allied with female craft;--but nonsense! it will be said; no colours
whatever could represent all this, and that, too, in little, for the
picture was among Bone's enamels. Well, then, it suggested it all.
Perhaps the finest Madonna ever painted would be no more than a meek,
pious, pretty woman, and an innocent child, if we knew not whom it was
meant for.

* * * * *


THE HAUNTED HOUSE.

(_By Mrs. Hemans._)


I seem like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he, departed.

MOORE.


Seest thou yon grey gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
Long ago,
Still are murmuring round its hearth,