upon its threshold, just as the bell ceased for the last time! Pauline was better; there was a faint tinge of color upon her rounded cheek, and a light in her soft eyes, as she looked up and smiled fondly in the face of her grandfather. And the old man went back a little before midnight with a light step and grateful heart. Gertrude still lay cold and senseless where she had fallen, and Hoffmann blamed himself severely for having left her. "Poor child!" murmured he, "it was but natural she should feel fearful in this lone place." And sitting down upon the ground, for he was too feeble to raise her, the old man laid her head upon his knees, and sought for a long time in vain to restore the miserable girl to life. Presently, however, she opened her dim eyes and gazed vacantly around. "Hush!" exclaimed Gertrude, as Hoffmann was about to speak to her. "Do you not hear it?" "Hear what, lady?" "The bell!" "No, not now," said the old man, shaking his head with a bewildered air; "but often-very often when none else do!" "It rang to-night," said the girl with increasing vehemence. "He rang it! once-twice. thrice-and there was none to answer-none to save. It seemed as though a spell held me back, and he was lost!" Nay, you have been dreaming," said Hoffmann, soothingly. "No, I will swear it! There may be time yet, but I am too weak to move. ven's name, and save him!" Go, in Hea Moved by her evident emotion, the old man took up the lamp, and leaving her sitting upon the ground in the darkness, went down to the chamber of death, but without alarming the medical officer in attendance, believing it to be but the girl's own vivid fancy. One after the other Peter Hoffmann looked upon the pale, changeless features of the dead, as they lay with the motionless cord between their white fingers; until he came at length to a coffin but recently deposited, that of the young Englishman, and a cold shudder passed over him. The corpse was turned half round, the features, a few hours ago so smiling and peaceful, fearfully distorted; and the firmly-clenched hands, instead of the rope which had failed in that hour of untold agony and a second death, held each a mass of bright sunny hair, torn away with the last effort of expiring And while the old man yet stood motionless, and horror-stricken, a wild woman's shriek rose suddenly up in that still place, and Gertrude nature. fell senseless upon the bier of him she had loved and destroyed! Years have passed away since that fatal night, and Karl Holzenhäuser, after a lengthened absence from his native land, brought home a young and gentle English wife, to whom his affection was to be henceforth all in all, for she had none else in the world to love or care for her. Almost their first visit was to the cemetery, where a simple grave-stone marked the resting-place of poor Frank Kennedy, and a chaplet of fresh flowers that he was yet unforgotten. A young girl knelt beside it, with her sunny brow pressed thoughtfully against the cold marble, to whom the doctor spoke kindly as to an old friend. It was Peter Hoffmann's little Pauline, and she told them that the old man too was dead. "Come, come, Margaret!" exclaimed Karl Holzenhäuser at length, as the lady still wept and wrung her hands beside the grave; "did you not promise me that you would be calm ?" Yes, yes, forgive me, Karl !" and she rose up meekly, and taking his arm they walked slowly away. "One moment!" exclaimed Pauline, obeying the uncontrolable impulse of her own quick feelings. "Do tell me of her-of poor Gertrude! Does she yet live?" "She does not!" replied the doctor. "Thank Heaven!" murmured the child, "they are united at last!" "You hear her, Margaret?" "Yes, I am wrong to grieve you by sorrowing thus, but should rather be thankful that she is at rest!" And a calmness fell upon the wearied spirit of the grief-stricken girl from that hour GEORGIANA. BY MRS. C. W. HUNT. The extreme beauty and spiritual richness of the following poem will make every reader prize its length. 'Tis evening hour; a sunset bright B. The wind is playing 'mong the bowers, Stealing sweets from all the flowers, Wafting their incense like a sea Of perfume, gushing melody. The deep, before so dark and cold, With close-furled pinions o'er the tide,— Are by some secret fetters bound, Moving in mystic circles round. "T is hallowed time; a solemn spell Is brooding over hill and dell, |