ay will see in the ruins of the place traces of the
avenging spirit that has marked forever the scene of _John Brown's
Raid_.

SCHUMANN'S QUINTETTE IN E FLAT MAJOR.

It was near sundown when we reached the sea-side hotel. By the time we
were settled in our apartment, and I had my invalid undressed and in
bed, the soft, long summer twilight was nearly over. The maid, having
cleared away the litter of unpacking, was sitting in the anteroom, near
enough to be within call. The poor suffering body that held so lightly
the half-escaped spirit lay on the bed, exhausted with the journey, but
feeling already soothed by the pleasant sea-breeze which sighed gently
in at the open window.

Our rooms were on the ground-floor of a one-story cottage. A little
distance off was the large hotel, to which the cottage was attached by a
long arcade or covered gallery. We could hear fragments of the music
which the band was playing to the gay idlers who were wandering about
the balconies or through the hotel grounds; while laughs and little
shrieks, uttered by the children as their pursuing nurses caught them up
for bed, mingled not unpleasantly with the silvery hum arising from the
fashionable crowd and the festal clang of the instruments.

Sleep half hovered over, half winged off from the pillow. I fanned the
peacock plumes slowly to and fro in the delicious air, gazed with a
suppressed sigh on the darkening West, and repeated with a rhythmical
beat the beautiful Hebrew poem in Ecclesiasticus, which I had so often
recited through many long years by the side of that sick-bed, to soothe
the ear of the sufferer. I had just reached these lines,--

"A present remedy of all
Is the speeding coming of a cloud,
And a dew that meeteth it,
By the heat that cometh,
Shall overpower it.

"At His word the wind is still;
And with His thought
He appeaseth the deep;
And the Lord hath plumed islands therein,"--

when I noticed that sleep had settled firmly on the dark eyelids, and
the panting breath came through the poor clay in little soughs and
sighs, as if body and soul, tired with combat, had each sunk down for a
momentary rest on the weary battle-field of life.

The music of the band had ceased; the gay crowd had withdrawn into the
hotel to prepare for the entertainments of the evening, and there was a
lull of human sounds. Then arose the grand roar of the ocean, which with
the regular