"Pardon, pardon, my dearest wife! I, too, had my secret. No poor
artist sought your love--I, too, am the heir of wealth; I, too, sought
to be loved for myself alone. Say that you forgive me, dear one."

Ursula could not speak, but wept her joy and happiness on his bosom.

Helen laughs merrily, yet slily wipes a tear from her eye, then
kissing them both, she says,

"What think you now of the great book of human nature you went forth
to study, you discontented ones? You favorites of fortune! ingrates
that you have been--you foolish pair of lovers! Listen dear brother.
As the rich Frank Leland you possessed the same attributes of goodness
as did Frank Leland the poor artist; and you, dear sister, were no
less lovely and amiable as the heiress of wealth, than as Ursula the
little cap-maker. See you not, then, that true merit, whether it gilds
the brow of the rich man or radiates around the poor man's path, will
find its way to every pure and virtuous mind. Henceforth, you dear
ones, look at human nature with more friendly eyes, and forget in the
excellencies of the _many_, the errors of the _few_."

NO, NOT FORGOTTEN.

BY EARLE S. GOODRICH.

For Nature gives a common lot,
To live, to love, to be forgot. CONE.

No, not forgotten; there are memories clinging
Round every breast that beats to hope and fear
In this drear world, until the death's knell, ringing,
Chimes with heart-moanings o'er the solemn bier;
Then come love's pilgrims to the sad shrine, bringing
The choicest offering of the heart--a tear.

No, not forgotten; else bowed down with anguish
Were the brave hearts that mingle in the strife.
Patriot and Christian in their toil would languish--
Truth lie down-trodden--Error, then, stalk rife
Over the body she at last could vanquish--
So fond remembrance ceased along with life.

No, not forgotten; else the faithful beating
Of heart to genial heart, that beat again,
Were turned to throbbings; and each pulse repeating
But the sad echoings of pain to pain.
And the blest rapture of the longed for meeting,
Then be unsought, or would be sought in vain.

No, not forgotten; for though fame may fail thee,
And love's fond beamings change to glance of scorn--
Though those once trusted now may harsh assail thee--
Thy friend of yesterday, thy foe this morn--
There is, who h