among the mountain shepherds-the imagined greater works; but in all these there is an almost mourners for the dead-Shelley describes himself; morbid life, as if each particle lived and were reand it is some evidence how little the poem is un-leasing itself from the vital action of imagination derstood, that we have repeatedly seen the lines quoted, as Shelley's description of Chatterton.

"Midst others

Of less note-came one frail form,
A phantom among men companionless
As the last cloud of an expiring storm,
Whose thunder is its knell: he, as I guess,
Had gazed on nature's naked loveliness
Actæon-like, and now he fled astray

With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,
And his own thoughts, along that rugged way
Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their

prey.

A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift,
A Love in desolation masked-a Power
Girt round with weakness:-it can scarce uplift
The weight of the superincumbent hour;
It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,
A breaking billow; even whilst we speak
Is it not broken?

*

All stood aloof-well knew that gentle band
Who in another's fate now wept his own."

that ought to have animated all. From this fault, his strong good sense-the distinguishing attribute of his mind as proved in all his later letters-would have undoubtedly rescued him. From these poems of more subtle woof, of which the colors seem to exist only in particular dispositions of light and shade, it would be idle to give any extracts. They are often of consummate beauty.

There is no great English poet who has not at times exercised himself in translation. It is spoken lightly of only by those who know nothing whatever of the subject on which they are speaking; but none more than the poets who have best succeeded know how "miserably inadequate❞ translation must always be. Yet there are circumstances in which this exertion of mind is possible when works properly original are out of the question. Carey's Dante, Cowper's Homer, perhaps Coleridge's Wallenstein, are instances of this. Shelley, in one of his letters, says he will not allow himself to be seduced into translation; and there can be little doubt that powers of the same kind, that in moments of happiness would be better

The poem closes-as Mrs. Shelley has remarked —with words almost prophetic of his own approach-employed in original works, are required for this ing fate.

“The breath, whose might I have invoked in song,
Descends on me: my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng,
Whose sails were never to the tempest given;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar;

Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven
The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are."

task. What Shelley, however, shrunk from at first, was at last assumed by him from the promptings of a generous spirit. He could not assist the periodical work which Byron and Leigh Hunt projected, by original contributions; and it occurred to him that Hunt might be served by a few specimens from Calderon and Goethe. This originated his "Scenes from Faust," and "The Magico Prodigioso." Some inaccuracies have been pointed out in the translations from Goethe, which so fai injure their effect. The translations from Calderor are, we think, in every way superior to his "Scenes from Faust," with the wild song chanted by Mephistopheles, Faust, and Ignis Fatuus, as they ascend the Hartz Mountains.

At no period of Shelley's life did he enjoy good health; and when he and Byron lived in the same neighborhood, he was too much broken in upon and distracted by society to concentrate his mind on any one subject." To him the society of Byron must have been in every way injurious. In- Shelley, in sending his "Prometheus" to s deed, Moore's "Life of Byron," and Medwin's friend, observed that poets are a cameleon race, "Conversations," give abundant proof that it was and in their colors exhibit the ground over which so in every higher point of view; and even intel- they are travelling, and he expresses fears lest he lectually its effect was to prevent his writing. may have unconsciously imitated Faust. It is Byron did not read Shelley's poems; at least so more certain that in translating "Faust," he adopts one of his letters says; and Shelley describes him- his own former language of " Prometheus," and self as the glow-worm which ceased to emit its heightens the effect by a line or two scarcely allight in sunshine. Whenever Shelley, then, was tered from the songs of Asia and Panthea. Of not supported by dramatic forms, which compelled his translations, the best-indeed, we think the him to assume the language and the passions of best translation in the language--is Homer's Hymn men, and thus to appeal to our common sympathies, to Mercury. Its power, too, is of a kind which he shrank from the contemplation of his own suf- no other work of Shelley's would prepare us for. ferings, and of the wrongs-as he supposed them We cannot but think that his "Peter Bell the to be, and as they perhaps were-which were the Third," and "Edipus Swellfoot," which Mrs. consequence of his early alienation from his fam- Shelley has given in her last edition of his works, ily and natural friends-and retired into a world and which we hope she may feel herself at liberty of dream and mysticism. In this spirit "The to omit from every future one, are exceedingly Witch of Altun," "The Triumph of Life," and heavy. Were it not for his translation of this "The Epipsychidion," are written. In these we think he exhibits more thoughtful appreciation of

