Mr. Swiveller replied that he had very recently been as suaging the pangs of thirst, but that he was still open to "a modest quencher," if the materials were at hand. Without another word spoken on either side, the lodger took from his great trunk a kind of temple, shining as of polished silver, and placed it carefully on the table. Greatly interested in his proceedings, Mr. Swiveller obsered him closely. Into one little chamber of this temple he fropped an egg, into another some coffee, into a third a conpact piece of raw steak from a neat tin case into a fourth he poured some water. Then, with the aid of a phosphorus box and some matches, he procured a light and applied it to aspirit lamp which had a place of its own below the tempb; then he shut down the lids of all the little chambers, then he opened them; and then, by some wonderful and unat seen agency, the steak was done, the egg was boiled, the cofee was accurately prepared, and his breakfast was ready. "Hot water" said the lodger, handing it to Mr. Swivelqer with as much coolness as if he had a kitchen fire before nim-"extraordinary rum-sugar-and a travelling glass. Mix for yourself. And make haste." Dick complied, his eyes wandering all the time from the temple on the table which seemed to do every thing to the great trunk which seemed to hold every thing. The lodger took his breakfast like a man who was used to work these miracles, and thought nothing of them. "The man of the house is a lawyer, is he not?" said the lodger. Dick nodded. The rum was amazing. The single gen leman, perhaps because he had met with such things in his travels, or perhaps because he was a single gentleman evinced no surprise, but merely inquired "Wife or sister ?" "Sister," said Dick "So much the better," said the single gentleman, "he can get rid of her when he likes." "I want to do as I like, young man," he added after a short silence; 66 to go to bed when I like, to get up when I like, come in when I like, go out when I like-to be asked no questions and be surrounded by no spies. In this last respect, servants are the devil. There's only one here." "And a very little one," said Dik. "And a very little one," repeated the lodger. place will suit me, will it ?" "Yes," said Dick. "Sharks, I suppose?" said the lodger. Dick nodded assent, and drained his glass. more remarkable for brilliancy of imagination than a strict adherence to truth; declaring, with many strong asseverations that it contained a specimen of every kind of rich food and wine, known in these times, and in particular that it was of a self-acting kind and served up whatever was requi ed, as he supposed by clock-work He also gave them to under. ctand that the cooking apparatus roasted a fine piece of sir loin of beef weighing about six pounds avoirdupoise, in two minutes and a quarter, as he had himself witnessed, and proved by his sense of taste; and further that, however the effect was produced, he had distinctly seen water boil and bubble up when the single gentleman winked; from which facts he (Mr. Swiveller) was led to infer that the lodger was some great conjuror or chemist, or both, whose residence under that roof could not fail at some future day to shed great credit and distinction upon the name of Brass, and add a new interest to the history of Bevis Marks. There was one point which Mr. Swiveller deemed it unnecessary to enla ge upon, and that was the fact of the modest quencher, which by reason of its intrinsic strength and its coming close upon the heels of the temperate beverage he had discussed at dinner, awakened a slight degree of fever, and rendered neccessary two or three other modest quenchers at the public-house in the course of the evening. CHAPTER XXXVI. As the single gentleman, after some weeks' occupation of his lodgings, still declined to correspond by word or gesture either with Mr. Brass or his sister Sally, but invariably chose Richard Swiveller as his channel of communication; and as he proved himself in all respects a highly desirable inmate, paying for every thing beforehand, giving very little trouble, making no noise, and keeping early hours; Mr. Richard imperceptibly ros to an important position in the family, as one who had influence over this mysterious lodger, and could negotiate with him, for good or evil, when nobody else durst approach his person. If the truth must be told, even Mr. Swiveller's approaches to the single gentleman were of a very distant kind, and met with small encouragement; but as he never returned from a monosyllabic conference with the unknown, without quoting such expressions as Swiveller, I know I can rely upon you," "I have no hesitation in saying, Swiveller, that I entertain a regard for you,"-" Swiveller, you are my friend and will stand by me I am sure," with many other short speeches of the same familiar and confiding kind, purporting to have been addressed by the single gentleman to himself, and to form "Well, the the staple of their ordinary discourse, neither Mr. Brass nor Miss Sally for a moment questioned the extent of his influence, but accorded to him their fullest and most unqualified belief. Let them know my humor," said the single gentleman, rising. "If they disturb me, they lose a good tenant. If they know me to be that, they know enough. If they try to know more, it's a notice to