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forcibly of the notable event recorded in Genesis, of the confusion, and consequent dispersion, which took place amongst the confederated builders of the Tower of Babel, in the plain of Shinar." 'What the deuce did they think I had about me?'

THE MEETING OF THE DEAD.

It is said that, after twenty years, when Heloïse was buried in the same grave as Abelard, he opened his arms to receive her corpse.

Twenty years!-a hermit lone,
Clad with moisture, girt with stone,
Earth, dim earth, above, around,
By dark roots of ivy.bound
Fir and cypress, bonds that coil
Through the slowly-yielding soil
As it swells to give them room
In their passage from the tomb,
Gathering life from that beneath
Which has drunk the dew of death.

Twenty years!-there came a voice
Piercing through this hideous shade,
Giving to my soul its choice

If 'twould be immortal made,
And above the stars rejoice;
Or if, shrunk, confined, and hid
By the heavy coffin lid,
Here it would abide, and dare

Pangs the frame immured must bear—
Loathsome tortures round it cast,
Fearful pains that ling'ring last,-
Stifling, wringing, pressing woes,
Knowing that they will not close
Till the lagging hour shall come
When once more the yawning tomb
Ones its cavern, foul and wide,
To receive a vestal bride.

Twenty years! I've waited well!
Here I chose, even here, to dwell,
Soul and body, in this cave;
Sentient, free, but yet a slave-
Yes, in faith, hope, power, still free,-
Slave to memory and to thee!

Thou liv'dst on-I knew the same
Spirit touch'd us with its flame,—

That the same bright fount supplied
Both our beings from its tide.
All I hoped, believed, and taught,
Lived and flourished in thy thought;
What was dim to others' sight,
Gleamed to thee as purest light.
Once I hoped I could not die,

Leaving thee to think alone,-
That each wondrous mystery

Must to each alike be known;
But my baffled human lore
Reached its goal, and knew no more.

Twenty years have lingered on,
And thou wert on earth-alone!
Every thought for ever mine,
In the cell or at the shrine;
Every feeling thrilling yet,
Such as neither could forget,
When our cloistered walls in vain
Held us both in parted pain.

Thou could'st live!-then not despair;
Such as hatred bade us share,
Penance, torture, varied ill,
None of these have power to kill;
Knowledge, science, skill, and power,
All we seek and toil to gain,
Leave but this, when all is o'er,
That our wisdom is in vain ;
Passions, wishes, struggles, schemes,
Are but meteors-shadows--dreams.
Love alone, such love as ours,
Gives the soul unwonted powers,
Courage to survive all harm,
Patience and enduring calm;
Thou to live through life for me,
I to live in death for thee!

LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.

Note. The man who, by his great qualities and his faults, by the boldness of his opinions, the brilliancy of his life, his innate passion for polemics, and the rarest talent of imparting instruction, contributed in the highest degree to cherish and disseminate a taste for study, and urge that intellectual movement from whence, in the thirteenth century, arose the university of Paris-that man was Pierre Abelard.

Wherever he appeared, an admiring crowd followed his footsteps: a desert, into which he withdrew, became the theatre of an immense auditory. He amazed the schools, he shook the church and the state; and, to add to the singular fame which he acquired, he was beautiful in person, a poet, and a musician. He was loved to adoration by one of the noblest and most exalted of her sex, who loved like St. Theresa, wrote like Seneca, and whose fascinations of mind were found irresistible even by St. Bernard himself, the adversary of Abelard.'

Ouvrages Inédits d'Abelard, par M. Victor Cousin.

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Stanley dreams of Isabelle, with whose name Amelia thereby becomes acquainted. STANLEY had no sooner left the house than it struck him that he was bound by every charitable feeling to proceed without delay to the residence of Isabelle. And yet, where did she reside? How could he ascertain? He might perhaps from Madame Poupetier; but how extremely incorrect it would appear if he applied to her then. And if even he did apply, and the application were successful, he could not, with even the semblance of propriety, call at that hour upon Isabelle; and if he did call, and found that she had reached home in safety, he of course would be unable to see her to dissuade her from any desperate act she might contemplate. And if he found that she had not returned, what would he do then? Puzzled by the various promptings of prudence on the one hand, and inclination on the other, he walked to and fro in a state of irresolution the most absolute, until a cab drew towards him, when he entered it mechanically, and at once proceeded home.

Amelia, who would never retire until he returned, had for hours been waiting most anxiously for him. She had been in tears. She had endeavoured to believe that it was wrong to be sad, and that her grief had its origin in selfishness; still she could not help grieving; the tears would continue to flow. The very moment, however, Stanley returned, she hastened to remove everything indicative of sad. ness, and looked cheerful and happy, and smiled with her wonted sweetness. Nor was this hypocrisy. If even it had been, it might perhaps be held to have been venial; but it was not. She did feel happy on his return; her smile of gladness was sincere; and when she flew at once to meet and to embrace him, she but obeyed the impulse of her heart.

