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"And then isn't it sweet to think," continues Violet, warming to her subject, "that when one's friends are dead one can still be of some service to them, in praying for their souls? It seems to keep them always with one. They don't seem so lost to us as they would otherwise.", "The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night." The dusk is slowly creeping up over all the land, the twilight is coming on apace. As the day was, so is the gathering eve, sad and mournful, with sounds of rain and sobbings of swift winds as they rush through the barren beeches in the grove. The harbor bar is moaning many miles away, yet its voice is borne by rude Boreas up from the bay to the walls of the stately Towers, that neither rock nor shiver before the charges of this violent son of "imperial Æolus.", Alas! alas! what foul deed may even now be doing while she stands here powerless to avert it,—her efforts all in vain! How richly shines the sweet heaven, studded with its stars! how cool, how fragrant, is the breeze! How the tiny wavelets move and sparkle in the glorious bay below. How fair a world it is to hold such depths of sin! Why should not rain and storms and howling tempest mark a night so——.