"'She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellowed to the tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. "'And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent.'" "My! but he puts it on thick," gasped Nellie, pausing for breath. "Oh, pshaw!" said her father; "impossible to mix it too thick." "What would he have done without Lord Byron?" asked Mrs. Gibson, who gave me scant credit, apparently. "Well, Byron wouldn't mind," said Gabrielle, smiling. "He would be glad to help the cause along. The lover is strengthening his persuasion with good poetry." Nellie read more rapidly now, for she had learned many of my pen oddities: "'What a worldly fellow I was till your eyes met mine and brought me far, far up from the depths to the heights of contemplation. My philosophy was naught. I saw not the beauty of life, for I was lost in a wilderness of its petty distractions. Remembering our happy days together, why should their inspiration not sustain me now? At the time of parting-- "'I saw thee weep--the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue, And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew; I saw thee smile--the sapphire blaze Beside thee ceased to shine; It could not match the living rays That filled that glance of thine.' "'The feeling so tenderly expressed in that tear preceding the smile holds me in thrall when I bid fear depart and wake no more the ogres of its dread. Let me rather fondle that cherished smile, "'As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky; Those smiles, into the moodiest mind, Their own pure joys impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.'" Would luck ever come? Would it ever come? What would be the outcome? Jim tried to plan for the approaching emergency, but the best he could do was to struggle to conceal the acute case of chills and fever then torturing his weak body and adding confusion to his dazed mind. The reader proceeded: "'All the deep feelings of the lover have been experienced by the poets, and to them we must turn to find words attuned to the harmonies surging within, clamoring for expression, where passion has just been born. These gifted singers have searched the human heart as only genius can and have given their songs as a universal heritage to all who feel the melting murmurs. If there is aught of inspiration in their words, it belongs to me as the harper's music belonged to Byron when he craved it: