Dear  friend,  true  friend  and  sweet,  whose  clasp,  whose  sacred
kiss — the  first,  the  last — gave  tokens  of  no  earthly  love,  but
rich  memorials  and  previsions  of  the  love  that  makes  the  hills
of  heaven  more  fair  !  So  ran  the  voiceless  music  of  his
thought,  while  memory  kept  the  phantom  form  of  the
beloved  one  in  visioned  light  and  odor.  To-morrow  he  wonld
meet  her,  and  the  day  after,  and  on  for  many  a  day  thron^h
months  and  years  to  come,  but  never  again  on  the  height  of
the  idea!  and  intimate  eommunion^^here  tlieir  spirits  had  met
and  said  farewell.  Years  hence,  and  she  a  happy  wife  and
mother,  how  softly  this  hour  would  glide  from  the  innermost
hoUest  cloister  of  memory,  and  lend  a  more  pensive  and  tender
grace  to  her  beauty,  and  shed  a  finer  and  more  ethereal  essence
on  her  happiness  I  Consecrating  her  forever,  its  consecration
wonld  rest  on  his  own  life,  pledging  hun  more  firmly  to  lofty
and  generous  effort,  and  sanctifying  all  low  toils  and  stru^les
as  with  the  presence  of  an  angel.
Softly,  and  withont  noise,  he  entered  his  dark  and  silent
house,  A  moment,  and  he  had  lit  his  shaded  lamp,  and  con-
scious of  the  sleepless  v^  in  his  mind,  he  opened  the  volume
which  held  for  him  the  rich  lore  of  Verulam,  his  unfailing
pleasnre,  and  the  comfort  of  his  saddest  hours,  and  sat  down  to
read  the  night  away.  Within  aO  was  stilL  Without,  the
wind  swept  drearily  through  the  wan  and  shadowy  street  around
the  silent  dwelUng,  the  lilac  odors  had  died,  and  the  pale  moon-
light shone  with  the  bine  glimmer  of  swords.
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HAKEmGTON.
CHAPTER  XVI.
