hreads through it?

"Natalushka," said her father, with great good-humor, "it is your
birthday. Do you think you could persuade Lord Evelyn and Mr. Brand to
come to your dinner-party?"

It was then explained to the two gentlemen that on this great
anniversary it was the custom of Mr. Lind, when in London, to take his
daughter to dine at some French or Italian restaurant in Regent Street
or thereabouts. In fact, she liked to play at being abroad for an hour
or two; to see around her foreign faces, and hear foreign tongues.

"I am afraid you will say that it is very easy to remind yourself of the
Continent," said Mr. Lind, smiling--"that you have only to go to a place
where they give you oily food and bad wine."

"On the contrary," said Brand, "I should thing it very difficult in
London to imagine yourself in a foreign town; for London is drained.
However, I accept the invitation with pleasure."

"And I," said Lord Evelyn. "Now, must we be off to dress?"

"Not at all," said Natalie. "Do you not understand that you are abroad,
and walking into a restaurant to dine? And now I will play you a little
invitation--not to dinner; for you must suppose you have dined--and you
come out on the stairs of the hotel, and step into the black gondola."

She went along to the small table, and sat down to the zither. There
were a few notes of prelude; and then they heard the beautiful low voice
added to the soft tinkling sounds. What did they vaguely make out from
that melodious murmur of Italian?

Behold the beautiful night--the wind sleeps drowsily--the silent
shores slumber in the dark:

"Sul placido elemento
Vien meco a navigar!"

The soft wind moves--as it stirs among the leaves--it moves and
dies--among the murmur of the water:

"Lascia l'amico tetto
Vien meco a navigar!"

Now on the spacious mantle--of the already darkening heavens--see,
oh, the shining wonder--how the white stars tremble:

"Ai raggi della luna
Vien meco a navigar!"

Where were they? Surely they have passed out from the darkness of the
narrow canal, and are away on the broad bosom of the lagoon. The Place
of St. Mark is all aglow with its golden points of fire; the yellow
radiance spreads out into the night. And that other wandering mass of
gold--the gondola hung round with lamps, and followed by a dark
procession through the silence of the waters--does not the music come
from thence? Listen