Have you passed a pleasant evening, my love?' she inquired. 'Yes yes,' replied Stanley; 'very pleasant-considering that my Amelia was not with me.'

'You wish me to believe that you do not flatter?' said Amelia, with a playful expression. Well, well, I do believe it. Oh yes; if I did not, I should doubt your sincerity. But why are you not cheerful? I am with you now!'

'I only feel fatigued,' replied Stanley, passing his hand languidly over his eyes.

'You must be, I am sure. You shall have some refreshment, and then for a long sweet sleep.'

Stanley looked at Amelia, and drew a comparison between her and Isabelle, of which the result was unhappily in favour of the latter. Isabelle was more strikingly beautiful than Amelia. It would indeed have been impossible for her to have been more gentle, more elegant, or more amiable; but her features were more regular, she possessed more beauty, which has in all cases an undue influence when the comparison is merely superficial. This result, however, failed to make a deep impression then. The endearing fondness of Amelia, which was

ever most conspicuous when his spirits were most depressed, caused him to feel that he in reality possessed a jewel which could not be too highly valued. He became, therefore, speedily reconciled; and, after reproaching himself for having entertained for an instant a wish that he had not been married, he returned those endearments which had been lavished upon him by Amelia, and thus rendered her perfectly happy.

On retiring to rest, the effect of the excitement of the scene he had just quitted was that of inducing immediate sleep; but the circumstances connected with what he considered the chief feature of that scene effectually prevented his sleep being calm. He was haunted by Isabelle. In imagination he saw her before him; now with a phial to her lips, then with a dagger at her heart, and anon upon the brink of a precipice, from which he tried to snatch her in vain. He seemed fixed to the earth-he could not stir. He called to her-she heeded him not. There she stood, looking more lovely than ever, in a position of imminent peril, while he had not the power to move a single step with the view of saving her from destruction. Again he called: she heard him, but shrieked, and disappeared. He felt himself fixed to the earth still; but presently a white mist arose from the gulf into which she had fallen, and when the wind had dispelled it, he saw her upon the verge of the precipice again. He now experienced the same feelings of terror as before, and again she dashed off, and again the mist restored her; yet so desperately intent upon destruction did she appear, that she dashed off again and again, but as often as she did so the mist reinstated her almost instantaneously upon the brink. She seemed unhurt; but his apprehensions for her safety were dreadful, and they increased every time she appeared. And thus throughout the night was he tortured, writhing to break his imaginary bonds, but finding himself utterly unable to move an inch towards her whom he panted to save.

In the morning, therefore, he did not feel greatly refreshed; but he rose at the usual hour, with a vivid recollection of all that he had in imagination seen, and reflected upon each circumstance as gravely as if the whole had in reality occurred. While engaged in these reflections, Amelia watched the peculiar expression of his countenance closely, and while at breakfast said, in a playful manner, 'Who is Isabelle ?'

Stanley started at the question, and the blood rushed to his cheeks as he echoed, Isabelle!'-for he thought it very strange that Amelia should put such a question at such a time, and half suspected that some kind friend had informed her of certain circumstances, of which she might as well have been kept in ignorance. Isabelle!' he repeated. 'What Isabelle ?'

Why, the Isabelle !-the little Isabelle !-the Isabelle whom you so often addressed in your sleep.'

'Oh! I recollect!' cried Stanley, smiling; for he really felt very much relieved. 'Isabelle!-I remember!-Of course!-I suppose I must introduce you to little Isabelle. Oh! she is such a beautiful creature, if the vision be faithful.'

'The vision? But do you not know her?'

'Know her! Why, she is to be my second! The sweetest little dear you ever beheld! Such eyes!-such hair!-such ancles! And yet-no-her dress was too long; I did not see her ancles; but I am

sure they are beautifully turned. And then she loves me so dearly! Oh! I must introduce you to my Isabelle !'

