And Madness soothed, coherently replied— The arm resistant raised, submissive fell, And sunken eyes, by burning anguish dried, Grew moist again from feeling’s latent well. Chaotic Intellect took Beauty’s shape At the omnipotence of gentle speech, And hands unbound, exulting in escape, Wrought works that taste to saner minds might teach.[2] Oh, wondrous power of holy, heaven-born Love! Whose spirit, in that woman’s humble form, Doth noiseless yet ’mid human suffering move, Unchecked by frenzy’s strife, or passion’s storm. And when her mission to this earth shall end— When love’s pure essence seeks its native heaven, Her glory there the angels’ shall transcend, And loftier place than theirs to her be given. ----- [2] Some of the most ungovernable subjects of insanity have been so changed in a _few days_, by the soothing kindness of Miss Dix, as to execute various articles of fancy-work, under her teaching, with remarkable neatness and taste. * * * * * GODS AND MORTALS. BY A. K. GARDNER, M. D., AUTHOR OF “OLD WINE IN NEW BOTTLES.” MONDAY 19th of March, 1849, was one of those beautiful days which make Spring so delightful. The smiles of nature never appear more charming than when they expel the frowns of winter. At the time above-mentioned, the world had just thrown off its fleecy mantle, preparatory to making a new toilet for the coming season. One would have imagined that the wardrobe of mother earth was very scantily provided, for the day previous her soiled coat of snow was sent to the washerwoman, who had employed the whole twenty-four hours in soaking the poor garment, scouring it with sand, and drenching it with continual showers of rain-water, so that when finally in a state to hang up to dry, scarcely a patch could be found, and those not apparently much benefited by its severe laundress. Mother Earth was surely in a most unfortunate state! Her old clothes not come home from the wash, and the new ones not ready to put on. She determined at first to lie a-bed till one or the other were ready for use. But Dame Luna was then mistress, and absolutely refused to harbor such an impoverished individual. “Credit, indeed!” she echoed. “To trust you I shall truly be a Luna-tic.” You should have seen this individual, as she stood with arms akimbo, in the fullness of her pride. Her face pale with anger, and her eyes losing their usual mildness, glared forth upon our unfortunate mother. None could account for this unwonted spirit. Some of the fixed stars, however, very different from our M. P.’s, who sometimes sleep on their posts, had noticed Mistress Luna walking in the Milky Way; and it was charitably supposed that she had been taking a little too much of the celebrated punch of that locality. These celestial M. P.’s had winked at the matter, and hence all the trouble.