Alas, the fatal ring! When shall its dark secret be discovered, and the
doom of ill, inherited from one possessor to another, be finally
revoked?

The legend now crosses the Atlantic, and comes down to our own immediate
time. In a certain church of our city, not many evenings ago, there was
a contribution for a charitable object. A fervid preacher had poured
out his whole soul in a rich and tender discourse, which had at least
excited the tears, and perhaps the more effectual sympathy, of a
numerous audience. While the choristers sang sweetly, and the organ
poured forth its melodious thunder, the deacons passed up and down the
aisles, and along the galleries, presenting their mahogany boxes, in
which each person deposited whatever sum he deemed it safe to lend to
the Lord, in aid of human wretchedness. Charity became audible,--chink,
chink, chink,--as it fell, drop by drop, into the common receptacle.
There was a hum,--a stir,--the subdued bustle of people putting their
hands into their pockets; while, ever and anon, a vagrant coin fell upon
the floor, and rolled away, with long reverberation, into some
inscrutable corner.

At length, all having been favored with an opportunity to be generous,
the two deacons placed their boxes on the communion-table, and thence,
at the conclusion of the services, removed them into the vestry. Here
these good old gentlemen sat down together, to reckon the accumulated
treasure.

"Fie, fie, Brother Tilton," said Deacon Trott, peeping into Deacon
Tilton's box, "what a heap of copper you have picked up! Really, for an
old man, you must have had a heavy job to lug it along. Copper!
copper! copper! Do people expect to get admittance into heaven at the