"Well," said he, "you must come home with me then. Emily Warren is
arrived. She is a charming girl, and a great friend of my wife's. You
will be sure of Clara's good word, and I really think Emily will exactly
suit you."

"I am afraid not," replied I, as I turned into the church.

Richards opened his eyes in amazement when he saw Louise, with her aunt,
sister, and the whole of the bridal party, walking up the aisle, and
Father Antoine standing at the altar in his robes.

"What does this mean?" said he.

I made no answer, but let matters explain themselves. Ten minutes after,
Louise Menou was my wife.

GREECE UNDER THE ROMANS.{A}

What is called _Philosophical History_ we believe to be yet in its
infancy. It is the profound remark of Mr Finlay--profound as we
ourselves understand it, _i.e._, in relation to this philosophical
treatment, "That history will ever remain inexhaustible." How
inexhaustible? Are the _facts_ of history inexhaustible? In regard to
the _ancient_ division of history with which he is there dealing, this
would be in no sense true; and in any case it would be a lifeless truth.
So entirely have the mere facts of Pagan history been disinterred,
ransacked, sifted, that except by means of some chance medal that may be
unearthed in the illiterate East, (as of late towards Bokhara,) or by
means of some mysterious inscription, such as those which still mock the
learned traveller in Persia, northwards near Hamadan, (Ecbatana,) and
southwards at Persepolis, or those which distract him amongst the
shadowy ruins of Yucatan (Uxmal, suppose, and Palenque,)--once for all,
barring these pure godsends, it is hardly "in the dice" that any
downright novelty of fact should remain in reversion for this 19th
century. The merest possibility exists, that in Armenia, or in a
Graeco-Russian monastery on Mount Athos, or in Pompeii, &c., some authors
hitherto +anekdotoi+ may yet be concealed; and by a channel in that
degree improbable, it is possible that certain new facts of history may
still reach us. But else, and failing these cryptical or subterraneous
currents of communication, for us the record is closed. History in that
sense is come to an end, and sealed up as by the angel in the
Apocalypse. What then? The facts _so_ understood are but the dry bones
of the mighty past. And the question arises here also, not less than in
that sublimest of prophetic visions, "Can these dry bones live?" Not
only they can