very favourable to a reverie, when the ear has only been accustomed to the quiet midnights of the country—where the quiet is rather echoed than broken by the wind wandering among boughs of the oak and beech, and whose every leaf is a note of viewless and mysterious music. But in London, where from door to door "leaps the live thunder;" the distant roll of wheels, the nearer dash of carriages, the human voices mingling, as if Babel were still building—these soon awakened Emily's attention—even the fire had less attraction than the window; and below was a scene, whose only fault is, we are so used to it.
In the middle of the square was the garden, whose sweep of turf was silvered with moonlight; around were the dark shining laurels, and all the pale varieties of colour that flower and shrub wear at such a time, and girdled in by the line of large clear lamps, the spirits of the place. At least every second house was lighted up, and that most visible, the corner one, was illuminated like a palace with the rich stream of radiance that flowed through the crimson blinds; ever and anon a burst of music rose upon the air, and was lost again in a fresh arrival of carriages; then the car-
