“O Life! O Life! I have found the place where thou dwellest.” “You may give a more specific interpretation of your meaning at the close of your lesson. Read this,” giving him a card marked: “Lesson No. 3.” “_Jeannette, Mein Liebchen: Willst Du mich Heiraten?_” “Translate.” “Sure, sure. ‘Jeannette, My Love: Will you marry me?’” “Now you may read the poem I found in here. It seems to be in your handwriting.” A Voice Jeannette Should Hear. I. Jeannette, by man though rarely seen; Is a friend of Running Water, To the Mountain, fairest daughter, To the forest, stateliest queen. She hears mystic voices whisper As a spirit to his sister. Songs you and I have never known. The trees speak of coming showers, Earth creatures of twilight hours; The owl tells secrets of the night, The robin sings of dawn’s delight, The lark of harvest and ripe moon; But when love whispers I’ll call soon, She’s thinking of the distant moon. II. Jeannette, think you your paradise Will always remain quite this nice, Unless real love shall come as guest? Fair one, think you the summer sun Will last until your life is done And spirit love not flit away; Nor sun sink low in golden west, Nor night come round at end of day? Do you not fear those long, black nights, Which come with winter’s storm and rain, And put an end to life’s delights, Giving voice to trouble and pain? Then whisper to love the password, And he will enter, having heard. III. Sentiment may own yesterday, But love today has right of way; Hope builds castles for tomorrow, Of warm sunbeams, not of sorrow; Memories drape life with sadness; Love walks hand in hand with gladness. To the past we dedicate tears, Love owns today and coming years; Take his warm hand and walk with me; Let life be what the future be, I wish it spent, Jeannette, with thee; And when old age delves in the past, May love say, “I have held full sway, For memories fair crown each day.” ———— Then, for more than an hour, an angel without the bower, kept strangers away and enjoined silence. He did not stand with flaming sword, but with finger on his lips. ———— They walked down to the old field below the Rock House. Near its center was an old dead tree; and on the tip of the topmost snag a lark sang. “Listen, do you hear what he says.” “No, he’s whistling like any other meadow lark.” “Translate.” “I do not know the language.” “I do; ‘Love, thou art safe! art safe! I watch for thee! for thee!’”