THE TURNING-POINT IN MY LIFE.
A RETROSPECT.

TO-DAY I am eight-and-twenty. A birthday always disposes me to retrospection: and though still very far from even the half-way point in the journey of life, I feel disposed to take a backward view of the path already trodden.

It was precisely ten years ago-on my eigh teenth birthday-that the conviction thrust iteslf upon my mind that I had lost my heart-freedom --that I was in love. I struggled against the belief in vain; it was forced upon me; and I received it at length with an intense bitterness of spirit, as I would have received some inevitable but galling humiliation. I had no hope of a return; and worse than all, I had a stinging consciousness that I deserved none.

goodness, and dignity in self-denial. From various sources I gathered fine theories of moral excellence; and at times my own heart swelled with impassioned but transient aspirations after their realization.

Before I left school I was conscious of a void in my existence; the primary want of humanity was already crying within me; I was on the search for happiness. My nature was an ardent one; I looked forward to getting what I wanted when I left school and was mistress of myself.

At seventeen I made my trial. I was the bead of my father's house, and free to do whatever I pleased. I started with many advantages. I had wealth, beauty, and youth. To aid my natural capabilities I had received every possible advantage; and, having exhausted the resources of my own country, I had spent the last twelve months at a high class-school at Paris, to get the conventional touch of perfection to my education. I brought back with me a thorough knowledge of French, ease, style, and unhesitating confidence in my own powers.

Undeserving, I, an heiress with wit and beauty! undeserving of one who doubled my age, who possessed not a tenth of my wealth, who had won his hardly-gained position by his own personal exertions! I, whom so many strove to win,-the centre of a little court, the Corinne in my own sphere, My father's circle of friends was large, and I inthe mark for envy and for admiration, not worthy creased it. Willing to exert all my fascination, I of the quiet, taciturn, undesirable, Mr. Oliphant! dazzled society. I wanted something absolute and There seemed a mockery in it. How gladly would tangible, and I tried admiration. 1 had my fill of I have persuaded myself that there was! I went it. I was wondered at, envied, censured, imitatup to my glass. I was beautiful; that was abso-ed. I was everywhere sought after, everywhere lute truth, no lying flattery to please the ear of an talked of. Every night was a triumph, a fresh heiress. But what availed my beauty with one draught of the intoxication of adulation and whose eye had penetrated within, and who, seeing homage self the deity, and vanity the master-passion, shrank from my "mere beauty " as from the whited sepulchres which cover dust and corruption?

For a time I thought my point was gained, and fancied myself happy; but after a while I was surfeited with praise, and looked about for some rovel I turned away from the glass and thought over stimulant. I found it. There was one who did my gifts and accomplishments. But what was it not praise me, who refused to admire. Inflated to me that artists glanced at my sketches admir- by ready conquests and universal regard, I resentingly, and that German professors drew their ed this fact almost as a wrong. Mr. Oliphant dechairs to my piano with prospective delight radi-frauded me of my right. I made up my mind to ant in every line of their critical features? What win or force that which he would not give. was it to me that ears and eyes disciplined by the Mr. Oliphant was a barrister by profession; au masters of the stage followed my impassioned reci-old friend of my father; and was very fond of retations with enthusiastic approval? Nothing!lating the history of his early struggles with forAbsolutely nothing! And if I had had admira-tune. However, he had won the day; he had tion still more universal, and homage still more ex-gained an honourable position at six-and-thirty, citing, it would still have been valueless so long as and had a high moral and intellectual reputation. one drew back and refused to worship with the But in society he did not deign to shine; it seemed his business rather to observe others than to show himself. As he observed all his fellow-be

rest.

so he observed me; but with a silent gravity which seemed to express disapprobation. This piqued my pride. I knew him to be intellectual -far above many of my brilliant associates; and his good opinion was worth having.

"If he had given me that," I said to myself in the insolent triumph of my charms, "I would have been content; now I will have his heart."

My father was a rich city merchant, and I his only child. I had the misfortune to lose my motherings, in my third year, and up to nine years of age passed my life in the nursery, under the eye of a fond, but fatally injudicious aunt. With ill-judged kindness she had made it the principle of her conduct "that poor Ada's child should be thwarted in nothing." I reaped the inevitable fruits. Naturally selfish and vehement-tendencies which might, under proper discipline, have been eradicated or regulated, grew rank and strong, and struck their roots into the very core of my heart, -I grew in time beyond my aunt's control, and was sent to school. My training was not much better here. I was an heiress, and had abilities above the common; and with this in my favour, One evening, after I had been urged to a recimy teachers were not rigorous. A boarding-school, tation of the Marseillaise, after the manner of the too, is more frequently the soil where evil is French actress Rachel, I sat down on the same planted than where the roots of it are torn up. In-sofa where Mr. Oliphant was sitting. It was in an tellectual culture helped me, however. My trained obscure corner of the room; and I really wished perceptions discovered that there is beauty into escape from the plaudits I had raised. I was

I tried for it. I passed every accomplishment in array before him. I played for his ear; 1 sang to his taste; I deferred to his judgments. In vain! Personal vanity was not his stronghold; and the siege was useless. The difficulty of the pursuit stimulated me, and I went further still.

in a state of high excitement; my cheeks flushed, eyes glowing still with the fury I had feigned, and every pulse throbbing. Mr. Oliphant turned away his eyes from my face with an expression of pain. I felt humiliated.

