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“ Fool that I was—I am to blame for this !” So he was. He had hired the sjw to dog Trav- elick, and this was the result. If he had let the young man alone no such calamity would have occurred: or so he reasoned. “Yes, I am to blame!” he continued, ‘‘*md now what am I going to do • > He sat down again to think. It was a case of conspiracy, and there had been such desperate fighting that little mercy would be shown the prisoners. In those days, Napoleon ruled with a strong hand, and to be found plotting against his administration was to prepare one's own death-warrant. Yet the Colonel had a faint hope. His friend was an American, the Ameri can minister in Paris had powerful influence at court, and Burton could prove that the young man had lately attempted to commit suicide, and might therefore be regarded as off his bal ance mentally. The Colonel planned just how he would pro ceed, and then he descended to the office and inquired as to when the conspirators would likely be arraigned. “ To-morrow or next day, after the excite ment subsides a little,” answered the clerk. Half a dozen newspaper extras were out, and the clerk, who read and spoke English well, and who recognized the Colonel’s anxiety, read and explained the entire affair. The extras nar rated the fact that the spy, Dupont, had over heard the conspirators as they planned for the American to be smuggled into the palace, and what he was to do there, and they made Travel- ick out to be a blood-thirsty demon. It was stated that he killed two of the police and wounded three with his own hand, and that his head would fall, no matter what became of the others. (to be continued.) LITERARY NOTES. An illustrated history of Yale College is to be published soon, edited by W. L. Kingsley. Roberts Bbos. announce for the holidays “The Shepherd Lady,” a new volume by that sweetest of English poetesses, Jean Ingelow. William Morris, the famous author of “The Earthly Paradise,” has translated Virgil’s iEnied. The new version of this immortal classic will soon appear from the press of Roberts Bros., Boston. Augusta Evans’ New Novel.—“ Infelice ” bids fair to rival “St. Elmo” in advance orders. Carlton <fc Co., the publishers, are negotiating with a large dealer for the enormous number of 50,000 copies, including “the market.” It is announced that the author of “ Betsey and I are Out,” has in press a new book for chil dren, called “Little Folks’Letters.” Neverthe less, this does not settle the vexful question, ‘ ‘ Who is the author of ‘ Betsey and I are Out ?’ ” Miss Bessie Turner, notoriously connected with the Beecher-Tilton trial, has written a book (or, probably, it was written for her) called “A Woman in the Case.” It is published by Carl ton & Co. It will, doubtless, be translated for the Parisian market Charles Lanman is collecting seven thousand biographical sketches of prominent personages connected with the United States government during the past century, and eight thousand briefer sketches of less eminent men connected with the different government departments during the same period. Think of fifteen thou sand great men (?) all sandwiched between the covers of one book ! Such is fame. tionally, to summon him to my side, to me instantly, saying: “Miss Florence, did I understand you as wish ing to speak to me ?” ! scenes, and, also, to the wondrous surplus of I did not return to the sitting-room until tea- Mother put her arms around me, while her mirth and jollity which I scattered broadcast time. When I entered. I found mother and Tom dear voice trembles, and my happy but foolish around me from the date of those two hot tears chatting merrily. Mother’s gentle "Florrie. dear, ! head sinks upon her shoulder, as she gives her | and the consequent resolve. you must be cold,” as she drew me down to the , tender approval of my choice. With these words I was apparently listening to some of Will stool at her side which Tom had just vacated, j as she extends her hand to Frank, “God bless Northrop’s most elaborate tendresse. as he pressed i cut me to the heart. While I sat there with her you and keep you with his love, my children !” a rose to his lips which had fallen from my hair, arm around me, and my heart all softened by she ratifies the transaction, but, in reality, my thoughts were busy with the ! her loving kindness. 