quit. It's better to understand these things at once. Good day." "I beg your pardon," said Dick, halting in his passage to the door, which the lodger prepared to open. "When he who adores thee has left but the name' "What do you mean?' But quite apart from and independent of this source of pepularity, Mr Swiveller had another, which promised to be equally enduring, and to lighten his position considerably. He found favor in the eyes of Miss Sally Brass. Let not the light scorners of female fascination erect their ears to listen to a new tale of love which shall serve them for a jest; for Miss Brass, however accurately formed to be beloved, was not of the loving kind. That amiable virgin having clung to the skirts of the Law from her earliest youth, having sustained herself by their aid, as it were, in her first running "But the name," said Dick-has left but the name-in alone, and maintained a firm grasp upon them ever since, case of letters or parcels-" "If any mistake should arise from not having the name, do n't say it was my fault, sir," added Dick, still lingering."Oh blame not the bard'-" "I'll blame no body," said the lodger, with such irascibility that in a moment Dick found himself upon the staircase, and the locked door between them. Mr. Brass and Miss Sally were lurking hard by, having been, indeed, only routed from the key-hole by Mr. Swiveller's abrupt exit. As their utmost exertions had not enabled them to overhear a word of the interview, however, in consequence of a quarrel for precedence, which, though limited of necessity to punches and pinches and such quiet pantomime, had lasted the whole time, they hurried him down to the office to hear his account of the conversation. This, Mr. Swiveller gave them-faithfully as regarded the wishes and character of the single gentleman, and poetically as concerned the great trunk, of which he gave a description had passed her life in a kind of legal childhood. She had been remarkable, when a tender prattler, for an uncommon talent in counterfeiting the walk and manner of a bailiff; in which character she had learned to tap her little play-fellows on the shoulder, and to carry them off to imaginary sponginghouses, with a correctness of imitation which was the surprise and delight of all who witnessed her performances, and which was only to be exceeded by her exquisite manner of putting an execution into her doll's house, and taking an exact inventory of the chairs and tables. These artless sports had naturally soothed and cheered the decline of her widowed father, a most exemplary gentlemam, (called 'old Foxey' by his friends from his extreme sagacity,) who encouraged them to the utmost, and whose chief regret on finding that he drew near to Houndsditch churchyard was, ,that his daughter could not take out an attorney's certificate and hold a place upon the roll. Filled with this affectionate and touching sorrow, he had solemnly confided her to his son Sampson as an invaluable auxiliary; and from the old gentleman's decease to the period of which we treat, Miss Sally Brass had been the prop and pillar of his business. Master Humphrey's Clock: It is obvious that, having devoted herself from infancy to this one pursuit and study, Miss Brass could know but little of the world, otherwise than in connexion with the law; and that, from a lady gifted with such high tastes, proficiency in those gentler and softer arts in which women usually excel, was scarcely to be looked for. Miss Sally's accomplishments were all of a masculine and strictly legal kind. They began with the practice of an attorney and they ended with it. She was in a state of lawf l innocence, so to speak. The law had been her nurse, and, as bandy-legs or such physical deformities in children are held to be the consequence of bad nursing, so, if in a mind so beautiful and moral twist or bandiness could be found, Miss Sally Brass's nurse was alone to blame. It was upon this lady, then, that Mr. Swiveller burst in full freshness as something new and hitherto undreamed of, lighting up the office with scraps of song and merriment, conjuring with inkstands and boxes of wafers, catching three oranges in one band, balancing stools upon his chin and penknives on his nose, and constantly performing a hundred other feats of equal ingenuity; for with such unbendings, did R chard, in Mr. Brass's absence, relieve the tedium of his confinement. These social qualities, which Miss Sally first discovered by accident, gradually made such an impression upon her, that she wou d entreat Mr. Swiveller to relax as though she were not by, which Mr. Swiveller, nothing loth, would readily consent to do. By these means a friendship sprung up between them. Mr. Swiveller gradually came to look upon her as her brother Sampson did, and as he would have looked upon any other clerk. He imparted to her the mystery of going the odd man or plain New-market for fruit, ginger-beer, baked potatoes, or even a modest quencher, of which Mr. Brass did not scruple to partake. He would often persuade her to undertake his share of writing in addition to her own; nay, he would sometimes reward her with a hearty slap on the back, and protest that she was a devilish good fellow, a jolly dog, and so forth; all of which compliments Miss Sally would receive in entire good part and with perfect