*See Shelley's Essays and Letters from Abroad, vol. ii.

the powers of language than is apparent in his p. 249.

hymn, we should have thought that he had no ap- we have not had time to glance. As far, however, preciation of true humor.

as they connect themselves with the philosophy of In Mr. Medwin's book we find a passage from language, which an examination of Shelley's works the Purgatory of Dante, translated by Shelley, almost forces on the mind, future opportunities of which we have not before seen. It perhaps de- considering the way in which the words in which serves preservation; but it is not, we think, equal thought is expressed reäct on the mind itself, will to the corresponding passage in Carey. The fan- no doubt arise. As far as the speculations on sotastic image of the "interwoven looms" in Shelley ciety are concerned, and on the awful subjects has no warrant from anything in the original. which, in his earliest youth, Shelley ventured to We can imagine the exigencies of rhyme suggest- discuss, we think that we should be guilty of acing the word "looms," and the poet deceiving tual irreverence in introducing any rash discussion himself with assigning to it the semblance of a on them in a paper devoted to a subject purely litmeaning. Metaphors are dangerous things, and erary. In the course of our paper, it was impos"looms" bring with them the thought of "weav-sible that we should not have expressed strongly ing;" but "interwoven looms" defy all interpre- our feelings that Shelley was throughout wrong tation. This Mr. Medwin thinks very admirable. "The fragment leaves on the mind an inextinguishable regret❞—such is his absurd language "that he had not completed it; nay, more, that he did not employ himself in rendering others of the finest passages." Can the "interwoven looms" have been Shelley's? Is it not probable that there is some mistake in the transcript?

And earnest to explore within, around,
That divine wood, whose thick, green living woof
Temper'd the young day to the sight, I wound
Up a green slope, beneath the starry roof,
With slow, slow steps, leaving the mountain's
steep,

And sought those leafy labyrinths, motion-proof
Against the air that in that stillness deep
And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare
Like the sweet breathing of a child in sleep.

Already had I lost myself so far
Amid that tangled wilderness, that I
Perceived not where I entered; but no fear

Of wandering from my way disturbed, when nigh

A little stream appeared; the grass that grew
Thick on its banks impeded suddenly

My going on. Water of purest dew
On earth would appear turbid and impure

in all his speculations on religion and morals. But of himself-of his own purity of views-generosity of conduct-gentleness of disposition, and unwearied efforts to promote the happiness of all with whom he was in any way connected-there are none more entirely satisfied than we. And the evidence-which we have been the first to produce given by his Pamphlet on Ireland, of the young reformer calling on those whom he addresses ardent as was the passion for reforming society to begin by reforming themselves, may prove that with which he was reproached, it was tempered with discretion. Mrs. Shelley has led us to hope that at some future time a detailed account of Shelley's life may be published by herself, or with her sanction. We trust that such purpose, if still entertained, may not be interrupted or interfered with by Captain Medwin's unreadable and presumptuous book.

MAN'S LASTING WORKS.

[From Mr. Quincy's address on laying the corner-stone of the Boston Water Works.]

We have now placed this stone on its final rest

Compared with this, whose unconcealing hue-ing place. Primitive rock, it has existed from the

Dark, dark, yet clear, moved under the obscure
Of the close boughs, whose interwoven looms
No ray of moon or sunshine would endure.
My feet were motionless; but mid the glooms
Darted my charmed eyes contemplating
The mighty multitude of fresh May blooms
That stared that night, when even as a thing
That suddenly for blank astonishment
Charms every sense, and makes all thought take
wing.

Appeared a solitary maid. She went
Singing, and gathering flower after flower,
With which her way was painted and besprent.

Bright lady who, if looks had ever power
To bear true witness of the heart within,
Dost bask under the beams of love, come lower
Unto this bank-prithee, oh! let me win
This much of thee-oh, come! that I may hear
Thy song. Like Proserpine, in Enna's glen,
Thou seemest to my fancy-singing here,
And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden, when
She lost the spring, and Ceres her-more dear!"

With these lines we close our notice of Shelley.
There are some subjects connected with it, at which

creation, unchanged by fire, unmoved by earthquake-it will exist till time shall be no more.

Creatures of a day, the contemplation of perpetuity, even of that which is inanimate, cannot but excite an interest, and we cannot but ask what changes it will witness.