1 mado up my mind most : conjecture as to whether Frank would come up solemnly on one point: Never would I again— to me, late as it was, for a dance, now thpt Miss for Frank Frazier, nor for any other man. woman ! Lawrence had been taken home by her father, or child—give my beloved mother ought but re- Just then, I caught his eye, and in my affirms- : spect and dutifulness. ^ ^ ii/iu | tive nod to Will, who was pleading to know if I Several days afterwards, Tom slipped as he savs it i s a puzzle to him how we find so much I would give that rose and its happy possessor one was bounding down the front steps, and that , to talk about: that we have known each other all thought after this evening, I seemed, uninten- poor ankle was so battered and bruised by the our lives, and yet, morn, noon, or eve. we are He came i fall that he was confined to the sofa for many j days, while quite a fever exhibited itself. I think it was the second day after Tom’s acci dent, that Frank called and inquired if he could “No, indeed, Mr. Frazier; that overrated pleas- j see him. Mother glanced inquiringly at me; I urel can dispense with most comfortably.” demurred, but Tom’s pleading “Don't go away, At these words, a deep flush displaced the pal- : Florrie,” decided the question, lor of Frank's face, and he left me instantly, Frank entered, looking so well, with his usual while Will Northrop’s uproarious applause of j healthy hue all back again, that my heart threat- my rudeness made the incident public property, ened to demean itself as did Pharaoh's in the But, oh ! what pain my speech gave me the mo- matter of the children of Israel. But Frank was ment after its utterance! I had been guilty of a so thoroughly his old-time self, so courteous and 1 has written to mother to say that she proposes most unlady-like rebuff to a gentleman for his cordial and mirthful, and brightened our dear , to make me this very present, including a set of courtesy; and that gentleman, good, kind Frank, Tom so much with his jokes, that I forgot myself ‘ laces, gloves, ties, etc. Oh, how good everything who certainly looks half an invalid. What will entirely, and really enjoyed his visit. ; and everybody is to me! Not only is Frank to motherandTomsaytome? I was very wretched i From this time, he came each day to see Tom, I be mine, “to have and to hold from'this day for- and my eyes filled, which emotion I was in no 1 and really these past few months of estrange- j ward,” but also the charming silk suit Is it wise ashamed of; but still I must be alone, and I ment seemed entirely obliterated from all our 1 wonder that I am left Will Northrop precipitatelv to hide mvself minds; no one remembers the hiatus. In one j .. Singing the happy hours away’” in the dressing room Dear Mabel came to me ’ of his visits, he brought a canary and asked me j The last refrain in the du ' et from .. Norma - has shortly after, saying the last dance was forming to keep it for Tom s sake; that during his irn- | been rendered freelv b me all d and alas , — o—j , and my partner had dispatched her for me 1 ; pnsonment it would serve to cheer him more ; for mokher _ I kno ,‘ tb ’ at note s have been alpaca, and the loveliest tie I have seen this sea- ! declined to re-appear, giving the excuse of a | than his own defunct specimens: and was pleased ! louder and sbriller tban “Clmrrie’s” as I warble son-a shade partaking both of claret and gar- ' throbbing headache. Ah ! what confusion arises when I gave a ready assent and proposed to name , j is mineespeeiallv wben x reach tbe last net. I clutched Tom impetuously, ejaculating between the head and the heart in these throb- , the birdie “Cherrie.” • ■ - [For The Sunny South.] M’AIMEE. BY ESPX. Ab the green maize upward springs From the warmth which Summer brings, Springs my love from thee—m’aimeel As the swallows southward fly, When the Winter’s chill is nigh, Flies my heart to thee—m'aimee! Like an oak with vines caressed, With their fragrant blossoms blest, Is my life with thee—m'aimee! And as with strong vines entwined, Oaks are safer from the wind, So my soul with thee—m’aimee! Life would be but one long sorrow, Like a night without a morrow, Parted still from thee— m'aimee ! And as dies a heart that’s broken, Slowly, without word or token, Dies my heart from thee—m'aimed [For The Sunny South.] JUST HOW IT IS. BT KITTY SOUTH. AO. III. A delightful and mysterious surprise has oc curred. To-day Tom brought me a package from the post-office, which, upon being opened, con tains a pair of kids exactly matching the gray For several weeks. I have been too busy and too happy to chronicle a word. Frank (ah ! he is so noble and true, and I