A roar of laughter, which might have been heard a mile distant, followed this disclosure. But no laugh came from Bob’s mouth or mine. No poor mortals were evermore crest-fallen than we were. Any one might have pitied us, when they saw how wofully down in the mouth we became. I tried to be gay, to enjoy the joke, to alter the current of conversation—but it was “no go;” only made matters worse. Mrs. Scroggins made sundry cuts at my courage, Jane complimented my running, and the old Squire wanted to know if I usually swam with my clothes on? With mortification and anger and shame, I ran in desperation to my bed-room, never more miserable in my life. For a long, long time after, nothing gave me greater horror than to hear the slightest allusion made to the “White Nun!” * * * * * THE ISLE AND STAR. BY GEO. D. PRENTICE. In the tropical seas There’s a beautiful isle, Where storms never darken The sunlight’s soft smile. There the hymn of the breeze And the hymn of the stream Are mingled in one, Like sweet sounds in a dream. There the song-birds at morn From the thick shadows start, Like musical thoughts From the poet’s full heart. There the song-birds at noon Sit in silence unbroken, Like an exquisite dream In the bosom unspoken. There the flowers hang, like rainbows, On wildwood and lea— O, say, wilt thou dwell In that sweet isle with me? In the depths of the sky There’s a beautiful star, Where no yew casts a shadow The bright scene to mar. There the rainbows ne’er fade, And the dews are ne’er dry And a circlet of moons Ever shines in the sky. There the songs of the blest, And the songs of the spheres, Are unceasingly heard Through the infinite years. There the soft airs float down From the amaranth bowers, All faint with the perfume Of Eden’s own flowers. There truth, love and beauty Immortal will be— O, say, wilt thou dwell In that sweet star with me? * * * * * A CANTER TO CALIFORNIA.[2]