"Oh! I suppose the good creature is studying her profession. I believe she asked leave to sit in the hall and watch the ladies' dresses."

"Hem! Mrs. Macsimum, there isn't a word of truth in that, and you know it."

"Mr. Payne, you are too insolent, sir. Let us return.'

"Now, my dear Mrs. Macsimum, do not too readily take offence at my bluntness. I wish sincerely to be your friend. I would make any sacrifice, no matter what, if it was to obtain your happiness. Why not, then, confide in ine? I know that you need a friend into whose ear you can pour all your troubles and your joys. Let me be that friend."

Really, Mr. Payne, I don't know what to think; this offer is so strangeyet if it were sincere, I think".

"It is, it is, sincere! You know not, you can never know, how I have yearned for this hour. With what crazed longings I have waited for the chance that was to enable me to assume the hallowed position of your friend. It may seem cruel, but I cannot help feeling rejoiced at this little annoyance of yours, since it gives me the opportunity of hastening to your assistance. It is the selfishness of love!"

"Mr. Payne, I must not listen to this. My husband".

"Your husband! Excuse me, dear Mrs. Macsimum; but do you think that your husband is capable of understanding you? Can he comprehend that sublime, yet tender nature, in which a living well of affection is inclosed, and which requires only the touch of the inspired hand to flow out in a glorious stream? Oh! no, dear friend. His nature is one that can never match with yours!"

This bombast, uttered, as it was, in the most melodious of voices, and accompanied by pressures of the hand and tender and eloquent glances, seemed to Mrs. Macsimum,-whose judgment in such matters was regulated by Indiana and the Mysteries of Paris-the very acine of impassioned pleading. In spite of the old theory of boarding-school misses, women of thirty are far more apt to be carried away by a bit of romance than the bread-and-butterest of young girls. It is their last chance, and they make the most of it. Mrs. Macsimum, therefore, could not long resist such flattering eloquence, and soon bestowed on Mr. Sillery Payne that confidence for which,

according to his own account, he wonld sacrifice so much. She told him how this bill of Larami's was hanging like the sword of Damocles over her head. How that pertinacious milliner was determined to have the money or expose her: and how she dared not ask her husband for so large an amount, because-because (here she stammered a little) he had been so very liberal to her lately.

"Now, my dear Aurelia," said Mr. Sillery Payne, taking her hand at the same moment that he assumed the prerogative of calling her by her first name, "my dear Aurelia, there is one little fact connected with this business which you have omitted to mention. I do not, however, need any information on the subject. I am in full possession of all the particulars. Mr. Macsimum's paper will be protested to-morrow. I see you know it already-well, you now see how impossible it is for him to assist you."

"It is! it is!" cried Mrs. Macsimum, utterly humiliated, and trying hard to prevent her tears from streaking her cheeks, "I see it all, and am a miserable woman!"

"As to this little affair of Larami's, dear Aurelia-Eh! what's that?" and he started, as something rustled through an alley of huge kalmias.

"Oh! it's the pet Lory, I suppose; he sleeps here every night."

"Ah, indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Payne, much relieved, "about this affair of Larami's," he continued, "nothing is simpler. I will just go into that small room there, and write a cheque, which I will hand her in your presence. As for your husband's failure, I, being chief creditor, can lessen the weight of the blow considerably; nay, I can save him, and I will, Aurelia, if you will only consent to call me friend. Now, try once."

"My friend," murmured Mrs. Macsimum, leaning upon his shoulder. "Thanks, dear Aurelia! Now let me go and appease this infuriated milliner."

As they stepped from the dusky conservatory into the small study which opened off one end, a gentleman, seated at a table writing, met their view. He turned, on hearing their footsteps, and they recognized Mr. Macsimum.

"Ah! is that you, Payne?" he cried, smiling pleasantly, "you catch me doing a little business on the sly. Well, well, I'll have done with it for to-night, for I can see you want a tête-à-tête with my wife." So saying, he gathered up a couple of slips of paper on which he had

been writing, and with a sort of quizzical adieu, left the room.

"Happy mortal!" sighed Sillery Payne, as he wrote a cheque for the amount of Larami's bill; "he is not suspicious."

"He has never had cause," said Mrs. Macsimum, indignantly-then, recollecting herself, she colored violently, and cracked one of the delicate vanes of her fan.

Sillery smiled.

"Now, Aurelia," said he, "let us go and see Larami."

"Pardon me, Mr. Sillery Payne,” said Mr. Macsimum, presenting himself smilingly at the door, just as that gentleman was about to emerge with the enchanting Aurelia on his arm. "Pardon me, Mr. Sillery Payne, you may spare yourself the trouble. I have just had an interview with that amiable modiste."

Mrs. Macsimum shrieked, and gliding to the nearest sofa, disposed herself in the most approved comatose attitude. Mr. Sillery Payne fiddled with his breloques, while an air of unpleasant silliness, commencing at his boots, began to spread itself gradually over his entire figure.

