with at Grandmother Broadwood's years ago, when he was a little boy, were Hannah Roland and an elder sister, since deceased, and therefore their acquaintance seemed but a renewal of childish friendship. Hannah was several years the senior of her brother, and sister Phebe, and Kirk soon learned a half sister to both. She seemed a mother, as well, for they both looked up to her and appeared to be guided by her in all they did. She was an invalid, and did not rise from the half lounge, half chair she occupied, not even when they went out to tea, which Hannah pressed Kirk so urgently to partake of with them, that he could not, nor did he care to refuse. She was wheeled into the supper room and back again, and although helpless and crippled, she was as merry and lighthearted as any. She seemed to know, too, all that was going on in the world outside, for there was not a subject talked upon by the two men, that she did not handle as well as they. She had not been out of the house in ten years, she said, but she read the papers. And all Fronefield came to her with its news, so that she knew all that was going on-and "more too," she added in her bright laughing way. It was a little world she lived in, to be sure, and from which she looked on and judged those who mingled in the mightier outside world; but a little world does not necessarily imply a narrow one, or one too straight and cramped to be enjoyable. Oh, no! hers was a very complete world, little, certainly, but round and full, and with as much room for sympathy and love and charity, and all the rest of the perfect womanly virtues, as though she lived and mingled with the wide, wide world that radiated beyond hers-perhaps-who knows! her's was even fuller, and more complete. Kirk Broadwood, therefore, had not taken many trips to Fronefield, before Hannah Roland discovered his visits were not altogether for the purpose of seeing Luther, for the walk up Maple avenue proved such an attraction, that before the summer was over it grew to be Kirk's every Saturday holiday, and of course tea at the cottage and a walk to the pond, before train time, followed as regularly. It Phebe continued to be as shy and modest during these visits, as any of her bird namesakes. was Hannah who did most of the entertaining and nearly all the talking. She liked Kirk, and when Hannah Roland liked any one she openly showed her preferment. Kirk wished, nevertheless, Phebe would talk more to him, and he did think Luther might let Phebe walk to the pond. alone with him sometime! Hannah seemed to divine his desire at last, for she said one evening, it was the first time Kirk had come out to spend Sunday with them, and he had said at the teatable, "How romantic the pond will look in the moonlight to-night !" and Phebe had blushed and answered softly, "yes." Hannah seemed to feel that Kirk wanted Phebe to go alone with him this night, so she said: "Luther, you may wheel me out on the porch, and sit there with me in the moonlight to-night. Phebe may walk to the pond with Kirkland.” Kirk thanked her with a look, and Phebe ran up-stairs to get her pretty soft gray Shetland shawl. She came down with it fastened cloud-like on her head, and held at the throat with a knot of rosecolored ribbon. Kirk started and felt in his pocket. His ribbon was all right. This was a new one then, and she had missed the other. If she knew where it was, what would she say?" "Don't stay out late, children. Phebe, keep thy shawl up close around thy throat. Remember, Kirkland, I put her in thy care," cried Hannah to them as they went out of the gate. "I will remember," answered Kirk, looking back. "See that you don't forget it !" The shadows fell on the maple avenue road in the moonlight now, and there was such deep silence over all things, in the hushed rustle of the leaves, in the noisless motion of the figures casting the shadows, that one might almost believe the shadows were out walking without their substance ! "Hannah says, 'thee' to me, I wonder why?” at last said Kirk, as though audibly continuing a train of thought in his mind. "Because she likes you; she never says it to any one without. We Quakers are very select in using our language to outsiders." "Is it your way too, to say thee only to those you like ?" "I say thee to brother and Hannah—” "But never to me. I am an outsider!" The voice had a sad, reproachful sound. The shadows move a trifle faster, the shorter a little a-head. "I would like to hear thee,' from your lips, Phebe," continued Kirk, following his companion. "I have come out here all summer with no other purpose than hoping one day you would say it to me in its sweetest way. May I tell you how ?" The shorter shadow nods assent. "I love thee! Will you say it to me in that way? for Phebe, I can say it to you over and over a thousand times, and never will it express half the love I feel for you. I love thee. Wilt thou be my wife, Phebe, bird?" The shadows are very close now, and a soft, sweet voice whispers, "I love thee; I will be thy wife." Hannah and Luther were still sitting on the porch when the two returned from their walk, and when Hannah said she would go to her room as she was tired, Kirk bent down and whispered:. "You put her in my care to-night. I am going always for it."' to keep her in my charge-always." "Is it so, Phebe ?" asked Hannah, looking up into the starry eyes of her sister, and the eyes answered. Luther gave his consent, although he declared no one seemed to think it at all necessary! When Phebe unfastened her shawl, her cheeks pinker than the knot of rose-ribbon at her throat, Kirk drew its mate from his pocket, saying: When Kirk Broadwood's