The foundations of Roman aqueducts now remain, though two thousand years have passed since they were laid. Why may not this edifice be of equal perpetuity?

It will stand for centuries, and while it ministers to countless thousands of the generations which come after us, our republic will extend to the Pacific. Railroads and magnetic telegraphs will unite the vast population. The summit of that dome will be in view of the homes of a million of people. Our city will be on the highway between the old world and India-and physical prosperity will probably reach its zenth. May we not hope that it will witness an equal progress in moral, intellectual, and religious excellence: that our beloved country will be a beacon-not like that which once rose above this spot to warn of danger, and of peril, but a beacon to illuminate the world, and guide the nations to a rational freedom, and univer sal peace.

THE BRIDGE AT THE FALLS.-I have been intensely interested to-day in listening to a description, from a well-informed and competent source, of the great bridge over the gorge that separates the dominions of the queen from those of the president. If anything could be wanting in the attraction of the country about Niagara to turn thither the tour of the multitudes in the pleasure season, this bridge will supply it. Its thousands of tons weight of the strongest iron cord that the ingenuity of the ironmaster can desire find a safe support in wrought iron anchors built in the solid rock one hundred feet below the surface, so that before it could yield, the very rock-bound earth would forsake its tenacity. A large wooden frame-work is to be placed so that no undulating motion can be experienced. In full sight of the cataract-the surge of angry waters far beneath the sullen storm-beaten rocks all around -the quick locomotive will put forth all its quickness to rush beyond the peril of its journey. This glorious work is already begun-the money for its cost paid in and available-the excavations commenced-and the contractor is to cross on horseback by the middle of next June. Its firmness is to be such that with all the burthen of a powerful locomotive and a long attendant train of cars it is not to vibrate one inch in the centre. The railway is to occupy the centre-two carriage ways on either side and two foot ways.

What a magnificent spectacle this road, in full use, will present! A road of this kind over the Menai Straits in Wales is famous for the daring displayed in its construction. That over the Niagara will soon be world-famed. It will be an iron link of civilization between the two ruling powers of the world, and will never be severed.

One of the first thoughts that presents itself in reference to the construction is, as to how the wires are to be thrown across. The steamboat now used below the falls is to take over two cables, to which strands of iron are affixed. These are to be drawn over till two ropes of iron are drawn over, on which a temporary pathway is to be placed-and when I inquired where workmen could be found that had nerve enough to work effectually under such circumstances, the answer, so characteristic of American strength of action, was, "Oh, there are always plenty of Yankees who have both the courage to work there, and the ingenuity to work well."

The great railway in Canada which is to connect with this mighty work presents some admirable features. Its grade is over twenty feet, and a very, very large proportion of the distance is on a straight line. On one line, perfectly straight, ninety miles are laid out. All the highways of the country are to pass either over or under the road, by depression or elevation to be entirely removed, so that there will be neither obstacle nor hindrance to a flight, which will put more life into the provincial dominion of her Britannic Majesty, than it has yet seen. "That same" province of Canada West has yet to see great days. England expends millions on sections of her great dominion, far less worthy of her notice and fostering care.

"The last link is" completed when this great bridge of the cataract shall have been completed. From Boston and from New York an unbroken line is presented, and the day is soon coming when some correspondent of yours will delineate the incidents of a thirty hours' journey from the metropolis to Detroit. Such are the movements and the pro-l

gresses in support of which all may unite, and which mark no busy day.-N. Y. Courier.

FUNERAL OF CHANCELLOR KENT.-The remains of the venerable and venerated Kent were followed to the tomb, on the 15th December, by the largest assemblage of men of intellect and learning ever witnessed on a similar occasion in this or probably any other country. The day was beautiful beyond anything we have known at this season of the year; the sun shone forth in all its splendor, and with a genial warmth and balmy influence which partook of May rather than December. Not a breath of air was stirring; while there was a stillness and repose in the atmosphere which, bright and warm as it was, almost forced upon the mind a belief that even the elements were made to partake in the passing scene. We could not but feel the remarkable coincidence between the character of the day and the life of him we had assembled to follow to his final resting place. It was indeed a fitting close to such a career-the termination of which was as bright as its dawn, and as peaceful as its midday was resplendent; and few there were in the assembled multitude, who did not appear to feel that the day itself was peculiarly in keeping with the life and death of the great and good man, whose beautiful simplicity of character caused him at all times to be surrounded with a sunshine as radiant as that which attended upon the last offices of friendship and respect to his mortal remains.