"Mr. Oliphant," I said, "would you give me anything for the pleasures and gratifications you would take away?"

noble hear', in the very wantonness of coquetry, was conquered. I loved him.

"Yes," he returned; "if I could, I would give you your own self-respect, which you have not now, and the heart to live as a rational, accounta-ing. ble creature should."

"Oh! I know," I exclaimed, "that you despise me; that all must who are like you; but what is the use of longing to be different? No one lends me a helping hand."

At the moment I felt this. I caught a glimpse of how unwomanly and ignoble my frivolous, selfseeking life of display was; and a genuine aspiration stirred within me to get a step nearer his level.

He looked at me earnestly. I saw he mistrusted me; but this time my face bore his scrutiny. He seemed to reflect. Presently he said—“If, Ada, my friendship could serve you, I would willingly help you to step out of your present sphere into one a little wider-a little higher."

These words recalled me to myself. I might have momentary impulses after something better; but I had no settled purpose to give up my present mode of life. What was to take place? At this same time the idea flashed upon me, that now, at last, I might gain my point. If anything would win the heart of Oliphant, with his impossible principles, and lofty sense of duty, it would be for me to feign the disciple; to submit to his directions; to yield to his views; to learn his creed, and essay to practise it: there surely would be a charm in this relationship to which even he would yield.

I remember vividly the hour when I made this discovery. It was, as I have said before, niy eighteenth birthday. My father being indisposed, instead of the usual party in honour of the day, I had consented to be alone with him. He had invited Mr. Oliphant to come in and cheer our rare solitude, if disengaged. He came. I never remembered to have spent a more delightful evenI had the satisfaction of a light self-sacrifice, and Mr. Oliphant's presence supplied sufficient stimulus to make me exert my powers of pleasing. I thought, too, he felt the social animation of the scene; his fine face was unusually lighted up; his conversation, more lively than ordinary, had a double charm. In all this I read my fancied power. Had I known my own heart better, I might have been sure that even gratified vanity would not have produced so exquisite a thrill. Presently our conversation took a most familiar turn. My father, as he was wont to do, began to joke his guest about his bachelorhood. For some time Mr. Oliphant parried the raillery in the same strain; but presently he said more gravely:

:

"I have made no vow against matrimony. When I meet with a woman who has the same

purpose in life as myself, able and willing to lend I be so happy as to win her, I will take your me both sympathy and co-operation, then, should advice and marry at once; but not till then. I want a companion and friend: nothing short will

content me.

The words fell upon my heart like lead. Obey

ing a sudden impulse I said, with extreme bitter-
Oliphant, to the end of your life!"
-"You will never find what you want, Mr.

ness,

Why not?" he asked, looking quietly at me. "You require the impossible: no woman will ever reach your standard."

even

I played my part well. I surrendered some of "I still hope," he returned, with a slightly my favourite pleasures and most triumphant exhi-heightened color, "though you doubtless think it bitions, convinced by the cogency of his argu- is high time I abandoned hope. I should be sorry ments. When interested he could be eloquent; to doubt that simplicity and sincerity are rare and when he urged upon me noble considerations qualities in your sex." which were the base of his own practice, and adVocated principles which I felt were alone adequate to the wants of humanity, it was not altogether hypocritical art which tinged my cheek and inspired my words. In truth, when directly under his influence, I was what I feigned to be; when he presented truth, I was a truth-seeker; when he described the ragged, but sublime path of duty, I fixed upon it an eye of desire.

Owing to this impressibility, I succeeded in deceiving myself as to the real worthlessness of my fundamental object. I hid myself from the selfcontempt which his teachings were calculated to quicken.

Thus some time passed, and our seeming friendship appeared to thrive. The world explained my conduct as a new form of my allowed capriciousness; and some of my most intimate associates, whose support was necessary to my object, I let into my secret.

But I went too far; I was snared in my own net. Mr. Oliphant might feel a benignant friendship for the passionate, mistaken girl, who had plunged so recklessly into the vortex of life; but she herself, whose aim had been to subjugate a

I made no answer. I was glad when the eve ing closed, and I was alone in my room. I dismissed my maid; locked the door; and gave way to a passion of tears. "Fool! fool!" I cried vehemently, "to think he would love me!" Oh, it was in vain, I could not deceive myself. I had yielded where I meant to force a surrender. Painful, bitter, as the truth was, I could not deny it. I loved him. As if in mockery, of my humiliation, and to increase my anguish, all that I knew of his nobility of character, of his sterling worth, of his firm integrity, intact amidst the trials of his profession, and of his tender forbearance with my many faults since childhood, rushed upon my mind. My imagination busied itself with the idea of what, had he loved me, I might have become. I stood amazed that I had ever cared to gather the suf frage of his inferiors; it seemed to me as though life had suddenly lost its savour. "I see his opinion of me. He has lent, as he imagined, a helping hand,-a word of advice,-to one who needed it; he would have done as much for any daughter of Eve. His seeming interest was nothing but principle and compassion; his 'companion' must stand on an infinitely higher level;