friends asked him, where, under the sun, he found his sweet little Quaker wife, he answered, "I rescued her from among some Bulls and Bears," and when they raised their hands and their eyebrows in astonishment, he exclaimed, "I picked her up—or rather her travelling-bag-on Wall street." And that is the way there came to be a Wall street Romance. AWAY; let nought to love displeasing, What tho' no grants of royal donors With pompous titles grace our blood; We'll shine in more substantial honors, And to be noble we'll be good. Our name, while virtue thus we tender, Will sweetly sound where e'er 'tis spoke: And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk. WINIFREDA.' This beautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine Muses, was, we believe, first printed in a volume of “Miscellaneous Poems, by several hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726, 8vo." It is there said, how truly we know not, to be a translation "from the ancient British language." What though from fortune's lavish bounty Sufficient for our wishes give; And that's the only life to live. Through youth and age in love excelling, We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. How should I love the pretty creatures, While round my knees they fondly clung; To see them look their mothers features, To hear them lisp their mothers tongue. And when with envy time transported, Shall think to rob us of our joys, You'll in your girls again be courted, And I'll go a wooing in my boys. THE CAVE-TEMPLE OF ELEPHANTA, IN BOMBAY HARBOR, INDIA. In the April MONTHLY there appeared a concise | tranquil bosom after a tedious passage across the article upon Agra and its architectural wonders, wherein we promised to relate, in a number of short papers, from time to time as we might find space for them, some of the reminiscences of an eight years' sojourn in the East Indies; we have since found space for but one additional paper, that on Delhi in the MONTHLY of September, and now we have four pages that we feel cannot be better occupied than by a brief notice of the marvelous Cave-Temple of Elephanta. Many years ago, in a book on "The Wonders of the World," Elephanta's caves found honorable mention, and well may they still be regarded in the same light. Elephanta is an island in the harbor of Bombay, itself one of the most beautifully charming objects you behold in all that naturally charming country. Perhaps its interest may be enhanced when you find yourself upon its broad and ocean; still we cannot realize how any one could enjoy the strikingly lovely scene more than we did, and we beheld it first from the shore. Imagine forests of palms that adorn its banks, the luxuriant, verdure-laden islands that, assisted by count. less ships and boats, relieve the expanse of water, and the bays that lose themselves in a bright, soft gleam as they reach into the land-the whole intensified in picturesque grandeur by the hills that rise before us, rounded, terraced, and obelisked, in ornate splendor, and then remember the appropriate frame of a cloudless sky and a still, shining blue sea, and the perfect picture your imagination may have painted will yet fall short of the gorgeous reality. But the harbor is also a noble one in respect to its perfect adaptation to its proper uses, well meriting its name, Bombay, Portuguese Bom-Bahia (or more correctly Boa-Bahia), "the good harbor;" its extent and its safety and fitness leave nothing to be desired. But, let us enter one of the neat boats we see all along the shore, and, going well out upon the water, turn towards the city; we are lost for a moment in wonder and admiration, the change in the aspect of the harbor is amazing, almost unnatural-the spectacle is no more superb than that from the shore, but strangely different, a vast forest of masts, with numberless snow-white sails, apparently in relief against a vaster forest of rich, deep-green palms, and Eastern trees of many species, and beyond, seen through and over and between the two differing forest-lines, are seen the white houses, with here and there a steeple, marking the long line of Cohaba Point, telling us where lies the great city of Bombay. Bombay, the city, is worthy of our notice, but we shall not attempt to tell here of its beauties, its charms, or of its importance as a commercial mart and as a seat of government. Our engravings on this and the preceding page present pictures of a busi ence have been in active exercise, every conceivable method employed, the very conformation of the house specially designed to catch every breath of air that can be caught, all has failed to secure more than an amelioration of the heat-the heat is still oppressive. We must, however, turn to the marvelous CaveTemple of Elephanta. No pen-picture can afford even an approximate idea of this vast, strangely grand, almost supernaturally impressive Brahminical cathedral, for its extent, no less than its elaborate grandeur, constitute it a temple-cathedral ployed in rearing sheep and poultry for the Bombay market. among the temples of lesser note and inferior pro- | attention, though its inhabitants are chiefly emportions, which abound in the Presidency. Our illustrations will, however, materially assist us in the attempt to convey such an idea. The Cave-Temple has been deserted for we cannot say how many ages, and when and by what particular race it was first hewed out, constructed, and adorned, can only be uncertainly guessed. In the face of a great precipice, richly decked by nature in flowers and plants of many kinds, we find huge doorways, admitting us to gigantic halls excavated out of living rock of great compact |