The funeral procession, headed by the Rev. Dr. Taylor and Rev. Mr. Southard, moved at the appointed hour to Calvary church; where the rector, Mr. Southard, of whose parish the deceased was a member and communicant, performed the solemn and imposing service so appropriately set apart by the Episcopal church for "the burial of the dead." We regret, however, that any portion of that solemn service should have been sung instead of being read on this occasion. It lost thereby, in our opinion, much of its solemnity-a solemnity which, under any circumstances, is most impressive and imposing, but which when read in the clear, full tones, and by the musical voice of the eloquent rector of Calvary church, is to us the most impressive ceremony ever conceived by man to teach his fellow-man the nothingness of life-the reality of a future-and the value, as well as necessity, of faith.

Chancellor Kent was, as we have said before, a professor of religion, and very recently a communicant in the Episcopal church; and it is worthy of remark, that, within the past year, Chief Justice Spencer, Mr. Webster, and Mr. Clay, have all partaken of the communion in the same church-Mr. Webster having received the communion about a year since from the hands of the Rev. Mr. Southard in Calvary church, without any allusion to the fact being made in the public press. This public testimony of four of the greatest intellects of the age-and all within the same year-to the great truths of Christianity, is well worthy of note; and cannot fail to arrest the attention and consideration of all who pause in the midst of the present to reflect upon the future, at the same time that the Episcopal church may well be proud of being the channel through which such testimony has been added to the truth, the value, and the want and necessity of practical faith.-N. Y. Courier.

EDITH KINNAIRD.CHAPTER II.

that she had done no wrong, and the whole blame of their separation was thrown on the supposed fickleness of Everard. Yet, as the irritation of temper subsided, and the wounds of pride healed, her heart had leisure to listen to that soft, sudden whisper of truth which steals upon us so often when we have forgotten duty and silenced conscience, and is surely none other than the voice of our guardian heart sooner listen to those tones? Once they were a psalm of life, warning against evil, urging to endeavor, encouraging hope-now they are but a dirge above the grave, and the dead arise not at the sound. The Present is the angel with whom we have to wrestle; and if we suffer it to depart from us ere we have wrung a blessing from it we must prepare to meet a stern and vengeful Future.

THE breakfast party at Beechwood was by no means calculated to soothe or cheer the depressed spirits of poor Edith. Mr. and Mrs. Dalton never absolutely quarrelled, but then they never absolutely agreed; and the ceaseless cavils-the small contradictions that seemed uttered only because the impulse was to differ rather than to ac-angel pleading with us. Ah! why did not the poor quiesce the obtrusive independence of opinions and dissonance of feelings between the husband and wife, made their dejected visitor almost long for one hearty outburst, after which the natural shame consequent upon an overt breach of the peace might have kept the belligerent parties in better order for some time to come.

"When do you expect Mr. Thornton, Amy?" said Edith, conscious that she had been silent so long as to bring her friend's inquiring eyes upon her face.

Mrs. Dalton colored a litle. "Next week, I believe," was her answer. Then turning to her hus band, "Did I not tell you that Godfrey was coming next week?"

"No, indeed, you never told me a word about it. I wish I had known it. Not but what I am very happy to see Thorton at all times, but still one likes to be prepared for these things. I like to know whom I shall see and whom I shall not see when I come down stairs in the morning. It is a feeling of mine, Miss Kinnaird-very likely an absurd one, but I have my peculiarities. Most people have, I believe. Indeed, the only rule by which happiness can be attained in domestic life, is by a thorough observation of each other's peculiarities.' "How very happy inost families must be!" said Mrs. Dalton, quietly.

"Eh?-ah-what was that?" cried Mr. Dalton, with an uneasy effort at good humor, "have I said anything peculiarly ridiculous?"

