Thus I said it is with music, Wheresoe'er at random thrown, It will seek its own responses, It is loth to die alone. Thus I said the poet's music, Though a lovely native air, May appeal unto a rhythm That is native everywhere. For although in scope of feeling, Human hearts are far apart, In the depths of every bosom, Beats the universal heart; Beats with wide accordant motion, And the chimes among the towers Of the grandest of God's temples Seem as if they might be ours. And we grow in such a seeming, Till indeed we may control To an echo, our communion With the good and grand in soul. As an echo in a valley May revive a cadence there, Of a bell that may be swaying In a lofty Alpine air. As a screen of tremulous metal, From the rolling organ tone, Rings out to a note of the music That can never be its own. As an earnest artist ponders On a study nobly wrought, Till his fingers gild his canvas With a touch of the self-same thought. But the sun had now descended Far along his cloudy stairs, And the night had come like the angels To Abraham, unawares. A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.[2] WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. CHAPTER XLVI. Mrs. Hazleton fancied herself in high good luck; for just as she was passing through the door into the hall, Lady Hastings' maid crossed and made her a curtsey. Mrs. Hazleton beckoned her up, saying in a quiet, easy, every-day tone, "I suppose your lady is awake by this time?" "No, madam," replied the maid, "she is asleep still. She did not take her nap as early as usual to-day; for Mistress Emily was with her, and my lady would not go to sleep till she went out to take a walk." Mrs. Hazleton was somewhat alarmed at this intelligence; for she had not much confidence in her good friend's discretion. "How is Miss Emily?" she said in a tender tone. "She seemed very sad and low when last I saw her." "She is just the same, Madam," replied the maid. "She did not seem very cheerful when she went out, and has been crying a good deal to-day." Mrs. Hazleton was better satisfied, and paused for an instant to think; but the maid interrupted her cogitations by saying--"I think I may wake my lady now, if you please to come up, Madam." "Oh, dear, no," replied Mrs. Hazleton. "Do not wake her. I will go in quietly and sit with her till she wakes naturally. It is a pity to deprive her of one moment's calm sleep. You needn't come, you needn't come. I will ring for you when your mistress wakes;" and she quietly ascended the stairs, though the maid offered some civil remonstrances to her undertaking the task of watching by her sleeping mistress.