e lipped cherubim, how does thy
smile illuminate the universe! how does thy slightest touch electrify
the soul! how gently and tenderly dost thou lead us up to heaven!

With Surrey, to decide was to act. The second letter, full of sweetest
yet intensest love,--his heart laid bare to her,--was written; was sent,
enclosed in one to his aunt. Tom was away in another section, fighting
manfully for the dear old flag, or the precious missive would have been
intrusted to his care. He sent it thus that it might reach her sooner.
Now that he had a fresh hope, he could not wait to write for her
address, and forward it himself to her hands; he must adopt the
speediest method of putting it in her possession.

In a little space came answer from Mrs. Russell, enclosing the letter he
had sent: a kindly epistle it was. He was a sort of idol with this same
aunt, so she had put many things on paper that were steeped in
gentleness and affection ere she said at the end, "I re-enclose your
letter. I have seen Miss Ercildoune. She restores it to you; she
implores you never to write her again,--to forget her. I add my
entreaties to hers. She begs of me to beseech you not to try her by any
further appeals, as she will but return them unopened." That was all.

What could it mean? He loved her so absolutely, he had such exalted
faith in her kindness, her gentleness, her fairness and superiority,--in
_her_,--that he could not believe she would so thrust back his love,
purely and chivalrously offered, with something that seemed like
ignominy, unless she had a sufficient reason--or one she deemed
such--for treating so cruelly him and the offering he laid at her feet.

But she had spoken. It was for him, then, when she bade silence, to keep
it; when she refused his gift, to refrain from thrusting it upon her
attention and heart. But ah, the silence and the refraining! Ah, the
time--the weary, sore, intolerable time--that followed! Summer, and
autumn, and winter, and the seasons repeated once again, he tramped
across the soil of Virginia, already wet with rebel and patriot blood;
he felt the shame and agony of Bull Run; he was in the night struggle at
Ball's Bluff, where those wondrous Harvard boys found it "sweet to die
for their country," and discovered, for them, "death to be but one step
onward in life." He lay in camp, chafing with impatience and
indignation as the long months wore away, and the thousands of graves
about Washington, filled by