again, and be the means of saving a solid workman.
The transport, the simple shelter needed
for so short a summer sojourn, a low-priced
public ordinary, would, altogether, cost infinitely
less than a long stay in a hospital. The man
would be saved; and with him," adds Michelet,
"his wife and children." If the cure be not
radical, life is, at least, eased and prolonged.

PARTING DAY.

The sunset burns, the hamlet spire
Gleams grandly, sheathed in evening fire,
  The river rolleth red.
The flowers are drenched in floating haze,
The churchyard brightens, and old days
  Seem smiling on the dead.

From pendent boughs, like drops of gold
The peaches hang; the mansion old
  From out its nest of green,
Looks joyful through its golden eyes
Back on the sunset-burnished skies
  A smile o'er all the scene.

The running child, whose wavy hair
Takes from the sunset's level glare
  A purer, brighter tinge,
Rolls on the grass; the evening star
Above yon streak of cloudy bar
  Hangs on Day's purple fringe.

Where latest sunshine slanting falls,
Above the ivied orchard walls,
  The tall tree-shadows lean,
In waving lines of shade, that nod
Like dusky streams across the road
  With banks of light between.

The streams are gilt, the towering vane
Stands burnished; and the cottage pane
  Seems melting in the sun;
The last lark wavers down the sky,
The husky crow slides careless by,
  The golden day is done.

FOUR STORIES.

ALL four shall be told exactly as I, the present
narrator, have received them. They are all
derived from credible sources; and the first—the
most extraordinary of the four—is well known at
first hand to individuals still living.

Some few years ago a well-known English
artist received a commission from Lady F. to
paint a portrait of her husband. It was settled
that he should execute the commission at F.
Hall, in the country, because his engagements
were too many to permit his entering upon a
fresh work till the London season should be
over. As he happened to be on terms of intimate
acquaintance with his employers, the arrangement
was satisfactory to all concerned, and on
the 13th of September he set out in good heart
to perform his engagement.

He look the train for the station nearest to F.
Hall, and found himself, when first starting, alone
in a carriage. His solitude did not, however,
continue long. At the first station out of London,
a young lady entered the carriage, and took
the corner opposite to him. She was very delicate
looking, with a remarkable blending of
sweetness and sadness in her countenance, which
did not fail to attract the notice of a man of
observation and sensibility. For some time
neither uttered a syllable. But at length the
gentleman made the remarks usual under such
circumstances, on the weather and the country,
and, the ice being broken, they entered into
conversation. They spoke of painting. The artist
was much surprised by the intimate knowledge
the young lady seemed to have of himself and his
doings. He was quite certain that he had never
seen her before. His surprise was by no means
lessened when she suddenly inquired whether he
could make, from recollection, the likeness of a
person whom he had seen only once, or at most
twice? He was hesitating what to reply, when
she added, "Do you think, for example, that you
could paint me from recollection?"

He replied that he was not quite sure, but
that perhaps he could.

"Well," she said, " look at me again. You
may have to take a likeness of me."

He complied with this odd request, and she
asked, rather eagerly:

"Now, do you think you could?"

"I think so," he replied; "but I cannot say
for certain."

At this moment the train stopped. The young
lady rose from her seat, smiled in a friendly
manner on the painter, and bade him good-by:
adding, as she quitted the carriage, "We shall
meet again soon." The train rattled off, and
Mr. H. (the artist) was left to his own reflections.

The station was reached in due time, and
Lady F.'s carriage was there, to meet the
expected guest. It carried him to the place of his
destination, one of "the stately homes of
England," after a pleasant drive, and deposited him
at the hall door, where his host and hostess were
standing to receive him. A kind greeting passed,
and he was shown to his room: for the dinner-
hour was close at hand.

Having completed his toilet, and descended
to the drawing-room, Mr. H. was much
surprised, and much pleased, to see, seated on one
of the ottomans, his young companion of the
railway carriage. She greeted him with a smile
and a bow of recognition. She sat by his side
at dinner, spoke to him two or three times,
mixed in the general conversation, and seemed
perfectly at home. Mr. H. had no doubt of her
being an intimate friend of his hostess. The
evening passed away pleasantly. The conversation
turned a good deal upon the fine arts in
general, and on painting in particular, and Mr.
H. was entreated to show some of the sketches
he had brought down with him from London.
He readily produced them, and the young lady
was much interested in them.

At a late hour the party broke up, and retired
to their several apartments.

Next morning, early, Mr. H. was tempted by
the bright sunshine to leave his room, and stroll
out into the park. The drawing-room opened