love him with all my heart) takes up a great deal of my time. Tom never at a loss for topics of all-absorbing in terest. After consultation with mother, I have agreed to Frank’s request to fix our—our wedding-day. It will take place on New Year's morning, and we will go directly from the church to the depot, as we are to have a little trip to visit Erank’s sis ter, who lives at St. Augustine, Florida. What do you think has come to pass? My crazily-eager desire for a black silk suit is to be ratified. That dear, old angel, Mrs. Montague, encomiums upon him, but his truthful eyes and worded disclaimer, “No, Florence, ’pon honor, I don’t know any more than you do who is your fairy godmother,” routed all my foregone con clusions. I then flew to my dear mother, know ing that she must be the kind donor, but, to my unutterable surprise, she assures me that she neither gave me these things nor can she sur mise who made the gift. Well, my blessings at tend thee, whoever thou art. The two literary societies of the Griffin Fe male College, the Nightingale and Polymnia, are in the best of order and arrangement, and ev erything indicates the greatest degree of care and neatness on the part of the librarians. They tVioiv 1.4V.Wua (Ml® A uu-Ml, tkU.ll VllGy are nearly of the same number of volumes, Miss Fannie Richardson, the Nightingale libra rian, and Miss Annie Trammell, the Polymnia librarian, have had charge of the libraries of their respective societies during the present term, and to them is due the general air of neat ness that here prevails. The two libraries con tain about twelve hundred volumes of choice books, all of which are arranged in cabinets. The ladies of literary London have no meet ings there as they have in America. George El liott is sometimes seen in literary clubs with her husband, Mr. Lewes, but very rarely. She lives in a quiet, humble way, on the north side of London, in a little two-storv house. Lady Hardy, another of the great ladies of London, is living now just opposite. Mrs. Linton lives in about the heart of London, in a little more pretentious style. Christina Rosetti is an inva lid, and lives with her mother and brother. Jean Ingelow lives in the aristocratic Kensington Gardens quarter, but in a plain and quiet way, and is very accessible to Americans. In fact, all of these great ladies of London will make you feel at home as much in half an hour as if you’d gone to take tea with a favorite aunt.—Joaquin Miller. GOLDEN THOUGHTS. The tempter can throw no standing Christian by force. We cannot live in this world indifferent to appearances. Measure not men by Sundays, without regard ing what they So all the week'after. The doctrine that God is the object of certain and true knowledge lies at the foundation of all religion, and therefore must never be given up' Have the courage to show your respect for honesty in whatever guise it appears, and your contempt for dishonesty and duplicity by whomsoever exhibited. Our principles are the spring of our actions; our actions are the spring of our happiness or misery. Too much care, therefore, cannot be taken in forming Our principles. Let it not be imagined that the life of a good Christian must necessarily be a life of melan choly and gloominess, for he only resigns some pleasures to enjoy others infinitely greater.— Pascal. Let every dawn of morning be to you as the beginning of life, and every setting of the sun as its close; then let one of these short lives have its record of some kindly thing done for others, some goodly strength of knowledge gained for yourself . A smile costs the giver nothing, yet it is be yond price to the erring and repenting, th^ sad and cheerless, the lost and forsaken. It disarms malice, subdues temper, turns enmity to love, revenge to kindness, and paves the darkest paths with gems of sunlight. Good, kind, true, holy words dropped in con versation may be little thought of, but they are seeds of flowers of fruitful trees falling by the wayside, borne by some bird afar, happily there after to fringe with beauty some barren' moun tain, or to make glad some lone wilderness. Let Diotrephes say: “It is good for me have the pre-eminence.” Let Judas say: “It is good for me to bear the bag.” Let Demas say: “It is good for me to embrace the present world;” but do thou, oh my soul! say with David: “It is good for me to draw near to God.”