he honied wells
Of flowers of Paradise;

Though it hath brought celestial hues
To light the ways of life,
The dust shall weigh its pinions down
Amid the noisy strife.

And yet, perchance, some kindred soul
Shall see its glory shine,
And feel its wings within his heart
As bright as I do thine.

THE RIVAL SISTERS.

AN ENGLISH TRAGEDY OF REAL LIFE.

BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMAN TRAITOR,"
"MARMADUKE WYVIL," ETC.

(_Concluded from page 22_.)

PART II.

A lovely summer's evening in the year 168-, was drawing toward its
close, when many a gay and brilliant cavalcade of both sexes, many of
the huge gilded coaches of that day, and many a train of liveried
attendants, winding through the green lane, as they arrived, some in
this direction from Eton, some in that, across Datchet-mead, from
Windsor, and its royal castle, came thronging toward Ditton-in-the-Dale.

Lights were beginning to twinkle, as the shadows fell thick among the
arcades of the trim gardens, and the wilder forest-walks which
extended their circuitous course for many a mile along the stately
hall of the Fitz-Henries; loud bursts of festive or of martial music
came pealing down the wind, mixed with the hum of a gay and happy
concourse, causing the nightingales to hold their peace, not in
despair of rivaling the melody, but that the mirth jarred unpleasantly
on the souls of the melancholy birds.

The gates of Ditton-in-the-Dale were flung wide open, for it was gala
night, and never had the old hall put on a gayer or more sumptuous
show than it had donned that evening.

From far and near the gentry and the nobles of Buckingham and
Berkshire had gathered to the birth-day ball--for such was the occasion
of the festive meeting.

Yes! it was Blanche Fitz-Henry's birth-day; and on this gay and glad
anniversary was the fair heiress of that noble house to be introduced
to the great world as the future owner of those beautiful demesnes.

From the roof to the foundation the old manor-house--it was a stately
red brick mansion of the latter period of Elizabethan architecture,
with mullioned windows, and stacks of curiously wreathed chimneys--was
one blaze of light; and as group after group of gay and high-born
riders came caracoling up to the hospitable porch, and coach after
coach, with its running footmen, or mounted outriders lumbered slowly
in their train, the saloons and corridor