Edith's principal feeling was utter weariness; she had lost all energy-everything saddened or fatigued her; the most insignificant trial seemed too heavy for her fortitude to endure-the smallest trouble too great for her weakness to undertake it. She was disposed to sit still and let life pass by her as a pageant which she scarcely cared to look at. Yet her inaction was not repose, it was hopeless, helpless languor; her interest in this world was not superseded by a higher and nobler interest-it was extinguished by a miserable indifference which offered no substitute for the light which its cold fingers had quenched. The only vivid feeling of which she was conscious, was a desire to conceal the cause and nature of the change which had taken place in her. Mournful, indeed, was the thin veil of unnatural cheerfulness which she carefully drew around the dark form of sorrow-mournful because it was so unreal and external. It differed as widely from the hope and faith which arise to beautify the gloom of affliction, first sustaining, and finally healing, the wounded spirit, as the trim walks and shaven lawns of the modern cemetery-where Death stands like a skeleton in a hoop and powder, all the more unsightly from the efforts made to polish away the awfulness of his aspect-differ from the grave "Oh! dear, no,' ," returned his wife, and this in the shadow of the village-church, with the time the double meaning entirely escaped him, rough wooden cross at its head, and its surface though his manner presented a curious mixture of planted with violets and forget-me-nots, telling of a fear at his lady's talent for sarcasm, determination love that looks back to the past, and forward to the to hold his own opinion in spite of it, desire to asfuture. She needed an atmosphere of peace ere she sume an appearance of frank, good-natured indiffercould even begin to recover, as a wounded limb ence, and doubt whether he had at all succeeded in needs to be covered and kept still ere the work of the attempt, with strong irritation at the bottom of healing can commence. This she found not, there- all these feelings, and intense fussiness at the top. fore her wounds remained in their first fresh open- "On what day do you expect Mr. Thornton? I ness, and it was only the strange apathy which had suppose," with a deplorable struggle after jocosefallen upon her which saved her from a fever of im-ness, "I may venture to inquire thus much." patience and disgust. Neither had she the questionable consolation of secretly indulging her grief, for her proud spirit disdained to admit even to itself how much it was suffering. Utterly unequal as she was to the contest, she stung herself into resistance from time to time, as a thoughtless rider spurs his horse to a leap for which it has not strength, and which, if it is attempted, risks his own destruction; and her attitude, even when subdued, was still that of defiance. But her self-confidence was beginning to forsake her, and the first doubt which she felt of Mrs. Dalton's perfection was the first step My dearest love, you know I am always happy towards its removal. Half unconsciously she had to see your friends." (She rather shrank from the suffered a system to arise in her mind, based upon expression of affection.) Pray do not let Miss the pleasant and refined philosophy of that lady and Kinnaird suppose me such a tyrant. Let him come her cousin, which supplied her with a stand of right and go just whenever and however he pleases. I and wrong so conveniently elastic that it almost ex- only asked for the common attention of being included the possibility of self-condemnation, as it quite formed when he is coming or going. That is all dispensed with the necessity of self-denial. Trying I don't think that is asking anything very unreaherself by this standard, she had remained satisfied sonable-especially as, after all, I am the person

66

Really," said Mrs. Dalton, "Godfrey's coming is not like having a tooth drawn, that it should equire such a vast array of fortitude to be got up to encounter it. He did not mention the day.'

"So like his thoughtlessness," said Mr. Dalton, between his teeth.

"I am very sorry," returned his wife, with a somewhat unexpected outbreak of submissiveness, "that I asked him to come at all. I would not have done so had I thought it would have annoyed you."

66

66

to receive him and bid him welcome when he does | Edith was shocked, and looked down with a sensacome." tion of shame.

"Oh! don't mind that," said Mrs. Dalton, with an arch look at Edith, "Godfrey will not care in the least about his reception.'

"Complimentary, is it not?" exclaimed Mr. Dalton, his face flushing as he turned from his wife to Edith, and made another spasmodic effort at playfulness; "that fair lady wishes me to understand that it is quite immaterial to my guests whether I am glad to receive them or not.

He who has ever had the misfortune to be a bystander at a domestic squabble, carried on as if it were a joke for the benefit of the third party, and accompanied by frequent little appeals to him, which he must answer merrily, lest he should seem to think they are in earnest, and wisely, lest he should embitter the strife, will know how to pity Edith at this moment. She felt very much ashamed, laughed a little, and said nothing.

