some optical Illusion, believed In hitherto by all 
the generations, and which, no doubt, was of a 
Startling kind, or Ills father would not look so 
serious—any of these he felt himself quite strong 
to encounter, ills heart and spirit rose. A young 
man has hut seldom the opportunity of distin¬ 
guishing hitnself so early In his career, and his 
was such a chance as occurs to very few. No 
doubt It was somet hing that would be extremely 
trying to the nerves and imagination. He called 
up all hla powers to vanquish both; and along 
with this call upon himself to exertion there was 
the less serious Impulse of curiosity- he would see 
at, last what the Secret Chamber was,where It was. 
how It fitted Into the labyrinths of the old house. 
Tills he tried to put In Its due place as a most in¬ 
teresting object. He said to himself that he 
would willingly have gone a long Journey at aDy 
time to be present at such an exploration ; and 
there Is no doubt that In other circumstances a 
secret chamber, with probably some unthought 
of historical Interest In It, would have been a very 
fascinating discovery. He tried very hard to ex¬ 
cite himself about this; but it was curious how 
fictitious he felt the Interest, and how conscious 
ho was that It was an effort to feel any curi¬ 
osity at all on the subject. The fact was, 
that the Secret Chamber was entirely secondary 
--thrown back, as all accessories arc, by a more 
pressing Interest. The overpowering thought, of 
what was In It drove aside all healthy, natural 
curiosity about, Itself, 
It must not be supposed, howover, that the fa¬ 
ther and son had a long way to go to have time 
for all these thoughts. Thoughts travel at light¬ 
ning speed, and there was abundant leisure for 
this between the time they had left the door ol 
Llndores' room and gone down the corridor no 
further off than to I.ord Gowrle'8 own chamber, 
naturally one of the chief rooms of the house. 
Nearly opposite this, a few.steps further on, was 
a little, neglected room, devbted to lumber, with 
which Llndores had been familiar all Ills lire. 
Why this nest of old rubbish, dust, and cobwebs | 
should be so near the bedroom of the head of the 
house had been a matter of surprise to many peo¬ 
ple -to the guests who saw It while exploring, 
and to each new servant, in succession, who 
planned an attack upon Its ancient Stores, scan¬ 
dalized by finding it to have been neglected by 
their predecessors. All their attemps to clear it 
out had, however, been resisted, nobody could tell 
how, or, ludeed, thought It worth while tolnqulre. 
As for Llndores, he had been used to the place 
slnco childhood, and, therefore, had accepted It 
as the most natural thing In the world. He had 
been in and out a hundred times in his play, and 
It was here, he remembered suddenly, that he had 
seen the bad picture of Karl Hubert which had so 
curiously come Into his eyes on his journeying 
here, by a mental movement which he had lden- 
Ufled at once as unconscious cerebration. Tim 
first, feeling In his mind, as his rather went to 
open the door of this lumbor-room, was a mixture 
of amusement and surprise. What was he going 
to pick up there?—some old pnntaele, some amu¬ 
let or scrap of antiquated magic, to act as armor 
against the evil one ? Hut Lord Gowile, going on 
and setting down the lamp on the table, turned 
round upon his son, with a fuce of agitation and 
pain which barred all further amusement, lie 
grasped him by the hand, crushing it between his 
own. 
“ Now, my boy, my elcar son,” be said, In tones 
that were scarcely audible, ills countenance was 
full of the dreary pain of a looicer-on—one who 
has no share In the excitement of personal dan¬ 
ger. but has the more terrible port of watching 
those who arc In deadliest peril, lie was a pow¬ 
erful man, and his large form shook with emo- 
tlou: great beads of moisture stood upon Ids 
forehead. An old sword with a cross handle 
stood upon a (lusty chair among other dusty and 
battered relics. *' Take this with you," he said, 
In the same Inaudible, breathless way—whether 
as a weapon, whether as a religious symbol, Lln- 
tlores could not guess. 
The young man took It mechanically. Ills 
father pushed open a door which It seemed to 
him he had never seen before, and led him Into 
another vaulted chamber. Here even the limited 
powers of speech Lord cowrie had retained 
seemed to forsake him, and hia voice became a 
mere hoarse murmur In his throat. For want of 
speech he pointed to another door in the further 
corner of this small, vacant room, gave Mm to 
understand by a gesture that he was to knock 
there, and then wont back Into the lumber-room. 
