whole being with delight.-And then again the leaf was turned, and so on at every turning came a new picture; and I lay there entranced gazing at them. shall I forget this book. Bel. And you remember these pictures now? Never Mal. I have described the two which impressed me most. I never can forget them. I shall never hear any symphony, even of Beethoven, played by the perfectest orchestra, that will ever come up to that. Good heavens! could I only have written it down. Do you know that I would not give up that experience of fever for many a day of tame life. I came out of it a different being. Bel. Did you in that fever have any such sensation as I once or twice have heard described, of being two persons? Mal. Exactly. I was for a week two persons. Of course I took no cognisance of time. Night and day were one, and I was sweeping down for a time, as it seemed to me, over a glassy slope, where there was no hold. At last I reached a landing, and then I became two persons. I used to tell my watchers, when they came to my bedside, to turn over one, for he was uncomfortable, and let the other remain as he was; and they often spoke to me of this afterwards. And this reminds me of another experience, which I mention as curious. I used, as a boy, to have nightmares of a singular kind, and this was one of them. I saw a single spot of light far off in the distance, and as I gazed it began to enlarge and grow into a ring, and from this flew forth other rings, and from each of these others and others and others, until the whole range of vision was of wheeling rings of light that came rushing down upon me until it seemed as if they would overwhelm me; and then, when it seemed impossible to bear it longer-when they were close upon me-they would suddenly disappear, and all would be blank. Bel. This was giddiness, I suppose ? I, Mal. Yes, I suppose it was; but that was the vision I saw. Now we are on this question, I will tell you another experience I had. I used to dream constantly of being on a smooth slope, on which I could not keep my foothold. Many other persons were there beside me, but all of them walked calmly to and fro, as if they felt no such difficulty. however, ever slipped and slipped towards a terrible precipice that bounded the slope, and over which I knew, if I could not stay myself, I should surely fall. This dream had haunted me for years at intervals. One night it was worse than I was, as usual, sliding slowly towards this awful gulf, which was to be my fate, when in my dream I said to myself, "Life is not worth this torture: I will fling myself down the precipice and over it." ever. No sooner had I formed this resolution than I determined to carry it out. Turning round, I rushed towards the precipice as fast as I could, and suddenly the whole vision disappeared. And, what is curious, it never again returned. Bel. That is indeed strange. Mal. No; it never again returned. That was the end of it. There! I think I have told you enough about myself. Now, if you please, we will go and take our walk. I want a little fresh air after these fevers and nightmares. Bel. "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." POESIES FROM ABROAD. FROM THE SPANISH OF GUSTAVE BECQUER. I. WE were together, her eyes were wet, But her pride was strong, and no tears would fall; And I would not tell her I loved her yet, And yearned to forgive her all! So, now that our lives are for ever apart, "Ah! why did I turn away?" II. When you've drunk one draught of this rosy wine, Though the taste is sweet and the scent divine,. So when passion and youth shall have passed away, FROM THE GERMAN OF H. HEINE. She has given a ring to me, knowing I have taken her ring, and unspoken "AN APPEAL." (AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMME.) Ah! could you see me weep in anguish sore Would you not come? Could you but guess my joy when your eyes meet If to my wounded heart you knew the balm Ah! darling, if you knew I loved, and how, "ALONE." (AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMME.) Our deepest joy in silence flows, O well-known tread of lightest feet! O sighs and kisses passing sweet! Words that are neither verse nor prose! What tenderest rhyme, what thrilling tone Ah! happy ones Love makes his own! But he, who all in vain must wait And pour his soul out on its strings; For glory's fading wreath he lives, A PARTING." (AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMME.) Why, no, I should not have told you, dear, It has fallen,-see, on your little hand,— And our laughter, and dancing of footsteps fleet We cannot meet as we used to meet, We cannot be friends as of old, I know. But perhaps our hearts, in their love new-born (Like two birds in their nest in that pale pink thorn), For fear they should fly on the morrow morn, Oh! part them ere ever they learn to fly, ་ AFFINITY. (AFTER TH. GAUTIER.) In an old-world temple two blocks of stone, There were two pearls hid in the self-same shell When Boabdil ruled in the land of Spain. In Venice, to rest on a golden dome, Two doves came floating on pinions white; But the changeless laws that our lives involve, Yet each, by a strange metamorphosis Is born anew in some fairer form; So the rose may live in red lips that kiss,— And in hearts of lovers once more may greet For how otherwise grew the wondrous birth They recall, in a new-found ecstasy, And they feel the flutter of snowy wings On the golden dome of a stately fane ;And the faithful atoms the wild wind brings Must find each other, and love again! So, my heart that within me burns and glows, In that fairer world, when we were together? FLORENCE HENNIKER. |