us at the moment. Thus shall we keep the mind filled with pure and elevating thoughts and feelings, so as to leave no room for the frivolous, much less the filthy and the base. May it be so with all of us, dear readers. May all our actions, even the most trivial and the most hidden, and all our words and all our thoughts and our whole hearts and lives, be henceforth more worthy than they have often been in the past of rational beings with immortal souls, living, and knowing that we live, and remembering habitually that we live, at every instant in the presence of God. Thee, O my God, as present I adore, And, offering thee my heart, thy help implore, M. R. A JUNE NIGHT. AY is for labour; night for thought, not sleep DAY Let sleep come when it will, 'tis always blest. Unbidden, like some dear familiar guest Beckons, and all the forest is at rest Save where the topmost boughs a gentle swaying keep. The bare realities of garish day Are softened in June's mystic after-glow. Will silver over with its pensive ray The marish mere, and white the crags with phantom snow. VOL. XXV. No. 288. 23 A scentless night is night without a soul. Not soulless this in June. The pure white heat Of heaven-breathing fragrance. At my feet Grows, with the gloom, so overmastering sweet, Earth floats a perfumed bubble on night's nectarous bowl. What have we done that thou dost shun our shore ? Sweet troubler of night's calm! melodious bird! Is it that in the halcyon days of yore Our bards so deep a chord of feeling stirred Of cloistered shades, thy note is never heard? And yet I scarce regret thee, for this scent Intoxicates more surely than thy song. What though it be a silent instrument That steals the halls of memory along- The past leaps into being swift and strong, How full is life in this contemplative mood, Freed from the accidental! Thus we shun The incompleteness that will oft intrude But, hark, the shrilling cock proclaims the sun; THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT. or, THIRTY YEARS AGO. CHAPTER XII. UNBIDDEN GUESTS. THE morning broke bright and beautiful upon the hills. Ethna was up early, decorating her drawingroom with autumn flowers, giving little touches here and there, putting what looked a little shabby into corner and background shadows, and drawing into the foreground whatever could best bear the searching sunlight. She wished the day was over, and sat down to breakfast, feeling inclined to ask with Mr. Mallock, "was life worth living ?" While the Madam was pouring out the tea and wondered what was keeping Nora, a tumult of voices was heard in the yard, mingled with the glad barking of dogs, and in a moment there was a shriek of delight from Nora in the kitchen. "Hullo, Peggy, Biddy, Nanny, Mary, is the breakfast ready?" said a merry voice. "I declare 'tis Vincent," exclaimed the Madam. The door was opened with a bang, and cap in hand the young man appeared, his handsome face flushed with pleasure, followed by Mr. Taylor, with Nora hanging to his skirts. Vincent, George, what on earth brought you here so early? I'm delighted to see you," said the Madam. "Yourself and the grouse, Madam," answered Vincent, giving her a hearty greeting, in which he was imitated by Mr. Taylor. "And how is my love, my pearl, my mountain girl?" and he wrung Ethna's hand, "have you forgotten our last quarrel, Eth.? What's this it was about? Were you all miserable while I was away ?" "I am afraid not," replied Ethna, gaily. "I, at all events, never lost my appetite." Ethna's spirits had gone at a bound from Tophet to Paradise. What did she care now about entertaining the Moores? She was simply enchanted they were coming. Here was the handsomest young man in the whole country to show to Miss Butler, who thought she was beyond the reach of masculine attentions. Mr. Taylor also was thoroughly presentable, a man for whom the Moores had the greatest respect. She thought, with exultation, that Philip would witness her intimacy with this good-looking young fellow; she would let him see the possibility of her having other admirers who would not hide their regard as he was doing. "But what induced you to come, George?" asked the Madam. "You wrote that you were too busy to come even on Sunday." "This child brought him," answered Vincent. "Among my many virtues perseverance is dominant. I always gain my point; he gave in-he knew he'd have to; I was wild for a day on the hills. Fancy all I went through, madam. A real, live, sworn-in attorney. The mental strain was awful. Oh, Eth, I'm famished!" "I was so delighted you passed, my dear," said the Madam. "I knew you had plenty of talent if you only kept to your studies." "Talent is no name for it, madam," and the boy sat to the table. "By Jove, I could almost eat Coke and Littleton. Ye Gods, here's a breakfast!" he continued, as Ethna put some of the things prepared for luncheon on the table. "Turkey, tongue, collar-is there any more coming, Nora Creina ?" "There's a lovely pie in the pantry, Vincent," said Nora, "and lots of things." "There's something in the wind, Norry-that's evident; Ethna's going to be married on the sly." "No, but we're going to have grand people for luncheon, Vin., and we'll have the pie, then." 66 By Jove! I'm in luck, Norry. I love grand people and pies. Taylor, will you sit down for heaven's sake, and help something? "And who is coming to eat all the good things?" asked Mr. Taylor, sitting down. "The Moores," replied the Madam. "We called there yesterday, and I asked them to drive over to-day and have their luncheon. I am so glad you came. 'Tis pleasant to have a man to talk to men." "I prefer talking to the women," said Vincent, sticking the fork into the breast of the turkey. "Shall I help you to a limb, Taylor? "Leave the turkey alone," answered the attorney; "it will be wanted by and by." "It will look more respectable minus a wing," Vincent said, cutting one off. "I will show those bloated aristocrats we use good things ourselves. Moore married an heiress, didn't he?" "Ten thousand and expectations was not doing badly," replied Mr. Taylor. "I like heiresses," said Vincent; "something very attractive about them. Any chance the sister would be struck by my personal appearance? Has the city improved me, Eth? How do you like my moustache ?" "Well, it has increased certainly, but so has its tendency to be sandy." "It is not sandy; you're colour blind," Vincent replied emphatically. "Did I not send a lock of it to the Young Ladies' Journal, and was told it was the most beautiful golden brown? And my new shooting rig-does it become my style of beauty, Eth? Will the first impression be favourable, do you think? Heiresses are so particular." "And girls that aren't heiresses are not particular at all, I suppose, " said Ethna. "Listen to that," answered the boy, appealing to all around. "She's jealous already-jealous as sure as shot. Another cup of tea, madam, if you please. But, Eth, did you hear I was up the Rhine-did the grand tour while you would be looking about you." "Were you really, Vincent ?" she replied, delightedly. “Oh, isn't that grand! You can talk to Mrs. Moore and Miss Butler about all you saw. They were there also." "Can't I, faith; and all I didn't see. I can roll off unpronounceable names now, in a way to astonish your weak nerves, and to make you think I was a foreign pedlar. I let fly a few ot them at my landlady in Dublin, and had her as meek as a mouse. But I say, Taylor, will you ever be done? 'tis half-past nine o'clock." "I am afraid, if you go out, you will forget all about luucheon," said the Madam. "Oh, do not, Vincent; if you be late, I will never forgive you," exclaimed Ethna. "Late! and an heiress in question," answered Vincent, tragically. "Am I to spurn fortune from my foot? Say the hour and I am here; except Taylor lays me low upon the hills." "Three o'clock they are to be here." |