The door Into this was left, open, and a faint 
glimmer of the lamp shed light Into tills little, 
intermediate place—this debatable land between 
the seen and the unseen. In spite of himself, 
Llndores’ heart begun to beat. Lie made a 
breathless pause, feeling bis bead go round, lie 
held tho old sword In Ms hand, not knowing 
what, it was. ’ Then. sutnmoDlug all his courage, 
he went forward anil knocked at the closed door. 
His knock was not loud, but It, seemed to echo all 
over the silent, bouse. Would everybody hear 
and wake, and rush to see what had happened ? 
This caprice of Imagination seized upon Mm, 
ousting all the tinner thoughts, the steadfast 
calm of mind with which he ought to have en¬ 
countered the mystery. Would they all rush.In, 
In wild < teshabilie , In terror and dismay, berore 
the door opened? How long It was of opening! 
He touched the panel with Ms hand again. This 
time there was no delay. In a moment, as If 
thrown suddenly open by some one within, the 
door moved. It opened Just wide enough to let 
him enter, stopping half way, as If some one in¬ 
visible hold It, wide enough for welcome, but no 
more. Llndores stepped across the threshold 
with a beating heart. What, was he about to 
see! the skeletons of the murdered victims? 
ghostly charnel-house full of bloody traces of 
crime? He seemed to be hurried and pushed in 
as he made that step. What was this world of 
mystery into which he was plunged—what was It. 
he saw ? 
He saw— nothing—except what was agreeable 
enough to behold —an antiquated room hung 
with tapestry, very old tapestry, of rude design, | 
Its colors faded Into softness and harmony; be- | 
tweea Its folds here and there a panel of carved 
wood, rude too In design, with traces of half- 
worn gilding; a table covered with strange in¬ 
struments, parchments, chemical tubes, and cu¬ 
rious machinery, all with a qualntness or form 
and dimness of material that spoke Of age. A 
heavy old velvet cover, thick with embroidery, 
faded almost out of all color, was on the table; 
on the wall above It, something that looked llko a 
very old Venetian mirror, the glass so dim and 
crusted that It scarcely reflected at all; on the 
floor an old, soft, Persian carpet, worn Into a 
vague blending of all colors. This was all that 
he thought he saw. HIS heart, which had been 
thumping bo loud as almost to choke him, stop¬ 
ped that tremendous upward and downward mo¬ 
tion like a steatajilston, arid ho grow calm. Per¬ 
fectly still, dim, unoccupied; yet not so dim 
either; there was no apparent source of light., no 
windows, curtains of tapestry drawn everywhere 
—no lamp visible, no fire — yat a kind of strange 
light which made everything quite clear. He 
looked around, trying to smile ui his terrors, try¬ 
ing to say to himself that It was the most curious 
place he "had ever seen—that he must show Ffar- 
rlngton some of that, tapestry — that ho must 
bring away a panel of that carving—when he 
suddenly perceived that, the door by which he 
had entered was shut-—nay, more than shut, un- 
dlscernlble, covered like all the rest of the walls 
by that strange tapestry. At this his heart be¬ 
gan to beat again in spite of Mm. He looked 
round once more, and woke up to a more vivid 
being with a sudden start. Had his eyes been' 
Incapable of vision on Ms flrst entrance ? 1'noc- 
cuplcd? Who was that In the great chair? 
It. seemed to Llndores that lm had seen neither 
the chair nor the man when he came in. There 
they were, however, solid and unmistakable; the 
chair carved like the panels, tho man sealed In 
front of the table. lie looked at Llndores with a 
calm and open gaze, Inspecting Mm. The young 
man’s heart seemed in Ms throat, fluttering like a 
bird, but ho was brave, and Ms rolnd made one 
final effort to break this spell. He tried to speak 
laboring with a voice that would not sound, and 
with lips too parched too form a word. ‘‘1 see 
how It Is,” was what he wanted to say. It was 
Earl Robert’s face that was looking at him; and 
startled as he was, he dragged forth his philoso¬ 
phy to support Mm. What could it. be but optical 
delusion, unconscious cerebration, occult seizure 
by the impressed and struggling mind of this one 
countenance? But ha could not hear Mmselt 
speak any word as he stood convulsed, struggling 
with dry lips and cholclDg voice. 
