On pebbled couch is borne.
But when the World's imperial brow
Shall frown like wintry sky,
Then seek my cloud-winged bark, and thou
Shalt soar with me on high!"

She paused and vanished--but her form
In Heaven's blue lake I hail,
When oft before the raging storm
The clouds in squadron sail;
And when the fleet can live no more,
But in a mass are thrown,
On the horizon's circling shore
She skims the air alone!

MARY DUNBAR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE THREE CALLS."

CHAPTER I.

Once more the Stanwoods sat of a morning in their pleasant parlor.
Once more the sun streamed lazily and warmly through the heavy silk
curtains, and once more sat the cherished and beloved invalid in the
cosiest nook, with her spectacles beside her, and the book on the
little table before her.

Something of change might be felt rather than seen in the blooming
faces near her. A thoughtful shadow on the clear brows of youth, the
impression of mind and feeling that ever shows itself in the deeps of
the eye and about the mouth, where smiles alone no longer play, but
the experience of life is showing itself in slight but unmistakeable
and uneffaceable lines.

The bell rung, and presently a portly, calm-looking old gentleman came
in, and after chatting a few minutes on ordinary topics took his
leave. It was a Mr. Gardner of Connecticut; somewhere about the south
part, Louisa thought, and Alice thought him a very dull person, and
they were both rather relieved when he left them.

"Do you like him, grandmother?" asked Alice.

"No, not exactly: at least he is not a person I should like of myself;
but he is connected with much that has interested me, and he is
himself a more interesting man than you would think him."

"Now, grandmother, dear," said the young girls, with an earnestness
that brought a smile to Mrs. Stanwood's face, "now do give us one of
your _real_ stories: they are better, after all, than the latest and
newest novel, for they are true ones."

"This Mr. Gardner's story is rather an eventful one, certainly; he is
a phlegmatic sort of man, as you see, and yet he has not lived without
having the depths of his being stirred. I happened to know him and
about his affairs a good deal at one time, and afterward I continued
my interest in him, though I saw nothing of him for years--but it is
rather a long story."

"Never mind the length--no fear of its seeming long,