—Arroicsmith. Often and often to me, and instinctively, has an innocent pleasure felt like a foretaste of in finite delight, an ante-past of heaven. Nor can I believe otherwise than that pure happiness is of a purifying effect; like Jewish bread from heaven, no doubt it is meant to invigorate as well as to gratify. —Mount ford. How light-hearted and happy I was when I wrote these last words one short week ago. And now I do not feel that I shall ever be happy or young again. Last Tuesday morning Mabel came round early to tell me that the “Social Club ” met that even ing at her house, and I promised her to be punctually present. Mabel said that Frank Fra zier was to be at her house during the morning to receive some directions about the music for the occasion, and that she knew it would be good news when she told him that I would be present at the Social. When Tom came in from school, I went out in the hall to meet him, thinking, of course, he would bring me a message from Frank to say that he would call for me that evening. I could not ask Tom outright this question, but I soon discovered he had no such message for me. The afternoon passed, and still nothing from Frank. Of course, Tom could take me round to the Moore’s very well, but Frank always has been my escort, and somehow it seems more promising, more prosperous, if you have an at tendant other than your brother. The hour arrived for me to go, and I felt that I was both becomingly and tastefully attired, but from some cause or other, I did not feel in the exact mood for festivity. Mabel met me at the door, and ushered me into the room with a triumphant— “Here’s our truant come back to us; girls, welcome her, one and all.” It was quite early, and not many of the gal- V'T'.t* bcA yet -.vrri-Wer, llUt i iSpifeCt X*Flf./Iket as soon as I entered the room, seated tete-a-tele with that pretty, flaxen-haired Miss Lawrence, whose family have lately come here from Peters burg, Virginia, and who have taken the gothic stone cottage near the river. Surely, I thought, he will come up to speak to me in a few mo ments; at any rate, I shall keep the first dance for him, which he has always called his peculiar property. The gentlemen had all arrived by this time, and the business of engaging dances is pursued with the zeal and ardor that any of the professions might well imitate. My dances are all clamored for, and I pledge them all save the first (which has always been Frank’s) and the last one before the reel, which I fancied he would also request, as he dislikes the reel, and never dances it. “Take your partners for a quadrille,” calls our trumpet-tongued fiddler, and there is a rush, pell-mell, here, there, and everywhere, to claim with Sabine eagerness the fair one belonging to you. I am for the moment almost crushed in my seat by the rush of eager seekers and claim ants of respective partners, my heart and my eyes both expectant of Frank’s coming. At last, there is a comparative lull in the excitement, the sets are formed, and the dancing begins. I find myself a wall-flower, and this occurs upon my first appearance in society after a with drawal of many months. Peering through the gay dancers, I have a view of Frank Frazier and Miss Lawrence, who are dancing together at the further end of the room. I felt my face flush and a strange tingling, caused by the mortifica tion and embarrassment which neglect produces, fills my ears. So busy are all that I am not ob served in my quiet work, and, let those despise me who will, it required not many moments of this dreary isolation to call forth two great, scalding tears, which fell upon my hand and startled me to a sense of the impropriety of such behavior. I determined to learn the lesson of “ How sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong,” just in time to escape Will Northrop’s notice, who now found his way to me, saying: “ Why, Miss Florie, you not dancing this set? Then I am more than comforted for not finding a partner myself.” The dance soon ends, and I, on Will’s arm, joined the promenaders. Not many moments elapsed before we met Frank Frazier and Miss Lawrence. The latter bowed in her own high bred style, while Frank, looking into my face with a steadfast, non-committal sort of expres sion, bowed politely, and the words “ Miss Florence ” reached me. He never before ad dressed me with such formality, and I, repent ing of my too-familiar greeting, determined then and there to be a Roland for his Oliver, and to become the very personification of for mality and indifference in all chance intercourse with the young gentleman. But, at the same time, my foolish heart throbbed a plea for mercy, because Frank