adjoining apartment, which communicated with the sick chamber by a door, which we left wide open; it was a sultry night, there was not a breath of air to stir the leaves, or to fan our care-worn brows. Yet the view of the spangled firmament soothed our wearied spirits; as we sat side by side, not a sigh escaped us; listening and motionless thus we sat-thus we were for a space; when lo! suddenly a rushing sound as of innumerable wings, wafting the richest odours, pervading each sense to oppressive faintness with the indescribable fragrance, swept past us in a whirlwind of gentle violence, from the open door of the child's room, across to the opposite casement; whilst dulcet strains, far wilder, sweeter, and more unearthly than of thousand Æolian harps, unmeasurably distant: yet oh! so awfully distinct, thrilled each quivering nerve, and caused our hearts to stand still, as the sounds floated away on empty space, faintly sighing on the hushed midnight air, farther and farther off, until the green hills dimly re-echoed the last whispering cadence, and all was still as death. Still as death.

"We knew the happy spirit had departed-no need to speak. We knew the angels of heaven had flown past in countless shining invisible throngs, bearing with them the disembodied soul, wafting odours from their starry wings, and strains of bliss from their golden harps.

"Mellicent gave me one long look; the memory of that gaze has never left me-never can-for I read the history of a broken heart.

"Peace be with her; she hath long been reunited to the lost and lamented: and in that ancient Church in the woodland valley, where winds the clear rivulet between flowery banks, may be seen a marble tablet bearing an inscription, sacred to the memory of those who sleep in JESUS."

C. A. M. W.

THE SHEPHERD-BOY'S SUNDAY HYMN.
(After the German.)

MY AUNT NELLY'S PORTFOLIO.

(Continued from page 101.)

I WAS hesitating what next to select from the portfolio, for really the plenitude of its contents sometimes puzzles me, when my choice received an accidental bias from a little family occurrence. It should be known that my brother is ever morbidly anxious about the health of his children,-his girls, I mean; the boys, happily for them, are left to take their chance. But he throws himself into such a fuss whenever the girls happen to walk later than usual, that it is a pity, I tell him, that he was not born in China.

Last evening, when his gentle wife and myself were sitting with him by a fire, which the monitory chilliness of the season makes welcome to those whose blood has given a corresponding hint that the winter of life is approaching, I observed him to cast many an anxious glance towards the window. At length he broke forth into uneasy ejaculations, "Those thoughtless girls!" "dark as pitch!" "heavy dew," &c., &c.; while all that an indulgent mamma and well-intentioned aunt could urge in the way of extenuation, seemed only to add fuel to the flame. This I may say literally; for the more we palliated, the more he poked, till the flame, illuminating everything, even to the brass nails upon the chairs, only made the darkness without doors look ten times darker than before. At length young elastic steps and voices sounded from the lobby; a fresh smiling face peeped in at the parlour door, seeming to ask "How can you stay in ?" just as papa was demanding "How could you stay out?" I can well suppose how fidgety and fussy we might have seemed to the pedestrians, redolent of joy and a fresh, river-side walk; at the same time I cannot deny they seemed, even in my eyes, somewhat to blame, to have remained out till nearly nine o'clock.

This, thought I, would have furnished dear Aunt Nelly with another illustration; and accordingly, before I laid my head on the pillow that night, I had rummaged out of the old portfolio

THE POINT OF VIEW.

I lately had the good fortune to be admitted into the studio of an eminent artist, and found it littered all over with the implements of his art, and crowded by its achievements. There were paintings in every stage of progress, from the scarcely stained canvass to the highly-finished picture. Some of the latter description I can even to this day bring before my "mind's eye," in all their living beauty. I recollect most particularly the

representation of a bold, solitary rock, with the feathery foam seeming actually to play around its base; and the rock itself was so effectively relieved, as made me almost long to be climbing up the craggy sides. I remember, too, the representation of a volcano in the act of pouring out its molten intestines, with such a look of good earnest, as almost made me instinctively shrink back out of their reach; and one thing more I cannot forbear mentioning, it so captivated my fancy,— a lovely Gulnare, stealing along like a horrid murderess, (as she was, despite Lord Byron's fine verse,) with the light from the shaded lamp gleaming through the slender hand raised to screen its tell-tale rays. Other designs were there, glowing and true to life, which will continue to adorn the picture gallery of my memory so long as a ray of intelligence finds its way there.

But my present business is with the picture of the elderly friend through whose kind intervention I had obtained entrance to this "workshop of genius," and which furnished the hint for the moral reflection I wish to recommend to the serious consideration of those who, like myself, are prone to form hasty judgments.

"You must pardon me, sir," said I, advancing, on the artist's invitation, to the back of his chair, "but, may I ask, is not the shade just underneath the nose a little too deep ?"

He smiled. "What will you say when you find I am going to deepen it?" And he went on what I should call smutching away, without method or mercy. I felt quite sure he would spoil the portrait, when all at once he rose, and with that tolerance of ignorance which is the property of talent-real talenthe elevated the painting as high as his upstretched arms could reach, and demanded what I thought then?

