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The sun poured brilliantly intoI was free frohtful sense of vigour and elasticity pervadedat my watch, found to my amaze onthe bell, and the servant appeared

"Is it actually irl setically

"I did knock at ave me no answer Mada mademoiselle in so sound a sleep, she said it was a pity to disturbupstairs just then with difficulty, she being stout and short of breath, confir nods of her head

"Breakfast shall be served at the instant," she said, rubbing her fat hands together; "but to disturb you when you slept--ah, Heaven! the sleep of an infant--I could not do it! I should have been wicked!"

I thanked her for her care of me; I could have kissed her, she looked so ether lovable And I felt so merry and well! She and the servant retired to prepare my coffee, and I proceeded to make my toilette As I brushed outnext door I listened, and recognised a famous Beethoven Concerto The unseen musician played brilliantly and withal tenderly, both touch and tone re me of some beautiful verses in a book of poems I had recently read, called "Love-Letters of a Violinist," in which the poet [FOOTNOTE: Author of the equally beautiful idyl, "Gladys the Singer," included in the new Aht edition just issued] talks of his "loved A Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak, The wan despair that words could never speak I prayed as ifTo so, Because he lov'd and suffered, and eak

"I trill'd the notes, and curb'd theh, And when they falter'd most, I made the she-devil I was fired thereby To bolder efforts--and a s as if a saint did weep

"I changed the theh to fit it to a mesh Of merry tones, and drew it back afresh, To talk of truth, and constancy, and woe, And life, and love, and low Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh"