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Artist's Dream, An T. W. Higginson 100

Autobiography of a Quack, The. I., II 466, 586

Bornoo, A Native of 485

Bowery at Night, The Charles Dawson Shanly .... 602

By-Ways of Europe. From Pcrpignan to Montscrrat . Bayard Taylor 495

"'. A Visit to the Balearic Islands- I. Bayard Taylor 6S0

Busy Brains Austin Abbott 570

Canadian Woods and Waters Charles Dawson Skanly .... 311

Cincinnati James Parton 229

Conspiracy at Washington, The 633

Cretan Days Win. J. Still/nan 533

Dinner Speaking Edward Everett Hale .... 507

Doctor Molke Dr. I. I. Hayes 43

Edisto, Up the T. W. Higginson 157

Foster, Stephen C, and Negro Minstrelsy . . . Robert P. Nevin 608

Fugitives from Labor P. Slteldon 370

Grandmother's Story: The Great Snow 716

Gray Goth, In the Miss E. Stuart Phelps .... 559

Great Public Character, A James Russell Lowell 618'

Growth, Limitations, and Toleration of Shakespeare's Genius E. P. Whipple 178

Guardian Angel, The. VII., VIII., IX., X., XL, XII. Oliver Wendell Holmes 1,129, 257, 385, 513, 641

Hospital Memories. I., II Miss Eudora Clark . 144,324

International Copyright James Parton 430

Jesuits in North America, The George E. Ellis 362

Jonson, Ben E. P. Whipple 403

Longfellow's Translation of Dante's Divina Commedia 188

Liliput Province, A W. Winwood Reade 147

Literature as an Art T. W. Higginson 745 ..

Little Land of Appenzcll, The Bayard Taylor 213

Minor Elizabethan Dramatists . . . . . . E. P. Whipple 692

^ Minor Italian Travels W. D. Howells 337

Mysterious Personage, A John Neal 658

Opinions of the late Dr. Nott, respecting Books, Studies and Orators E. D. Sanborn . . . 527

Pacific Railroads, Our J. K. Medbery 704

Padua, At W. D. Howells 25

Passage from Hawthorne's English Note-Books, A 15

Piano in the United States, The James Parton 8a

Poor Richard. II., Ill Henry James, Jr. 32, 166

Prophetic Voices about America. A Monograph . Charles Sumner 275

Religious Side of the Italian Question, The . . Joseph Maszini 108

Rose Rollins, The. L, II AlieeCary 420,545

Sunshine and Petrarch T. W. Higginson 307

/Struggle for Life, A T. B.A Idrich 56

/ "The Lie" C.J.Sprague 598

A Throne of the Golden Foot, The J. W. Palmer 453

T. Adotphus Trollope, Writings of H. T. Tuckerman 476

Tour in the Dark, A 670

Uncharitableness 415

Visit to Sybaris, My Edward Everett Halt . . 63

Week's Riding, A 200

What we Feel '. . C.J. Sprague 740

Wife by Wager, A E. H. House 3y>

Workers in Silver, Among the James Parton 729

Young Desperado, A T. B. Aldrich 755


Are the Children at Home? Mrs. M. E. M. Sangster . . . 557

Autumn Song, An Edgar Fawcett 679

Blue and the Gray, The F. M. Finch ...... 369

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Dirge for a Sailor George H. Boker ..... 157

Ember-Picture, An - James Russell Lowell .... 99

Feast of Harvest, The E. C. Stedman C16

Flight of the Goddess, The T. B. Aldrich 452

Freedom in Brazil John G. Whittier 62

Lost Genius, The J.J. Piatt 228

Mona's Mother Alice Cary aa

Mystery of Nature, The Theodore Tilton 349

Nightingale in the Study, The James Russell Lowell .... 323

Sonnet George H. Boker 744

Themistodes William Everett . . . . . 3?S

The Old Story Alice Cary 199

Toujours Amour E. C. Stedman 728

Reviews And Literary Notices.