satisfaction. One circumstance troubled Mr. Swiveller's mind very much, and that was that the small servant remained in the bowels of the earth under Bevis Mark, and never came to the surface unless the single gentleman rang his bell, when she would answer it and immediately disappear again. She never went out, or came into the office, or had a clean face, or took off the coarse apron, or looked out of any of the windows, or stood at the street-door for a breath of air, or had any rest or enjoyment whatever. Nobody ever came to see her, nobody spoke of her, nobody cared about her. said once, that he believed she was 'a love-child,' (which Mr. Brass had means anything but a child of love,) and that was all the information Richard Swiveller could obtain. "It's of no use asking the dragon," thought Dick one day, as he sat contemplating the features of Miss Sally Brass. "I suspect if I asked any questions on that head, our alliance would be at an end. I wonder whether she is a dragon by the bye, or something in the mermaid way. She has rather a scaly appearance. But mermaids are fond of looking at themselves in the glass, which she can't be. And they have a habit of combing their hair, which she has n't. No, she's a dragon." "Where are you going, old fellow?" said Dick aloud, as Miss Sally wiped her pen as usual on the green dress, and uprose from her seat. "To dinner," answered the dragon. "To dinner!" thought Dick, "that's another circumstance. I don't believe that small servant ever has anything to eat. 66 Sammy won't be home," said Miss Brass. come back. I shan't be long." Stop till I Dick nodded and followed Miss Brass with his eyes to the door, and with his ears to a little back parlor, where she and her brother took their meals. "Now," said Dick, walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, "I'd give something-if I had it—to know how they use that child, and where they keep her. My mother must have been a very inquisitive woman, doubt I'm marked with a note of interrogation somewhere I have no 'My feelings I smother, but thou hast been the cause of this anguish my '-upon my word," said Mr. Swiveller, checking himself and falling thoughtfully into the client's chair, "I should like to know how they use her!" After running on in this way for some time, Mr. Swiveller softly opened the door with the intention of darting across the street for a glass of the mild porter. At that moment he caught a parting glimpse of the brown head-diess of Miss never!" to disappear in the darkness below, he groped his way down First peeping over the handrail and allowing the head-dress and arrived at the door of a back kitchen immediately after Miss Brass had entered the same, bearing in her hand a cold leg of mutton. low, and very damp, the walls disfigured by a thousand rents and blotches. The water was trickling out of a leaky butt, It was a very dark and miserable place, very and a most wretched cat was lapping up the drops with the one, was wound and screwed up tight, so as to hold no more sickly eagerness of starvation. The grate, which was a wide than a little thin sandwich of fire. Everything was locked up; the coal-cellar, the candle-box, the salt-box, the meat-safe, have lunched upon. were all padlocked. There was nothing that a beetle could place would have killed a chameleon. He would have known The pinched and meagre aspect of the have given up the ghost in despair.-The small servant stood at the first mouthful that the air was not eatable, and must with humility in presence of Miss Sally, and hung her head. "Are you there?" said Miss Sally. "Yes ma'am," was the answer in a weak voice. ing it, I know," said Miss Sally. "Go further away from the leg of mutton or you'll be pick a key from her pocket, and opening the safe, brought from it The girl withdrew into a corner, while Miss Brass took a dreary waste of cold potatoes, looking as eatable as Stonehenge. This she placed before the small servant, ordering her to sit down before it, and then, taking up a great carving knife, made a mighty show of sharpening it on the carving-fork. square inches of cold mutton after all this preparation, and "Do you see this?" said Miss Brass, slicing off about two holding it out on the point of the fork. The servant looked hard enough at it with her hungry eyes to see every shred of it, small as it was, that you had n't meat here. There, eat it up." and answered 'Yes.' "Then don't you ever go and say," retorted Miss Sally, Miss Sally. This was soon done. "Now, do you want any more?" said The hungry creature answered with a faint "No." They were evidently going through an established form summing up the facts; "you have had as much as you can With these words, Miss Sally put the meat away and locked Miss Brass's gentle breast, and that it was this which impel It was plain that some extraordinary grudge was working in ed her, without the smallest present cause, to rap the child with the blade of her knife, now on her hand, now on her head, and now on her back, as if she found it quite impossi ble to stand so close to her without administering a few slight knocks. But Mr. Swiveller was not a little surprised to see his fellow clerk, after walking slowly backward toward the door as if she were trying to withdraw herself from the room but could not accomplish it, dart suddenly forward, and falling on the small servant give her some hard blows with her clenched hand. The victim cried, but in a subdued maning herself with a pinch of snuff, ascended the stairs, just as ner as if she feared to raise her voice, and Miss Sally, comfortRichard had safely reached the office. present going on in the distilling trade, from the recent disBRANDY FROM POTATO STARCH.