Your imagination gallantly pictures me beautiful as some Circassian, or some Houri; let me remain such in your idea, at least till the watchman cries the hour of midnight and wakes you from your dreams."

"All dreams are not delusive," I said. "They often speak the truth," I added. "Yet sometimes one is tempted to wish that truths were but dreams; as, for instance, the very unfortunate event which was the occasion of our first meeting."

She looked surprised, while she repeated,

"Unfortunate? Ah! true. You probably never heard

At

that moment one of the shepherds ran up, and carried her off hurriedly to a quadrille which was just forming.

I was following the couple with my eyes, when my sister tapped me on the arm and asked me to dance with her, as she was not engaged. Mechanically I took my place in the quadrille, the same in which my incognita was dancing, and mechanically I went through the figures until she had to give me her hand in the chain. I pressed it warmly, but there was no response. Ashamed and angry, I determined not to cast another glance at her; and resolutely I turned my head away. The quadrille was over, and once more I found myself constrained to look at her. But she was gone-the shepherds and shepherdesses had all disappeared. Whether they had left the ball, or—what was more probable had changed their attire, I saw them no more. In vain at the supper-table my eyes wandered over all the ladies, to guess, if possible, which was the right one. Many of them were pretty; many had dark eyes and white teeth; but which of all these eyes and teeth were hers? It was by the voice alone that I could recognise her; but I could not go from the one to the other, and ask them to speak for me. And thus ended the second part of my drama.

"Now then for the third act," said I, with some curiosity.

"For that," he replied, "I have waited, in vain, above a year and a day."

"But do you not know her name ?" I asked.

"No."

"Or none of the party of shepherds or shepherdesses ?"

"I found out shortly after that I knew two of the shepherds; but of what use was that to me? I could not describe my shepherdess so that they could distinguish her among the twelve; they mentioned a dozen names, all equally unknown to me. That gave me no clue; to me she was both nameless and invisible."

I could not help smiling at my usually gay cousin's doleful counte

nance.

"You are laughing at me," said he. "Well, I don't wonder at it. To fall in love with a girl one has never seen is certainly great folly. But do not fancy that I am going to die of despair. I only feel a sort of longing come over me when I think of her."

The singers had now come so near us that we could hear their conversation. After a few moments my cousin whispered to me that he knew one of them by his voice, and that he was an officer from Copenhagen. In another minute they made their appearance. There were three of them, all dressed as civilians, but the moustaches of one showed that he was a military man. My cousin squeezed my arm, and whispered again, "It is he, sure enough; let us see if he knows me." We

rose, and stood stiffly, with our caps in our hands. They nodded to us, and the officer said, "Put your hats on, lads. Will you earn a shilling for something to drink, and help to erect our tent ?" We agreed to his proposal, and at his desire we joined two men in fetching, from a cart near, the canvas and other things required to put the tent up; also cloaks, cushions, baskets with provisions, and bottles of wine, benches for seats, and a wider one for a table. When our services were no longer needed, the officer held out some money to me, which, of course, I would not receive. My cousin also refused payment; whereupon he swore that we should at least take something to drink, and, filling a tumbler from his flask, he handed it to my cousin, who received it with a suppressed laugh.

What are you grinning at, fellow?" said the officer; but, as my cousin carried the tumbler to his lips, he exclaimed:

"Your health, Wilhelm !"

The individual thus addressed started back in astonishment, while his two companions peered into our faces. My cousin burst into a fit of laughter; and the officer, who now recognised him, cried, laughing also, Ludvig! What the deuce is all this? and why are you equipped in that preposterous garb ?"

66

The matter was speedily explained; the three travellers expressed much pleasure at meeting us, and pressed us so cordially to join their party, and stay the night with them, that we at length acceded to their request.

One of the officer's companions was a young, handsome, and very fashionable-looking man; he was extremely rich, we understood, therefore they called him the merchant, and they would not tell us his name, or if that were his real position in society. The other introduced himself to us with these words:

"Gentlemen of the respectable peasant class! my name here in Jutland is-Farniente. My agreeable occupation is to do nothing-at least nothing but amuse myself."

up

There was a great deal more joking among our hosts, and then we presented each other in the same bantering way, after which we all adjourned to the tent, where we wound with a very jovial supper. At midnight the merchant reminded us that we had to rise next morning with the first rays of the sun, and that it was time to retire to rest. We made up a sort of couch, with cushions and cloaks, and on it we five faithful brothers stretched ourselves as best we might. The other four soon fell asleep. I alone remained awake; and when I found that slumber had fled my pillow, rose as quietly as possible, and left the tent.

