Scribners Zeitschrift. Beenden Sie mich zu Constantino-ple weiter, um Tlie Eastern Question zu klären. Aber sie werden nichts davon hören, fügte Mr. Atwood, rücksichtsvoll hinzu. Der Admiral bestand darauf, die ganze Partei tobreakfast zum Flaggschiff zurückzubringen. Das Frühstück dauerte viereinhalb Stunden, und Harley gewann am nächsten Morgen, wenn er wirklich WALDWEBEN 327 den Admiral und Kapitän Pa-cbeco umarmte, oder wenn er es nur geträumt hatte.Er war sich ziemlich sicher, elfmal Trunkthe Latters Health zu haben, und er hatte die Zählung verloren. Einige Tage später traf Harley auf Palivettiin den Verein. Der abstrakte Einfluss

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Scribner's magazine . end me to Constantino-ple next, to settle tlie Eastern question.But they shall hear nothing of it, Mr.Atwood, he added, considerately. The Admiral insisted on taking thewhole party back to the flagship tobreakfast. The breakfast lasted aboutfour hours and a half, and Harley won-dered the next morning if he had really WALDWEBEN 327 embraced the Admiral and Captain Pa-cbeco, or if he had only dreamed it.He was quite certain of having drunkthe latters health eleven times, butafter that he had lost count. A few days later Harley met Palivettiin the club. The abstract influence ofthe Union Jack came out pretty wellafter all, didnt it, Mr. Palivetti ? Har- ley was not able to translate the othersreply, and, even if he had been, it couldnot be printed. The companies interested in thosecables never heard anything of Harleysscrape and its lucky ending. If thisaccount should come to their attentionthey will recognize that the informa-tion is entirely unofficial, and, as such, not to be credited.. WALDWEBEN Aubade I LIVE aforest, and hard byA little croft there is where IWas wont to lie by trees tliat hungGreen covert over nests up highIn leafy spaces swinging :Thence, far the forest aisles among, The words of little birds were flung, And back, in echoes ringing.Now it befell, wdiile I did lie. My thoughts from cloudland bringing, A little russet bird had sprung-Out from the shade, while the wood rung In echo to his singing ;Yet till then had he never sung.I knew him well ; and he was youngAnd yet unapt at singing.But now he sang so wondrouslyThat all the rest made no reply, And, lying rapt in w^onder, IDid watch him as he flew on high.His song still downward ringing ;And fainter, farther ever flung, The sweetness of his silver tongue Came floating to me, bringingSongs strange, and of my soul unsung ;Songs falling like the rain amongThe flowers from it springing;Until he vanished in the sky—He vanished, and I trow, did die. But singing smsfinsf THE PEOPLE OF

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• bookcentury1800
• bookdecade1880
• bookpublishernewyo
• bookyear1887