enunciation, "Look!" she cried, pointing with outstretched arm to the splendid unsunk orb"HE SMILES!-Yes! I fly to thee, oh my Father!”—The luminary vanished—the limb fell -and she dropt back in death.

There was no shudder-no rattle—just that gentle, sleep-like motion. And all was over.

With Villiers, where or how went Time?What recks it?-Camell's coming aroused him: -and he laid the-corpse-down from his embrace.

No. 18.-Supplementary Fragments.

La crespe chiome d'or puro lucente,
E'l lampeggiar dell' angelico riso,
Che solean fare in terra un paradiso,
Poca polvere son che nulla sente.

PETRARCA.

The fourth eve was dragging its lazy shades across the land: across dense cities-where, midst the up-lighting of insatiate shops, the flaunting forth of undissembled strumpets, and late reveillé of less public sin, statesmen venally caballed, aristocrats selfishly paraded, commoners insidiously circumvented, and populaces doggedly pursued their imitative lines of art, arbitrariness, and crime across big towns-where slavery stalked through dining factors, vice limped mongst sullen artisans, and blasphemy laughed round irretrievable felons, amid bells' banging, ships'

unloading, drays' trundling, lanes' resounding, and the clicking and the whiz of looms: across small villages-where petty courts dissolved, magistrates themselves condemning the trespasser on their demesnes, squires "of a brief authority" harried the too-independent, landlords ejected the undishonest for the enormity of indigence, fraudful hostelries heaped fuel on the decoying hearth, and emissaries rode-up to organise antagonistic faction: across lesser hamlets-where conservative farmers economised not for, but on, the poor, fagged laborers pilfered to avoid virtual suicide from insufficient pittances, rural janizaries denounced a doze beneath God's roof to those deprived of human habitation, and famined workhouses contracted to furnish county-gaols with one-fifth of their candidate-convicts: the fourth eve was dragging its lazy shades across THE REALM-regardless of the Loving and the Lovable, who had been for ever wafted from its sphere and so, across the solitudinous moorwhere his all of surviving feeling showed shattered to the naked eye of Villiers, still riveted to the room which eloquently preached destruction. Yet, in having that form, that face, passive although and speechless, unhidden, was a mitiga

tion of despair-in thus surveying the rigid trunk which Love had lent unrivaled lustre to, Virtue appanaged with exhaustless dowry, and Devotion and Suffering embalmed with a sacred and undecaying charm.

There crouched he-the tender, the proud, the braced of yore-in idiotic stupefaction.

The

But was she not with him now-the pure, the fair, the guileless, of whom the world was not worthy!—and was she not, here, entirely his? Now lurked none else about-here no earthly glances did profane-if anything could profane— her was she not, securelier than ever before, his own?-his own? He asked it of herself. lips stirred not: no throb evinced a dumb answer of affection: cold, impassionless, unresponsive, that shape kept-on its petrifying lethargy. Yes, there, indeed, it stretched-changeless, it is true, in outward guise, undeparting, immovable; but, hour by hour, to his thinkings, its qualities of mind and soul exhaled, and left their former receptacle lonelier, more ice-like, and more dead; till, day after day, and night after night, the characteristics of the spirit freed themselves, one by one, and fleeted-and nothing, save the breathless, pulseless, lifeless outline of mortality

stopt-behind. There slept the effigy-unreplying, unawakening, not indicating nor caring for translation: there it was, tangibly, to the touch -credibly, to the sight: there the body abided :But that affability, that benevolence, that frankness, that principle, that piety, that cheerful demeanor, that incomparable temper, that lively gratitude, that unaffected delicacy, that inspired faith, and that ardor which ran-over into heroism

She lay before them with that calm smile which scarce told being's transfer. The lineaments, though so pallid, had yet a profoundest content, if not a something even clearlier a-kin to happiness. The shut lids and easy posture might have been mistaken for that death-assimilating repose vouchsafed the outworn and long-watching. The white dress, in which she had died, still clothed her-but a sombre shawl concealed her neck.

Annie Wilson, in a corner, stifled sobs, heard faintly notwithstanding, through the noiseless

ness.

With an impulse that did him honor, Camell doffed his hat.