"That you are decidedly right," I replied. "Viewed from its present position, I should hardly say that the shading was sufficiently deep. I must beg a thousand pardons for my flippancy."

"Never mind," rejoined the good-humoured artist, "it is what we all are too apt to forget, as well as the knights in the fable of the Gold and Silver Shield, that all depends on the point of view."

Very often since then I have had occasion to recal the sensible remark of my friend the F.R.S.; but I don't know that it ever recurred to my mind so frequently and impressively as in the course of yesterday. It was a lovely day, and our young folks, with spirits as unclouded as the sky over their heads, set out on an early ramble. I gladly obeyed their joint invitation to join the party; for if there are two things I love in this world, they are a bright spring-morning walk, and that which (of any

of happy,

thing I know,) most nearly resembles it, the company artless young beings like those I see around me. I am assured by them all that I am no restraint on their joviality; and certainly it did not appear to be so this morning, when we set off bounding, racing, hedge-hunting, sauntering, and prospectgazing, according to our respective ages from five to fifty. I think I never saw the Moor lane more beautiful; the hedges were a continual mosaic of spring-flowers, while, on this side and that, a stile or gate admitted an occasional peep into the bright green meadows belonging to the glebe, peopled with horse, and cow, and sheep-looking so tranquilly happy, that it was "quite catching." All at once our merry band, by a common impulse, hastened towards a gate, through the bars of which was to be seen a troop of ten or twelve sheep, with their respective lambs, some of them five or six weeks old, others just dropped into this pleasant world. We were all in raptures, while the wee timid" things appeared to regard our party with reciprocal admiration. They gazed inquiringly at us; and after a minute or two, as if at the word of command, bounded away to rejoin their retreating dams. High compliments were bestowed on their beauty, edifying comments made respecting their innocence and gentleness, when the attention of their admirers was suddenly diverted by the appearance of a coarse, chuff-looking stranger, who, riding up to the meadow gate, inquired whether "Will Lugg, the parson's man, could be spoke with ?" He had made a bargain, he told us, with that official personage to take some of the lambs," and was come to see which of them was fittest for the knife."

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Every eye was turned with disgust upon the poor butcher, except mine; I only thought how much more excusable was his point of view," than that of the epicure who, on seeing a group of young lambs, exclaimed in rapture, "You dear little creatures, how pretty you are! and how much prettier you will be-with mint sauce!"

The sun was yet high in the heavens, and I must confess I felt it hard to have to return home, in order to dress for a dinner party; a thing as uncongenial to my taste as to my rheumatic ailments. But the truth of the matter is, my dear brother considers it right and proper (favourable, that is, to his pastoral influence, which with him takes the lead of all other considerations) that his family shall, in the course of the year, accept one of the oft-repeated invitations to dine at the Hall; and yesterday was the day. We had the most cordial and courteous reception from the squire, -such a picture as he is of the "fine old English gentleman," with his upright figure, and healthful ingenuous countenance beaming from out that splendid Ra

milies wig of his! I am told that he always wears it—at least by day.

The party was large and miscellaneous; quite a new world to me. At dinner I happened to be seated next to an old acquaintance, a cotemporary spinster, who had been a famous belle in the days of her youth; a temptation to censoriousness I feel thankful to have escaped, never having had the smallest pretension to good looks myself.

Opposite to us sat a very merry young lady, who kept up a strain of noisy banter with two beaux, her right and left hand neighbours. This seemed sadly to annoy Mrs. Arabella, so that I hardly knew how to parry her angry animadversions on the want of proper reserve in the females of the present day. To have contradicted them would only have made matters worse. I tried to bring in something about the different "points of view " from youth and age; but catching every now and then an arch_glance from the laughing eye of my young friend over the way, I could not for the life of me help laughing too. I am ashamed to say I can never hear the young voice of mirth, without feeling like honest Cæsar among the holiday folk. Whether or no I understand the cause of their mirth,

"My heart has been sae fain to see them,

That I wi' joy hae backet wi' them."

I don't know what Mrs. Arabella must have thought of me. "Vastly merry," said I, at length, seeing I was expected to say something.

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More merry than wise," retorted she.

"Ah, yes; it brings back those days, dear Mrs. Arabella, when the wisdom of the wisest among us had enough to do to keep pace with our mirth; when that made the heart light which now makes the brows ache."

If my good old friend bridled a little at this, one cannot wonder. I dare say I should have bridled a good deal more, if I had boasted in my youth so fair and stately a throat. We used to call her swan-neck."

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We had scarcely entered the drawing-room, when my merry young friend, tripping towards me, asked, in the same tone of lively irony, if I did not mean to congratulate her on her good fortune in being stuck between those two stupid old bachelors, neither of whom, she dared to say, "would ever see thirty again?" Alas! these were the gigglers whose levity I had excused on the plea of their extreme youth, and whom, if I had to describe, I should probably have called "two mere boys, scarcely thirty years of age."

It might be invidious to call attention to the different "points