Browne's Land of Thor 256

Charlevoix's History of New France 125

Codman's Ten Months in Brazil 383

Cozzens.'s Sayings of Doctor Bushwhacker and other Learned Men 512

Critical and Social Essays, from the New York " Nation" 384

Dall's (Mrs.) The College, the Market, and the Court . 255

Du Chailiu's Journey to Ashango-Land 123

Emerson's May-Day and Other Pieces 376

Half-Tints 256

Holland's Kathrina • . • • • 7S2

Hoppin's Old England "7

Hymns by Harriet McEwen Kimball "3

Jean Ingelow's Story of Doom, and other Poems 383

Lea's Historical Sketch of Sacerdotal Celibacy in the Christian Church 378

Literary Life of James K. Paulding, The "4

Memoirs and Correspondence of Madame R^camier 127

Miss Ravencl\ Conversion from Secession to Loyalty i»

Morris's Life and Death of Jason 6

Morse on the Poem "Rock me to Sleep, Mother" 252

Norton's Translation of The New Life of Dante 63S

Parsons's Deus Homo 51a

Parsons's Translation of the Inferno 759

Paulding's The Bulls and the Jonathans ' 639

Purnell's Literature and its Professors 254

Richmond during the War • . . - , . 760

Ritter's Comparative Geography of Palestine • I25

Samuels's Ornithology and Oology of New England -fix

Thackeray's Early and' Late Papers 252

Tomes's Champagne Country . . . .- . ..... • • • 5"

Wcbb'r Liffith Lank, or Lunacy, and St. Twcl'mo "3

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A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics.

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There seems no reasonable doubt that Myrtle Hazard might have made a safe thing of it with Gifted Hopkins, (if so inclined,) provided that she had only been secured against interference. But the constant habit of reading his verses to Susan Posey was not without its risk to so excitable a nature as that of the young poet. Poets always were capable of divided affections, and Cowley's "Chronicle " is a confession that would fit the whole tribe of them. It is true that Gifted had no right to regard Susan's heart as open to the wiles of any new-comer. He knew that she considered herself, and was considered by another, as pledged and plighted. Yet she was such a devoted listener, her sympathies were so easily roused, her blue eyes glistened so tenderly at the least poetical hint, such as " Never, O never," "My aching heart," "Go, let me weep," — any of those touching phrases out of the long catalogue which readily suggests itself, — that her influence was getting to be such that Myrtle (if really anxious to

secure him) might look upon it with apprehension, and the owner of Susan's heart (if of a jealous disposition) might have thought it worth while to make a visit to Oxbow Village to see after his property.

It may seem not impossible that some friend had suggested as much as this to the young lady's lover. The caution would have been unnecessary, or at least premature. Susan was loyal as ever to her absent friend. Gifted Hopkins had never yet presumed upon the familiar relations existing between them to attempt to shake her allegiance. It is quite as likely, after all, that the young gentleman about to make his appearance in Oxbow Village visited the place of his own accord, without a hint from anybody. But the fact concerns us more than the reason of it, just now.

"Who do you think is coming, Mr. Gridley? Who do you think is coming?" said Susan Posey, her face covered with a carnation such as the first season may see in a city belle, but not the second.

"Well, Susan Posey, I suppose I must guess, though I am rather slow at that business. Perhaps the Governor. No, I don't think it can be the Governor, for you would n't look so happy if it was only his Excellency. It must be the President, Susan Posey, — President James Buchanan. Have n't I guessed right, now, tell me, my dear?"

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867. by Tickxor And Fields, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. VOL. XX. — NO. 117- I

"O Mr. Gridley, you are too bad, — what do I care for governors and presidents? I know somebody that's worth fifty million thousand presidents, — and he's coming, — my Clement is coming," said Susan, who had by this time learned to consider the awful Byles Gridley as her next friend and faithful counsellor.

Susan could not stay long in the house after she got her note informing her that her friend was soon to be with her. Everybody told everything to Olive Eveleth, and Susan must run over to the Parsonage to tell her that there was a young gentleman coming to Oxbow Village; upon which Olive asked who it was, exactly as if she did not know; whereupon Susan dropped her eyes and said, " Clement, — I mean Mr. Lindsay."

That was a fair piece of news now, and Olive had her bonnet on five minutes after Susan was gone, and was on her way to Bathsheba's, — it was too bad that the poor girl who lived so out of the world should n't know anything of what was going on in it. Bathsheba * had been in all the morning, and the Doctor had said she must take the air every day; so Bathsheba had on her bonnet a little after Olive had gone, and walked straight up to The Poplars to tell Myrtle Hazard that a certain young gentleman, Clement Lindsay, was coming to Oxbow Village.

It was perhaps fortunate that there was no special significance to Myrtle in the name of Clement Lindsay. Since the adventure which had brought these two young persons together, and, after coming so near a disaster, had ended in a mere humiliation and disappointment, and but for Master Gridley's discreet kindness might have led to foolish scandal, Myrtle had never referred to it in any way. Nobody really

knew what her plans had been except Olive and Cyprian, who had observed a very kind silence about the whole matter. The common version of the story was harmless, and near enough to the truth, — down the river, — boat upset, — pulled out, — taken care of by some women in a house farther down,

— sick, brain fever, — pretty near it, anyhow, — old Dr. Hurlbut called in,

— had her hair cut, — hystericky, etc., etc.

