is likely
to rise from her ruins. I believe that if a priest did his duty,
he might possibly possess miraculous power. There is great pomp and
splendor in her ceremonies, a sense of high and boundless authority in
her pastors; there is rank in her orders sufficient even for ambition.
Then the deference, the awe, and the humility with which they are
approached by the people--ah! Susan, there is much still in the
character of a priest for the human heart to covet. The power of
saying mass, of forgiving sin, of relieving the departed spirits of the
faithful in another world, and of mingling in our holy sacrifices, with
the glorious worship of the cherubims, or angels, in heaven--all this is
the privilege of a priest, and what earthly rank can be compared to it?"

"None at all, Denis--none at all. Oh, think this way still, and let no
earthly temptation--no--don't let--even me--what am I?--a poor humble
girl--oh! no, let nothing keep you back from this."

The tears burst from her eyes, however, as she spoke.

"But, Denis," she added, "there is one thing that turns my brain. I fear
that, even afther your ordination, I couldn't look upon you as I would
upon another man. Oh, my heart would break if one improper thought of it
was fixed upon you then."

"Susy, hear me. I could give up all, but you. I could bear to disappoint
father, mother, and all; but the thought of giving you up for ever is
terrible. I have been latterly in a kind of dream. I have been among
friends and relatives until my brain was turned; but now I am restored
to myself, and I find I cannot part with you. I would gladly do it;
but I cannot. Oh, no, Susan, dear, my love for you was dimmed by other
passions; but it was not extinguished. It now burns stronger and purer
in my heart than ever. It does--it does. And, Susan, I always loved
you."

Susan paused for some time, and unconsciously plucked a wild flower
which grew beside her: she surveyed it a moment, and exclaimed:--

"Do you see this flower, Denis? it's a faded primrose. I'm like that
flower in one sense; I'm faded; my heart's broke."

"No, my beloved Susan, don't say so; you're only low-spirited. Why
should your heart be broke, and you in the very bloom of youth and
beauty?"

"Do you remember our last meetin', Denis? Oh, how could you be so cruel
then as to bid me think of marryin' another, as if I had loved you for
anything but yourself? I'm but a simple girl, Denis, and know but little
of t