TWO STORIES IN ONE.

you choose to say. All through you have been secret with me, and unjustifiably so. There is some mystery hanging over my marriage, and you have no right to keep it from me."

629

"I must say, mamma, you have behaved to me correspondent, and each day my anxiety seemed to in a very unkind manner,” I said. "You see the increase. To add to my embarrassment, a letter one anxiety I am in, and I am sure you know more than | day arrived from his solicitor stating that if a bill of exchange for three hundred pounds which had been accepted by M. de Vernieul was not paid within a week, legal proceedings would be commenced against him. My astonishment at the intelligence was so great that at first I was inclined to suspect the letter had been addressed by mistake to my husband. But on reading it a second time I found but too truly it was intended for him. I had but one course to adopt, and that was to show the letter to my mother, and ask what steps I ought to take in the matter. It struck me she hardly seemed surprised at its contents, but she admitted she was as completely at fault what ought to be done as I was myself. She spoke at first of the advisability of consulting my father, but after a moment's consideration she objected.

"Whatever secret I may have kept from you, Clara," said my mother, "I did it with a view to your happiness. But as you choose to take it in that tone, and as I can foresee perfectly well that affairs are rapidly approaching a climax, I may as well tell you the truth. When I wrote to your father that you were married, and explained to him the reason your husband gave for the marriage taking place at so short a notice, your father determined to call on the baron and make his acquaintance. He was received by him in the coolest and most insolent manner; and, as you know, Clara, your father is not a man to put up tamely with such treatment, he indignantly asked the baron for an explanation of his behaviour. 'I have no explanation to give, sir,' said the baron, haughtily, 'If my son has married your daughter, he has done so without my consent, and as a father's consent ought to be obtained, the marriage, by the laws of France, is invalid.' 'But,' said your father, you gave your written consent, and it was upon that the marriage | took place.' 'I did nothing of the kind,' said the baron; 'I gave no consent-indeed, never should have given it, had my son requested me, which I must do him the justice to say he never did.' 'Justice,' said your father; 'do you call an act of the kind justice?' 'All things are fair in love and war,' said the baron, shrugging his shoulders, ‘and I decline giving any further opinion on the subject.' Then,' said your father, 'I will. Your son has acted in the matter like a consummate scoundrel, and any father who can look upon the act with so calm an eye, is as great a scoundrel as the son.'

"A violent quarrel now ensued, and at last the baron, thoroughly enraged, called up a servant to his assistance, and your father was turned out of the house. Now, Clara, you know all, and can understand your father's silence with respect to your dowry, and the objection your husband had to speak to him about it."

"Oh, mamma! what am I to do?" I said, after a moment's silence. "Pray advise me, for I am utterly bewildered."

"I hardly know, my dear, what advice to give you. I think perhaps," she said, after a little reflection, "the best thing I can do will be to write to your father's former agent in Paris, and ask him to make some inquiries respecting De Vernieul, and as soon as I receive his reply you shall have it forwarded to you."

Day after day now passed, and no intelligence arrived, either from my husband or my father's

"I dread the effect the intelligence might have on your father,” she said, “and should prefer keeping it a secret from him, and the more so as I should be able, though with some difficulty, to procure the money for you, assuming the claim to be a just one. Perhaps, my dear, after all our better plan would be to go at once to our solicitor, Mr. Tufton, and consult him upon the matter. It is certainly always a disagreeable thing to be obliged to bring objectionable private family affairs under the notice of a solicitor, much and justly as we may respect him but in the present instance perhaps it would be the wiser course."

;

I agreed to my mother's suggestion, and we both immediately started off to Mr. Tufton's offices. After having read the letter attentively, before giving any decided opinion, Mr. Tufton asked me what I knew of the matter. I told him I had known nothing whatever about it before the letter had been placed in my hands, but that I believed the claim must be connected with one of my husband's busi ness transactions in the City.

"My dear lady," said Mr. Tufton, "in this affair, I am sorry to say, there is no business transaction whatever. I know by reputation the lawyer who wrote the letter, and a more dishonest fellow there is not in the whole legal profession. He is a noted West-end bill-discounter and money-lender, and of the worst class too. If you believe the signature to be your husband's, were I in your place I should pay the money without any demur. By disputing it, you will in all probability be merely running up a heavy bill of costs, which you will have to pay in addition to the amount lent. Now having given that as my candid opinion, and to my own prejudice, for lawyerlike I have no inherent aversion to litigation-follow my advice and pay the money."

