My midnight lamp,—and what is writ, is writ;
Would it were worthier, but I am not now
That which I have been, and my visions flit
Less palpably before me—and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt, is fluttering, faint and low."
The cousins, Alice Orville and Josephine Camford, sat together in a vine-clad arbor on the shore of Lake Erie.
"I cannot express the joy I feel at beholding you again, dear Pheny; learning of your welfare, and finding you so happy in the contemplation of the future," said Alice.
"None can tell what the future may bring," answered Josephine. "All is vague and uncertain. I never believe anything is to be mine till I really possess it."
"And so you won't believe Fred. Milder is yours till the nuptial knot is tied?" said Alice, smiling.
"No, not fully,—not without a shadow of doubt," returned Josephine, laughing in turn.