The Appearance smiled, as If knowing Ms 
thoughts—not unkindly, not malignly—with a 
certain amusement mingled with scorn. Then 
he spoke, and the sound seemed to breathe 
through the room not like any voice that Llndores 
I had ever heard, a kind of utterance of the place, 
like the rustic of the air or the ripple of the sea. 
“ you will learn better to-nlglu; this is no phan¬ 
tom of your bralD ; It Is I.” 
■•In God’s name,” cried the young man In his 
soul; he did not know w'hcther the words ever 
got into the air or not., If there was any air;—“ In 
God’s name, who are you ?’’ 
The tlgure rose as tr coming to him to reply; 
and Llndores, overcome by the apparent approach 
struggled luto utterance. A cry came from him 
—he heard It this time—and even In Ms extremity 
felt ii pang the more to hear the terror In his own 
voice. Hut. he did not flinch, he stood desperate, 
all his strength concentrated In the act; he 
neither turned nor recoiled. Vaguely gleaming 
through his mind came the thought that to be 
thus brought in contact with the unseen was the 
experiment to be most desired on earth, the Anal 
Settlement of a hundred questions; but. his facul¬ 
ties were not sufficiently under command to 
entertain It. He only stood firm, that was all, 
And the figure did not approach him; after a 
moment, It subsided back again Into the chair— 
subsided, for no sound, not the faintest, accom¬ 
panied Its movements. It was the form of a man 
of middle age, the hair white, but the beard only 
crtsjied with gray, the features those of the pict¬ 
ure—a familiar face, more or less like all the Ran¬ 
dolphs, but with an air of domination ami power 
altogether unlike that of the race. He was dressed 
n a long robe of dark color, embroidered with 
strange lines and angles. There was nothing re- 
pcllant or terrible tn hla air— notffing except the 
notselessness, the calm, the absolute stillness, 
which was as much in the place as Mm, to keep 
up the involuntary t rembling of the beholder. Hts 
expression w as full of dignity and thoughtfulness, 
and not malignant or unkind, lie might have 
been the kindly patriarch or the house, watching 
over Its fortunes in a seclusion he had chosen. 
The pulses that had been beating in Llndores 
were stilled. What was Ms panic for? A gleam 
even of self-ridicule took possession of Mm, to be 
standing there like an absurd hero or antiquated 
romance with the rusty, dust.y sword—good for 
nothing; surely not, adapted tor use against this 
noble old magtclan—In Ms hand- 
“ You are right,” said the voice, once more an¬ 
swering his thoughts; “what could you do with 
t hat sword against, me, young Llndores? Put It, 
by. Why should my children meet me like an 
enemy ? You are my flesh and blood. Glvejme 
your band.” 
A shiver ran through the young man’s frame. 
The hand that was held out to him was large and 
shapely and white, with a straight line across the 
palm—a family token upon which the Randolphs 
prided themselves—a friendly hand; and the face 
smiled upon him. fixing him with those calm, pro¬ 
found blue eyes. “ Come,” said the voice. The 
word seemed to Ml the place, melting upon Mm 
from every corner, whispering round Mm with 
softest persuasion, lie was lulled and calmed In 
spite of himself. Spirit or no spirit, why should 
not he accept this proffered courtesy? What 
harm could come of It? The chief thing that de¬ 
tained him was the dragging of the old sword, 
heavy and useless, which he held mechanically, 
hut which some Internal feeling—he could not tell 
what—prevented Mm from putting down. Super¬ 
stition, was it 7” 
“Yes,that Is superstition,”said Ms ancestor, 
serenely, “ put, It, down and cotno.” 
•‘You know my thoughts,” said Llndores, “I 
did not speak.” 
*• Your mind spoke, and spoke Justly. Put down 
that element of brute force and superstition to¬ 
gether. Here It Is the intelligence that is su¬ 
preme. Como.” 
Undores stood doubtful, no was calm; the 
power of thought was restored to him. If this 
benevolent,, venerable patriarch was all be seem¬ 
ed, why his father’s terror—why the secrecy in 
which his being was Involved? lflsown mind, 
though calm, did not seem to act in the usual 
way. Thoughts scorned to be driven across It as 
by a wind. One of these came to Mm suddenly 
now: 
” How there looked him In the face 
Ati enact beautiful and bright, 
And how ho knew it was a fiend,” 
The words were not ended when Earl Robert 
replied suddenly, with Impatience in his voice: 
“ Fiends arc of the fancy of men; like angels and 
other follies. 1 am your father. You know me 
and you are tnLue, Llndores. I have power be¬ 
yond what you can understand; but 1 want flesh 
and blood to reign and to enjoy. Come, I-Indorcs! 
