chair. A quantity of rich writing materials
were spread out on the table before her; but she glanced towards them
listlessly, and at length bowed her queenly head between her hands, and
sat a long time still and silent, as if absorbed in reverie. Ever and
anon her little foot tapped impatiently the soft carpet beneath it, as
though some harassing, unpleasant vision disturbed her brain. The clear,
ringing chimes of the college clock finally aroused her to
consciousness.

Rising, she drew aside the heavy folds of the damask curtain, and gazed
for a moment forth on the sleeping earth. The stars were bright, and a
slender crescent rim hung just above the dark cedar forest that swept
and swayed to the northward. Florence dropped the curtain, and,
returning to the table, opened a large morocco-bound volume, which
revealed a virgin page. Twirling the silver top from a carved, mosaic
inkstand, she dipped the golden tips of a pearl-handled pen in its ebon
contents, and holding it between her small, taper fingers, rested her
arm a few moments on the stand, as if waiting for her thoughts to form
and arrange themselves ere she gave them expression. Suddenly the pen
dashed off, and line after line of graceful characters grew on the pure,
white page till it was completely filled.

"I have looked out on the midnight," she wrote, "with all its countless
diamonds blazing on its brow; and far on the verge of the northern
horizon hung the pale disc of the young crescent moon hurrying to
obscure itself behind the dark, gloomy forest,--like as my hopes fail
when I turn my eyes toward those cedar-tops. O, earth, how soon thy
children learn the lesson of sorrow and distrust! But where is my old
pen taking me this evening? This journal grows a sad, ghostly thing,
o'ersplashed with tears, and wo-fraught to the edges.

"To turn the subject: What have I done to-day? Moped dismally till
evening, and then muffled myself in furs; sat down among cushions and
buffalo robes in the omnibus-sleigh, beside ----, shall I write it? yes!
beside Rufus Malcome, and dashed away over the snow-clad earth to the
music of merry bells and merrier voices around me.

"How finely Jenny Andrews and Richard Giblet enjoyed themselves! I
understood their happiness well. Mrs. Edson was not quite so buoyant
with spirits as usual; but she conversed with Rufus in her charming
style. I was quite indignant to hear so much eloquence and refinement
wasted on a churl like him,