A week later finds them _en route_ for A——, Charles Lennard accompanying them; for he is as eager to ratify his engagement _now_ as he was before to free himself. He had told Bel Ashton, the day after the ball, of his engagement, and _she did not break her heart_, but was soon as gay and as graceful as ever, “winning golden opinions” from all sorts of people, for Mr. Ashton was very wealthy, and Bel was his only child! Mrs. Morton was very much astonished to see Edith return so full of happiness, and bringing back, as “quiet as a lamb,” the recreant knight. Nor did she advert to the letter or Edith’s protestation, but once, and that was when preparing for their marriage, she exclaimed with a smile: “So, Edith, instead of coming back to love no one but your mother, you only return to fill my hands full of labor and perplexity, and _my_ heart full of grief at the thoughts of parting with you, even for a while.” * * * * * LINES, SUGGESTED BY ROGERS’ STATUE OF RUTH. BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. From age to age, from clime to clime, A spirit, bright as her own morn, She walks the golden fields of Time, As erst amid the yellow corn. A form o’er which the hallowed veil Of years bequeaths a lovelier light, As when the mists of morning sail Round some far isle to make it bright. And as some reaper ’mid the grain, Or binder resting o’er his sheaf, Beheld her on the orient plain, A passing vision, bright and brief; And while he gazed let fall perchance The sheaf or sickle from his hand— Thus even here, as in a trance, Before her kneeling form I stand. But not as then she comes and goes To live in memory alone; The perfect soul before me glows Immortal in the living stone. And while upon her face I gaze And scan her rarely rounded form, The glory of her native days Comes floating o’er me soft and warm;— Comes floating, till this shadowy place Brightens to noontide, and receives The breath of that old harvest space With all its sunshine and its sheaves! It is a form beloved of yore, And when that passed the name breathed on; But now the form lives as before To charm even though the name were gone. And though the future years may dim And mar this lovely type of Truth, Through every action, feature, limb, The breathing stone shall whisper Ruth! * * * * * FERDINAND DE CANDOLLES.