the attention of the happy girl was ngain attracted | toward him, ho was some distunce on his way to the raansion.
‘They never saw him more. His sudden disappear- ance was accounted for that evening by a note directed to Kate, which he hed penned hurriedly ere he left the house. ‘The epistio ran thus:
“Alast dear Lady Katharine, my first decision was correct, and thouslt, through mistaken kindness, you have striven to change it, I feel that it would he of no avail. To not blame you, but oh! can I remain and see you auother's, however worthy he may be of you? ‘Phis day's lesson has convinced me that I cannot, and Igo, never to see you more, When you hear of my death, on some hotly contested field, drop a tear for your unfortunate relutive und lover,
Hesur De Siryzurox.
“Poor Silverton,” kindly anid Sir Edward, a he pressed Kate to his bosom and dried her (ears, for sho had already told him all, “my heart bleeds for him.
A few months later he died, as he had prophesied, fon the field of battle, And none wept more sincerely for him than Sic Edward and his happy bride.
WHERE IS THE POET’S REST.
BY W. J, congan,
‘Whene is the Poet's reat? in Beauty's slumbers
Mingles his spirit with the form divine,
Or with the chords of Pasaion’s fecblest numbers,
Mopos he to soothe his ardur at Love's shrine?
Where is the Poet's rest? in woodlands lonely
Charmed into peace by innocence of scenc?
‘The habbling streams unto his goul speak only
Of Nature's realras ’ere Man or War had bees,
Whore is the Poet's rest? ’mid wildwood bowers,
Or gardens choice with arts more prized array,
Nestles his heart within the odorous bowers,
Or musing wends upon his morning way,
Where in the Poet's rest? in aisles so hoary
Religious forms are sculptured to the sight,
And names are thero—bul not the tminatrel'a glory—
The gems of chivalry have ditmroed that light!
Not in the thoughts of Beauty truly keeping
Vigila of faith o’er his young day of t2mo,
Not in ambition’ pictures to the sleeping,
Liew the deep charun his restlcsa heart 10 tame,
Where is tho Poet's rest? his bosom heaving
With aspirations of another sphere—
Where is hie rest —the immortal silent leaving
The doubt—the eorrow—and the longing here?
THE MAGICIAN’S HALL. BY FRANK ELNORE.
An I was one duy, about three or font years ago, taking a solitary ramble on the outskirts of the city, I saw lying in my path a singular looking package, com- posed to all appearance of papers wrapped in an envelope of parchment, and secured by a etout cord, the knots of which were covered with huge seals.
Attracted by the peculiarity of itsappearance, I stooped, and having picked it up, proceeded most unceremoui- ously, with the sid of my knife, to remove the fasten- ings which bound it, ‘This accomplished, T unrolled its parchinent covering, and tho following wild unearthly story, written in the peculiar style of a century back, tho time at which it was dated, and ina hand which seemed more like the German cheracter than any other mot my eye. With no little difficulty I perused it, and having modernized tho style, though I lil) retained nearly the reading of every sentence, I ofler it to you, thinking it may serve to while away an unoccupied hour.
The numerous chandeliers that hung around that dread hall were suddenly extinguished, and a pitchy and almost palpable darkness, which seemed to weigh down the souls of that mighty concourse, succesded to the glare of light which had shown the paraphernalia of the Musician's Hal, in which they sat. Thick waa the darkness as that of the grave, and the silence of death's dark caverns reigned over all. Each held his breath, leat its sound might wake tho dread master of this black and accutt art, A suiphurous smell pervaded the apartment, while tow, rambling and discordant sounds seemed to arise from the caverned carth; wild, anearthly, and thrilling music bore concert to these sounds, aud froze the heart’s blood of all who came within its influence. None knew what was to follow ; but while all wished tho fearful pageant to proceed, each feared lost its first step might be his own immolation. Bat suspense reigued not long. The sable curtain that hail veiled tho farther ond of the apartment from view, suddenly seemed agitated, and a bright, ruddy glow moved slowly over its troubled surfuce, while from be- ind it streamed the lurid lightning, disclosing at every flash that picrced the gloom, the deadly pallor of the auditors’ countenances, rendered still more so by the awful thunder that pealed forth incessantly the attend ant of every flash, and rumbled echoing through the extended hall and corridors of the Magician's palace. Flash followed flash in quick succession, and peal after peal burst forth until it seemed os if be had commanded all that was dreadful in the elements to show ita power.
Now appeared a luminous ring of dazzling tight, forming upon the centre of that curtain which veiled
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