rth, but she is no longer visible. A temple is built for her
in every mortal's bosom, but she never ascends her throne until welcomed
there by the child of Honor and Love."

The morning sun aroused Eve from her slumber, but did not dispel the
memory of her dream. "I will return to Eden, and there await until the
child of Honor and Love shall enthrone in my bosom the lost nymph
Happiness;" and saying this, she turned her face to the eastward, and
thinking of Adam and her vision, journeyed joyfully along.

The sun of Spring had opened the flowers and clothed the woods in
verdure; had freed the streams from their icy fetters, and inspired the
warbling world with harmony, when two forlorn and weary travelers
approached the banks of the river Pison; that river which had flowed
through the garden of Eden when the first sunshine broke upon the world.
A hundred years had rolled away, and the echo of no human voice had
resounded through the deserted groves. At length the dusky figures
emerged from the overshadowing shrubbery, and raised their eyes into
each other's faces. One bound--one cry--and they weep for joy in each
other's arms.

Adam related his sad and melancholy story, and then Eve soon finished
hers. But no sooner had she told her dream, than Adam, straining her to
his bosom, exclaimed:

"There is no mystery here, my Eve. If Happiness on earth be indeed the
child of Honor and Love, it must be in Matrimony alone. What else now
left us on earth can lay claim to the precious boon? Approved by heaven,
and cherished by man, in the holy bonds of Matrimony it must consist;
and if this be all, we need seek no further; it is ours!"

They then knelt in prayer, and returned thanks to Heaven, that though
the garden of Eden was a wild, and the nymph Happiness no longer an
angel at their side, yet that her spirit was still present in every
bosom where the heart is linked to Honor and Love by the sacred ties of
Matrimony.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XIX.

_THE LAST OF HIS RACE._

No further can fate tempt or try me,
With guerdon of pleasure or pain;
Ere the noon of my life has sped by me,
The last of my race I remain.
To that home so long left I might journey;
But they for whose greeting I yearn,
Are launched on that shadowy ocean
Whence voyagers never return.

My life is a blank in creation,
My fortunes no kindred may share;
No brother to cheer des