"I am immensely indebted to you, Mr. Payne, for the interest that you take in my wife's affairs, and would be only too happy that she should avail herself of your liberal offers, if there was any longer a necessity for it. Thanks to some conversation which I happened to overhear in the conservatory"

A renewed shriek from Mrs. Macsimum on the sofa, and sudden assumption of a more striking pose.

"Which I happened to overhear," continued Mr. Macsimum, entirely oblivious of his spouse's efforts to obtain sympathy-"and was consequently enabled to be beforehand. Madame Larami, Mr. Sillery Payne, I have the honor to inform you, has just been paid in full."

"I am happy to hear, Mr. Macsimum," answered Mr. Payne, with sarcastic emphasis, "that your affairs are in so flourishing a condition. I trust that they will remain so until after to-morrow."

"When I drew that check, Mr. Payne, to pay for my wife's follies, it was the last money that I had in the bank. I gave it willingly, sir, because I preferred being a pauper myself, to my wife being a beggar. As I went to the door, sir, a telegraphic dispatch from Boston met me, which alters the face of my affairs considerably; and if Mr. Sillery Payne will present those claims on the firm of Macsimum & Bullrush, which he holds, to-morrow at twelve o'clock, he will find little traces of insolvency in their bank account."

At this juncture, Mrs. Mac-imum seemed to be restored suddenly to animation. She forsook her elegant attitude, and came over timidly, but with an air of penitence, whether honest or not I dare not speculate, to where her husband stood.

"George," she said, in a low voice, "you have read me a lesson. Will you complete your nobleness by forgiving me?"

"My dear," answered her husband, "I have too much to blame myself for, not to be lenient to others. You may learn one thing, however, Aurelia, that Madame Larami is a dangerous woman to hold any power over you. She has been known," and he fixed his eyes upon Mr. Sillery Payne, "to be in the pay of certain fashionable gentlemen for the worst purposes."

"I see I see it all now," murmured Mrs. Macsimum, hiding her burning cheek upon her husband's shoulder.

"Hush think no more of it. There! are you not engaged to Mr. Payne for this dance? Mr. Payne! my wife clais your hand, and may I pray that this conjugal exhibition may be no bar to that friendship which you so feelingly solicited."

Mr. Sillery Payne bit his lip and bowed. With an inward curse, he took Mrs. Macsimum's hand, and was soon whirling her off in a waltz; but it was observed by the guests that they did not dance together again that evening.

By a singular coincidence, the same moment saved Mr. Macsimum's credit and his wife's reputation.

VOL. IV. 43

LITERATURE.

AMERICAN. Is the taste for metaphysical studies on the increase in the United States, or is it simply accidental, that three new works on Intellectual Philosophy make their appearance on nearly the same day? President MAHAN, of Cleveland College, President WAYLAND, of Brown University, and Dr. HICKOCK, of Union College, have all favored us with their views of the "Science of the Mind," within a few weeks. Mahan's book is the most thorough of the three, treating of the entire phenomena of mind, empirical and rational; while Dr. Hickock's is confined to the empirical branch, and Dr. Wayland's gives only elementary views. The latter makes the least pretension to originality and depth, and the former the most; but Dr. Hickock is superior to either in real elevation and consistency of thought. President Wayland adopts, for the most part, the peculiar tenets of the Scottish school of metaphysicians; Dr. Hickock, those mainly of the Kantians; and Mahan combines the two into a kind conscinian eclecticism. It is thus curious to see three of the most distinguished teachers, in three of our leading seminaries, coming to quite different conclusions in respect to the principles of what they still call "a science."

President Mahan divides the intellectual faculties into primary and secondary-the primary being sense, consciousness, and reason, whose functions are intuitional; and the secondary being the understanding, judgment, association, memory, imagination, &c. President Wayland divides them into the perceptive faculties, consciousness, original suggestion, abstraction, memory, reasoning, imagination, and taste. Hickock has still another arrangement, which is that of sense, understanding, and reason. There is here a considerable difference of classification, but it is increased when they come to speak of the functions assigned to these supposed faculties.

Dr.

The great stumbling-blocks of all the metaphysicians are those conceptions which are sometimes called necessary ideas, such as the thought of space, time, cause, substance, infinity, &c., &c. They are greatly more puzzled as to how

these get into the mind than George the Third was as to how the apples got into the dumplings. Some suppose space and time, for instance, to be mere conditions of the sensibility, mere forms which are necessary to render the perception of the external world possible; others regard them as laws of the understanding, or, in other words, as necessary categories of the notion-forming power; while others, again, speak of them as conceptions of the reason. Dr. Wayland adopts a new name entirely for the faculty in which they originate, calling it "original suggestion," which is a good name for his thought, if not for the assumed faculty. The idea of time and space is thus put through a series of transformations from nothing at all up to an absolute, eternal, and necessary existence; and a skilful analyser may prove one view of it just as well as another. In fact, this is true of nearly all the controversies of the metaphysicians, that you can successfully demonstrate and refute all sides alike, while it makes very little difference to any praotical interest, whether the one or the other is held. They resemble the disputes of the schoolmen as to what number of angels could dance upon the point of a needle, and, whether determined upon this side or that, are equally interesting and important. It may be an object of consequence to determine whether a ghost sees out of his eyes or without eyes, but the great majority of men do not care the snap of a finger whether it does or not.

