on sand and heard the roar of waves.  That, indeed, was the sound that was present in her ears while the music played and the people murmured around her.  Mrs. Lorraine talked to her, and was surprised and amused to notice the eager fashion in which the girl spoke of their journey of the next day.  The gentleman who took her in to supper found himself catechised about Brighton in a manner which afforded him more occupation than enjoyment.  And when Sheila drove away from the house at two in the morning she declared to her husband that she had enjoyed herself extremely, and he was glad to hear it; and she was particularly kind to himself in getting him his slippers, and fetching him that final cigarette which he always had on reaching home; and then she went off to bed to dream of ships and flying clouds and cold winds, and a great and beautiful blue plain of waves.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

GOLD.

  A day of bright reflections on the pond,
  And wavering shadows over moss and frond: 
  A wayward breeze, the summer’s latest born,
  Teased the stiff grain and bent the stately corn,
  Or rocked the bird-nests in the prickly thorn.

  Above, the lavish sun filled air with gold;
  Again, below, on mimic waves it rolled,
  And hid in lily cups.  Her netted hair
  Gleamed in the splendor, bright beyond compare,
  Forming about her head a nimbus rare.

  The velvet mullen raised its yellow head,
  The buttercups like precious ore were spread: 
  Like golden shuttles flung by spirit hands,
  Weaving invisible their magic strands,
  Darted quick orioles in joyous bands.

  Fond helianthus turned her fervent face,
  Meek antirrhinum paled and grew apace;
  Late dandelions, robed in cloth of gold,
  With golden-rod, upsprung from out the mould,
  And pensive, gold-eyed daisies pranked the wold.

  As snowy, gold-rimmed cloudlets hide the sky,
  So hid her eyelid’s golden fringe her eye: 
  As every growing beauty of the earth
  But figures forth great Nature’s hidden worth,
  So my love’s charms from her pure heart had birth.

  Pure heart of gold to me that day was given,
  And promise true as gold made earth a heaven;
  Then far away fled every doubt forlorn;
  We felt for us the Golden Age reborn,
  And envied none their gold from labor torn.

ITA ANIOL PROKOP.

GLIMPSES OF GHOST-LAND.

It is no longer the fashion to scoff at tales of the supernatural.  On the contrary, there is a growing tendency to investigate subjects which were formerly pooh-poohed by most persons claiming to be well informed and capable of reasoning.  It is, however, without propounding any theory or advancing any opinion that I record a few instances of apparently supernatural, or at least inexplicable, occurrences.  I can vouch for the truth of nearly all the stories I am about to relate, one of them only not being either my personal experience or narrated to me by some one of the actors in the scene.