-A great revolution is at covery that potato flour, or starch, is capable, by due fermentation, of yielding a very pure and well-tasted spirit. Some chants, which even the most experienced among them have specimens have recently been submitted to the spirit-merscarcely been able to distinguish from French brandy; for even the true vinous flavor of Cognac has been successfully imitated by certain chemical compositions, which the English starch. Three distilleries for the production of this kind of refiners have been enabled to add to the spirit from potato British brandy have recently been erected in the metropolis, and two of these are already in activity. THE VIRGIN'S FOUNTAIN. A LEGEND OF HUNGARY. BY MISS PARDOE. At a short distance from the medicinal waters of Postény, known, according to the belief of the inhabitants of that neighborhood, since the time of the Romans, rise the ruins of an ancient church said to have formerly belonged to the Knights Tempars, in proof of which assertion there still exist fantastic images of stone, which appear among the ruins like the last accents of by-past wisdom, to arrest the steps of the solitary raveler. Near the church is a limpid spring, which, gushing forth in a sparkling volume, once slaked the thirst of the Red Cross Warriors, when their strength was exhausted by battle; and at this fountain they yet meet to wander in the moonlight, haunting with their armed and gigantic figures the hours of night, and turning them to terror, to weep over the extinction of their illustrious order, abolished for mere worldly in tenists. But it is not by phantoms such as these alone-foul shapes "naking night hideous," and obscuring with dark shadows the "glimpses of the moon"-that this fair spring is visited. It has also its sweet oracle for loving hearts. Each year, on the eve of the feast of St. Stephen, the holy bishop king, who wth his own pious hand laid the first stone of this now ruined church, and whose blessed shadow yet hovers about the sacrd spot, the maidens of the neighborhood walk in processin at midnight to fill their pitchers at the fountain, in the ful faith that ablution in its waters will double their attractions. Absorbed in fervent prayer, they kneel upon the threshold of the church; for, according to ancient rumor, whoever so honors the saint, in piety of heart, will meet on the morrow upon her path the partner of her future life. Thus, from the earliest times, this ceremony has been ob served, and the fair maidens of the hamlet have crowded to the fountain on St. Stephen's eve, to ascertain if the secret wishes of their hearts would come to pass; and we are now about to tell a loving legend to which this popular custom owes its origin Boritza, the daughter of Bolko, was as a rose which opens to the sweet breath of morning, but like that lovely flower there were thorns about her and around her, as if to deter the hand of love from the bright blossom which he would have aspired to wear. Bolko was rich, and riches bring honor and credit when they are rightly used; but Bolko was a stern man, and cold as the ore with which he filled his coffers. None loved him, for his heart was closed against his kind; and even his fair child, young and beautiful and gentle as she was, wept less at his severity than at his want of tenderness. He cared not for his kind; his soul was in his chests; and Boritza was to him merely a something living which he was bound to succor and support; yet she bore even this-not without tears, for sometimes it was luxury to weep, but calmly and in silence. A sister of her father's watched over Boritza-the dragon of the Hesperides became the guardian of the young beauty: to her the very name of love was odious-it was a foul blight withering the fair face of nature-the ashes of the Dead Sea -the feast of the Barmecide, full of promise and disappointment Her youth had passed in coldness and neglect, and her age revenged the bitterness of her buried years. Her words were harsh and cruel; and the gentle Boritza suffered so deeply from her restless and jealous tyranny, that a deep veil of sadness fell over her young beauty, which only added another charm to those with which nature had so profusely gifted her, as if to revenge her upon her persecutor. But Boritza had a joy which was beyond the grasp even of her tiger-aunt. She loved! loved with the earnest, innocent fervor of a heart which pours itself out for the first time, like a rich odor shed on a hidden shrine. None knew how well she loved, how tenderly; and he whom she so worshipped was worthy of her affection. It was Emeric; stately as a pine-tree on the mountain crest, with eyes black as the night, and hair which, dark and gleaming as the raven's wing, clustered about a brow that might have well beseemed an Apollo or an Antinous. Their love was secret-it was the dearer, the purer, from ts mystery; for no idle tongue had linked their names to gether, and blighted the