age comes on so chill; And hope seems left, that hope may cease, And all will soon be still. And the strong passions, like to storms, Soon rage themselves to rest, Or leave a desolated calm-- A worn and wasted breast; A heart that like the Geyser spring, Amidst its bosomed snows, May shrink, not rest, but with its blood Boils even in repose. And yet the things one might have loved Remain as they have been,-- Youth ever lovely, and one heart Still sacred and serene; But lower, less, and grosser things Eclipse the world-like mind, And leave their cold, dark shadow where Most to the light inclined. And then it ends as it began, The orbit of our race, In pains and tears, and fears of life, And the new dwelling place. From life to death,--from death to life, We hurry round to God, And leave behind us nothing but The path that we have trod."

She knew whose hand had copied these words, and how keenly the heart that sensed their meaning was suffering, and yet she could not place her hand upon its beatings and quell its throbs.

"Why! how came this from Ralph's folio? The wind must have taken it out," said Miss Weston, noticing the paper, while holding the picture for her friend to look at. Dawn did not reply to her inquiry, but gave her words of praise and encouragement, while her thoughts were afar from forest, friends and picture.

"Come, Auntie, it's time for the luncheon, your father says, and we have it almost ready."

She arose, and with Miss Weston joined the party, thinking how strange it was that those lines should come to her; for something seemed to tell her that they had been accidentally placed in the folio, as they were evidently not intended for any eye but that of the writer.

The luncheon was partaken of with more avidity by the others than by Dawn, whose mind was constantly reverting to the words which she had read.

"Now for the story, Auntie," said Herbert, seating himself on the grass, beside her.

"Do you remember the name of the nymph I am going to tell you about?"

"Yes, it was-it was Echo."

"Very good. I am glad you remembered it. Well, Echo was a beautiful wood-nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and would always have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed sentence upon Echo in these words: You shall forfeit the use of the tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose you are so fond of--reply. You shall have the last word, but no power to speak first.

"This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps. O, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him to converse; but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, 'Who's here?' Echo replied 'here.' Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, 'Come.' Echo answered, 'come.' As no one came, Narcissus called again, 'Why do you shun me?' Echo asked the same question. 'Let us join one another,' said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, 'Hands off; I would rather die than you should have me.' 'Have me,' said she; but it was all in vain. He left her and she went to hide her blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up her old habit of having the last word."

"Speak to her now, and see if she will answer you?" said Dawn to her attentive listener.

"Why, is she here? in these woods?"

"Call her, and see."

"Echo-Echo!" The words came back to the wondering child, his face aglow with curiosity and fear.

"Now I will tell you the moral of this little story, which is: be not anxious for the last word, as I see my good little Herbert is, too often, especially when talking with his sister."

"Will I change into rocks and shrink all up if I do?"

"That is not the thing to be feared. But you would not; your mind would grow narrow and selfish, which is a fate most to be deplored, for you wish to be a good and great man, do you not?"

"Yes, I want to be good as papa, and uncle Wyman, as he always calls him."

"Then remember and be unselfish, and think first of others' welfare, will you?"

"I will try; and can I always talk with Echo?"

"Whenever you are near the wood where she lives."

"Will she live here when I am a grown-up man?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because, if I don't like folks' answers, I can come and talk to Echo."

"She will certainly be very likely to be of your opinion, or, at least, she will express herself to your liking; but I hope my little Herbert will find those more agreeable than Echo to talk with."

"I don't want to, Auntie; I like her."

Dawn smiled, and thought how older heads did not like disputation, preferring often the companionship of a mere echo, to good sense and sound judgment, forgetting that "he who wrestles with us, strengthens us."

The party returned home laden with flowers, with just weariness enough to enjoy their rest. The children were put to bed, after a good supper, and the family enjoyed themselves with music and conversation, each feeling differently related to each other, as we ever do, when some fresh life is infused into the every-day scenes of life.

The barren soul seems like a kaleidoscope, changing its relations at each experience, whether of joy or sorrow. How beautiful is life, when we learn how much we can be to each other, and how varied may be the relations we bear to our friends.

CHAPTER XXV.

Miss Weston returned to her friends, and Dawn took up the thread of her life, which was every day extending and winding into new scenes of darkness and light. But a voice within her, told her that one day all the darkness would become light. She trusted that voice, for it was speaking unto her every day, and growing each hour into deeper