Myrtle was contented with this statement, and asked no questions, and it was a perfectly understood thing that nobody alluded to the subject in her presence. It followed from all this that the name of Clement Lindsay had no peculiar meaning for her. Nor was she like to recognize him as the youth in whose company she had gone through her mortal peril, for all her recollections were confused and dreamlike from the moment when she awoke and found herself in the foaming rapids just above the fall, until that when her senses returned, and she saw Master Byles Gridley standing over her with that look of tenderness in his square features which had lingered in her recollection, and made her feel towards him as if she were his daughter.

Now this had its advantage; for as Clement was Susan's young man, and had been so for two or three years, it would have been a great pity to have any such curious relations established between him and Myrtle Hazard as a consciousness on both sides of what had happened would naturally suggest .

"Who is this Clement Lindsay, Bathsheba?" Myrtle asked.

"Why, Myrtle, don't you remember about Susan Posey's is-to-be, — the young man that has been — well, I don't know, but I suppose engaged to her ever since they were children almost?"

"Yes, yes, I remember now. O dear! I have forgotten so many things I should think I had been dead and was coming back to life again. Do you know anything about him, Bathsheba? Did n't somebody say he was very handsome? I wonder if he is really in love with Susan Posey. Such a simple thing! I want to see him. I have seen so few young men."

As Myrtle said these words, she lifted the sleeve a little on her left arm, by a half-instinctive and half-voluntary movement. The glimmering gold of Judith Pride's bracelet flashed out the yellow gleam which has been the reddening of so many hands and the blackening of so many souls since that innocent sin-breeder was first picked up in the land of Havilah. There came a sudden light into her eye, such as Bathsheba had never seen there before. It looked to her as if Myrtle were saying unconsciously to herself that she had the power of beauty, and would like to try its influence on the handsome young man whom she was soon to meet, even at the risk of unseating poor little Susan in his affections. This pained the gentle and humble-minded girl, who, without having tasted the world's pleasures, had meekly consecrated herself to the lowly duties which lay nearest to her. For Bathsheba's phrasing of life was in the monosyllables of a rigid faith. Her conceptions of the human soul were all simplicity and purity, but elementary. She could not conceive the vast license the creative energy allows itself in mingling the instincts which, after long conflict, may come into harmonious adjustment . The flash which Myrtle's eye had caught from the gleam of the golden bracelet filled Bathsheba with a sudden fear that she was like to be led away by the vanities of that world lying in wickedness of which the minister's daughter had heard so much and seen so little.

Not that Bathsheba made any fine moral speeches to herself. She only felt a slight shock, such as a word or a look from one we love too often gives us, — such as a child's trivial gesture or movement makes a parent feel, — that impalpable something which in the slightest possible inflection of a syllable or gradation of a tone will sometimes leave a sting behind it, even in a trusting heart . This was all. But

it was true that what she saw meant a great deal . It meant the dawning in Myrtle Hazard of one of her as yet unlived secondary lives. Bathsheba's virgin perceptions had caught a faint early ray of its glimmering twilight.

She answered, after a very slight pause, which this explanation has made seem so long, that she had never seen the young gentleman, and that she did not know about Susan's sentiments. Only, as they had kept so long to each other, she supposed there must be love between them.

Myrtle fell into a revery, with certain tableaux glowing along its perspectives which poor little Susan Posey would have shivered to look upon, if they could have been transferred from the purple clouds of Myrtle's imagination to the pale silvery mists of Susan's pretty fancies. She sat in her day-dream long after Bathsheba had left her, her eyes fixed, not on the faded portrait of her beautiful ancestress, but on that other canvas where the dead Beauty seemed to live in all the splendors of her full-blown womanhood.

The young man whose name had set her thoughts roving was handsome, as the glance at him already given might have foreshadowed. But his features had a graver impress than his age seemed to account for, and the sober tone of his letter to Susan im* plied that something had given him a maturity beyond his years. The story was not an uncommon one. At sixteen he had dreamed — and told his dream. At eighteen he had awoke, and found, as he believed, that a young heart had grown to his so that its life was dependent on his own. Whether it would have perished if its filaments had been gently disentangled from the object to which they had attached themselves, experienced judges of such matters may perhaps question. To justify Clement in his estimate of the danger of such an experiment, we must remember that to young people in their teens a first passion is a portentous and unprecedented phenomenon. The

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