young ladies, any one of whom it would be desirable that a young gentleman living in that district should know and respectfully admire. These James had seen oftentimes in their pretty summer dresses as they walked past him on the Stillorgan road, or floated up the aisle to the chief seats at church. But what were they to Evadne and Beatrice, to Rosalind and Juliet,-to the "fair-haired Lady Helen, divine among women," to the "prioress, that of her smiling was so simple and coy," to that Emily, who was

"Fairer to be seen

Than is a lily on its stalk of green"?

These and others of the immortals he had worshipped in many a "dream of fair women." And so it was, that when his father informed him that morning that Miss Ellen Martin, his cousin, was coming to stay for some time on a visit with them, "whom James would take care to treat with proper respect and attention" (Mr. Field was not by any means fond of giving premature information of any of his plans to his family, and his bulletins were always sudden and concise), James's thoughts had been much occupied with the coming young lady. Her name ("and a name oftentimes delighteth," as Theocritus says) was a favourite one with him. Which of his ideals who bore it would she resemble? For he could not endure to fancy her bearing any likeness to the insipid and serious-minded young females whose communication was yea and nay, and who looked frightened when he spoke to them at the above-mentioned tea-parties. And he was retiring to the fields to meditate,as has been customary with young gentlemen under such circumstances since the time of Isaac and Rebecca,-when he met Miss Martin at the gate of Grove Lodge. Perhaps he was a little disappointed both in her manner and appearance. She was not as she had existed in his imagination. Her person was rather graceful than beautiful; her forehead was clear and well defined; her features were delicate, and her dark brown hair arranged plainly in bands, and confined in a net behind. In looking at her with attention, one saw that there was more than appeared at first sight: her eyes had capability of tenderness and animation, her lips of smiling, that did not become evident at all times or to every one.

She spoke but little, and, it must be confessed, in this first interview said nothing that would have been at all effective in a tragedy, genteel comedy, or even fashionable novel. Yet, somehow, her companion did not feel as if his ideal were altogether unrealized. There was still some

thing about this little school-girl that might not be altogether alien to the ladies of Homer and Shakspeare. All that impression which the poet must convey in words, making the character speak itself to us, in actual life, be given equally well in a thousand undefinable graces of manner, in movements, look, tones of voice. There is a beauty which is from within, and distinguished from the beauty which is merely from without the one is eternal, being the manifestation of thought, and, like it, independent of time and space, bonnets and crinoline; the other is a mere temporary arrangement, resulting from a particularly shaped nose or chin, or twirl of the hair. And something of this exterior beauty, of which we have spoken, Ellen Martin certainly possessed, "which dilating had moulded her mien and motion," as is observed in the case of another young lady by a poet-whom that remarkably clearthinking and vigorous writer, Mr. Ruskin, has with his usual good taste described as being "shallow and verbose"-one Percy Bysshe Shelley.

James and his companion had by this time turned into the avenue above mentioned as Stillorgan Grove, he naturally leading the way to his own favourite haunt. The sun was shining full upon them, it being just hot enough to make the partial covert of the trees desirable. Ellen was the first to speak.

"What beautiful, what very beautiful trees! You have trees and green hedges everywhere here; but even here I have seen none like these; for you must know, Mr. James, that you are to be prepared for my showing great enthusiasm at all things rural:-I that have spent all my life where I believe there was not a genuine green tree within miles of me."

"And where was that?"

"London-don't you know that I have been always at school there till my uncle invited me to come here?"

"No, I never heard your name till this morning, and then I was told nothing more than your name, and that you were my cousin."

"Indeed," said Ellen, "I know very little more of my own history than that comes to, myself; what I do know I will tell you, if you like, some day when we get better acquainted, and you have nothing else to employ yourself with; but just now I won't think of anything of the kind, as I am determined to be happy and in the best of good spirits, for the rest of to-day, at all events, if you please, Mr. James. Only sce how pleasantly the light comes down through the branches over us; why it makes even my poor black gown look less melancholy!"

"At all events, I am glad you like this place; it is my own espe

cial walk. I choose it because no one else ever comes here, and I have it all to myself. Thanks to that board with 'Trespassers will be prosecuted,' &c., the wood is all mine own unto the end of time. I often bring out my books here, and read all day long."

"And I suppose," said Ellen, very demurely, "you are in great alarm at this invasion of your dominions by a silly girl, who will come here to talk nonsense and disturb you at your lessons.”

"College men don't learn lessons," was the true and dignified reply, and then followed a somewhat elaborate exposition of his University rank and position of a Senior Freshman of the honors he had been in for, and of the poem he had written to compete for the Vice-Chancellor's Prize. To all of which strange things Ellen listened with grave and admiring bewilderment. Nay, so confidential did they become, that James even ventured to repeat to her some of the crack passages from the said poem. She afterwards copied it out for him in a very pretty and legible handwriting, and it obtained the high distinction aimed at by the author. (En passant, we give a stanza, quoted from memory, as a specimen; the subject we believe to have been something about the execution of one Lord Wilmot in the English history:

"He died—his faults and failings

In all men's minds should die;
But his statue, girt with iron railings,
Stands in the Forum high;

And on his sleeves the ruffles

Which he was wont to wear;

And in his hand the curling tongs

With which he curled his hair."

Sic cætera.)

They were sitting down together on the grass-a pleasant spot, under a huge beech tree, where the sun's rays slanted off, and the thick mosses sank under one like a velvet couch.

"Are you fond of reading, cousin Ellen?" said James at last, pausing in his eloquence.

"Oh! no, not at all! very, very far from it; and it is only fair that I should tell you at once what a stupid, ignorant, good-for-nothing cousin you will have to live with. But though I hate reading myself, I will be very good, and receive gratefully all the information you deign to give me, Mr. James."

"I have not so very much information myself, and I wish you would

not call Mr. James when you speak to me, unless you wish me to call you Miss Martin, which perhaps you do."

"Oh! no," exclaimed that young lady, "no one calls me that, at least, no one that is fond of me"-and she blushed the prettiest aposiopæsis in the world.

"And I am fond of you already," said James, like a man, as he was in heart; "and I hope we shall always be friends."

"I know we shall, James," said Ellen.

"Ils commencent à dire nous. Ah! qu'il est touchant ce nous prononcé par l'amour." But of "La Nouvelle Heloise" neither James nor Ellen had ever read a page, and of "l'amour" it was utterly impossible for either of them to think, as at that moment the dinner-bell rang from Grove Lodge, whither they bent their way-James with a certain amount of trepidation, as if in thus engaging in a new friendship he had done. something wrong, though how, he could not exactly define to himself; Ellen walking beside him, with her thoughts as much at ease as if she had just been sauntering in the playground of Magnal Hall, Clapham (it was kept by a grand-niece of that celebrated compiler of Universal Knowledge under false pretences). Why should she not ?-her thoughts, as her words, were utterly unworldly and unconventional, as different from those of most young ladies as was her neat, close-fitting crape dress from the exceedingly graceful and decorous ball costume which it is fashionable for them to wear in this our moral and civilized nineteenth century. C. P. M.

(To be continued.)

THE HOUSE OF ADMETUS.

(ALCESTIS, 567-605.)

HAIL! House of the open door,

To the guest and the wanderer free!
The Lord of the Lyre himself of yore
Deigned to inhabit thee.

In thy halls disguised in his shepherd's weeds

He endured for a while to stay,

Through the upland rocks,
To the feeding flocks

Piping the pastoral lay.

And the spotted Lynx was tame
With the joy of the mighty spell;
And, a tawny troop, the Lions came
From the leafy Othrys' dell;

And where the tall pines waved their locks,
Still as the lute would play,
Light tripped the Fawn.

O'er the level lawn,

Entranced by the genial lay.

The house where the Lord Admetus bides
Is blest for the Pythian's sake-
Fast by the shores that skirt the tides
Of the pleasant Bobian Lake;

His fallows and fields the Molossians bound
Toward the stall of the Steeds of Day,
And to airy sweep

Of Ægean steep

All Pelion owns his sway.

He will welcome his guest with a moistened lid,

Though his halls be opened wide;

And affection's tear will start unbid

For her that hath lately died.

For the noble heart to its sorrow yields;
But wise is the good man's breast,

And my faith I plight

He will act aright

By the Dead, and the stranger Guest.

T. E. W.