sacredness of their passion. They met in the leafy woods, amid the sighing of the branches, and the whispers of the wind that wandered through them, in the soft moonlight, when the long shadows fell dark upon the earth, and the stars spangled the mantle of night until it shone with regal splendor; and their whispers were lower than those of the summer wind, their sighs gentler than those that wake the summer woods; their eyes outshone the stars, and their young hearts were purer than the moonlight. But sorrow came even hither to this Eden of the soul, whence the foul serpent should have been shut out. Boritza was fond, and beautiful, and young; but Emeric was of high and ancient race; his father was proud and stern; he lovd his son, but ambition was his master-spirit, and he had vowed to Emeric that he should lead no bride to kis paternal hearth who could not double his possessions. And thus Boritza passed her days in tears, or in watching for the dear moment of Emeric's arrival beneath her window, when, sometimes so closely guarded as to be unable to leave her chamber, she could but extend to him through the bars of her narrow casement the small and delicate hand, which he covered with burning kisses, while she talked to him in the low tones in which passion loves to word itself. One night they were conversing thus; painting even their fears in those sweet shadowy forms which almost robbed them of their bitterness, and striving to hope against conviction, when the jealous guardian of Boritza stole upon their confidence. The youth was half buried among the flowering branches of an acacia-tree, that grew against the wall of the chateau, immediately beside the chamber of the maiden; and the hand of the fair girl, extended beyond the grating of her asement, rested lovingly among the dark curls which fell upon his shoulders, while she listened to his low whispers with a smile of pensive happiness playing about her lips. Thus they stood when the storm burst upon them. Invective, threat, and insult, were heaped upon the trembling Boritza, and her lover lingered near, unable to avert from her the bitter word or the taunting look. His heart bled, not only for her but for himself; he could not bear it long-and rushing from the garden, boldly and without hesitation, he strode into the presence of her father, Bolko. His reception was a stern one-Bolko was as proud as the noble who despised his daughter-his pride was as tangible; he could secure it with locks and bolts, or he could draw it forth and feed upon it, and then replace it for a future scrutiny-and what had the lofty Count to show which outvalued his beloved gold? Emeric bore up bravely against the torrent of insult which was his welcome; he supplicated, he implored, and love is eloquent when the heart prompts the words; but Bolko heeded not his agony, and ere they parted he forbade the entry of his dwelling to the soul-stricken Emeric. The youth turned to depart; there was a struggle in his breast between his love for Boritza and the pride in which he had been nurtured from his youth; but, ere he had reached the centre of the hall, he met the maiden, pale, trembling, and bowed down by the terrors of the past hour, as the lily is bent by the storm which passes over it. What had he to do with pride as he looked upon her? He forgot all save her! And as she flung herself at the feet of her father, he knelt beside her, and again he strove to awaken feeling where it had never dwelt. The sunshine fails to warm the adamant-the storm bursts over it, and leaves it cold, and hard, and intact as ever-and Bolko had become as the rock upon which external influences have no power; and he harshly dismissed the drooping Boritza to her chamber, and motioned Emeric from his presence. As she moved away, in obedience to the paternal mandate, the maiden passed close beside her lover; and, as their eyes met, he suddenly grasped her harmd, bnd whispered beneath his breath, "At midnight, near the Fountain of the Templars will be there, Boritza." The trembling girl answered him only by a look, and then, once more bowing meekly to her infuriated sire, she glided from the apartment. It was the eve of the festival of St. Stephen, and the avo cations which it brought with it to all the inhabitants of the chateau enabled Boritza the more readily to elude observation. The hours wore on, and, as midnight approached, the maiden trembled, even amid all her love for Emeric, at the promise which she had tacitly given; for there arose upon her memory every dark story thtat she had heard of the spectre nights, who at that solemn hour met beside the spring, to wail over the departed glories of their order, and with their blood-stained swords bared in the moonlight to invoke ver geance on those who had wrought their overthrow. Her pulses throbbed as these tales rushed over her brain; she had been familiar with them from her childhood; and she had heard them with a perfect faith even as they had been told. The eleventh hour came at length, and then the fond woman shook off the idle tremors of the girl, and thought only of him she loved; she forgot her terrors, and, seizing a pitcher, she waited until all was silent throughout the chateau, and with noiseless steps she stole forth, and hurried to the fountain. The moon was up, and nearly at the full; the