The companions of my voyage with but one exception, were nearly forgotten-its incidents, that were not associated with that one individual, remembered but faintly.

I was sitting in my study, discussing a subtle point in ethics, when some one knocked. A servant entered and handed me the following note;—

'An old acquaintance requests the pleasure of Mr Brae's company for a few minutes at the hotel.'

I rose instantly, adjusted my dress, and followed the messenger.

Mr Douglas opened the door, and Mary, blooming and beautiful beyond even my gayest dream, stood beside him.

There was no romance in what followed to any but the parties concerned, and it were needless to dwell upon the story. In a single sentence, therefore, I will say that Mr Douglas had travelled with his daughter until her health was reestablished; that he was, at the time of which I speak, on the way to his residence near New York, and that the Mary Douglas of my dreams is now the Mary Brae of my bosom.

182

IDLENESS.

BY N. P. WILLIS.

THE rain is playing its soft, pleasant tune Fitfully on the skylight, and the shade Of the fast flying clouds across my book Passes with delicate change. My merry fire Sings cheerfully to itself; my musing cat Purrs as she wakes from her unquiet sleep, And looks into my face as if she felt, Like me, the gentle influence of the rain. Here have I sat since morn-reading sometimes, And sometimes listening to the faster fall Of the large drops, or, rising with the stir Of an unbidden thought, have walked awhile, With the slow steps of indolence, my room, And then sat down composedly again To my quaint book of olden poetry. It is a kind of idleness, I know; And I am said to be an idle manAnd it is very true. I love to go Out in the pleasant sun, and let my eye Rest on the human faces that pass by, Each with its gay or busy interest; And then I muse upon their lot, and read Many a lesson in their changeful cast, And so grow kind of heart, as if the sight Of human beings were humanity. And I am better after it, and go

More gratefully to my rest, and feel a love

Stirring my heart to every living thing,
And my low prayer has more humility,
And I sink lightlier to my dreams-and this,
'Tis very true, is only idleness!

I love to go and mingle with the young
In the gay festal room-when every heart
Is beating faster than the merry tune,

And their blue eyes are restless, and their lips
Parted with eager joy, and their round cheeks
Flushed with the beautiful motion of the dance.
'Tis sweet, in the becoming light of lamps,
To watch a brow half shaded, or a curl
Playing upon a neck capriciously,
Or, unobserved, to watch, in its delight,
The earnest countenance of a child. I love
To look upon such things, and I can go
Back to my solitude, and dream bright dreams
For their fast coming years, and speak of them
Earnestly in my prayer, till I am glad
With a benevolent joy-and this, I know,
To the world's eye, is only idleness!

And when the clouds pass suddenly away,
And the blue sky is like a newer world,

And the sweet growing things-forest and flower-
Humble and beautiful alike are all
Breathing up odors to the very heaven-
Or when the frost has yielded to the sun
In the rich autumn, and the filmy mist
Lies like a silver lining on the sky,
And the clear air exhilarates, and life,
Simply, is luxury-and when the hush
Of twilight, like a gentle sleep, steals on,
And the birds settle to their nests, and stars

Spring in the upper sky, and there is not
A sound that is not low and musical-
At all these pleasant seasons I go out
With my first impulse guiding me, and take
Wood path, or stream, or sunny mountain side,
And, in my recklessness of heart, stray on,
Glad with the birds, and silent with the leaves,
And happy with the fair and blessed world-
And this, 't is true, is only idleness!

And I should love to go up to the sky,
And course the heaven like stars, and float away
Upon the gliding clouds that have no stay
In their swift journey-and 't would be a joy
To walk the chambers of the deep, and tread
The pearls of its untrodden floor, and know
The tribes of its unfathomable depths-
Dwellers beneath the pressure of a sea!
And I should love to issue with the wind
On a strong errand, and o'ersweep the earth,
With its broad continents and islands green,
Like to the passing of a presence on !—
And this, 't is true, were only idleness!

185

THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN CLEAVELAND AND MINNA.

BY LOUISA P. HICKMAN.

"Yes, forever!' said Norna of the Fitful-head, stepping forward from behind one of the massive Saxon pillars, which support the roof of the Cathedral. Here meet the crimson foot and the crimson hand-Here you meet, and meet for the last time.'

The Pirate.

THE lofty Cathedral is solemnly still,
While the shadows of evening its arches fill;
They are deepening along the ancient aisles,
And gloomily shrouding the massive piles
Of ruinous sculpture. One window remains
By the spoiler untouched, and its colored panes
The last faint gleams of daylight send,
The shadows within to deepen and blend.

Here walked the pirate chief, and here,
Mid fitting scenes for a heart so drear,
The past and future before him rise,
And visions as dark as the midnight skies
Surround him. Disgrace and death seem near,
And his brow is troubled-but not with fear.

'I shall soon benumbered with these,' he said;
'Beneath these stones with the quiet dead;
But a scaffold will witness my latest sigh,
With coward and traitor must Cleaveland die.