ark upon me?"

"No,--you shall not call yourself one. You are only lifted above the
gross earth, because you are more angelic than the rest of us. I hear
your mother's coming footsteps; I will leave you together, that you may
reveal to her all that is passing in your heart."

I left her; and as I passed Mrs. Linwood on the stairs, and met her
anxious eyes, I said: "Edith has the heart of a woman. I know by my own
experience how gently you will deal with it."

She kissed me without speaking; but I read in her expressive countenance
that mingled look of grief and resignation with which we follow a friend
to that bourne where we cannot follow them. Edith was lost to her. She
was willing to forsake her mother for the stranger's home,--she who
seemed bound to her by the dependence of childhood, as well as the close
companionship of riper years. I read this in her saddened glance; but I
did not deem her selfish. Other feelings, too, doubtless blended with
her own personal regrets. She had no reason to look upon marriage as a
state of perfect felicity. Her own had been unhappy. She knew the dark
phantom that haunted our wedded hours; and what if the same hereditary
curse should cling to Edith,--who might become morbidly sensitive on
account of her personal misfortune?

Knowing it was the last evening of our stay, I felt as if every moment
were lost, passed within doors. It seemed to me, now, as if I had
literally seen nothing, so stupendously did images of beauty and
grandeur grow upon my mind, and so consciously and surprisingly did my
mind expand to receive them.

The hour of sunset approached,--the last sunset that I should behold,
shining in golden glory on the sheeted foam of the Falls. And then I
saw, what I never expect to witness again, till I see the eternal
rainbows round about the throne of God,--three entire respondent
circles, one glowing with seven-fold beams within the other, full,
clear, distinct as the starry stripes of our country's banner,--no
fracture in the smooth, majestic curves,--no dimness in the gorgeous
dyes.

And moonlight,--moonlight on the Falls! I have read of moonlight on the
ruins of the Coliseum; in the mouldering remains of Grecian elegance and
Roman magnificence; but what is it compared to this? The eternal youth,
the undecaying grandeur of nature, illumined by that celestial light
which lends glory to ruins, and throws the illusion of beauty over the
features of decay!

Edith wande