trees cast fantastic shadows on her path, and the leaves whispered in the wind like spirit-voices-but she had neither eyes nor ears save for him whom she sought; and he already waited her at the mystic spring. It was a sad meeting, for they met only to part-tears were there, hot and bitter tears, such as are wrung from young hearts when they first learn to suffer, which the world mocks without being able to understand, and ends by turning into gall. They vowed to each other fidelity even to the grave-a barren, profitless fidelity, for they were never to meet again; but it was almost happiness to believe that they should at least be wretched for each other's sake. They had a thousand things to say-a thousand things to ask -but they could only weep, and fold their arms fondly each about the other, and vow that from that hour their hearts should never again beat with passion until they were laid cold within the grave. At length they parted. Ye who have never loved, seek not even to dream of such a parting! 'T were idle, vague, and empty speculation. The enthusiast who, sick with study, and pale with blighted hope, withers his strength and drains his life away in pursuit of the subtle secret by which he is to turn to gold the pebble on his path, is nearer to the goal of his wild search, than ye to comprehend the agony of two young hearts severed like theirs. Smile on, and hug yourselves in your cold ignorance-ye have escaped a pang whose memory no after-years can ever wear away! Emeric had pressed his lips to the lips of his beloved, and then, maddened by misery, he had hurried away, for he dared not say Farewell. Mechanically Boritza plunged her pitcher into the spring, and when she drew it back, rested it on the border of the fountain, into which her tears fell like rain. Suddenly a soft light gleamed about her, a soft and silvery light-it was like nothing that she had ever seen before-daybreak was more shadowy, sunshine more broad, the moonrays colder and less equal. Her heart beat quickly, and, glancing timidly around, she saw beside her a form that she could not mistake. It was St. Stephen. The crowned mitre was upon his brow, the crosier in his hand, and he was looking toward her with a smile. Her knees bent under her, and her head drooped upon her bosom. "Fear not, fair girl," said a voice which sounded like the summer wind when it murmurs among flowers, "your innocence guards you from the dangers which your beauty might provoke. Weep no longer; to-morrow's sun will shine brightly to dry your tears, and remember that the first form which crosses your path after that sun has risen will be the form of him to whom your faith must be pledged for life. Repine not, but obey.' Boritza trembled, and fell prostrate to the earth; and when she ventured once more to raise her head and look around her, she was alone. She murmured a prayer and fled; and, although she dared not hope that what she had seen was indeed more than a vision of her excited imagination, she felt happier than she had been for many weeks. She wept, it is true, but her tears had soothing in them; and when she slept she dreamed of Emeric and of the Saint, and awoke only to believe that all must yet go well. On the morrow at sunrise all the neighborhood was alive with pilgrims to the shrine of St. Stephen, and among the rest went Boritza, walking in silence between her father and her aunt. A shadow was on the path even as the fair girl passed the gates of Bolko's domain; the rising sun painted its outline in distinct and palpable relief-it was Emeric!-Emeric, who sought only a last look of his beloved ere he fled for ever alike his home and his country. She said but one word to him as she passed the spot whereon he stood, but that word was "Hope," and then, heedless alike of the angry tones of her father, the shrill invectives of her hateful guardian, and then the passionate questions of her lover, she flew forward, and prostrated herself before the shrine of the Saint. And the legend goes on to tell that her faith met with its reward, for the noble sire of Emeric was ere long death-stricken, and he had no child save him; and that the avarice of Bolko proved stronger than his pride whe he saw the young Count at the feet of his daughter, and re membered that while his heart was full his hand was no empty, but that broad lands and fair castles were coupled with his love. And so it came to pass that Boritza and Emer were united at the altar of St. Stephen; and that, since that period, the maidens of the district, on the eve of his solemn festival, dip their pitchers in the water, and pray for as fair a fue as that of Emeric's beloved, the fond, and good, and intent Boritza. HOMES AND GRAVES. BY T. K. HERVEY. How beautiful a world were ours, But for the pale and shadowy One And stalketh in its sun! To link the living with the dead; That lesson dark and dread! And, oh! we bear about us still The dreary moral of his art- Upon each living heart, A cradle for the tomb! If Childhood seeth all things loved To find it not on earth; A shade within its saddened walls Hath many a vacant chair: A darkness, from the churchyard shed, To smoulder in the tomb- Ere Sorrow's wings be furled; Go bravely trusting-trusting on; The grave and home are one!- Until the old man come A home where but the life-trees wave; |