Thou hast done well, perhaps,
To show how closely wound
Dark threads of sin and self
With our best deeds are found,
How great and noble hearts,
Striving for lofty aims,
Have still some earthly cord
A meaner spirit claims:
And yet-- although thy task
Is well and fairly done,
Methinks for such as thee
There is a holier one.

Shadows there are, who dwell
Among us, yet apart,
Deaf to the claim of God,
Or kindly human heart;
Voices of earth and heaven
Call, but they turn away,
And Love, through such black night,
Can see no hope of day;
And yet— our eyes are dim,
And thine are keener far;
Then gaze until thou seest
The glimmer of some star.

The black stream flows along
Whose waters we despise,
Show us reflected there
Some fragment of the skies;
"Neath tangled thorns and briars
(The task is fit for thee)
Seek for the hidden flowers
We are too blind to see;
Then will I thy great gift
A crown and blessing call;
Angels look thus on men,
And God sees good in all!

SENTIMENT AND ACTION.

IN SEVEN CHAPTERS. CHAPTER V.

HORACE RUTHERFORD arrived as soon as
possible after the receipt of Paul's incoherent
letter, and in a very short time Magdalen
was free; released on bail, to take her trial
at the next assizes.

It was an easy matter enough. Any man
of the world who understood how to
conduct the affairs of real life, even if not
a lawyer, could have managed it. Yet there
was something in the promptitude and decision
with which Mr. Rutherford acted, that
to Magdalen, accustomed to the timidity
and want of practical power in Paul, seemed
almost heroic, because it was simply manly.
She never knew how feeble she felt her lover
to be until she had unconsciously compared
him with another of his own age; one of his
friends; educated under much the same
influences, yet on whom life had wrought such
different effects, and to whom it had taught
such different lessons. Not that she did nol
fully recognise the graces of Paul's mind and
intellect. The positive and practical nature
of Horace struck her with greater admiration,
perhaps, because it was a new study, and
because it was more in accordance with her
own.

Horace was soon heart and soul in the
cause. If Magdalen had been his own
sister, he could not have worked with more
loyal zeal than he did, leaving no stone
unturned by which he could establish her
innocence. He made minute inquiries as to all
the old intimates of her father: the trusted
family friends. He got their addresses, so
far as Magdalen could give them; and, when
she failed, if he could only have the smallest
clue, he managed to follow it up to the end.
But, as yet, he heard nothing from any of
them that could be of use. One, of whom
Magdalen spoke the most, escaped him.
About two years ago he had gone abroad; to
the German baths: since then, he had been
wandering about the continent, and had
finally gone to Spain; but his only relative
(a sister who lived in Devonshire), knew not
precisely whither. As there was not much
time before the assizes, he could not afford to
waste a single day. But Horace never flagged
in hope, endeavour, and encouraging
assurances to Magdalen; continuing his search
after Mr. Slade, the missing family friend,
with extraordinary pertinacity. Magdalen
was content to let the matter rest wholly
with him,to believe in his wisdom and his
energy, and to feel secure so long as he told
her she might feel so.

They made a strangely-contrasting group,
the three friends; as unlike physically as
they were morally; and yet each so excellent
in his own way. Magdalen and Paul
were both handsome, as has been shown before;
but Horace had no great share of good looks;
yet he had something that compensated
for the want of them. He was below the
middle size; but firm and strong, and so
well proportioned that his want of height
was not noticeable. Indeed, he left on many
the impression that he was a tall man. He
had a rugged, irregular face: but its large
black eyes, and the raven hair curling thick
and close gave a rough beauty to it. Although
every feature was artistically unlovely;
though the broad nose, thick at the base
and blunt at the end, the unshaped lips, thick
also and irregular, the powerful chin and
square jaw, were none of them in harmony,
yet, from these unpromising elements, came
such a noble expression, such a look of energy
and frankness and quickness and
penetration, that no one ever remarked that
Horace Rutherford was what people call
a plain man. His manners were rather
abrupt; a smile was generally playing round
his lips, and his eyes were eyes that spoke and
laughed. His conversation was quick and
brilliant; usually on some topic of the day;
rarely metaphysical or abstract. He spoke
well, told stories and anecdotes with great
spirit, was brave, generous, prompt, and
determined; a man whose hope, energy, and
self-command were all but unconquerable.

"What a different being he was to sensitive,
shy, poetic, tremulous, fair-haired  Paul!
whose smiles were like sun-flashes on an