is not looking well; he is very thin, with great pallor, and a gravity of expres sion which must be the result of suffering. Will Northrop is my constant attendant He not only takes the dance I bestowed upon him, but swindles two of the other boys out of theirs by exhibiting a fraudulent carte de danse. He con stitutes himself my reserve force both in dance and promenade, never quitting my side under any combination of circumstances. I suppose I may say, without the charge of undue vanity, that Will has been in the Barkis- is-willin’ state this whole year. And though, heretofore, I have cared nothing for this staunch worshipper at my shrine, yet, under the exist ing circumstances, I gladly receive his devotions, and, forgive me, oh, Cupid ! I, to all appearance, fully reciprocrate his partiality. The evening was drawing to a close, and I certainly had no cause to complain, for it was conceded that I had been the belle. This, I suppose, was due to my being rather a novelty, having absented myself so long from similar bings and aches ! Mabel’s duties, of course, pre vent her remaining with me; and, in truth, I did not wish her; I wanted to be left to myself or to be with mother. One miserable hour passed—the evening was over; and as Tom had not come to take me home, I was still within sound of the parting mirth and adieus, which seemed to mock me in my trouble. Mabel desired me to pass the night at their house, but no, I must go to mother now of all other times. I put on my wrappings, and a ser- „ a. . ,, ,, . , i pitch, second leger-line above the staff, and there Though Tom was sufficiently well to be out j f rflL Vith linuerinu slee. “ Jov-is-^ine!” again, still Frank continued to come to our house every day. One afternoon, when mother was out, on one of her everlasting parochial vis- | trill, with lingering glee, “ Joy- [the end.] — itings, and Tom was also missing, Frank called as usual. I told him that neither mother nor Tom were at home, but with a quiet smile, he said he was aware of that fact, and closing the [For The Sunny South.] The Origin of Shakspeare’s Plays. BY KENNETH Q. front door, he walked composedly into the sit ting-room. j In No. 27 of The Sunny South, a contributor I felt nervous at this state of affairs, and talked ! furnishes a story supposed to be the one from vant would see me safely home. I paused in volubly of the weather—which topic, like an old | which Shakspeare drew the materials for his the hall for Mabel to bring me my glove, when : servant, may be made sport of, but nevertheless \ tragedy of “King Lear.” We have not the op- ’ ’ is cherished right tenderly. I established my-J portunity to examine the question as thoroughly self upon a comfortless chair in the extreme cor- J as we should like to do, but what evidence we who should emerge from the deep shadow of the piazza but Frank Frazier, looking ghastly and unhappy, and yet so resolute and calm. He came directly to me with these words: “Florence Middleton, you have treated me with a want of courtesy of which, as a lady, I could never have dreamed you capable. I can but attribute it to the presence and influence of that senseless Northrop. But, as the trusted friend of your mother and brother, I, in their absence, deem it my duty to provide protection for you. As you have no other attendant, I will see you home.” This speech, Frank’s cold, hard face, which seemed modeled in stone, my own remorse and wretchedness, were all too much for me. I threw myself upon the lounge in hysterical weeping. “No, no,” I sobbed, “you shall not take me home, because—because—you say you are doing so only that there is no one else. If you would just go away, and stay away, and never see me. Oh, how unhappy you have made me this whole evening!” Mrs. Moore and Mabel both come to me with soothing words, Frank is made to go away, and I reach home under the servant’s care. Of course, my dear mother is awaiting my return, and her half-uttered expression of dismay at my tearful and woeful appearance is cut short by my falling into her arms and giving vent to a great burst of weeping. She coaxed and petted me to quietness, and I then related how Frank bad wholly,1 ■jacrjoV in'--&**- tVe tfr-vfr ifc evening, ana then his coldness which produced my rude treatment, and the last wrong of all when he said that he would bring me home, only because he felt it his duty as I had no other escort. By the way, mother says that Tom failed to return for me because his ankle, which he sprained at his game of base ball