We thanked Mr. Tufton for his advice, which we told him we should follow. My mother then fur nished me with the money, and the next day I took

up the bill of exchange, and paid the costs already her, "Tell me what has happened; I trust papa is incurred. not worse."

My mind was now chiefly occupied in the increased anxiety I felt at not hearing from my husband, and in endeavouring to find excuses for the embarrassed position his affairs in Engiand were evidently in. I soon found one for the promissory note. The money had doubtless been raised to pay off the twelve months' rent of the furnished house we lived in (for we had remained since our marriage in the same we had then engaged) and for other liabilities, possibly some connected with his business. On the silence of my husband, and also of my father's Paris correspondent, I could come to no conclusion whatever.

This doubt, which had hung over me for so many weeks, was at last cleared up, and that too with dazzling and startling clearness. A few days after I had taken up the bill of exchange, a cab drew up to the door, and my mother entered the house. As before, when she brought me intelligence of Edmond's having absconded from home, she wore a thick veil over her face, and on lifting it her features presented the same distressed appearance. She sat silent in her chair some moments, as if afraid to speak, and I was equally silent from anxiety. At last I said to

"No, my dear, and pray Heaven when he hears the intelligence I have this morning received from his correspondent in Paris, it may have no ill effect on him, which I greatly fear, for hear it he must."

"And what is it, mamma?" I said, in a state of breathless anxiety.

"Oh! my dear, nerve up your courage to the utmost, for you will require it."

'For Heaven's sake, mamma, do not talk to me in this manner, but tell me at once what is the intelligence you have received."

My mother, without making any verbal reply, placed her hand in her pocket, and drew from it a letter, which she gave me. A singular feeling now came over me, which I can hardly describe. Anxious as I was to know the contents of the letter, it remained unopened in my hand, as if my dread of knowing were greater that the anxiety to learn all. At last I drew the letter from the envelope and opened it. It was short and easily read, but before I had succeeded in doing so, the room and all the objects it contained seemed to move around me, and as they gradually faded away I fell senseless on the floor. (To be continued.)

SHADOWS.

unwelcome guests. So has it been with us thus far, and so will it be until the period arrive when the true day shall break, and all shadows flee away.

We are all perfectly familiar with the oftenquoted words which are placed at the head of this paper; but while thus familiar with this and other Scriptural expressions in which the word shadow occurs, we may not have thought how largely God in his Word makes use of this idea of shadow for manifold purposes of illustration. It is our design to gather up into some kind of unity a few of these broadly-scattered allusions.

BY THE REV. T. M. MORRIS, IPSWICH. "Until the day break, and the shadows flee away."-Cant. ii. 17. E all know what shadows are. There are few things with which we are more familiarly acquainted. As long as we can remember anything, we can remember watching them as, with ever-changing forms, they ceaselessly flitted over land and sea. We have watched the shadows of early morn giving place to the brightening day; we have watched the deepening shadows of evening till they have lost themselves in the prevailing darkness of night. Though linked with the very word there are associations of sadness and sorrow, we cannot forget that shadows have uses, and a beauty of their own. In a world constituted like this, we cannot conceive of light without shadow. The world would be intolerable as a dwellingplace, if there were no shadows. Though sometimes we complain of shadows, we often crave the shade. Not a little of the beauty which gladdens our eyes depends upon the ever-varying relations of light and shade. We do not go far without some shadow falling upon us-without casting some shadow upon others. Try as we will, we cannot help having to do with shadows. They are our constant attendants-companions whom we cannot shake off-our uninvited, but not always

We take, then, these words, "Until the day break, and the shadows flee away," without any reference to the connection in which they are found, without any inquiry even as to their original meaning. We employ them merely as a point around which our thoughts may conveniently gather; or rather, perhaps, as a point of departure whence we may go forth as we prosecute the line of thought the words not unnaturally suggest.

I.

