that I cease to respect that word. Suffer me only to observe,
that in the ardor of youth one easily mistakes that obligation. There are
circumstances in which duty appears so clearly and distinctly, and speaks
so loudly, that it must be obeyed at all risks. Our force must be devoted
to it--our soul, our life. Ordinarily, however, we are forced to decide
between conflicting duties, and the one which seems the best is
ordinarily the least praiseworthy. The man who devotes himself to daily
toil has family affections, and diffuses good around him. Does not he
discharge his duty? Does not he occupy an honorable place in the social
system? Does virtue exist only in extraordinary actions? Is there no
crown to be gathered except in adventurous enterprises or in the battle
field? And is not he a good citizen, who toils usefully, and properly
educates his children?"

Ireneus did justice to his uncle's arguments, and was moved by the
touching kindness he evinced. His mind was however made up, and nothing
could divert him.

Alete, her husband, and the old pastor, sought to retain him. When Ebba
heard he was about to leave, she said nothing: her head sunk on her
bosom, and tears stole into her eyelids.

Ireneus left not without effort and distress. At sunset the rays of the
sun have singular beauty, and life is never so attractive as to the dying
man. Just at the moment of separation a strange reaction also takes
place. In an instant we see a kind of dazzling light, unfolding to us
what we love and what we abandon. We regret in anticipation what we are
about to leave. The door is not yet passed, the farewell is not spoken.
We pause and hesitate. We may return, and joyfully cast ourselves into
arms still open to us. This is the last contest of the heart, perhaps the
last remonstrance of a good genius. Passion however conquers, and the
bark is launched upon a sea without a port, beneath a sky without a star.
May God guide it!

Thus Ireneus departed, deserting domestic peace, leaving a family in
distress, and crushing a young heart. He was himself unhappy, but was
sustained by the idea that he hearkened to the voice of honor, and that
the sacrifice was noble in proportion as it was painful.

It was the beginning of summer. The earth had become green, and the woods
Were filled with the sound of birds. A pure sky, silvery lakes, all the
varied beauty of the north, seemed revived as if by magic at the first
breath of spring. Had any