Earth’s dreams are but a bitterness to those Whose yearnings are for love divine. No rivulet sparkles here, no runlet flows, To satisfy this thirst of mine. What shall assuage it? The desire That heavenward ever doth aspire, And sigheth ceaselessly; The sweetness that in suffering lies, And tear-drops showering from my eyes, Are hope’s one draught for me. ---------- VALENTINE. 214 FROM THE REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE. I. “Frankly, my dear friend, tell me, is she not charming? Does she not lend a certain grace to her white dress, and a brilliancy to her blue ribbons? Is she not the prettiest flower in my garden?” “And my Alfred, dear Madame de Guers, does he not look well by her side? Are there many young men in our village who appear to such advantage near this fair and graceful darling, now in the flower of her youth?” “What you say is true, my friend. We have both of us, thank God, fine children--noble, virtuous, and good; and I hope they will be happy.” “They will make a very handsome couple, at all events,” concluded M. Maubars, rubbing his hands and smiling contentedly. Thus spoke two old friends, as they sat quietly, one summer evening, in the shadow of the hop-vines of a pretty green arbor, and talked away in this simple, lively, and joyous manner, while they observed their children as they appeared here and there in the garden-walks.