spell that held me silent was broken; a flash of light, a flood of memory swept over my intelligence. I knew that Heliobas was exciting the whole battery of his inner electric force, and that thus employed for the purposes of vengeance, it must infallibly cause death. I found my speech at last.

"Heliobas!" I cried. "Remember, remember Azul! When Death lies like a gift in your hand, withhold it. Withhold it, Heliobas; and give Life instead!"

voice, and looked up. A Very slowly, very reluc

He started at the sound of my strong shudder shook his frame. tantly, he relaxed his position; he rose from his kneeling posture on the prince's breast-he left him and stood upright. Ivan at the same moment heaved a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, apparently insensible.

Gradually one by one the hard lines faded out of the face of Heliobas, and his old expression of soft and grave beneficence came back to it as graciously as sunlight after rain. He turned to me, and bent his head in a sort of reverential salutation.

"I thank and bless you," he said; "you reminded me in time! Another moment and it would have been too late. have saved me."

"Give him his life," I said, pointing to Ivan.

You

"He has it," returned Heliobas; "I have not taken it from him, thank God! He provoked me; I regret it. I should have been more patient with him. He will revive immediately. I leave him to your care. In dealing with him, I ought to have remembered that human passion like his, unguided by spiritual knowledge, was to be met with pity and forbearance. As it is, however, he is safe. For me, I will go and pray for Zara's pardon, and that of my wronged Azul."

As he uttered the last words, he started, looked up, and smiled.

"My beautiful one! Thou hast pardoned me? Thou wilt love me still? Thou art with me, Azul, my beloved? I have not lost thee, oh my best and dearest! Wilt thou lead me? Whither? Nay - no matter whither - I come!"

And as one walking in sleep, he went out of the room, and I heard his footsteps echoing in the distance on the way to the chapel.

Left alone with the prince, I snatched a glass of cold water from the table, and sprinkled some of it on his forehead and hands. This was quite sufficient to revive him; and he drew a

long breath, opened his eyes, and stared wildly about him. Seeing no one but me he grew bewildered, and asked:

"What has happened?"

Then catching sight of the drawn swords lying still on the ground where they had been thrown, he sprang to his feet, and cried:

"Where is the coward and murderer?"

I made him sit down and hear with patience what I had to say. I reminded him that Zara's health and happiness had always been perfect, and that her brother would rather have slain himself than her. I told him plainly that Zara had expected her death, and had prepared for it—had even bade me good-bye, although then I had not understood the meaning of her words. I recalled to his mind the day when Zara had used her power to repulse him.

"Disbelieve as you will in electric spiritual force," I said. "Your message to her then through me was - Tell her I have seen her lover.”

At these words a sombre shadow flitted over the prince's face.

"I tell you," he said slowly, "that I believe I was on that occasion the victim of an hallucination. But I will explain to you what I saw. A superb figure, like, and yet unlike, a man, but of a much larger and grander form, appeared to me, as I thought, and spoke. Zara is mine,' it said mine by choice; mine by free will; mine till death; mine after death; mine through eternity. With her thou hast naught in common; thy way lies elsewhere. Follow the path allotted to thee, and presume no more upon an angel's patience.' Then this strange majestic-looking creature, whose face, as I remember it, was extraordinarily beautiful, and whose eyes were like self-luminous stars, vanished. But, after all, what of it? The whole thing was a dream."

"I am not so sure of that," I said quietly.

PIERRE CORNEILLE.

CORNEILLE, PIERRE, a distinguished French dramatist; born at Rouen, June 6, 1606; died at Paris, October 1, 1684. He was educated at the Jesuits' College, studied law, and in 1624 took the oaths. It is said that his first play, "Mélite," produced in 1629, was founded on personal experience. It was followed by "Clitandre," "La Veuve," "La Galerie du Palais," "La Suivante," and "La Place Royale." In 1635 appeared "Medea; " in 1636, he produced his tragedy, "The Cid." In 1639 he published "Horace," with a dedication to Richelieu. "Cinna" also appeared in 1639, and "Polyeucte" in 1640. These plays are regarded as Corneille's masterpieces. "La Mort de Pompée," and the comedy "Le Menteur," followed in 1642, and "Rodogune" in 1644. "Théodore," the poet's next play, was a failure. His remaining plays are: "Heraclius" (1647); “Andromède," and "Don Sancho d'Aragon" (1650); "Nicomède" (1651); "Pertharite" (1653); "Edipe" (1659); "La Toison d'Or" (1660); "Sertorius" (1662); "Sophonisbe" (1663); "Othon" (1664); "Agésilas" (1666); "Attila " (1667); "Tite et Bérénice" (1670); "Pulchérie" (1672); and "Suréna" (1674). Between 1653 and 1659 he wrote three "Discourses on Dramatic Poetry," the "Examens," printed at the end of his plays, and made a metrical translation of the "Imitation of Christ."

In 1647 Corneille was made a member of the Academy, and in 1663 he was allowed a pension of 2000 livres. The pension was suspended from 1674 to 1681, and again in 1683, and the poet suffered all the pangs of poverty.

THE LOVERS.

(From "The Cid.")

The scene is an apartment in the house of CHIMÈNE's father in Seville. CHIMÈNE and ELVIRE are conversing, after CHIMÈNE has learned that her father, the COUNT DE GORMAS, has lost his life in a duel with DON RODRIGUE, the son of an aged nobleman insulted by DE GORMAS.

CHIMÈNE. At stake is my honor; revenge must be mine; Whate'er the desire love may flattering stir,

To the soul nobly born all excuse is disgrace.