(The Words of the other Verses of this Hymn are on page 80, Volume III.) There is a happy land, Far, far a way, Where saints in glo- ry stand, Regrets. Why did they fade, those blooming flowers, Why did they pass, those happy hours, Oh why, when hands were warmly pressed, And souls were raised above; When Hope's bright star was in the sky, When faith in friendship's sacred name And not a thought of sadness came Why should dark clouds of care arise Dost thou ask why the flowers should fade, To bloom and die the flowers were made, If all were pure and lasting here, The flowerets fade that we may learn And friends grow cold that we may turn Though the joys of earth deceive us, Then faint not if thou feel the Cross Sink deeply in thy heart; He Who has borne with shame and loss Will never quite depart, But will be near to soothe and bless Thy soul, amidst its bitterness. He will not leave thee in the wild, Fear not thou art His chosen child, Make Him thy Friend, thy Guide, thy Stay, Mourn not that earthly joys depart, And there's one thought divinely sweet, There is a Land where hearts may meet, Yes, kindred souls in realms above SALOME. THE BRIARLY MYSTERY: CHAPTER IX. There was one person in Briarly who always declared she had no doubt at all that Lane was the murderer, and this was Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper at the Squire's. She was a woman of strong nerves and great determination. Her strictness in regard to her own conduct, and the perfect order in which she kept every thing in her master's house, used to be mentioned by those who knew the family as something very remarkable. She kept a watchful eye upon the behaviour of all the servants; and often had she in speaking to the younger maids commented upon the careless habits of Nancy Childers and Jane Quirl, and warned them against such levity and folly. The butler, Edwards, did not agree with her in her opinion regarding Lane. At all events he thought there was great room for doubt. What amount of aggravation on the part of Nancy Childers, he argued, could have been sufficient to induce Lane to commit so fearful a crime, risking thereby not only his life, but his peace of mind, supposing his guilt were not discovered. "I don't mean," replied Mrs. Johnson, "that he had planned it beforehand. I don't say he had ever thought of it even, but you know what his character is, and how fierce his passions are. Why now, suppose he had given her to understand he meant to marry her, and had then shown her pretty plainly he did not intend to be true to his word; don't you see how she might worry him and taunt him and stand in his way if he was thinking of another ? " Yes," said Edwards, "I can see all that, but I don't see why he should go so far as to kill her, nevertheless." "My belief is," continued the housekeeper, "that she followed him after he left this house on the night of the party; I saw how she was watching him all the evening, and he looked then as if he would give anything to be rid of her. You know how she has gone about with him at all kinds of hours. Why it's not very long since Joseph Frost met her in the middle of the night waiting for Lane." 66 'Aye? Where had they been that night, I wonder," said Edwards. "At Jones's, and when she left he left with her, and then what does he do but return for something he had lost, and stay drinking brandy before going after her again. I believe she slept at Miss Quirl's then, for she often stayed there instead of going home, from fear of her father, who has locked her out several times, I'm told. Well, but to go back to what I was saying; it is my opinion that she followed Lane from this house the night of her death, and may be he told her to leave him, and who knows but what the words, 'Never, never,' which the doctor's messenger overheard, were the poor creature's words, meaning she would never leave Lane till he gave her some further promise.' "Do you think she really cared for him?" 'Well, it's very possible that she did, and besides, if he had thrown her off after having paid her so much attention, and after she had gone about with him in such a discreditable way, don't you see to what a miserable case she would be reduced? Cast off by Lane, turned out of doors, perhaps, by her own father. Most likely she enraged and maddened Lane with bitter reproaches, till in a fury he said he would take her life, and then he did it.” "I think she stood in his way with Miss Ferguson," said Blanchet. “I should not wonder if you are right,” replied Mrs. Johnson, "though she wouldn't have him if he were a prince." “Well, but do you mean to tell me," said Edwards, "that he could be going about his business as cool as any other man if he really had this awful secret on his mind? "I'll tell you what I will do," said