THE WIFE'S APPEAL.

"Love borrows greatly from opinion. Pride above all things strengthens

affection."

E. L. BULWER.

He sat and read. A book with silver clasps,

All gorgeous with illuminated lines

Of gold and crimson, lay upon a frame

Before him. 'Twas a volume of old time;

And in it were fine mysteries of the stars

Solved with a cunning wisdom, and strange thoughts,
Half prophecy, half poetry, and dreams
Clearer than truth, and speculations wild
That touched the secrets of your very soul,
They were so based on Nature. With a face
Glowing with thought, he pored upon the book.
The cushions of an Indian loom lay soft

Beneath his limbs, and, as he turned the page,

The sunlight, streaming through the curtain's fold,
Fell with a rose-tint on his jewell'd hand,

And the rich woods of the quaint furniture

Lay deepening their veined colours in the sun,

And the stained marbles on the pedestals
Stood like a silent company-Voltaire,
With an infernal sneer upon his lips,

And Socrates, with godlike human love
Stamped on his countenance, and orators

Of times gone by that made them, and old bards,
And Medicean Venus, half divine.

Around the room were shelves of dainty lore,

And rich old pictures hung upon the walls
Where the slant light fell on them; and wrought gems,
Medallions, rare mosaics, and antiques

From Herculaneum, the niches filled.

And on a table of enamel, wrought

With a lost art in Italy, there lay

Prints of fair women, and engravings rare,

And a new poem, and a costly toy,

And in their midst a massive lamp of bronze

Burning sweet spices constantly. Asleep
Upon the carpet couched a graceful hound,
Of a rare breed, and, as his master gave
A murmur of delight at some sweet line,
He raised his slender head, and kept his eye
Upon him till the pleasant smile had passed
From his mild lips, and then he slept again.
The light beyond the crimson folds grew dusk,
And the clear letters of the pleasant book

Mingled and blurred, and the lithe hound rose up,
And, with his earnest eye upon the door,
Listened attentively. It came as wont-

The fall of a light foot upon the stair—

And the fond animal sprang out to meet
His mistress, and caress the ungloved hand,
He seemed to know was beautiful. She stooped
Gracefully down and touched his silken ears
As she passed in—then, with a tenderness,
Half playful and half serious, she knelt
Upon the ottoman and pressed her lips
Upon her husband's forehead.

She rose and put the curtain-folds aside

From the high window, and looked out upon
The shining stars in silence. "Look they not
Like Paradises to thine eye?" he said—

But, as he spoke, a tear fell through the light,
And starting from his seat he folded her

Close to his heart, and, with unsteady voice,
Asked if she was not happy. A faint smile
Broke through her tears; and pushing off the hair
From his fine forehead, she held back his head
With her white hand, and, gazing on his face,
Gave to her heart free utterance:-

Happy?—yes, dearest !—blest

Beyond the limit of my wildest dream—

Too bright, indeed, my blessings ever seem;
There lives not in my breast,

One of Hope's promises by Love unkept,

And yet-forgive me, Ernest-I have wept.

How shall I speak of sadness,

And seem not thankless to my God and thee?

How can the lightest wish but seem to be

The very whim of madness?

Yet, oh, there is a boon thy love beside-
And I will ask it of thee-in my pride!

List, while my boldness lingers!

If thou hadst won yon twinkling star to hear thee-If thou couldst bid the rainbow's curve bend near

thee

If thou couldst charm thy fingers

To weave for thee the Sunset's tent of gold-
Wouldst in thine own heart treasure it untold?

If thou hadst Ariel's gift,

To course the veined metals of the earth

If thou couldst wind a fountain to its birth

If thou couldst know the drift

Of the lost cloud that sailed into the sky

Wouldst keep it for thine own unanswered eye?