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drifting waters, and was gone. One thought! Life, in tearing life from death, or death sanctified in sacrifice.

And so the shriek that came up from those deadly waters became, not the death-shriek of a human life, but of a deadly purpose, that lay like congealed poison in the depth of a soul too wretched, seeking those lonely shores.

After many struggles against wind and wave, Madeline landed her charge upon the beach, senseless, but not dead. She held the piteous face in her hands. It was a woman's face. Then, summoning all her strength, she shouted, "Help! help!! help!!!" and it wrung through the darkness, until help came, quick and strong.

It was a scanty room, scantily furnished, yet it was to Madeline all of home, and thither she sent the woman she had rescued, and watched her while she slept.

There are swift moments in life, that unearth the unknown capacities, like a whirlwind on Golconda's strand, unearthing diamonds, always existing, but inert before. Thus, unrevealed in the soul of Madeline, there lay the self-renunciation, the ready sacrifice that, in its state of highest development, has made the martyr glory in his martyrdom; has given Macaria to Athens, and, in all time, given personal ambition or designs, a sacrifice upon the altar of high resolve and common good. And thus, while Madeline sat by the sleeping woman, the thought became a definite resolve that, for the sake of the life given her to save, and for the sake of God, the giver, she would trample upon

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Thus giving up all its pain, she knelt

the grievances of her life. she had in life, which was and consecrated herself to the life that God had made sacred. So, after all, on the tablet of her struggling heart, was written the word, "Blessed."

From the darkness that was changing into dawn, a voice came forth:

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Madeline! Madeline Church!"

And this was her mother's girlhood name, and when the knowledge came, it was to know that she had saved the dearest, friend of her mother's early years. Then the strength so hard-taxed, gave way, her head drooped, and she sank to the floor. Days of anxious watching followed; a great stillness brooded over the house where the sick girl lay. Then there were weeks of convalescence, in which Madeline learned to know the friend that had drifted into her life.

"You see I married your uncle, dear; so you must call me Aunt Church," said her new friend, the first day that Madeline could sit bolstered up. "And do you know?" she continued, gaily, "that when I saw that ghost of a face of yours, I thought it the resurrection day, and that Madeline Church was the first to welcome me into the new state of things."

Then

Madeline smiled, and Mrs. Church laughed, as if determined to make it funny. choking back a sob, she kissed Madeline very tenderly, and said softly, "You are very like her, Madeline; for her sake come home with me and be a companion to my childless life.

A look into her anxious face, so full of kindly thoughts, and Madeline kissed the hand she held in hers, and wept silent and grateful tears.

A period to her struggling and friendless life; a repose; a holiday. Then there came an epoch in her life, when she dared evoke her genius, and, with the ardor of youth, tempered into steadfastness, her feet mounted the difficult steps of that mountain whose name is Art.

Years have passed, and she has treaded its dazzling hights. In the dim church chancel, in the grand entrance to the cathedral, her work has found a place, and, with voiceless eloquence and pathos unutterable, the marble has done its work, and fame is hers. She now inherits the first loves of heaven, which are better than all the joys of earth.

OUR BEAU IDEALS.

Three girls were sitting one summer afternoon in a little recitation of the Old Union School, whither they had begged permission to retreat, that they might study without being distracted by the noise. Apparently, silence and solitude were not the only things needful to application, for the breeze through an open window was turning the leaves of a Latin grammar that one young lady held carelessly open; another was smiling gayly, who would have worn a fast-day countenance had she seen "that awful problem" for the morrow frowning at her from her Algebra; while the third, with a work of Mme. de Stael lying face downward on her lap, was descanting vehemently, not upon the irregular verbs of her lesson, but the merits of the story in hand.

"How could Corrine, such a splendid woman, care anything for that miserable wishy-washy sneak, Lord Nelvil? The idea of tagging him to England! why, I wouldn't have gone across the street for him or any other man. Dying of a broken heart, too, like any goose, because his lordship was afraid a woman with a mind would not sweep his halls clean! I'd have lived just to spite the simpleton. Such a hero

for a genius! why there's nothing of him except the title and the "independent fortune." I'd not have married him if he were the last of the race; think of him being Corrine's beau ideal! Madame must have got him up just for

contrast."

Only half relieved, she turned to the Miss with the Latin grammar."

"I say, Lou, what sort of a man do you intend to marry?"

"Oh, he must be just, gay, tall, stylish, witty, with eyes and hair black as coal, a magnificent moustache-the real imperial; I do admire them so! plenty of money, too, girls ; I'll never marry a poor man. It's no one I've ever seen, mind you."

"So that's your beau ideal.

You won't hunt

long for him, Lou; any quantity of that cut in Now, Nellie, we're waiting for

the world.

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you; make a clean breast of it, my dear."

one.

"I'm bound to marry a hero, girls; a real live hero. I have read about them in novels, and dreamed of them often; but I never saw Remember that book the professor took away from me in the history class yesterday? I couldn't possibly leave it at my seat, for Theodore had just come within a hair of his death by jumping into the mill-pond to save Clarinda's dear little lap-dog. Oh, they had so many troubles; I just sat and cried. My beau ideal is just like Theodore. I can't describe him, exactly, but he was splendid.

I would n't

marry one of your sensible, good-natured fellows for worlds, and I should die if I must set

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