"Depend upon it, if I see anything faulty, you will know it; if you think _that_ friendly, I am your friend. But look over there, where the sunset clouds are reflected in the Back Bay. Now, if I should put those tints of gold and salmon and crimson and purple, with those delicate shades of apple-green, into a picture, the mob would say, 'What an absurd fellow this painter is! Where did he find all that Joseph's coat of colors?' The mob is a drove of asses, Greenleaf." "Come, let us take our evening stroll." "Have you seen Charbon, to-day?" "No. But I should like to." "We'll call for him." "Yes, I rather like his brilliant silence." "Next week, let us go to Nahant. I want you to try your hand on a coast view. But what, what are you about? At that trumpery daguerreotype again? Let me see the beauty,--that's a good boy!" "No!" "Then put it up. If you won't show it, don't aggravate a fellow in that way." [To be continued.] SPIRITS IN PRISON.[3] I. O ye, who, prisoned in these festive rooms, Lean at the windows for a breath of air, Staring upon the darkness that o'erglooms The heavens, and waiting for the stars to bare Their glittering glories, veiled all night in cloud, I know ye scorn the gas-lights and the feast! I saw you leave the music and the crowd, And turn unto the windows opening east; I heard you sigh,--"When will the dawn's dull ashes Kindle their fires behind yon fir-fringed height? When will the prophet clouds with golden flashes Unroll their mystic scrolls of crimson light?" Fain would I come and sit beside you here, And silent press your hands, and with you lean Into the midnight, mingling hope and fear, Or pining for the days that might have been! II. Are we not brothers? In the throng that fills These strange enchanted rooms we met. One look Told that we knew each other. Sudden thrills, As of two lovers reading the same book, Ran through our hurried grasp. But when we turned, The scene around was smitten with a change: The lamps with lurid fire-light flared and burned; And through the wreaths and flowers,--oh, mockery strange!-- The prison-walls with ghastly horror frowned; Scarce hidden by vine-leaves and clusters thick, A grim cold iron grating closed around. Then from our silken couches leaping quick, We hurried past the dancers and the lights, Nor heeded the entrancing music then, Nor the fair women scattering delights In flower-like flush of dress,--nor paused till when, Leaning against our prison-bars, we gazed Into the dark, and wondered where we were. Speak to me, brothers, for ye stand amazed! I come, your secret burthen here to share! III.