another, and was almost dazzled by the rays streaming from each. The rose, each leaf glowing with crimson, as the beams of the inward light shone through, seemed still the queen, yet even her gorgeous hues could not surpass a flower that stood near her, on its tall slight stem, and through whose pure petals the star almost seemed visible, while the cup in its radiance looked as if of snow, when the sun first shines on it, and its radiance is too overpowering for the sight.

The orange blossom, the myrtle, and many other lovely flowers were so bright, that Gerosia turned her eye to the lowlier forms beneath; it gladly rested on the fair green leaf of the forget-me-not, whose flowers of the azure hue of heaven, seemed frosted with diamonds, and the depth of its cup, like the golden clouds round the setting sun. It were vain to attempt description of the beauties which met the maiden's eye wherever she turned; the lowliest blossoms, the most common forms and colours, lighted with the mystic ray, seemed far too rich for earth. The simple daisy trodden under foot continually, revealed here the deep wonder of its form; and each one of the almost invisible flowers, which unite within the circle of its ray-like petals, shone with its own star. But most exquisite were those flowers, whose rich odour rose like a cloud of incense upwards from the beautiful censer of their glowing cups. After long gazing on the wondrous garden, in silent awful delight, Gerosia turned to ask her guide the secret of what she beheld.

"This garden," answered her companion, "is an emblem of the region in which you, fair maiden, and your companions dwell, and of which you are the flowers. All the deep mystery which it enshrines, I may not tell you, but much of it you are now permitted to behold."

"What then," asked Gerosia, "is that light burning in each flower, as in a lamp; and whence comes it ?"

"That pure beam," replied the stranger, "is no natural part of these plants; they have caught the ray from the fountain of light, in the far deeps of heaven, and cherish it in their bosoms as their chiefest ornament. See how they look upwards, as if eager to drink in each beam

from above, and mark how that light gives richness and brilliancy to the commonest hue, while it enhances the beauty of the loveliest. Every flower may imbibe that living ray if it will; it shines not more freely on the rose and tulip in their cultured bed, than on the pale soldanella, as it springs beside a glacier, or the waterlily floating on the silent river. And the united light of all, how fair a radiance does it shed over the garden, as each in its own place gives forth the brightness shrined within, and offers the incense of its own fragrance. Varied as they are in form and colour, and some appearing more beautiful and rich in odours than others, all blend together in one harmonious splendour, one offering of sweets."

"I see most of the flowers lift up their heads, as in loving eagerness to the sky," said Gerosia, "and the light pours down on them its full flood of brightness; but can it reach those blossoms which are so shrouded within their dark green leaves ?"

She pointed to a bed of lilies-of-the-valley, whose heads meekly bowed in the shade, were scarcely visible.

"Those," said the lady, "are among the most precious flowers of the garden; their leaves do but hide them from the common gaze; not from the all penetrating light; and such is their exquisite purity, that not one ray is lost. Look well, you will see them shining even through their veiling leaves, and their fragrance exceeds almost every other flower."

Long in silence, the young maiden continued to gaze on the unbounded luxuriance and variety of the garden, in which she discovered perpetual wonders, and fresh beauties. Suddenly, the peaceful beauty of the scene was changed; a wild storm rushed down, and swept over it. Gerosia turned to question her guide, but a sign from her, bade her observe in silence; and wondering, she watched the effect of this tempest. The flowers were beaten by the wind, and many of them bowed their heads to the earth, but though dark clouds passed over the garden, its radiance was not lessened. She saw the stars in many a flower shine with more dazzling brightness than they had ever done before; the light which

might be said to blaze, in the transparent whiteness of the lily, and the rich crimson of the rose, was flashed back from the meek violet and daisy, and as the blossoms were agitated by the tempest, lambent lightning seemed to play over the garden from the cups of the flowers.

Gerosia's eye was attracted by a spot of more than usual brilliancy-it was the lowly bed of the lilies-of-thevalley, whose leaves blown rudely by the wind, displayed the innumerable lamps, brighter than polished diamonds, of the snow-white transparent bells, whose perfume richer than ever, was diffused over the whole garden.

But while many a flower, even of those whose tender stems were beaten down, displayed the most vivid light, there were others which had wholly lost theirs, and were dull in colour, being deprived of all their lovely hues by the furious storm. After some time the wind died away, the sunshine beamed again, and the former peace was restored to the lately agitated garden. All was not however the same; the same equal radiance was no longer shed from every flower, and the unison of light and beauty was broken. Those flowers which had shone through the storm were now visibly increased in brightness and beauty, but in melancholy contrast there were many which had lost both, and stood dull, deformed, and even drooping.

