NATURE AND HER HARMONIES. 53 



song of yon more favored twain ! Can he be glad with all 

 his misery, his piteous unrecking shame upon him ? 



Here we reluctantly pause. A voice from the printer 

 " No more space ! all closed !" falls like a sudden shower upon 

 the thin wings of our " Eeverie," and damps them back to 

 earth. They will soon dry and grow glossy again, and be 

 rollicking madly on the fitful winds as if the envious clouds 

 had never wept. 



