Hyperion

nd-eyed spectacles from her nest up there, and watches every one that goes by. I wonder what mischief she is hatching now? Do you know she has nearly ruined your cha

character, particularly as I am a stranger in town.

ked a friend of mine the other day, wheth

really to

ontrives to do a good deal of mischief in the course of th

. But you, who know me better, know that I am so

ladies sit with their feet out of the w

elle

went up beneath the grand terrace

ummit of the Rent Tower," said Flemming. "From that point as from awat

Himmelhahn does, at her window in

e tower, and, climbing the steep stair-case, they seat

nry lies in the great fosse down there, toppled from its base by the explosion of a mi

ee him there, with his silver hair flowing over his shoulders, and that friendly face, which has for so many years pored over the Pandects. I assur

the fosse, right beneath them, and disappeared among the bushes. He was ill-dressed,--his hair flying in the w

ng. "He strides away indignantl

ose name I have forgotte

ke a lion wi

f the Middle Ages. To him the spirit-world is still open. He believes in the transmigration of souls; an

dows. And, as St. Thomas Aquinas was said to be lifted up from the ground by

m fond of holy similitudes, one would say, that, like St. Serapion the Sindonite, he had but one shirt. Yet

then, as well a

ut the power to make others see these objects in the same poetic light, is wanting. Still he is a man of fine powers and fe

Though the mother of many children, she was still beautiful;--resembling those trees, which blossom in October, when the leaves are changing, and whose fruit and blossom are on the branch at once. At her side was a girl of some sixteen years, who seemed to lean upon her arm for support. Her figure was slight; her

r Emma, and that eternal Polish Count. He is always hovering about them, playing the unhappy exile,

know," replied Flemming. "And h

uestion was decided in the Courts of Love in the Middle Ages. Accordingl

ss. In the winter, you know, it was thoug

she seems threatened with a worse one; namely, a hopeles

ers from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar. There are faces I can neve

m have w

Mystery, or dramatic prose-poem, in which the Ocean, Mont-Blanc, and the Cathedral of Strassburg have parts to play; and the saints on the s

dinner-tables, after the ladies have retired. It has been well said of him, that he is not only populaire but populacier; and equally well said of George Sand and Victor Hugo, that their works stand like fortifications, well built and well supplied with warlike munitions; but ineffectual against the Grand Army of

to Paris to escape from ennui, as, in the noble days of chivalry, the defenceless inhabitants of the champaign fled into the castles, at theapproach of some plun

replied wi

d out of Paris there is no s

tinct, in the fading twilight. Between them and the amber-colored western sky, the dense foliage of the trees looked heavy and hard, as if cast in bronze; and already the evening stars h

silent majesty, or whispering only in its native tongue, and freighting the homeward wind with sighs! It reminds me of some captive monarch of a savage tribe, brought over the vast oc

hose illustrious exotics, with their gorgeous, flamingo-colored blossoms, and great, flapping leaves, like elephant's ears,--have a singular working upon my i