Gerosia's surprise as she surveyed the altered scene was great, and she besought her guide to tell her the mystery of the flowers which had lost their light.

"I marvel not at your question," replied the stranger, "for your eyes are too dim to discern the difference between the lights of the flowers, and to know that while some draw their rays from the sky, others are contented with false and borrowed brightness. The blossoms you now behold pale, and void of radiance, had not embraced the living rays, but caught the brilliancy of those near them, and reflected it, and so looked like the rest, while as you now behold the first storm could destroy all their beauty. They will remain till they wither away, without light, and must fall soon unregarded and blighted."

"The flowers that yet have their brilliant star, wither also," said Gerosia, and she pointed to a rose many of whose petals had fallen off, and lay beneath it.

"But mark," replied her companion, "the radiance that lingers on those fallen leaves, and the brightness of the star, lately enshrined in them. The life of the rose has now passed into that, and when the petals shall all have fallen off, the star-like light will become a firefly, and its glowing wings will bear it to a distant land of the East, to sport amid bowers never disturbed by the tempest."

The stranger paused, and then continued, “I must now, O maiden, soon leave you, and this mystic scene will vanish from your sight; but forget it not, and be not unmindful that though the light you now behold in the flowers, will not appear so visible to you, as it has been permitted to do this night, it is nevertheless ever present. The star is veiled, and your eyes are too dim to discern it, but its power you can feel, for all the radiance and beauty of the flowers spring from its influence. Look how cold and pale are the colours of yonder flower which is just opening, but has sought no light to dwell in it, confiding in its own beauty only. You have seen in part the wonders of this garden, and have justly admired it; remember these flowers are emblems of you and your companions. As frail, as easily destroyed as these blossoms, you also have a hidden life, and for you there is a pure unfading light, which if you seek it will make you to endure in beauty perpetually, though like the leaves of the flowers, your outward charms may perish. You have felt to-night how soon the dance ean weary, the charms of the loveliest fade as night advances, while this light shines but the brighter amid weariness, and the passing away of other beauties. Let then this mystic star burn in your bosom, and spread its influence round you; to you it will bring peace and unfading charms; to all near, it will diffuse its cheering influence. But remember the fate of those blossoms which shone with false and borrowed light; and be, fair maiden, like those whose lovely cup brilliant with living radiance, is a censer of perpetual odours."

The sweet melody of the stranger's voice ceased; the garden became dim before Gerosia's sight, and when at length she turned to seek her guide, she found herself alone, beside the lake, whose waters now reflected the cold grey hue of dawn, brightened here and there by the

rays, which preceding the sun gilded the clouds waiting. in the east.

Slowly amid the opening flowers and the early song of awakened birds, Gerosia pursued her homeward way. LINA.

THE EDITOR'S TRIP.

MY DEAR FRIEND,-I am glad to learn that the sketch of my recent sojourn in the neighbourhood of Bath, has been read not without interest by many in those parts. This being the case, I may as well give one or two more additional points of interest touching Glastonbury, which I omitted in my last for fear of making my letter unnecessarily long. Whatever amount of credit may be given to the statement of Joseph of Arimathea's having preached at Glastonbury, there is no doubt whatever that the Church of wood which was built here A.D. 31, and which was still retained until 1032, when the charter of Glastonbury, given by Canute, was read in it, was the first church erected in England.

It is impossible to think of Glastonbury in its glory and magnificence without recalling the memory of Dunstan, the introducer of the Benedictine rule into England, and the rebuilder of Glastonbury. He was in every

1 The venerable and learned Mr. Churton tells us in his Early English Church that, "The celebrated Abbey of Glastonbury was probably a Welch Monastery before King Ina of Wessex, at the close of the seventh century, took Somerset from the Welch, and raised his own great foundation there. There seems no doubt that King Arthur was buried in the island of Avalony or Ynis-vitryn the 'glassy island,* as it is called by the Welch, being surrounded at that time with a wide lake of still water, before the streams that encircle it were confined to their banks; and here there was a Church founded by the Saxons, built as they sometimes built their churches of that kind of stud-building still in use in many parts of the country, where it has not given way to brick or stone. In all likelihood the Britons had a monastery here, for at such places their princes were buried, and whatever may be thought of S. Patrick's coming to Glastonbury to die, and of the legend about Joseph of Arimathea, the tomb of Arthur, discovered in Henry II.'s reign, is a strong proof of the ancient religion of the place."-P. 102.