"Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all

We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall,

"Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew; Thou art the radiance which here ocean rolls

"Investest it; and when the heavens are blue Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair, The shadow of thy moving wings imbue

"Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear Beauty like some bright robe; thou ever soarest Among the towers of men, and as soft air

"In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men ; and aye implorest

"That which from thee they should implore; the weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts

The strong have broken, - yet where shall any seek A garment whom thou clothest not?”

い

MRS. ROCHESTER'S BALL.

T

is a glorious night, or morning, as it is after two o'clock. I have been out on the

terrace; I cannot sleep; my heart is too full

of tender inquietude about a strangely-lagging happiness I would fain hurry on, if I knew how, for those who are very dear to me. Every one else is asleep; stillness reigns in this vast palazzo, and even the great city is quiet. The season is just on the verge of June; the moon is at the full, and its sharp, clear light lies on the "straight-up tufa rock" behind the terrace, pointing

out

"Where lichens mock

The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit

Their teeth to the polished block.”

A "love-lorn nightingale," hidden in the dark foliage of the orange-trees which are in that garden on the terWhat a raced hill, pours out a perfect flood of song. delicious note! It is as if the rich odor of the starry fruit-blossom had become a voice. At first, the bird trilled a little faintly, then the notes fell into a heavy gurgle, and she stopped, as if frightened at her own voice, recalling to me Chaucer's

"New abashéd nightingale,

That stinteth first when she beginneth sing";

but now she utters a peal of glad music, and "showers a rain of melody," without stint or limit,

"Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden

Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not."

But why is the nightingale called "love-lorn"? That song is full of joy and rapture. I know Shakespeare says,

"The nightingale's complaining notes,"

and the ancient poets gave the same description. Sophocles calls the bird "lamenting Itys," and likens her to Electra. Homer, too, in the Odyssey, compares Penelope's restlessness to the nightingale; but, while listening to that gush of gay melody, - there, it bursts out afresh! I cannot agree with these great authorities, but rather side with jovial Chaucer, who, in his Flower and Leaf, calls the nightingale's song "a merry note."

Beyond the broad Mergellina the sea sparkles like cloven gems, and off in the distance Vesuvius glows. It is indeed a glorious night; and this loveliness of nature and my tender thoughts make "civil wars within my brain," as Sir Philip Sidney says. Like him, I have

"Smooth pillows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light,

A rosy garland, and a weary head."

For if the garland on my head this evening was of rich lace, instead of rosy flowers, it was none the less a festal one. Mrs. Rochester gave a ball to-night, and it was a very brilliant affair; " a success," as Mrs. Folham reiterated, "yes, my dear, a positive success."

Our two beauties looked well. I love the detail of

dress, and have a true feminine weakness for all those delicious nothings which go towards the making up of a beautiful woman into a charming Watteau or gorgeous Titian picture; and Florence and Venitia were to-night the living counterparts of those two masters' creations. Florence's toilette was one of those indescribable but veritable inspirations of the French modiste; and its delicate pink hue, with puffings and flounces of airy tulle, and all the accessories of rose-buds and light ornaments, suited well her dainty little person.

Venitia's fine, large form needs something more exact in costume than the pretty blonde does; her dress tonight was a rich, heavy silk; its color was that lovely Venetian green; and the haze of soft, costly lace which fell over it made it look like sea-foam. The drapery of the robe was fastened on her superb shoulders, and over the breast, with large onyxes, set around with fine-sized pearls; the head-dress and armlets were adorned with the same gems. There are nine of these finely-sculptured stones, which Janet has owned for years, unset, — Paul's gift. A few weeks ago we were admiring them, and Luigi suggested the setting of them as a costume decoration, very well suited for Venitia's style in full dress. Janet took to the idea, and had them arranged by a jeweller, under his supervision. They were only completed a few days since, and to-night Venitia wore them all.

A sleeping Medusa forms the girdle-clasp. A Psyche gathers the drapery across the bosom, while an Iris and Hebe fasten the shoulder-bands. The armlets are formed of a broad, fine network of gold, clasped with Egyptian Bacchantes. The head-dress is composed of fillets of gold network, something in the style of the Sappho bands;

three or four of these are plaited in a caul, in which the rich braids of Venitia's hair are gathered, and this rests on the back of her finely-shaped head; another band, set with large, oblong pearls, is clasped, at each ear, to the caul by small, exquisitely-cut butterflies; this band passes across the front of the head, rising in a diadem shape, after the fashion of that on the brow of the Ludovisian Juno, and in the centre of this diadem of gold and pearls is placed the largest and finest onyx of the collection; its subject is a sleeping Psyche, with a butterfly hovering over the temple and another nestling into the breast, sad emblem of the double awakening love causes in brain and heart.

Janet and I served as foils to these two pretty girls. We were in the orthodox costumes of our age. She wore a queen's-gray moiré, and I a Parma violet silk, both gowns shaded becomingly with rich black lace, accompanied with a discreet sprinkling of diamonds. When we all met in our drawing-room to drink tea together, before going to the ball, Philip and Luigi talked of coloring and artistic grouping.

"But the fine effect of this beautiful dressing," I said, "will be ruined by the bad taste one is apt to meet with at an evening party. Just think of the discords that will be made by some horrid chemical-blue gown passing near Venitia's delicate sea-foam, or Pompadour pink clashing against Florence's rose-bud hue.”

"Like a public picture-gallery," replied Philip; "but Luini and I will appoint ourselves hanging committee, and give you all the best lights."

Soon after we arrived, Venitia was taken to the musicroom by Mr. Rochester, to play for him and a small circle of friends a lovely Ghazel, to which he has lately taken a