the work was forgotten. Recently the subject has been revived, and Roger Williams may yet have some outward sign to mark his greatness and perpetuate his name. The precise locality of his grave has been carefully ascertained and examined. On scraping off the turf from the surface of the ground the dim outlines of seven graves were found, contained within less than one square rod. In colonial times each family had its own burial ground, which was usually near the family residence. Three of these seven graves were those of children, the remaining four were adults. The easterly grave was identified as that of Mr. Williams. On digging down into the "charnel house," it was found that everything had passed into oblivion. The shapes of the coffins could only be traced by a black line of carbonaceous matter, the thickness of the edges of the coffins with their ends being distinctly defined. The rusted remains of the hinges and nails, with a few fragments of wood, and a single round knob, was all that could be gathered from his grave. In the grave of his wife there was not a trace of anything save a single lock of braided hair, which had survived the wear of more than one hundred and eighty years. Near the grave stood a venerable apple-tree, but when and by whom planted is not known. This tree had sent two of its main roots into the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Williams. The larger root had pushed its way through the earth till it reached the precise spot occupied by the skull of Roger Williams. Thence making a turn, as if going round the skull, it followed the direction of the backbone to the hips. Here it divided into two branches, sending one along each leg to the heel, where they both turned upwards to the toes. One of these roots formed a slight crook at the knee, which made the whole bear a very close resemblance to the human frame. The graves were emptied of every particle of human dust. It is known to chemistry that all flesh and gelatinous matter giving consistency to the bones are resolved into carbonic acid gas, water, and air, while the solid lime dust usually remains. But in this case the phosphate of lime of the bones in both graves was all gone. There stood the guilty apple-tree caught in the very act of robbing the grave. The organic matter of Roger Williams had passed into woody fibre and apple blossoms, and had become pleasant to the eye; and more, it had gone into the fruit from year to year, so that the question might now be asked, Who ate Roger Williams?* A poetical and useful transformation, and one far preferable to filling the bung hole of a barrel.

TAL-A-HEN.

*Copied into the Times from the Hartford (Connecticut) Journal.

WHAT CANNOT LOVE DO?

OR,

A TALE OF TWO FRIENDS.

BY

JOHN SAUNDERS,

Author of " Abel Drake's Wife,” “Hirell,” “Israel Mort, Overman ; or, the Story of the Mine," "The Sherlocks," "A Noble Wife," Robbing Peter to Pay Paul," &c., &c.

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CHAPTER I.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY OF THE WOODS.

In one of those exquisite combinations of wild woodland scenery with still wilder rivers and streams for which Ireland is so famous-now expanding to forest breadths, now narrowing to the dimensions of a ravine, and everywhere interpenetrated by dales and dells innumerable of the most varying and picturesque character-our story begins.

A small party of friends and acquaintances had come, most of them for the first time, to see this favoured locality. Hour after hour they roamed from one object of attraction to another, heedless of fatigue so long as any place remained within reach to explore.

The season was May. For once the elder poets' worship of the month, and of the Spring which May alone can represent in all its freshness and glory, were found to have done only justice to their theme.

Leaf, flowers, and scent; the elastic verdure beneath the feet, and the cerulean sky above, so tenderly softened by a few white clouds; the music of the running waters; the ecstatic songs of birds; and the balmy and delicious air in which all living things seemed to find it happiness merely to live, made the scene and its surroundings that day seem a place in which it might be thought equally sweet to die, but certainly one where the instincts of the human heart irresistibly prompted to love.

And if these influences were in themselves unable to stir natures chilled by age or disappointments, or hopelessly vitiated by their worldly career, there was one among the company upon whom none could or did look unmoved.

This was a young maiden, apparently of that precise age when the girl is just verging into the woman, and concentrates every charm and grace belonging to both; a state and a period of which, unfortunately, every trace is often lost in the two or three years following.

She wore a long, closely-fitting dress of dark grey, which modestly revealed the perfect symmetry of her form; and a broad-brimmed straw hat, on which a crimson ribbon repeated the colour of the slight and elegant trimmings of the gown.

The girlish simplicity of such a costume, and its suggestiveness as to a kindred simplicity of character, gave an irresistible charm to the buoyant spirits, the exuberant gaiety, that from time to time inspired with fresh courage the weary ones of the group; while, as a careful observer might have noticed, tending to lessen rather than enhance the extraordinary perfection of her features when caught for a moment at rest. To study the loveliness of a Hebe one must not take the goddess in her laughing mood; because there is then a higher lovelinessthat of expression-in its manifold aspects, which enthrals the spirit, but baffles while delighting the eye.

It was a great surprise when the youthful heroine of our story suddenly dropped down on the green sward, saying, with a laugh,

"I can't go any farther. I am so tired. Please don't mind me. I'll wait here till you come back. I was at a ball last night, which I don't think any of you were. So, instead of asking when I left off dancing, I pray you only to consider the forlorn condition in which I am as my sufficient punishment. Go your way, and take my share of enjoyment to add to your

own."