the other afternoon, was paining him greatly, and had be come so swollen that she advised him to go to bed. Moreover, she felt sure that my kind host ess would have me remitted to her safely. Strange to say, mother is neither indignant nor hurt with Frank Frazier. She only seems grieved at my depression and tearfulness. When I proclaim the young gentleman to be a ne’er- do-well, whom I neither wish to see or hear of any more, she positively smiles, and says that young people are strange compounds, who abso lutely delight in cross-purposes and making themselves unhappy. But I am steadfast in my determination—to have nothing to do with Frank again, no, never, and I am going into the country twenty miles off, to visit an old friend of mother’s, where I shall be far away « From this hollow world And all its hollow crew.** ner of the room; but Frank, taking my hand, led me back towards the mantle, inviting me to occupy mother’s chair, and saying: “Florrie, I have a narrative to give, which I hope will not weary you. Can you not guess who is the heroine of my story?” “Of course I can,” I quickly rejoin. “Miss Lawrence, I presume, is the favored fair one.” “Now, Florrie, let me at once clear away any mist that may rest in your eyes upon the sub ject of my intercourse with Miss Lawrence. Do you know she is to be married, early in the year, to one whom she has loved and to whom she has been betrothed for more than two years? And I will add, he certainly is a lucky fellow, for I ” “Oh, don’t trouble to complete the sentence; I understand. You proposed yourself, was re jected, and you are proud to confess the soft im peachment.” And here I withdrew as much as possible into the cavernous depths of mother’s chair. “No,” replied Frank, looking yearningly into my face, as he laid his hand softly but firmly upon mine. “I have never told my love; but I do not mean to let ‘concealment feed on my damask cheek,”’ (and here a smile for a moment dissipates the earnestness), “for I am here now, Florrie, to declare for the first time my love for woman—the only woman who has ever, or can ever inspire it.” Xm I arearning ? ’ Can it be that Frank means it? I sit in a sort of trance; gazing into the glowing coals, I see fairy palaces and stars and angels, while sweetest music wafts my soul heav enwards; my heart gives quick, irregular beats, and a subtle dreaminess is settling down upon me. Oh, can it be that Frank means me ? “Florrie, darling, answer me,—may I believe that my all-absorbing love is not wholly unre quited ? Only say you love me a little,the least bit, and my own measureless devotion must quicken that germ into full and glorious perfection.” Yery well, Mr. Frank. I see now, clearly enough, the drifting of matters; but I won’t sur render without some show of fight. “ Frank,” assuming a hauteur which I did not truly feel, “experiencing all this grand passion, how could you have kept yourself away so per sistently for months ?” “Florence,” more dignified he waxes, “you know perfectly that you refused to accept my escort, though repeatedly offered; you even have upon the subject points to the chronicles of Raphael Hollinshed as the source from which the plot of this drama was taken. Indeed, there is no doubt of this, we presume; for Shakspeare copies literally many words of the annals. Hol linshed was a “prosaic chronicler,” who lived in the sixteenth century, and who devoted much of that life to collecting legendary and other matter relative to the history of England. The legend of the British King Lear no doubt ex isted in other dramas and other forms; but the great creator, Shakspeare, evidently took the clay from these old chronicles, and breathed into it the breath of life, a life which he alone could give. “Macbeth’’and “Cymbeline” are from the same source. However, Shaksphere had access to the “ Gesta Romanorum; his comedies, “ Pericles ” and the “Merchant of Venice ” are formed chiefly upon this foundation. “Hamlet” is considered as taken from Saxo-Grammaticus, and an older play; “Antony and Cleopatra,” “ Coriolanus, ” and “ Julius Cresar, ” are from Plutarch. *‘ Rich ard II.’’and “RichardIII.’’are from the “Chron icles of Hall, Fabian and Hollinshed.” Parts I, II, and III, of “Henry VI.,” according to Shaw, are from various old plays, among which are: The “Contention Between the Famous Houses of York and Lancaster,” Parts I. and II. of “ Henry IV.,” also “ Henry V.” and “ Henry VIII.,” from an old play, “The Famous Victories of Henry V.” Chaucer furnishes the plot for the “ Midsum mer Night’s Dream” in his “Knight’s Tale,” which, by the way, Chaucer himself took, in part, from Boccacio’s “Theseida,” and Boccacio from Statius. “As You Like It” is from Thos. Lodge’s “ Rosalvnde ” and Chaucer’s tale of “ Gamelyn;” “ Troilus andCressida” partly from Chaucer’s “ Troilus and Cressida,” through Boc cacio’s “ Filostrato, ” through Guido di Colonna, through the “ mysterious book entitled ‘Trophe,’ of the equally mysterious author, Lollins.” The “Winter’s Tale” is supposed to be from Greene’s “Dorastus and Fawnia;” “Timon of Athens,” from Plutarch, Lucian, etc.; “Romeo and Juliet,” from the “Palace of Pleasure;” “Measure for Measure” and “Othello,” from Cinthio’s “Hecatommithi;” “Much Ado About Nothing,” from the “Orlando Furioso;” “All’s Well That End’s Well,” from the “Palace of Pleasure” (Boccacio); “Comedy of Errors,’’from avoided me in every way. Surely, you cannot ] Plautus’ “Menoechmi;” “Twelfth Knight,’’from expect a man to sacrifice his self-respect, even | “Bandello and Belleforest;” “Taming of the in the pursuit of so cherished an object. No; I j Shrew,” from “an old English piece of the same could no longer remain beside you to be contin-| name;” “Titus Andronicus,” from “an older ually denied even the most ordinary courtesy, j play, probably.” Moreover, my love has been as patient as it is powerful. I determined to wait upon you,—to wait some chance that should determine to your own sweet will that you needed me.” “Well, upon my word! Is it this overween ing self-appreciation that I am to hear talked about? Or, happily, it may have already ex hausted itself.” “Take care, Florence! Even I, with all this heart full of royal love, may be wounded past all healing. Have done with your mocking,” an ominous gravity here pervades Frank’s whole manner, “and answer me, here before God and ( There is some doubt as to the exact origin of “Love’s Labors Lost,” “Merry Wives of Wind sor ” and “ Two Gentlemen of Verona;” at least, we have never been able to find anything satis factory upon the subject. We said, above, that “Othello” is taken from Cinthio’s “Hecatommithi.” This is according to Shaw, who cites Dec. viii, Nov. 7. This is perhaps true, but we have good reasons for doubting it. The same authority—a very good one—also states that the exact origin of “ The Tempest ” is unknown, but that it is probably Italian. He is wrong in this. We have evidence our own hearts, do you love me? Can you love i that the comedy of “The Tempest” is original. me ?” j This is, perhaps, the only drama in which Shak- Frank has taken both my hands, and is bend- j speare took the trouble to construct a plot. He ing over me, with his whole soul looking through j appropriated boldly and with a free hand what- his liquid eyes. What must Isay? How must j ever suited his purpose. He dashed off his I answer Frank? His words have stirred a new j work in all grades of excellence, steeping them life in me, and I never was so happy before; but j for all time in his own essence, which essence oh ! I cannot find any words. [ possessed the peculiar property of preserving, The hands are pressed more tightly, his face j purifying, converting, naturalizing, vivifying, draws Dearer mine, and I feel his quick breath soul-giving whatever it touched, without leaving upon my cheek as he says hoarsely: a tinge or a taint of its own being upon its erea- “One little word, darling — only one. Will i tions. Who will call this man a plagiarist? you not say that sweetest word—love ?” ■ Was not the virgin marble made for the God- “ Love!” I utter in parrot fashion; and imme- j touched hand of the sculptor? Were not the diately I am enigmatically elevated from the | beasts of the field and the fishes of the sea and AO. IV. I have been singing all the happy notes that bubble up so naturally from my heart these days. Ah! “ It is better to laugh than be sighing.” Mother says it is a question with her who is the merriest or most carolsome—me or the canary, “Cherrie.” Well, how like a panorama my life is, with its alternate vales of deep shadow and gloom, and high peaks of light and verdure—elevations so great and luminous that the glory of heaven itself seems resting upon them. In accordance with my determination to go into the country for that visit to mother’s friend, I wrote to the old lady that I should go up to Woodlawn the Saturday following, and begun without delay to make my simple arrangements. My trunk was all packed and every minute detail completed—for I hoped to take the noonday