"I was deceived then; I believed you in earFrom the stinging misery of my disappointment, nest; I cannot consent to give up the belief. It I turned again to my former pleasures, and seems to me as if then you showed your true self, plunged into everything that promised excite--your present conduct strikes me as unnatural, ment, with a recklessness that the world mistook as assumed. Throw off the disguise, Ada! Let for gaiety. Love failing me, I threw myself back me, before I go, see you like yourself." again upon admiration, and threw off, in the unchecked exercise of every power that I possessed, -the few restraints which had formerly held me. "If he whose love I valued deemed me unworthy, better reduce me to the level of those who admired me."

inferior, and help you to become what God meant become accustomed to the happiness of being Oliyou to be a noble work. Occasionally, as a child, phant's wife. Accustomed! yes: but it is to an you would curb your high spirit, and bear a word even deeper and fuller flavour. With him my of reproof from me. The human heart is very moral education began: happy for me, his kindly weak, Ada; perhaps it was this early amenability penetration detected something worthy of his care! to my influence that first planted the seeds which I have not, however, under his guidance lost my have struck so deep. At least, I have loved you, distinctive character. I am still ambitious,-still Ada. In the height of your frivolity and gaiety, aspiring; but my ambition has centred in becomI fancied I saw beneath all the empty glitter and ing more worthy to be his friend and companion, display, a heart capable of higher things,- -a na- and the teacher of his children; I aspire chiefly to ture superior to the life you stooped to. It was keep true time with him in his untiring progresnecessary,―ecessary to excuse to my own judg- sion towards God and Heaven. Mine is the rement the passion that was growing so strong.trospect of gratitude, - the anticipation of love and Three months back, when you suffered me to re- happiness.-Eliza Cook's Journal.

sume the office of your earliest years-when you
showed me yourself under an aspect even lovelier
than I dared to hope. But, Ada, I cannot
describe the happiness,-the pure joy I felt. Not
that I had any hope, except to see you worthy of
yourself, and of one nearer your own level than I.
Sometimes, I confess, deceived by your frank
kindness. I
yet no matter? you know all
now, Ada. I will say nothing of what your inex-
plicable change has cost me, but nothing shall per-
suade me you were not then sincere. Now will
you bear a word of advice from me!"

I made no answer. His words had bound me in a delicious spell, and I feared to break it. He repeated his last inquiry more gravely than before. This aroused me,-aroused me to a painful consciousness. What signifies the past? He did not say he loved me now. He urged no plea: asked no questions of my heart. I could not give what he had never begged to receive! No! no! Dignity, pride, everything forbade that. Besides, he might be weak enough to love one he would be too wise to make his wife. Had I been fool enough to believe myself happy?

I was, however, forced to speak, for he translated my silence into displeasure. I gave him ENGLAND'S BEST DEFENCES.-If the whole leave to say all he wished, and listened with every length of the coast were defended by a good line nerve at its tension. I felt, though he did not say of railway, with trains running at all hours, and it, that he never meant to see me again; his no- garrisoned with an efficient corps of signalmen ble, earnest counsels,-his almost passionate ex- and guardsmen, picked from our worst managed postulations, were those of one who would have railway companies, we are confident that Louis no after-concern in the life he wished to direct.-Napoleon would at once abandon all ambitious At last all was said, and he had extracted from my lips a mechanical promise. He paused, as if to gather up his courage.

"Farewell! God bless you, Ada?" he said, with restrained vehemence; and resisting the impulse to kiss the hand he held, he let it drop, and turned to the door.

Then he was going for ever! Pride fell before passion, reserve before agony. I stretched out my arms as if to arrest his departure. "Oliphant," I cried, "I cannot let you go!"

The next moment I would have recalled my words; well for me that I could not recall them. That I had not sacrificed the happiness and safety of my life to a conventional scruple. He turned back; there was no mistaking the intonation of my voice.

One glance into my troubled, crimsoning face. and he clasped me in his arms. With his passionate kiss upon my lips, his fervent words in my ear, I did not defraud him of the confession he prayed for, and there was no shame now in the admission-"I love you."

Ten years have passed since then, and I have

ideas of invading England, for to land an army on the coast in the teeth of such strong defences would be only to expose it to certain death. Once set the trains running, and not a Frenchman would be found to face the fearful danger, more especially if a set of "time tables" were published "by authority," at the same period. The only difficulty is, with the many contending claims, on what chairman or committee man of our numerous railway companies we should confer the proud honor of being appointed commander in chief of these most important fortifications. All claims, however, fairly considered, we think the preference should be given to the Oxford and Buckingham line. Under its signal care, or rather the want of it, England may be safely pronounc ed to be impregnable. The destructive powers of railway engines have been sufficiently tried upon Englishmen, and it is time now that those same engines of destruction should be turned a little against our foes. We will pay the damages of the next railway accident, if, with such defences on our coast to receive an invading army, a man of it leaves the island alive!