SECTION XI. As Erix and Zella, thus singing, drew nigh unto the grot where first their joys commingled, to flow on through life in no divided stream, two boys, the offspring of their love, came forth to meet them. The elder, from beneath whose locks, curled and dancing, reddened with the sun, full many a wild-flower peeped, bore grapes, ripe, fresh-plucked, and clutching, pressed the vintage with his hands. The younger, marching with an uncertain step, just babbling his first words, caught the generous juice in his tiny palms, cup-shaped, and offered to his mother, whose lips sought his, and rested, well content to drink only of that bliss which God has planted in a mother’s kiss. Then Erix, casting off his load, took the elder-born to his arms, and recounted all the chase—the scent of the perfumed morn, the song, the flight, the pursuit through wood and open plain, the halt by the sounding sea, the leap, the fatal shaft, the crowning death, till the boy shouted, and every muscle worked in mimic struggle with the mimic game a-foot; and the white pigeon descended, hovering o’er the group, and lighted at Zella’s feet, and arched its neck, and drooped its wings, and turned round and round; chrr-oo-uh; chrr-oo-uh; chrr-oo-eh-uh; oo-ugh; oo-ugh; chrr-oo-uh; calling to its mate. SECTION XII. And now, sweet friend, who put me to this task, who won my love, not knowing how or why, come tread with me the inner-chambers of my house. This, the portal, is well passed, and other scenes, and other pictures far, wait eyes which kindle, though the fire be false, eyes which flow even with the current of a fictitious wo. [_To be continued._ * * * * * SONG. BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER. (Air—“Homes of England.”) The hallowed wells of Learning, No wasting may they know, But sparkle, fed by lucid streams, Unceasing in their flow; And may their waters catch no stain Of deep and Stygian dye, Though Error for an hour hold reign Beneath a darkened sky. The Sacred Bowers of Learning, Be blight afar from them; No tree grow up with serpent folds Entwining round the stem; No bud of precious promise feel The frost of cold neglect, And heard no solemn funeral peal For Genius early wrecked. The Stately Halls of Learning, Forever may they stand, And Truth walk down the sounding aisles With Honor, hand in hand; The columns that uphold the roof Be men of noble mould, And beauteous daughters, armed in proof, Stern war with wrong to hold.