All around was still as the grave. The skies were without a cloud, but of their millions of eyes only a few were now open, and even these shone dimly and feebly, as if they were almost overcome by sleep. The monarch of light, who was soon to overpower their fading brightness, was already clearing his path in the north-east. It is not the darkness-still less the tempest that renders night so extremely melancholy; it is that deep repose, that corpse-like stillness in nature, it is to see one's self the only waking being in a sleeping world-one living amidst the vast vaults of the grave-a creature trembling with the fearful, giddy thought of death and eternity. How welcome then is any sound which breaks the oppressive silence of that nocturnal solitude, and reminds us that human beings

are about to awaken to their daily round of occupation and pleasureand, it must be added, of anxiety and trouble! How cheerful seems the earliest crowing of the cocks from the nearest huts, rising almost lazily on the dusky air! The drowsy world was beginning to move; and after a time I discerned faint, sweet tones proceeding from the direction of the wood. I listened attentively, and soon became convinced that it was music-the music of wind instruments-which I heard. To me music is as welcome as the first rosy streaks of morn to the benighted wanderer, or a glimpse of the brilliant sun amidst the gloom of a dark wintry sky.

The sweet sounds ceased, and I began to ponder whether it might not have been unearthly strains which I had heard-whether they might not have come from the fairies who perhaps dwelt amidst the surrounding glades, or among the wild flowers that enamelled the sloping sides of the hills. The music, however, was certainly Weber's, and the question was, whether the elfin people had learned the airs from him, or he from them. I returned to the tent, where the still sleeping party produced a very different and somewhat nasal kind of music. "Gentlemen! gentlemen!" I shouted, "there are visitors coming." My cousin was the first to awaken, then the officer, who sprang up, and immediately endeavoured to arouse the other two. "The ladies will be here presently," he said; "get up both of you."-" They are too early," yawned one; "I have not had half my sleep.' "Let them wait outside the tent till I am ready," said Farniente. "Good night!"

The rest of us, however, went towards the wood to meet the three ladies, who were making their way to our temporary domicile, preceded by two musicians playing the horn, and two youths bearing torches, the latter being the sons of a clergyman in the neighbourhood, at whose house the ladies had slept. Observing the peasant costume of my friend and myself, the ladies asked who we were, and were told by the military man that we were two soldiers of his regiment, who, being in the adjacent village, had assisted in putting up the tent.

Lads," said he, addressing us in a tone of command, 66 can you fetch some water for us from the nearest stream, and get some wood for us to boil our coffee? I will go with you."

"No, no, sir-that would be a shame," said my cousin in the Jutland dialect; 66 we will bring all that is wanted ourselves." When we returned to the tent it was broad daylight; Farniente had been compelled to vacate his couch of cloaks, and in his lively way was greeting the fair guests with "Good morning, my three Graces." The officer told us, aside, that two of the ladies were his sisters, and was about to tell us more, when a waltz on the turf was proposed by Farniente, who seized one of the ladies, whom he called Sybilla, as his partner. The merchant danced with another, to whom it appeared he was engaged, and the officer took his youngest sister. Their hilarity was infectious, and my cousin dragged me round for want of a better partner, whereupon the fair Sybilla, who had observed our dancing, remarked that we were "really not at all awkward for peasant lads."

While they were taking their coffee afterwards, during which time we stood respectfully at a little distance, my cousin whispered to me how much he admired the lieutenant's youngest sister, who was indeed extremely pretty. He had not hitherto heard her voice, but he could not help seeing that she looked attentively-even inquisitively at him. By

Farniente's request the ladies handed us some coffee, after having done which they made some remarks upon us to each other in German. At that moment my cousin let his coffee-cup drop suddenly to the ground, and standing as motionless as one of the trees in the wood, he fixed his eyes upon the youngest girl with a very peculiar expression, which called the deepest blushes to her cheek. We all looked on in surprise, but I began to suspect the truth. Farniente was the first to speak.

you

"Min Herre!" said he, "it is time that should lay aside your incognito, for it is evident that you and this lady have met before." My cousin had by this time recovered his speech and his self-possession. He went up to the young lady, and said:

"For the first time to-day have I had the happiness of seeing those lips from which I have twice heard a voice whose accents delighted me. In that voice I cannot be mistaken, so deep was the impression it made Dare I flatter myself that my voice has not been quite for

upon me.

gotten by you?"

Catherina that was her name-replied, with a smile,

"I have neither forgotten your voice nor your face, though last time we met you were a Spanish grandee."

"What is all this ?" exclaimed the officer; "old acquaintancesanother masquerade !"

"We are now truly all partaking of rural life," said Farniente; "so come, you two peasants, and place yourselves with the fair shepherdess and us."

We joined the circle, and after our names having been told, my cousin, leading the conversation to Lake Esrom, and the events which took place on its banks, asked Catherina how her poor friend had taken that sad affair, and if she had ever recovered her spirits?

"Oh yes, she has," replied Catherina; and pointing to the young lady who was engaged to the merchant, "there she is!"

My cousin started, and said, in some embarrassment, "It was a sad event, but

"Not so very sad," cried the merchant, interrupting him, "for the drowned man returned to life. He was no other than myself."

"God be thanked!" exclaimed my cousin, sincerely rejoiced at the pleasant intelligence. "That is more than we then dared to hope. But what became of the poor foolish madcap who first upset the boat and then wished to drown himself ?"

"Here he is," said Farniente, pointing to himself; "and as I once thought I might be promoted to the dignity of court jester, I took a wife, and there," bowing to Sybilla, "sits the fair one who has undertaken to steer my boat over the dangerous ocean of life.”

The morning mists by degrees cleared away from the wooded valleys and the hill-encircled waters; the larks had ended their early chorus, and the later songsters of the grove had commenced their sweet harmonies; all seemed joy around, and I looked with pleasure at the gay group before Never had the cheering light of day shone upon a circle of more contented human beings, and among them none were happier than Ludvig and his recently found shepherdess, whose countenance beamed in the radiant glow of dawning love.

me.

Six months have passed since then, and they are now united for this world and for that which is to come.

THE SICK-CHAMBER.

(CONTINUED FROM "THE RECEPTION OF THE DEAD.")

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE UNHOLY WISH."

"DRAW aside the curtain, Rose," said Adeline de Castella, feebly; "the sun has passed."

Adeline's chamber had been changed for one with a south aspect: but there were times when the sun, watery as it mostly was then, would shine into the room with a brightness too glaring for her sight. There was, surely, when you came to think of it, a singular affinity between the weather and Adeline's state of health. Cold, wet, boisterous, and gloomy it had been in the spring, all the time of her long illness, and up to the period, within a few days, of her commencing intimacy with Mr. St. John; hot, brilliant, and beautiful it had remained during the continuance of that intimacy; but at its abrupt termination, the very day afterwards, it had changed, and become cold, wet, and dreary again. Weeks had elapsed since, and the weather still wore the same gloomy aspect, in which there was no prospect of amendment on this side winter. A feeling of awe, almost of superstition, would creep over Mary Carr, as she sat by Adeline's bedside in the dim evenings, listening to the moaning, sighing wind, sweeping round the unprotected château, and shaking down the leaves from the now nearly bare trees on the western side. They would shudder, and say how dreary it was, and wish the weather would change; forgetting that the sweetest summer day, the brightest skies, cannot bring joy to a house where peace and joy exist not. Still, it had been a curious year: winter, summer, and now winter again, but neither spring nor autumn.

Adeline was in no immediate danger. The hemorrhage from the lungs had been stopped more speedily than might have been expected from its profuse flowing at the time; but to this had succeeded fever, the effect of her unhappy state of mind, and when it subsided she was left in a condition of alarming weakness. There was no doubt that consumption had set its seal upon her; but the doctors thought that the disease in its progress would be a lingering one. Miss Darling and Mary Carr had obtained leave from their friends to remain with her as long as might be necessary. Adeline could not bear to hear of their leaving. She did not go out of her room, but sat up in it for some hours in the day. Madame de Castella, who was quite borne down with grief, often came in, but she seldom stayed long, for she would become hysterical, and abruptly hasten away out of Adeline's sight. Father Marc paid her frequent visits, the most cheerful of all her visitors. He was a pleasant, chatty man, and exercised his powers of conversation to amuse her, telling her scraps of news and worldly anecdotes, sometimes succeeding in winning a smile from her lips. But he never entered with her upon religious topics-at least so far as the two young ladies saw, or heard. Madame de Beaufoy was ill at this time, and confined to her bed, and her daughter Agnes was much occupied in attending to her; so that Mary Carr and Rose were Adeline's chief companions. It was well that