last lingering gaze was bent on her—he sighed her name he smiled and so he died.

Several of the citizens of Vienna had passed near Pilate, but all had studiously avoided him; arrayed in an Oriental garb, his countenance expressive at once of wildness and dignity, they had believed him to be an Egyptian seer or a Chaldean sorcerer: but now that he lay without motion beneath the fig-tree, and his beautiful attendant was seen weeping over him, humanity attracted them to the spot. They raised the aged man, but in supporting his daughter, who, they supposed, had fainted, they perceived a coldness on her brow, and beheld a marble whiteness on her still, classic features, that the living rarely present. Yes, in that hour of unutterable distress, Hebe's heart had broken-she slept the sleep of death.

The identity of the illustrious, but unfortunate pair, was subsequently discovered, and they were buried on the spot where they died. The fig-tree has long since perished; the aged yews are disappearing one by one; and even the singular monument erected to their memory, attracting the eyes of the modern traveller, stands, in its grotesque and mouldering proportions, like some relic of an elder world.

THE STORY OF FAIR FLORIMEL.

BY CALDER CAMPBELL.

THERE sat a gentle Lady,
A Lady fair and young,

Upon a cliff, whence ship and skiff

Were seen to sail along

On the bosom of the deep:

She sat alone, a watcher

For one who comes not yet;
Why laggeth he on land or sea?—

What maketh him forget

Such vows as love should keep,

Though spirits walk the mountains
And valleys of the world?

A year hath gone since, kneeling
Beside that Lady's knee,

"I swear," quoth he, "that thou shalt see

My true head bow to thee

On this high and rocky steep,

When one full year departing,
Lets in another's race,
Alive or dead, I swear (he said)

To meet thee face to face

When thy kindred are asleep,

Though spirits walk the mountains

And valleys of the world!"

A year hath passed; and midnight,
With its full crystalline moon,
Hath lighted up the mountain-top

On that lovely night of June,
Where the Lady sitteth lone :-
She sitteth sad, for wedded,

Another's now is she;

And her first true-love hath she cast off

For a Knight of high degree!

Oh faith, hath woman none,

Though spirits walk the mountains
And valleys of the world!

She weepeth and she prayeth,
That he who was so dear
May have forgot, in happier lot,
The vows of a by-gone year,—
For she loveth another now!-
And up the Lady starteth,

For a step is sounding near:—
"I come to chide my new-made bride
For tarrying so long here,
When the dew falls on her brow;

And spirits walk the mountains
And valleys of the world!"

It was her loving Husband,

Who, as the midnight bell
Tolled loud and long the hills among,
Stood by fair Florimel,

Her cheek death-wan with fear:

But lo! as stooping tow'rds him

Her white hand stretched she,

Another Knight, in the moonshine bright,

Is bending at her knee,

And a voice is at her ear,

While spirits walk the mountains

And valleys of the world!

Another Knight beside her,

With the death-mark on his brow-
The clotted gore his garments o'er

Doth a bloody death avow;

And as ice his touch is cold!

"I keep my vow, false Lady,

I keep my vow to thee!

How hast thou kept while true love slept

Thy plighted troth to me

In thy lover's murderer's fold,

While spirits walked the mountains

And valleys of the world?"

THE OPERA.

["DEAR P.-Not having anything of my own which I could contribute (as is my wish and duty) to this pious Adventure of yours, and not being able in these hot busy days to get anything ready, I decide to offer you a bit of an Excerpt from that singular Conspectus of England,' lately written, not yet printed, by Professor Ezechiel Peasemeal, a distinguished American friend of mine. Dr. Peasemeal will excuse my printing it here. His Conspectus,' a work of some extent, has already been crowned by the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Bunkum, which includes, as you know, the chief thinkers of the New World; and it will probably be printed entire in their Transactions' one day. Meanwhile let your readers have the first taste of it; and much good may it do them and you!"T. C.]

MUSIC is well said to be the speech of angels; in fact, nothing among the utterances allowed to man is felt to be so divine. It brings us near to the Infinite; we look for moments, across the cloudy elements, into the eternal Sea of Light, when song leads and inspires us. Serious nations, all nations that can still listen to the mandate of Nature, have prized song and music as the highest; as a vehicle for worship, for prophecy, and for whatsoever in them was divine. Their singer was a vates, admitted to the council of the universe, friend of the gods, and choicest benefactor to man.

Reader, it was actually so in Greek, in Roman, in Moslem, Christian, most of all in Old-Hebrew times: and if you look how it now is, you will find a change that should astonish you. Good Heavens, from a Psalm of Asaph to a seat at the London Opera in the Haymarket, what a road have men travelled! The waste that is made in music is probably among the saddest of all our squanderings of God's gifts. Music has, for a long