scenes' for the never-before-performed drama of 'Tomorrow,' or spreading out rainbows on the upper decks to dry, is to me a mystery.

Now and then, white, silvery-looking spars were lifted up from the northern horizon, and converged in the zenith; and it occurred to me, that, may be, they were repairing this great blue tent we live under, and that I saw the bare spars and the red linings of the curtains that were thrown up, to keep them out of the way of the aerial craftsmen.

And then again, as it crimsoned, and pearled, and clouded so exquisitely, I fancied it might be Heaven's grand pattern for sea-shells to tint by, discovered at last.

And once more, ere I had quite made up my mind on this conjecture, such a beam, nay, cloud of red light streamed out into the night, and over the stars, one would be sure it must come from Heaven's painted window, and that some body-perhaps some body we once knew and loved, and love still-was passing to and fro, giving us, without the walls, a glimpse or two of the glory within.

As I kept looking, I kept fancying, and who knew that it might not be the evening of some forgotten and long-past yesterday, thus revisiting the glimpses

of the moon'- -one that you and I loved, and have sighed for, more than we would care to tell, and would give a dozen to-morrows to see again.

As I looked, it changed, and the whole heaven from far below the Dipper to the Zenith, was a flutter. Through the silver lace-work shone the stars, and the blue, and the galaxy itself. What could it be, but the dim scarfs of the loved and lost, thus waved in token of remembrance to the earth beneath? And why not? How beautiful and how calm lay that earth beneath the great Argus sky! The eyes of hundreds were turned towards Heaven, that during the broad and glaring day forget there is a Heaven, and a treasure in it. They remembered it then, and were remembered in turn. Ah! if our fancies were only half true!

The books call it Aurora Borealis-what do we care for the books?—and the philosophers declare it is electrical in its origin; a fig for the philosophers! The books of memory and the human heart were printed and collated before that conceited old German they tell of, ever cut a type; and as for philosophy, there is more wisdom in a thought thus tinted with a ray shining through last night from yesterday, than

Seneca, or any body this side of Solomon, ever thought of

But while I gazed and mused, the vision vanished, the window was curtained, the rehearsal over, the sea-shells taught their lesson, the tent as good as new,' the last scene shifted, and the old yesterday faded out.

Domestic Enchantment.

SOMETHING very mysterious over to CHARLES', yesterday. All the children belonging to all the neighbors were cautioned not to come a-near,' and RUSH went dashing off to town, like a king's courier, and there was much talk among the feminines, that grew beautifully inaudible at my approach.

Whatever it was, or would be, it created a strange commotion in all the region round about. At our house, bureau-drawers tumbled out their treasures of flannels and linens; closets and upper shelves were ransacked for saffron and catnip; time-tinted papers of pink and senna were disturbed, amid barbless fishhooks, broken awls, and rusty gimlets.

What could it all mean?

Three women in secret

conclave, stood sentry at the kitchen-door. Why did they look at me? What had I to do with it, or them, or any thing?

An exodus was effected; once in the fields, I breathed freer, and who wonders?

Mercy on the house that never had a baby in it! Don't you remember when you were 'little,' how you sighed for a playfellow, and how, some bright morning, they took you mysteriously and smilingly by the hand, and led you into a darkened room, with a gleam of white drapery in it; and how you trembled in your little shoes as you stood there, every thing was so dim, and solemn, and whispered; and how Aunt Green, or Brown, or some body, took out, exactly from the midst of the drapery, a nice little bundle, bordered about with ribbon, and you discovered a face of the littlest, and eyes of the bluest, and fingers of the tiniest, and you were enjoined to kiss it, and love it, and 'be good' to it, for ever and ever? And you asked all in a breath, whence it came, and when it came, and who brought it, and whose it was, and were told, 'from Heaven-last night-an Angel-yours! How you wished you had been awake, to see that beautiful Angel with her long white wings! And did she go

'right away,' and would she come again and bring another?

Perhaps they averred that the precious little creature was found, like a young quail, hidden beneath some marvellous leaf. Many a time, whether you will own it or not, now you have grown old and wise, you have peeped beneath the plantains and the burdocks, in the secret hope of finding another little Moses, ready to smile, that you might have all to yourself. Many a time, whether you will own it or not, you watched some parting in the summer cloud, and thought you saw a wing and an angel; and then, it wasn't a wing, but a little cherub coming all alone, sailing on a little cloud all crimson and gold; and then, it was just a face that looked through, and was withdrawn; and then, you grew weary with watching, and your eyes ached with gazing, and you fell asleep under the tree, and dreamed it was all true and more! What wouldn't you give for one such dream now?

Just heard from CHARLES'.

Enchantment, necro

mancy, sorcery, and incantation are all true-never doubt it! His house is haunted! A "charmer" has come into that quiet family, and the wonders she