Re-reading with acuter gloss
Time's puzzles downwards cast,
And reconciling gain with loss,
The Future with the Past:

To learn if Earth, more deftly wrought,
Could nurture all her brood;
With utmost sustenance of Thought,
And pabulum of food:

Or, coming down to smaller aims,
To know if full-grown Steam
Had stitched the Hudson to the Thames,
As tailors would a seam;

Or whether men, who walk and swim,
Had learned to float and fly,
And imitate the cherubim,
Careering through the sky.

Or whether Chemistry had packed
The lightning into gems,
For girls to wear amid their hair,
Like regal diadems;

Or whether, noblest birth of Time!
The creed that Jesus taught
Had gathered in its fold sublime
All human life and thought.

Alas! O Spirit of the Tree!
Thy days are fair and long,
And mine too short to hope to see
The issues of my song.

Yet Hope is long, and Hopes are strong,
And grow to what they seem,
And help to shape the coming years,
O Dryad of my dream!

SOME ITALIAN NOVELLE.
IN TWO CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I.

I FELL ill in an out-of-the-way place at
the foot of the Apennines; my convalescence
was slow, and was accompanied by great
weakness. I tried to read, but the print
seemed to dance before my eyes. The total
loss of occupation distressed me much, and
added to my discomfort. Seeing this, a peasant
girl, whom we had turned into a lady's
maid, volunteered to overcome her shyness
and to tell me some "Novelle." "You will
excuse, signora," she said, "the silliness of
these tales. When we are children, our
grandmothers tell them by the fireside,
in the winter evenings; and they, again,
heard them in the same way, from the
old women before them, who did not know
how to read. So they are not like the
fine stories you read in your books."

At the word "Novelle" I pricked up my
ears, for I knew learned men, who had
laboured for years together, to add to their
store of popular tales. It is needless to
say that the Italian word Novella is equivalent
to Saga, Walshebene Skaski, Märchen,
Fabliaux, &c., and it is more than probable
that our word "novel" springs from it,
although very dissimilar in meaning. The
latter professes to portray incidents which
pertain to real life; the former means
essentially a fairy tale. It may be a tale
without fairies, but it must be a tissue
in which the natural and supernatural are
closely interwoven, the latter preponderating.
The principal interest of these
"Novelle" lies in their philological bearing.
The same tales may be recognised in every
country, allowing for the difference of
national characteristics. These few
"Novelle," written out almost word for word
from the peasant girl's narrative, may
therefore prove welcome to collectors of
this special kind of literature, if only for the
resemblance they bear to their sisters of
other countries.

THE THREE BALLS OF GOLD.

THERE was once upon a time a man who
had three handsome daughters, and, when
they had done the house-work they combed
their hair, and sat at the window. One
day, a young man passed along the road;
and when he saw these pretty maidens, he
went in and asked the father for the eldest.
The maiden gladly consented, because the
young man was good-looking; the father,
because he was rich. The wedding was
celebrated, and the husband and wife went
away. When the bride arrived at the
sumptuous palace which was to be her
home, two days were taken up in examining
the beautiful things it contained. On
the third day, the husband told his wife he
must leave her, as he had a weekly tour
to take, on account of his affairs; but, said
he, "Here is a golden ball; place it in your
bosom, and keep it till my return." He
then took her all over the house once more,
and stopped before an iron door, of which
he showed her the key. "Mind you do
not open this door on any account," he
said; "for if you did open it, we should
never meet again."

He then started on his journey. The
first day was passed well enough by the
bride; but on the second day her thoughts
constantly turned to the forbidden door.
Much wronged she thought herself at last
for having been forbidden anything at all.
So she bravely took the mysterious key,
and, after a moment of hesitation, turned
the lock and pushed the door. She had
hardly time to see anything; for a dense
ascending smoke blinded her. She threw
herself back, locked the door, and fell on
the marble pavement. When she came
to herself, and perceived that the gold
ball had fallen from her gown, she rapidly
replaced it in her bosom, smoothed her
hair, and sat down to await the return of
her husband.