train of the next day—when I received a letter from Mrs. Montague to this effect: She was so happy to know that “dear Mary’s daughter” was coming to Woodlawn to brighten the old place with her sunshine, but that she was com pelled to ask a brief postponement of this pleas ure. Her daughter from New Orleans, with her eight children, were for the present filling the house to its utmost capacity, and their physi cian, from fear of yellow fever, had forbidden their return to the city for a fortnight longer. After this date, she would expect me without fail. This disarrangement of my plans was a sore trial to me, but mother, comforting me with her usual sweetness, said she knew it was for the best, and she believed that what now seemed so great a cloud would unfold such an amount of silver lining that I would lose sight altogether of the cloud. For the next week, I was kept very busy help ing mother with Tom’s pants and vests; she al ways gets me to work the button-holes, as it tries her eyes too much. One afternoon, towards the end of the week, as we were sitting busily sewing, there was a ring at the door, and Tom, who answered it, brought mother a message from Frank Frazier, saying he would like to see her for a few moments. I considered it quite a piece of assurance that he should ask to see my mother; but imagine my surprise and indignation (I must use the word) when mother said, interrogatively: ——, 0 v - “ , i “Florrie, I believe I shall just have Frank barrassment would have declared sufficiently 1 A contemporary asks, “ What are street lamps brought in here?” ' what occurrence had transpired, but Frank’s for?” The man who doesn’t know what street “ I sprang from mv seat, with burning cheeks spoken words gave more explicit information, lamps are for is hardly fit to sit in an editorial and angry words, I am sorry to add, saying as I Meeting mother almost at the threshold, he said: j chair and mould public opinion. Street lamps, flew from the room: 1 “Mrs. Middleton, give me joy ! I have won j of course, are for weary young men to recline “I do believe my own mother prefers Frank Florrie’s love, and only your blessing is neces- against at midnight or a'fter, when they have lost; Frazier to me!” | sary to complete my happiness.” j their bearings or forgotten their way home. “ the fowls of the air created to live and lay down their lives for the master, man? So thought Shakspeare; so thinks the world. We have been led to say this from reading the article of your interesting correspondent. We may be wrong or misinformed in some of the depths of the chair, and find myself close to Frank’s heart, while tender signets are stamped upon lips and brow. How much we had to talk over, and how many things which have appeared past comprehension _ are now as clear as noonday. Frank says that j statements, but in many we are certainly right. Mrs Frazier came to see mother on that memo- | The origin of these plays is truly a delicate sub- rable occasion, of which I have spoken, with the I J ect : especially so in these days when even their business in view of “discovering how her un- ! authorship is doubted by some, and bandied worthy son stood in my angel eyes,” to use | * rom hand to hand. Frank's lover-expression. j *** And from whence do you think my gray gloves j Disasters of the Sea.—The “sad sea waves ” and garnet tie came ? Frank says that whenever : are murmuring melancholy dirges over the he saw Tom, during those long months of “more ! corpses of many fresh victims. This fall has than Egyptian darkness,” (Frank’s phraseology j been a fatal season for those who “go down to again), he always questioned him in detail about ; the sea in ships.” The past week or two have me, and it was in one of these catechisings that j been especially fruitful of ocean disasters, which he found out my expressed desire for these arti- j have in that time swallowed up the lives of per- cles, and Tom’s wish to procure them for me. haps five hundred persons. The Pacific went Without delay, he made the selection at Mel- 1 down with two hundred and fifty; the Waco was vin’s, and sent me the package through the mail, ; burned with fifty, and numerous other vessels We were still absorbed in those endless chat- j are reported lost with more or less people on tings and tender nothings which fill the time of board. The “teeth of the storm” were appa- lovers, when mother and Tom came in. Frank’s ; rently whetted for a banquet on human life, undisguised radiance and my own blushing em TNSTTWnT PR TNT