She had been solacing herself, after the long oppression of the day, with this gentle effusion, much as we have a vein opened after some severe contusion. When he touched the handkerchief, an icy shudder crept down his back, like a sting of conscience, but immediately after it there came a burning glow as the thought flashed to his mind that her weeping had been for another person than himself altogether. The singing and the flute now began again (without the harp this time), and floated in the rising, falling waves of a slow-timed song, of which the verses ended always with the words, "Gone is gone, and dead is dead." Sorrow now clutched him in her grasp, like some mantle fish, casting around him her dark and suffocating folds. He pressed Lenette's wet handkerchief to his eyes hard, and heard (but less distinctly), " Gone is gone, and dead is dead." Then of a sudden his whole soul melted and dissolved at the thought that perhaps that halting heart of his would let him see no other new year save that of the morrow, and he thought of himself as dying; and the cold handkerchief, wet with his own tears now as well as hers, lay cool upon his burning brow, while the notes of the music seemed to mark like bells each stroke of time, so that its rapid flight was made distinguishable by the ear, and he saw himself asleep in a quiet grave, like one in the Grotto of the Serpents, but with worms in place of the serpents, licking off the burning poison of life.

The music had ceased. He heard Lenette moving in the next room and getting a light; he went to her and gave her her handkerchief. But his heart was so pained and bleeding that he longed to embrace some one, no matter whom; he was impelled to press his Lenette to his heart, his Lenette of the past if not of the present, his suffering, if no longer his loving, Lenette; at the same time he could not utter one word of affection, neither had he the slightest wish to do so. He put his arms round her slowly, unbent, and held her to him, but she turned her head quickly and coldly away as from a kiss which was not proffered. This pained him greatly, and he said, you suppose I am any happier than you are yourself?" He laid his face down on her averted head, pressed her to him again, and then let her away; and this vain embrace at an end, his heart cried, "Gone is gone, and dead is dead."

"Do

The silent room in which the music and the words had ceased to sound was like some unhappy village from whence the enemy has carried off all the bells, and where there is

nothing but silence all the day and night, and the church tower is mute as if time itself were past.

As Firmian laid him down on his bed, he thought, "A sleep closes the old year as if it were one's last, and ushers in the new as it does our own lives; and I sleep on towards a future all anxiety, vague of form, and darkly veiled. Thus does man sleep at the gate behind which the dreams are barred; but although his dreams are but a step or two- a minute or two -within that gate, he cannot tell what dreams await him at its opening; whether in the brief, unconscious night beasts of prey with glaring eyes are lying in wait to dash upon him, or smiling children to come trooping round him in their play; nor if, when the cloudy shapes beyond that mystic door come about him, their clasp is to be the fond embrace of love or the murderous clutch of death."

KUBLA KHAN.

BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

[For biographical sketch, see first article in Vol. XII.]

IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure dome decree;

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground.

With walls and towers were girdled round,

And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Infolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that chasm deep which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover,
A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast, thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced;

Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst

THE SHADOWLESS MAN.

BY ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.

(From "Peter Schlemihl.")

[ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO, German author and poet, was born of an old French family at the Château de Boncourt, in Champagne, January, 1781. Driven with his parents from their home by the French Revolution, he was educated in Berlin, where he became a page of the queen, served in the Prussian army till the Peace of Tilsit, and then returned to France. In 1815 he accompanied, as naturalist, the exploring expedition of Count Romanzow in a journey around the world, and was subsequently custodian of the Botanical Garden of Berlin, an office which he held until his death, in 1838. His "Peter Schlemihl," the story of a man who loses his shadow, has been translated into all the principal languages. His poetry comprises popular songs, ballads, and narrative poems, notably "Salas y Gomez," "Matteo Falcone," and "The Retreat."]

AFTER a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last into port. Immediately on landing I got together my few effects; and, squeezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest inn which first met my gaze. On asking for a room the waiter looked at me from head to foot, and conducted me to one. I asked for some cold water, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was described as being "by the north gate the first country house to the right, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars." This was enough. As the day was not yet far advanced, I untied my bundle, took out my newly turned black coat, dressed myself in my best clothes, and, with my letter of recommendation, set out for the man who was to assist me in the attainment of my moderate wishes.

After proceeding up the north street, I reached the gate, and saw the marble columns glittering through the trees. Having wiped the dust from my shoes with my pocket handkerchief, and readjusted my cravat, I rang the bell-offering up at the same time a silent prayer. The door flew open, and the porter sent in my name. I had soon the honor to be invited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I recognized him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air. He received me very well- just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and turning to me, took my letter. "Oh, from my brother! it is a long time since I heard from him is he well? -Yonder," he went on,-turning to the company, and point

:

ing to a distant hill,- "yonder is the site of the new building.' He broke the seal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon riches. "The man," he said, "who does not possess at least a million is a poor wretch." "Oh, how true!" I exclaimed, in the fullness of my heart. He seemed pleased at this, and replied with a smile, "Stop here, my dear friend; afterwards I shall, perhaps, have time to tell you what I think of this," pointing to the letter, which he then put into his pocket, and turned round to the company, offering his arm to a young lady: his example was followed by the other gentlemen, each politely escorting a lady, and the whole party proceeded towards a little hill thickly planted with blooming roses.

I followed without troubling any one, for none took the least further notice of me. The party was in high spirits lounging about and jesting-speaking sometimes of trifling matters very seriously, and of serious matters as triflingly-and exercising their wit in particular to great advantage on their absent friends and their affairs. I was too ignorant of what they were talking about to understand much of it, and too anxious and absorbed in my own reflections to occupy myself with the solution of such enigmas as their conversation presented.

By this time we had reached the thicket of roses. The lovely Fanny, who seemed to be the queen of the day, was obstinately bent on plucking a rose branch for herself, and in the attempt pricked her finger with a thorn. The crimson stream, as if flowing from the dark-tinted rose, tinged her fair hand with the purple current. This circumstance set the whole company in commotion; and court-plaster was called for. A quiet, elderly man, tall, and meager-looking, who was one of the company, but whom I had not before observed, immediately put his hand into the tight breast pocket of his old-fashioned coat of gray sarsnet, pulled out a small letter case, opened it, and, with a most respectful bow, presented the lady with the wishedfor article. She received it without noticing the giver, or thanking him. The wound was bound up, and the party proceeded along the hill towards the back part, from which they enjoyed an extensive view across the green labyrinth of the park to the wide-spreading ocean. The view was truly a magnificent A slight speck was observed on the horizon, between the dark flood and the azure sky. "A telescope!" called out Mr. John; but before any of the servants could answer the summons

one.