The truth is, that the greater part of these metaphysical speculations are utterly empty and worthless abstractions, and have no other effect than to waste the interest of those who are engaged in them, and delay the advent of true science. They are an attempt on the part of men to breathe in vacuo-to subsist and move about in a space where there is nothing to subsist upon-and the sooner, then, they are drummed out of the domain of study, the better for the world. As it is impossible for man to conceive of any object, except as subsisting in some form, the sooner these schemes of pure thought, and these researches into things in themselves are banished, the sooner we shall get relieved of the chimeras and gorgons of the void inane.

We have no time now to show the groundless nature of metaphysics, as it is commonly presented; but at our leisure, we hope to demonstrate in the pages of the Monthly, what we have here asserted ex cathedra.

-Mr. Spooner's book on Organic Christianity, is scarcely well named, for it does not proceed upon the idea of an organized Christianity, as upon that of a democratic, or congregational Christianity. Now, democracy in the Church, like democracy in the State, is rather the absence of organization than its presence. We do not say that it is not better than any organization which has yet been devised, but only that it is not a constructive or unifying principle in itself, whatever other advantages it may possess. A truly organic Christianity would be one in which the Christian idea should be thoroughly embodied in all the relations of society-and will, doubtless, in the course of time be attained — but a provisional arrangement as to the separate power and functions of the laity and the priesthood, or as to the terms on which independent members of a church come together for purposes of prayer or propagandism, can not be called an organic relation. It is a convenient temporary form, but not a deep coherent unity, proceeding from an indwelling formative law, as we see in all real organizations. The Apostle speaks of the church as "a body," but we look in vain over the face of the earth for any example of this type in the assemblages of Christians. They are only aggregations such as take place in organic nature, or else they are conglomerations held together partly by inward cohesion, but mainly by external pressure-the despotism of the State or the hierarchy.

But, though misleading in its name, Mr. Spooner's book is not without interest as a history of ecclesiastical establishments. We have noted a few minor errors in his statements of facts, but on the whole, it displays comprehensive and accurate inforination.

-Phillips, Sampson & Co., of Boston, have recently issued a beautiful edition, in two volumes, of the dramatic works of BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. It is taken from the English edition of Alexander Dyce, which is the best, we believe, extant, and besides the lives of the authors, with a criticism of their writings, contains ample illustrative notes. In spite of the occasional offences of these old

dramatists against morality and sound taste, we are glad to see their robust English and vigorous conceptions reproduced in these days.

-Among the ripest fruits of BAYARD TAYLOR'S travels in the East, is a new volume of poems, which he names, Poems of the Orient, and which are full of the warm, ruddy, imaginative life of the climes of the sun. In a graceful and generous dedicatory epistle from Mount Tiolus, addressed to his brother-poet, Stoddard, he explains that his object is not to breathe the air of lost Elysium"Pluck the snowy bells,

Of lotus and Olympian asphodels,❞— but to find a late content, in nature and her myriad shows

"Better contented with one living rose,
Than all the gods' ambrosia; sternly bent
On wresting from her hand the cup, whence flows
The flavors of her ruddiest life-the change
Of climes and races-the unshackled range
Of all experience-that my song may show,
The warm red blood that beats in hearts of men,
And those who read them in the festering den
Of cities may behold the open sky,
And hear the rhythm of the winds that blow
Instinct with freedom. Blame me not that I
Find in the forms of earth a deeper joy
Than in the dreams which lured me as a boy."

We find accordingly in the Nile, the Jerusalem, the Tyre, &c., &c., fine inspirations drawn from those old eternal objects, but mingled with them also, the wild dreams of the desert, and Arabian sentiment and tradition. The poet transports us on the wings of his imagination to the morning-lands, and we revel with him in the delicious intoxication of its odors and gleams. We are free to say that these poems are the best things that he has done, and will greatly add to his reputation as a poet. As several of them have already appeared in the pages of the Monthly, we forbear to extract any, as we have been strongly tempted to do.

-The Appletons have performed an acceptable service to the admirers of Mr. BRYANT's poetry, by presenting it in two small neat volumes, handsomely printed and bound. The previous editions have been for the most part unattractive and cumbersome, and, in some instances, beyond the reach of many readers on account of their price. But in this pleasant edition we have all that the poet has written up to the present time, including the beautiful lyric, the "Conqueror's Grave," which appeared in Putnam's Monthly, a short time since. The exquisite finish, grace, and sweetness of Bryant's poems make them perennials, and everybody will be glad to possess them in a suitable vase or casket. It is