He put out his other hand. The acl Ion, the look, 
were those of kindness, almost of longing, and 
the face was familiar, the voice was that, of the 
race. Supernat ural i Was it supernatural that 
thin ma n should Uvo here shut up tor ages; and 
why, and how ? Was there any explanation of It? 
The young man’s brain began to reel. He could 
not, tell which was real—the life he had left, half 
an hour ago or this. He tried to look round Mm, 
but could not; his eyes were caught by thosi 
other kindred eyes, which seemud to dilate and 
deepen as he looked at them, and drew him with 
a strange compulsion. Be felt, himself yielding, 
swaying toward the strange being who thus in¬ 
vited him. What might happen It he yielded? 
And he could not turn away, he could not tear 
himself from the fascination of those eyes. With 
a sudden, strange impulse which was half despair 
uud half a bewildering half-conscious desire to 
try one potency against another, lie thrust for¬ 
ward the cross of the old sword between him and 
those appealing hands. ** In the name of God 1" 
[To be continued. 
THE ONLY WAY. 
Aimlessly drifting along with the tide, 
Knowing not whither thy bark doth glide; 
Fast flows the current while idle thine oar, 
Nearing each moment Eternity's shore. 
With an object in life both bright and pure, 
Rowing to gain it, thy strokes will be sure; 
Using thy strength is the beet way to gain 
Both strength or ann and strength of brain. 
There are hearts to cheer and glnd homes to build, 
Forests to fell, and bright fortunes to gild; 
Though much is done, there is much to do, 
And industry brings tho reward to you. 
Remember this in thy laudable aims, 
Labor is the price that honesty claims. 
And labor that’s lightened by loving the toil, 
Thrives like a plant in congenial soil. 
Endurance of ills is certainly wise. 
Hut wisdom avoidB them in winning the prize; 
Choose, then, thy calling, with the greatest care. 
For each hath his gift and his proper share. 
Life was given thee not to cast aside. 
To revel in ease, and drift with the tide; 
Thine hand must seize and ply swiftly thine oar. 
If thy bark shall reach the beautiful shore. 
Talents He’s given, an account He’ll require; 
Oh! see that ii Touaeth not His ire; 
Strive not through ambition for emrty fame, 
Hut to honor thy great Creator’s name. 
In life’s busy scenes do a faithful part. 
As in sight of Him who searcheth the heart; 
Be Just what you seem, and never stoop down 
From honest uprightness for name or crown. 
It matters not if thy name be unknown, 
Tho’ pleasing are lame and the kingly throne; 
Not always are they with usefulness rife. 
But he's great who doe*, not who is in life. 
He is truly great who will ever bear, 
Humbly and patiently, hie load of care— 
Who will daily lighten another’s loud, 
And thus make brighter the heavenly road. 
Life’s brightest aim is to do God’s will; 
With sweetest pleasure our cup 'twill fill; 
’Tis the path that Christ before us trod, 
And the only way that lcadB to God. 
PLOWING. 
As nothing can appeal', or exist, In this world, 
that Is not caused by some principle In tlie other 
world: or, In other Words, as all things In the 
natural world are effects from spiritual causes, so 
no act, or work can be done here that does not 
correspond to, and 13 not caused by some act or 
work In t.he other world, or la the minds of men, 
spirits or angels. 
Plowing the earth Is a work of preparation. It 
Is generally a preparation for producing such 
things as correspond to the best and highest 
spiritual tilings, which are truths, or good, which 
are never separate from truths. 
Flowing Is not merely a preparation for the 
growl b of plants In general, but for the multipli¬ 
cation of seeds; and it corresponds to a spiritual 
work of preparation for the multiplication of 
spiritual truths which have goodness in them, as 
all seeds contain what Is good for food. 
Men generally plow in their own fields, or attend 
to this work there, though they can and do help 
one another In each other’s fields. Much of tho 
preparation for a good life, so far as It, can be 
made by man. Is done by men in their own hearts, 
or affections and thoughts, though tlioy may 
need help and receive It from other men. The 
old custom of exchanging works, which was 
more common when men were less selfish and 
greedy than now, Is a very beautiful Illustration 
of the way we ought, to love and help one another 
In the work of regeneration, or of preparing our¬ 
selves, flrst. to receive seed, or truth, and after¬ 
wards, to multiply truths, or acquire knowledges 
by which we may do the Lord's precepts, and 
thus receive an abundance of food, or good. 