This Stanley thought very ingenious. Had he pretended not to know her, he conceived he might have done it with sufficient gaucherie to excite suspicion; but, by affecting to know and to admire her, he imagined that the thing would be regarded as a jest. And he was right in his conjecture-as a jest it was regarded; for the perception of Amelia was so acute, that she felt it to be very unlikely he would make any such acknowledgment if in reality it were so. Whether ladies in general are thus deceived, while priding themselves upon this peculiar acuteness of perception, is a point which has yet to be established; it will be sufficient here to describe this as being the effect upon the mind of Amelia, who believed that Isabelle was a mere creature of the imagination, which was precisely the belief that Stanley wished to inspire. Lest, however, any slight feeling of jealousy should linger, he would not allow the matter to rest even here. He explained to her how ardently he loved Isabelle, dwelt upon the beautiful softness of her lips, lauded the luxuriance of her ringlets, described her figure as being sylph-like in the extreme; indeed he depicted so lovely a creature, and declared his passion for her in terms so warm, that Amelia at length thought it an excellent jest, and the subject became one of infinite merriment. Breakfast, however, was no sooner at an end than Stanley's thoughts assumed a more serious character. He knew not how to act. Isa. belle he believed to be a virtuous good girl, and he was therefore most anxious for her safety. And yet, ought he to ascertain her re. sidence and call upon her? Could he as a man, under the circumstances, justify the pursuit of such a course? She loved him-of that he felt firmly convinced; but what object could he hope to attain by calling? It might increase, but could not diminish, her unhappiness; and what right had he to sport with her feelings? He was bound by every honourable principle to do nothing calculated to augment her wretchedness, and the probability was that neglect would work a cure. In this strain he argued with himself for some considerable time; and although he felt anxious, most anxious, to ascertain if she were safe, he eventually made up his mind not to call.

CHAPTER XVI.

In which the Widow's designs upon Sir William, and Sir William's designs upon Stanley, are developed.

THIS being the auspicious day appointed for her party, the widow was excessively busy all the morning; and, as her primary object was to astonish Sir William, everything dazzling in her possession was dis played in a style the most chaste and superb. She scorned, however, to depend upon the display of her wealth solely: her faith in the power of her personal charms was of an extremely high order; and hence, after having arranged the inanimate auxiliaries in the most startling manner possible, and given the most minute and conflicting instructions to the servants, she proceeded to embellish those personal charms, -and perhaps there never was such a job! Everything calculated to add fascination to nature was put in requisition. The taste of her maid was in each particular instance repudiated. In reality the girl had no taste, and such being the afflicting state of things, the widow

had it all her own way; and therefore, when the whole scheme had been accomplished, she certainly did feel, and that strongly, that if in this world any lady ever looked the thing, she did! Characteristically illustrated at each grand point, and jewelled after the fashion she most approved, Well, really, now,' she observed, as she accosted herself familiarly, 'what can be said against the appearance of Lady Wormwell!'-for, however extraordinary it may appear that she should thus continue to harp upon 'Lady Wormwell,' it is a fact that she felt that the title became her, and that she had been formed to do honour to the title.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that foreseeing that she might on this particular occasion be at her toilet a little longer than usual, she began to dress early; for no sooner had she taken the lingering look alluded to than Sir William arrived. It were folly to attempt to disguise from the world that she did at this moment feel flattered. It was a moment of deep interest, certainly; and yet, why should she be so tremulous? Why should her heart beat so? Why should she thus catch her breath, and turn faint? She sat down to answer these questions composedly; but, as Sir William's arrival was now officially announced, she started up and took a deep inspiration. All her courage was required, and she promptly summoned all,-directed her carriage to be sent for Stanley and Amelia, which she had deferred expressly, in order that she and Sir William might have half an hour's sweet conversation alone,-took another smiling glance at her peculiarly graceful person,-found matters all right and imposing,-and then at once proceeded to receive Sir William in a style which she felt his heart could not resist. What delight she expressed, what joy she depicted, may be conceived. But how droll were her sensations! She trembled like a foolish little bird! Yet how sweet is the love which a title inspires what beautiful feelings it engenders! It is almost as pure and incorruptible as that which is solely created by wealth. Happy widow! She felt this love deeply ; and hence, although she had a trembling hand, she displayed a sweet smile, and was moreover so fussy? Sir William before conceived that she was aiming at something; but her great design now became palpable. He saw through it all ; but he was not by any means displeased. On the contrary, he took it upon himself to seem flattered, and really enjoyed the thing rather than not; for although he was unmarried, and, being comparatively poor, had no great contempt for wealth, he had certainly not the most remote idea of entering into anything like a matrimonial alliance with the widow, albeit it must be confessed that few ladies of large dimensions could have looked more unique. But he humoured her fancy, and made her believe that he was not insensible to her charms, because, among other things, he imagined that she might be made useful, under circumstances of a pecuniary nature, the force of which few men knew much better than himself. He therefore entered into the spirit of the thing, and listened with great attention to the brilliant discourse of the fascinating widow, who was so extremely communicative, and managed to explain the precise character of her position with so much delicacy and tact, that, by the time the carriage drew up with Stanley and Amelia, he had become, unsolicited, master of the whole matter.

'You kept us waiting long enough I hope!' cried Stanley, as he entered. I thought that you were not going to send for us at all.

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