After some serious discussion among the rest it was agreed she could take no harm. So telling her they would not be long, they went their "ways."

When they had passed out of sight, with many a turn round and waving of handkerchiefs, the young maiden began slowly to discover and to own to herself she was not merely tired but thoroughly worn out, and craving for some special form of rest.

Looking round, she saw behind her the bank of the neighbouring stream or small river; and again she heard the sounds that had for the last hour been as a musical accompaniment to the march of the party: sounds created by the impetuous waters when arrested in their course by the rocks that were perpetually cropping up among them.

She thought she would like to get to the top of the bank; and there, out of sight of passers-by, find a place to lie down; and amuse herself by watching the passage of the stream, with its freight of ships; as in her childish days she had been

accustomed to call the broken branches of trees so often floating on the surface.

Aching in every limb, she reached the top. But the slope on her side of the water was in the full sun; whilst the opposite bank was crowned with a grand canopy of forest trees, their branches picturesquely reaching to the ground.

She wished heartily she could lay under those branches, but knew not how to cross.

Sitting a few minutes on the grass before making an effort to reach the nearest shade, she watched the battle, as she called it, of the river and the rock :-the angry rush of the stream at the rock, and the equally angry repulsion by the rock; and then, as if both had grown wiser by the fray, how the waters stole back round the base of the rock with a loving kiss.

And then the youthful philosopher could not but smile at the thought,

66

"Ah, if all the battles in the world might but end in the same way they wouldn't so much matter; for I see here the fighting goes on, and neither combatant grows a bit the worse, however long the struggle."

Suddenly she discovered, or thought she discovered, something like a kind of bridge of rock stepping-stones, by which she might cross.

She descended, and found it was so. One great natural table-rock in the middle had been supplemented artificially at some time or other by smaller ones, for transit.

Stooping low, she timidly felt with her hands the first of these stepping-stones, lest it might be slippery and dangerous. She found it clean and safe.

And then in a couple of minutes she landed safely on the other side, ascended, found a thick covert, and a couple of treetrunks near together, apparently united by their entangling roots that grew above the soil.

There she laid herself-the roots her pillow, the grass and wild flowers her bed, the foliage of the trees her curtains, and the tiny openings of light in their tops suggesting to her so many starry eyes looking down on the joys and sorrows of poor little weary ones like herself.

Believing she was in complete and safe seclusion, and feeling heavy for sleep, she wondered if she might give way to it; but hesitated in the fear she might not awake before the return of her friends.

No, she must not sleep; so, rousing herself to a half sitting half reclining posture, supporting her head by one hand and arm, and the elbow by the other, crossing her breast, she tried. to review the incidents of the last night's ball. But just as a very distinguished looking man was coming to ask her to dance, the sights and sounds all about her were so soothing, she uu

consciously forgot herself and him, sank lower and lower, keeping nearly as possible the same attitude, and presently slept.

Now the stepping-stones of the river not being made for the passage in one way only (that by which the tired girl had come), it happened naturally enough that a young man, of three or four and twenty, came near where she was lying; intending to cross in the opposite direction.

He would have passed her by, unconscious of her presence, but was drawn to the very edge of her covert by the gleam of primroses.

But what flower of the earth could for a moment bear comparison with such a flower of dawning womanhood, as he now saw, with startled eyes, lying on the grass?

Avoiding any close approach, the new comer remained sufficiently near to become deeply impressed with her beauty, and the grace of her person, as she lay in a position that, however unintentionally adopted, formed a picture only too seductive.

His first impulse had been to leave the spot before there might be a chance of her awakening to find him there, and he tried to obey it. But the feet of his spirit refused to move. Meantime his every glance seemed to rouse him to more and more vivid perception of her extreme loveliness.

He stood literally spell-bound.

The repose had brought back her colour. And so bright was it, that he could not but fancy she must be awake, and conscious of his presence

and attitude.

A slight change of position, a faint smile, and a soft murmuring from her lips of dreamily sounding words, told him how unworthy of the sleeping girl his fancy was.

He had cared in his way for many women; but the way proved to be one chiefly characterised by its leading so easily to forgetfulness. As the personages concerned passed out of sight, they passed also out of mind.

"Could it be the same with this one-so infinitely fairer than all the rest ?" he asked himself, feeling how deeply he was moved, but conscious of the serious misconceptions that might arise should he be not the only passer-by.

He looked all round him, but saw no one near; heard no footsteps crackling on the broken branches of the trees that lay all about. He was only imagining danger. So he turned again with renewed zest to the feast that eye, heart, and soul found in the study of her beauty.

All sorts of incidents resembling the present one rose to his recollection from history, poetry, and fiction. One of these brought a humorous smile to his face-the antique story of Cymon and Iphigenia, so finely told by Dryden; for though he