The plow la to the farmer and the crop what 
certain truths are to the mind, and to higher 
truths. A plow represents very different truths 
from those represented by seeds. Beginning 
with the earth, cleared of obstacles outside or 
upon it, plowing is the beginning or t he prepara¬ 
tion for tho reception of seed. So a plow and 
plowing represent first principles. A mind or 
heart that lR ready for the beginning or a new 
life, has been cleared In some degree of obstacles 
or objections In the way of the first principles of 
religion, or a good life. What is taught and 
learned In schools is a preparation tor the recep¬ 
tion and multiplication of spiritual truths, and 
the education and training of men may corres¬ 
pond to clearing the ground for a field. 
Plowing Is a nevr or immediate preparation for 
seed, and may correspond to teaching tn Sunday 
School, or preaching the plain, simple, but purely 
spiritual precepts given to us by the Lord. That 
plowing called breaking-up, or plowing land for 
the first time, is by f .r the most interesting and 
dellghtrul to farmers. The change In the appear¬ 
ance of the earth’s surface is very great, A green 
field or pasture, covered with brtera, bushes, 
shrubs, or grass, becomes a field of bare earth, of 
various qualities and colors. There la a complete 
overturning. Several Inches Of the surface of the 
ground Is turned upside down. Not. only tho 
green carpet of grass, composed of innumerable 
blades, together with ten thousand wild flowers, 
but also a great number and variety of living 
creatures, sporting In their little life, are burled 
beneath what must seem to these living visible 
and Invisible Insects, a fearful avalanche, or 
earthquake. 
The natural mind, or man, tilled with knowl¬ 
edges and natural goodness, rnay be compared to 
a green pasture where many kinds of natural 
grasses and many uncultivated or wild flowers 
grow, tr. In an orderly lire lu the world, It Is not 
Interesting and delightful to bury the good nat¬ 
ural thoughts out of sight, In the full belief and 
expectation that more beautiful and useful ones 
wM be given, then It could not be delightful work 
to men to break up pastures, and change them 
luto fields. 
The plow should be well constructed, and the 
team resolute and powerful. The man who would 
do spiritual plowing for himself, or for others, 
should ehooBC the right truths. A sickle as truly 
represents truth as a plow, But who would plow 
with a sickle, or reap with a plow ? It, Is not eusy, 
especially for youth, to give up natural thoughts, 
or think these are not the best and highest in the 
world, untlLthey can believe, at least, that there 
are higher aDd better knowledges. Spiritual 
plowing, as well a» fishing, is using natural Knowl¬ 
edges In a way, and for the purpose, of leading 
men to spiritual knowledges. This must be done 
in orderly ways, or else It will need to be undone. 
The green grass which Is burled by the plow Is 
caused by first, elementary’, simple faith, and Ills 
hurled that a higher and more spiritual fulth may 
grow. The destruction of Innumerable Insects Is 
not Intentional, but unavoidable. These are all 
caased by innumerable trifling thoughts, which 
attach themselves to more Important natural 
thoughts, anil Uve from them, and die with them. 
These thoughts are as affeoilonless as these In¬ 
sects arc bloodless. 
There are men that can plow well, who are very 
poor sowers of seed. Experience must be added 
to education and training, before a man knows 
when the ground Is, as to moisture, In a fit state 
to be plowed. No matter how far we trace back 
any work, natural or spiritual, we find at every 
step that there has been a previous preparation. 
Man’s wisdom or hls foolishness Is seen lu Ms 
knowledge, or want of It, of whether the prepara¬ 
tion has been made for the work which he pro¬ 
poses to do. There is a time not to plow, as well 
as a time to plow. 
It, as the readers of the Messenger see men 
plowing with oxen, which corresponds to certain 
good affections In themselves, or with horses, 
which corresponds to their owd understanding of 
the Word, they turn their thoughts to the state 
of they own affections and thoughts, then they 
may see what use a plow may do In them. And 
then these mere hints or suggestions may not be 
wholly useless, or burled In the sand.— f'ttcleJohn, 
in Jerusalem Messenger* 