The first thought which presents itself is this: That there is a sense in which it may be said that

the day has broken, and that, at least, some shadows | is cast in a world in which shadows of various have fled away. A light is shining now that did kinds abound; and as long as we live here we not always shine, and many shadows which once shall assuredly have to do with shadows. prevailed have been altogether, or in some large degree, dispersed.

Among these we may refer to the shadows of the old ceremonial dispensation. Alluding to the ornate and complicated ritual of the Mosaic economy, the Apostle Paul speaks of it as "a shadow of good things to come." The ceremonies and services with which God's ancient people were familiar were but the example and shadow of heavenly things. We all know the purposes which a shadow serves. In a limited degree it may reveal-make known-what perhaps, in the meantime, could not be otherwise made known. In a still greater degree it hides-conceals. Up to a certain point, it is capable of affording us information, but beyond that point it cannot go. If standing where we cannot see the object itself, we see the shadow which it projects, that shadow tells us something which apart from it we could not know; but there are many other things which it does not and cannot tell. It tells us of the existence of the object beyond, and which for the present lies out of the range of direct vision; it gives us some idea of its form-its outline-but besides this there is much which we would like to know, of which it affords no intimation.

Though we do not now depend on the teaching of the shadows of the old ceremonial system, there are still shadows that reveal and instruct-which we may not inappropriately speak of as shadows of better things to come. We have many of the "better things," but we still wait for the best things of all. It is true that the shadows of the old Jewish ceremonialism have been dispersed, and in their place we have, comparatively speaking, the substance the reality; yet are many of those very things which we now possess and enjoy, though in advance of what went before, but types, figures, shadows of things greater and more blessed than themselves. We cannot yet dispense with shadows. There is much hereafter to be revealed, the direct vision of which we could not at present endure. As the services and ceremonies of the Jewish Church shadowed forth the greater privileges of the Gospel- the New Testament Church-so the privileges which we enjoy are but earnests, firstfruits, partial, imperfect anticipations of what we shall realise in the heavenly world. The simple services and ceremonies of the Christian Church shadow forth those great realities unto a perfect vision of which we shall attain by-and-by. Now we know in part, and see through a glass For many ages God's people had only shadows darkly, but then we shall see face to face, and -adumbrations of better things to come-pat-know even as we are known. We have clearer terns, types, ensamples-very beautiful, very wonderful, teaching them much which otherwise they had not known, but which, after all, were very imperfect, as compared with the great realities themselves. Christ, the Sun of Righteousness, has now risen-the light of Gospel day is now shining, and these shadows have fled away. God's people in old time had the Tabernacle and the Temple, with their ornate and stately services; the long line of the Aaronic priesthood; their brazen and golden altars; their constantly repeated sacrifices; their swinging censers and ascending clouds of perfumed smoke. We have none of these things; these shadows have fled away. We have the better things themselves-the substance, the reality-dering complexities of Providence, we should the spiritual counterpart of all that went before. We have lost nothing by the dispersion of these shadows. Though they had a mysterious beauty of their own, and served for awhile many useful purposes, we have reason to rejoice that these old shadows have given place to the better things themselves.

II

But though in the instances referred to, and in others that might have been mentioned, we may say that the day has broken, and that many shadows have fled away, we should not forget that there are still many shadows that remain. Our lot

light, larger knowledge, more distinguished privileges than were once enjoyed; but the "better things" which we possess fall immeasurably short of the best things of all, which will stand disclosed to our wondering eyes when the heavenly day shall break and all shadows flee away.

Besides the instruction more directly communi. cated in connection with the Christian Church, we are taught that all things, rightly understood, are shadows designed to instruct and reveal. Were not our eyes blinded by sin, we should be able to trace the mysterious harmony and accordance which subsist between the natural and spiritual worlds. In the endless varieties of Nature, and the bewil

discern the Divine order-the visible things making manifest the invisible—even the eternal power and Godhead. By both the miracles and parables of Christ are we invited to consider the profound though almost forgotten significance of Nature. A great part of Christ's teaching consisted in this, showing to the children of men how the commonest things in Nature and Providence and Life shadowed forth great and eternal truths.

