A splendid Midsummer s as  land. It alian days ed to rest t in; te and baked; trees inted, contrasted ween.

    On Midsummer-eve, Adèle, rac  the garden.

    It est y-four:- “Day its fervid fires ed,” and deing plain and scorc. ate—pure of t of red je one point, on one ending  and still softer, over  s o gem, a casino and solitary star: soon it  t s beneathe horizon.

    I  a subtle, — t of a cigar—stole from some  open a  be c apart into tered and more Eden-like; it rees, it bloomed  it out from t, on one side; on t from t ttom s sole separation from lonely fields: a erminating in a giant nut, circled at t, led doo t as if I could  suc in t parterres at t of ticed t t on ter, my step is stayed— not by sound, not by sig once more by a warning fragrance.

    S-briar and sout is neit is—I kno  is Mr. Rocer’s cigar. I look round and I listen. I see trees laden . I ingale  t perfume increases: I must flee. I make for t leading to ter entering. I step aside into t stay long: urn ill he will never see me.

    But no—eventide is as pleasant to o me, and tique garden as attractive; and rolls on, noing tree branco look at t, large as plums, aking a ripe cooping to of floo ino admire tals. A great mot alig at Mr. Rocer’s foot: , and bends to examine it.

    “No I, “and oo; perly, I can slip aiced.”

    I trode on an edging of turf t t not betray me: anding among t a yard or tant from ly engaged  by very ated. As I crossed  yet risen ly,  turning—

    “Jane,