Mrs. Johnson, after a pause; "I will ask him here to tea next Thursday, and while I talk to him about the murder, you shall watch his countenance, and then we shall see whether he can really be as cool about it as you imagine.” The housekeeper's room at the Squire's, over which Mrs. Johnson presided with a dignity which reflected credit on her master's house and on herself, was a long low old-fashioned apartment of considerable size. The panelled oak walls had been painted white to increase the light, they were adorned with various pictures. There was the Squire himself in his hunting dress. Two or three watercolour sketches of ladies with stiff curls, and very upright figures; some scripture pieces, too, there were, and prints of old King George the Third and his Queen. Two high-backed arm chairs, covered with horse-hair and studded with brass-headed nails, stood near the fire place, one on either side. A tall old clock ticked solemnly in one corner, and on the opposite side there was one of those pretty corner cupboards which we often see in country cottages. It was full of fine old china and glass. Thursday evening had arrived; a large cheerful fire blazed in the grate, the dimity curtains were let down over the windows; teathings were arranged on the polished table, and the kettle sang merrily upon the hob. Before the fire there was a high wire fender, at which in his babyhood "little Johnny Lane" had often stood, holding fast by the bright brass heading round the top to support his tottering infant steps, for his mother had been on friendly terms with Mrs. Johnson's predecessor, and often visited her. “He's late,” said Edwards, rubbing his hands before the fire. Yes, he is," replied Mrs. Johnson, who, seated in her arm-chair, looked severely grave and thoughtful. "I declare it gives me the shudders," said the lady's maid, "to think of sitting at tea with a murderer,—if he is one, that is to say; but perhaps he is not, after all.” Hush," said Edwards,―and the door opened. Lane entered. He began by apologizing for being late in a rather hurried blustering manner, repeating more than once his regret at not having been able to come earlier. For some time he talked unceasingly, frequently laughing loud at his own narrations. It struck Mrs. Johnson that he was very nervous. The second cups of tea were poured out before she made some slight allusion to the subject of the murder. Edwards answered her shortly, and she continued speaking on the same subject, now, however, addressing herself directly to Lane, of whom she made an enquiry with regard to the evidence at the inquest. He stammered, and replied somewhat incoherently, indeed he appeared scarcely to understand what Mrs. Johnson had said, but she persisted in her enquiries, mentioning by name the unfortunate girl, his supposed victim. The other servants all declared afterwards that he turned deadly pale, and with difficulty prevented his cup from slipping from his hand. It was long before the murder ceased to be a constant topic of conversation at Briarly. But at length other subjects of interest began to engross the public mind of the village, and that sad and terrible one was less often mentioned. Spring came, and glided on into summer, summer with its beauties and innocent pleasures, its long evenings and lingering twilight, made way for the cooler paler shades of autumn, and then came winter once more. One stormy night, Frost and his sister and brother-in-law were sitting talking over the fire, when the wheelwright said "It was on this very night last year that Nancy Childers was killed." "Ah! so it was," replied his wife; "Poor creature, I wonder if it's ever to come out who 'twas that did it." "Sooner or later it will be known for certain," replied her husband. "When was ever murder hidden. Blood will cry for vengeance, depend on it. Her life and death ought to be a warning to all the girls about here, not to take to such careless unwomanly ways. If my little Mary ever stays out after dark I don't know what I shan't do to her. It's the ruin of thousands, body and soul." "She won't want to do so, I hope, if she is properly brought up," replied his wife; "she will have a little more shamefacedness than some girls. I'll be bound to say my Molly will never grow up a great bold girl." "Poor thing," said Frost, referring again to Nancy; "the man who did the deed that took away her life must be passing a miserable time to night. What a fearful weight such a sin must be upon the conscience!" "Aye," said the wheelwright; "that conscience is an awful thing unless you listen to its warnings in time, that's certain; and if you do, what a blessing it is." Frost thought of old Daniel's story, and then his memory took him to the hill side, where he and John Lane had sat together while |