But while there are still some shadows which reveal and instruct, there are others that darken and deceive. We probably enjoy a larger measure of light and knowledge than have been possessed at

any previous period of the world's history. Many heavy shadows which once prevailed, have become less dense, or have been altogether dissipated. It is, however, sad to think how many things, even now, are lying in the thick, gloomy shadow of error, ignorance, prejudice, and superstition. It would be impossible to enumerate the evil shadows which darken, obscure, and even utterly hide much that should have the free and full light of heaven falling upon it.

But, besides these shadows which darken and conceal whatever they fall on, there are other shadows which delude and deceive. Many spend their lives in the diligent but fruitless pursuit of shadows. They are led on in a vain chase by the prospect of enjoyment, which is never realised. A somewhat cynical writer makes human life to consist in shadow-hunting. Men are but shadow-hunting or shadow-hunted shadows." It seems a very foolish thing to do, yet is it that which men are ever doing. They are living in the midst of shadows; they are pursuing shadows; they are building their hopes upon shadows-living in a spectral world, they are the victims of perpetual illusion. To quote the words of a poet now but little read

"For our pursuits, be what they vill,
Are little more than shadows still;
Too swift they fly, too swift and strong,
For man to catch or hold them long."

There is an old and familiar saying to the effect that if you pursue your shadow, your back being to the sun, all your striving will bring you no nearer to it. Turn away from your shadow and speed towards the sun, and the very shadow which once evaded, now no longer sought, will unsolicited accompany you. The moral is obvious. If you seek pleasure directly and for its own sake, you will pursue a shadow which will ever elude your grasp; you will seek what you will never obtain. Observe God's order, and all things will come right. Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all other good things will be added to you.

figure of speech, which is of such frequent occurrence in God's Word, we must call up to our view the circumstances and necessities of an Oriental and semitropical country-a cloudless sky, sultry air, the dry withering desert wind, great tracts of hot, burning sand, in which no water is, trees few and far between, and the few there are casting but little shade. We must be able, in imagination, to place ourselves in such circumstances to understand how welcome and necessary a thing shade is, and how the hearts of pilgrims would be lifted up as they come to some Elim, where there is a group of palm-trees, and wells with sweet cold water, or to a place where they can lie down and rest in the shadow of some great rock. If we refer to the Scriptures, we find that the comfortable protection and refreshment which God provides for us in Christ, is frequently likened to shade. "A man shall be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest, as rivers of water in a dry place, and as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." It is true we do not need so much shade from the sun's scorching heat as do those who dwell in tropical regions, but as pilgrims in the desert we want as much as any that spiritual refreshment and protection of which material shade is the divinely-selected symbol. We rest under the shadow of God's wings. We abide under the shadow of the Almighty. We find it to be a very pleasant thing, and a very needful thing, to lie down and rest in what is to us as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

III.

Living in a world in which shadows abound, we are cheered by the assurance that the time is coming when the heavenly, the eternal day shall break and all shadows flee away. Then all clouds shall be dissipated, all obscuration cease. Though now and here we have an interest in a perfect Saviour, and the clear shining of the Sun of Righteousness, we are living in an imperfect state, a state of partial illumination. We do not even fully enjoy all the light there is to be enjoyed, or But there are shadows which we do or should reflect all there is to be reflected. We have light seek. If you refer to the employment of this here; we are the children of the light-the children figure in Scripture, you will find that its most fre- of the morning. We have left the darkness of sin quent use is to set forth the comfortable shade behind us; we do not abide in darkness; our faces and protection which God affords his people in are towards the light. But while the light we Christ. In a country like ours, where we so enjoy is brightness compared with the darkness much more often complain of shade than of of sin from which we have been emancipated, our sunshine, we do not readily apprehend the force life here is but as the dim, changeful dawn of the and beauty of the figure, at least not so readily eternal day. From the light we now possess, we can as an Oriental would. Just for a few weeks in form no adequate conception of the full meridian the year, sometimes only for a few days, do we blaze which shall greet us by-and-by, by which all evince any anxiety to escape the heat and glare clouds shall be completely and for ever d.spersed, of the sunshine. We nearly always think and and before which all shadows shall flee away. speak of the sad and sorrowful side of life as the "shady side." Before we can appreciate this

When that day breaks we shall no longer need those shadows which reveal and instruct, for we