Mrs. Dalton fixed her eyes for a moment on her husband with a reproachful expression, and then handed him his teacup with the air of a martyr. There was a short pause, which was broken by Mr. Dalton's saying, like a man who had made up his mind to be perfectly good-humored and pleasant, "What are your plans for to-day, Amy, my love? We must show Miss Kinnaird a little of the country before Thornton comes down, after which I know there will be nothing but strolling, and sketching, and duet-singing from morning till night -nothing like a real expedition to see what is worth seeing in a regular manner. I assure you, Mies Kinnaird, we have a few things here worthy of yr admiration.'

ith thanked him very politely, and Mrs. Daltonplied, "Oh! pray don't let us form any plans for he day. One never enjoys anything that is planed beforehand. I never like to prepare except for sagreeable things, and then you may prepare as rich as you please, but you are not ready to mee them after all."

Well," said Amy, with a bright smile, as if she were proposing the most satisfactory arrangement possible," you shall have Edith quite to yourself till Godfrey comes. I will withdraw my forces, and you shall get through all your regular expeditions this week, without any of my erratic schemes to disturb you."

"No, no," cried Mr. Dalton, who, though defective in temper, and not very wise, was both fond and proud of his wife, and never thought any party complete unless she were a member of it," that will never do. I should be a poor substitute indeed for you. No, no; only say what you would like to do, and I will arrange that it shall be done."

Amy gave a weary sigh, which seemed to express that she had tried every possible means to satisfy him, without success, and then answered meekly, "Whatever you please."

"Nay, nay, it is not what I please, but what is pleasing to Miss Kinnaird and yourself. I am only your humble esquire for the day. I only want my orders. Pray let me settle some plan which shall give you pleasure. Shall we ride over to the new farm?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Mrs. Dalton, with renewed animation; " and then, while you are superintending your laborers, Edith and I will walk down to the mill, and sketch the old church. You will like that, Edith, wont you?"

"Very much," returned Edith, scarcely knowing to what she assented, but glad of any arrangement which brought the discussion to a close.

"I will give business the cut direct for once," said Mr. Dalton, "and read aloud to you while you sketch."

Amy turned so very blank a look upon Edith, that it was impossible for its meaning to escape even the obtuse perceptions of her husband. He had not the self-command to restrain, or the delicacy to conceal, his natural annoyance. He rose abruptly.

"On second thoughts," said he, "I will not interfere with any of your plans, but will ride over to Hillfield by myself, and leave you to follow when and how you please. I think that will be the best

"ut if one does not make some kind of arrangement beforehand," said her husband, "one fritters away one's whole time without really achieving anything. Depend upon it, a map of the country is what we want-a map of the country is the principal thing a man ought to de-arrangement for all persons." sire. I have found it so in my time. I remember Edith took advantage of this movement to contelling (randison the other day, when he was ask-sider the breakfast party broken up; and murmuring me how I contrived to get through what I do, ing something about letters for the post, escaped to that it wis all done beforehand. 'I do it all,' said her own room. The window was open, and the I, befor I begin to do it.' He stared. Map out earth lay calm in the gorgeous robe of autumn and your day in the morning,' said I, as a man takes a the glow of noon, like a queen asleep. Sunlight map of the country through which he is going to was woven into a soft network over the woods; travel, and the thing is done.' A homely illustra- it seemed as though you might put it aside with tion, Mis. Kinnaird, but a very true one. A plain, your hands in order to touch the foliage which was practical nan may sometimes convey more truth in enveloped in it. The red berries of the mountaina homely llustration than the greatest poet could in ash burned like fire; and the leaves of the far a poem or ten cantos-though that fair lady there beeches shone through the breezeless air with a will frown upon me if I presume to disparage poe-steady light, like crystals of gold and amber. Not try. I am not disparaging it; I can appreciate that in which I cannot excel. I am only saying that there are cases in which homely illustrations are better than poetry."

Edith felt that he was ridiculous; there was no escaping the fact, and she felt it keenly and painfully for her friend's sake. But when she glanced at that friend, and saw the expression of undisguised contempt in her beautiful eyes-saw that she was almost challenging her to a smile at the absurdity of the speaker, and that speaker her own husband,

a sound was heard, not a movement perceptible; but it was the glittering silence of one of those strange dreams which opium brings to the feverstricken, rather than the quiet of natural slumber. Edith leaned far out into the beautiful stillness, and a feeling of expectation, almost of anxiety, came upon her soul. There was a semblance of preparation on the landscape, as though invisible hands had been making it ready for a festival. Yet the signs of decay were everywhere present, and the faint scent of the crushed and dying leaves op