5. There are moments, I think, when the spirit re ceives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves, Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose. And thus, when the rainbow had passed from the sky, The thoughts it awoke were too deep to pass by; It left my full soul, like the wing of a dove, All fluttering with pleasure and fluttering with love. 6. I know that each moment of rapture or pain But shortens the links in life's mystical chain; I know that my form, like that bow from the wave, Must pass from the earth, and lie cold in the grave; Yet, O, when Death's shadows my bosom encloud, When I shrink at the thought of the coffin and shroud, May Hope, like the rainbow, my spirit enfold 1 HA'VEN. A port; a place of safety. | 2 SUS-PEND'ED. Hung. LX.- A SWINDLER EXPOSED. [The following dialogue is taken from "Still Waters run Deep," an English comedy written by Tom Taylor, and played for the first time in London, in 1855. The scene is laid in London and its neighborhood. Mildmay is a retired merchant, concealing under a quiet manner a great amount of energy and courage. Hawksley is a swindler and adventurer, who had persuaded Potter, Mildmay's father-in-law, to take shares in a worthless company. He has also in his possession some letters written to him, many years before, by Mrs Sternhold, aunt of Mildmay's wife, which, if published, would injure her. Mildmay had learned this last fact by overhearing a conversation between Mrs. Sternhold and Hawksley.] Hawksley. A thousand pardons, my dear fellow; one gets so absorbed in these figures! Take a chair. You'll allow me to finish what I was about. Mildmay. Don't mind me. I'm in no hurry. Hawk. By the way, if you'll look on that table, you'll find a plan of our Inexplosive Galvanic Boat somewhere. Just glance your eye over it, while I knock off this calculation; it will give you an idea of the machinery. (After a minute or two of pretended work, putting away his papers, and rising.) And now, my dear Mildmay, I am at your service. But before we come to business, how are all at Brompton? The ladies all well? Mild. Mrs. Sternhold's a little out of sorts this morning. Hawk. Ah! Had a bad night? Mild. I should think so. Hawk. Well, I had a note from Potter. He tells me you had some thoughts of taking shares in our Galvanics. I've mislaid his note; but he mentioned your wanting something like two hundred shareswasn't it? Mild. I beg your pardon; not exactly, I think. is interested. I refuse to give up her letters. As to your first request, my business is to sell shares, not to buy them. Mild. I was prepared for both refusals; so I have taken my measures for compelling you to grant both demands. Hawk. Indeed you have! Do let me hear what they are. I am all impatience to know how you propose to make Harry Hawksley say yes, when he has begun by saying no. Mild. When you explained to me, a little while ago, the theory of your speculation,5 you thought you were speaking to a greenhorn in such matters. You were under a mistake. Some four years ago I was a partner in a house in the city which did a good deal in discounting paper,7-the house of Dalrymple Brothers, in Broad Street. You may have heard of it. One day it was the 30th of April, 1850-a bill was presented for payment at our counting-house, purporting to be drawn on us by our correspondents, Watson & Wright, of Buenos Ayres. Though we had no advices of it, it was paid at once, for it seemed all regular and right; but it turned out to be a forgery. Our correspondents' suspicions fell at once upon a clerk who had just been dismissed from their employment for some errors in his accounts. His name then was Burgess. The body of the bill was apparently in the same handwriting as the signature of the firm; but a careful examination showed it to be that of the discharged clerk; and in a blottingbook left accidentally behind him were found various tracings of the signature of the firm. The detectives were at once put on his track; but he had disappeared, dear Mr. Mildmay, I know you're the most amiable of men, but I had no idea how great you were at a practical joke. Mild. Very well. We'll drop the shares for the present, and come to motive3 number two. Hawk. Pray do; and if it's better fun than motive number one, I shall have to thank you for two of the heartiest laughs I've enjoyed for many a day. Mild. We shall see. You have in your possession thirteen letters, addressed to you by Mrs. Sternhold. The second motive for my visit was to ask you to give up those letters. Hawk. (Aside.) So! the murder's out! She prefers war! She shall have it. (Aloud.) Mr. John Mildmay, your first demand was a good joke. I laughed at it accordingly. But your second you may find no joke, and I would recommend you to be careful how you persist in executing this commission of Mrs. Sternhold. Mild. I beg your pardon. I have no commission from Mrs. Sternhold. Hawk. It was not she who told you of those letters ? Mild. Certainly not. Hawk. Who did? Mild. You must excuse my answering that question. Hawk. Then you are acting now on your own responsibility? Mild. Entirely. Hawk. Very well; then this is my answer. Though you have married Mrs. Sternhold's niece, I do not admit your right to interfere, without authority from Mrs. Sternhold herself, in an affair in which she alone is interested. I refuse to give up her letters. As to your first request, my business is to sell shares, not to buy them. Mild. I was prepared for both refusals; so I have taken my measures for compelling you to grant both demands. Hawk. Indeed you have! Do let me hear what they are. I am all impatience to know how you propose to make Harry Hawksley say yes, when he has begun by saying no. 4 Mild. When you explained to me, a little while ago, the theory of your speculation,5 you thought you were speaking to a greenhorn in such matters. You were under a mistake. Some four years ago I was a partner in a house in the city which did a good deal in discounting paper,7-the house of Dalrymple Brothers, in Broad Street. You may have heard of it. One day it was the 30th of April, 1850-a bill was presented for payment at our counting-house, purporting to be drawn on us by our correspondents, Watson & Wright, of Buenos Ayres. Though we had no advices of it, it was paid at once, for it seemed all regular and right; but it turned out to be a forgery. Our correspondents' suspicions fell at once upon a clerk who had just been dismissed from their employment for some errors in his accounts. His name then was Burgess. The body of the bill was apparently in the same handwriting as the signature of the firm; but a careful examination showed it to be that of the discharged clerk; and in a blottingbook left accidentally behind him were found various tracings of the signature of the firm. The detectives were at once put on his track; but he had disappeared, |