"Anon through every pulse the music stole,
And held sublime communion with the soul,
Wrung from the coyest breast the imprisoned sigh,
And kindled rapture in the coldest eye."
Rosalind's mmd was soon too deeply engrossed with her own personal affairs, to dwell much on the sad events recorded in the last chapter. After procuring a decent burial for the unfortunate girl, and transplanting a white rose-bush from their own garden, to designate the spot where the weary and homeless one had at last found a resting place, every thought was given to an approaching event of the most vital interest to herself. The day which had long been set apart as the celebration of their nuptials was near at hand, with its usual accompaniment of bustle and preparation. Notwithstanding she had often said, that there was no necessity of being so hurried at the last moment, if sufficient time were allowed, so much was crowded into the last few weeks, that she scarcely realized what was about to take place. As Mrs. Claremont's house was sufficiently large to accommodate them all, a few changes only being deemed necessary, they were saved the labored details of a fresh outfit at house keeping. But then there were so many last calls to be made, so many little things to be attended to, which, in a sud-
