And where unscared the birdlings slept,
Though underneath friends cosy sat,
And whiled the time in lively chat,
Or 'sweetly sympathetic' wept,

While plaintive night-winds round them crept.

And they are gone, the friends so loved,
With whom we sat, with whom we roved;
Sometimes discoursed in serious mood
Such wise as sober people should;
And sometimes (blush we to confess?)
Spent time in wiser idleness;
Set the unruly member free,
And bade it wag in lawless glee,
And lungs to crow like chanticleer,
Till echo answered far and near.
We kicked the football-jest about
Till we had fairly kicked it out;
Loud laughing when the mark we hit,
And louder when we missed of it.

Or took DAN GOETHE'S' FAUSTUS' down,
With grammar eke and lexicon,

To find the meaning of our lesson,

And where we could not find one, guess one:
Or, foiled at last, would smile to see
'Der Meister' solve the mystery.
And now and then a peep we took
At 'Dr. SAM.' in Bozzy's book;
Enchanted with the grand old cur,
Sage, critic, lexicographer,
Poet and wit, as rolling there,
He bolts Sir JOSHUA's generous fare,

And belches forth such sparkling gems

As pale the sheen of diadems;

And all the goodly group the while

Their thoughtful admiration smile.

GIBBON, and 'LANKEY,' and BEAUCLERK,

GARRICK, and 'GOLDY,' THRALE and BURKE,

And (instar omnium !) mighty Boz,

More than the Great Sublime he draws.

Sometimes we turned our SHAKSPEARES o'er, And ranged the realms of fancy-lore,

In wildering moonlit mazes lost

With HAMLET and his father's ghost;

Or, chuckling, watched the garden trick

On BEATRICE and BENEDICK;

Dropped tears o'er DESDEMONA's fate,
And gave PETRUCHIO joy of KATE;
With many an observation sage
Shed light upon the doubtful page;
Untied all knots, and brought to view
More beauties than the author knew.

Or throwing books and business by,
Forth sallied to the open sky,
And roamed, a roystering company,
Exultant, noisy, far and free;

Climbed to the hill-top's breathless height,

Thence turned to gaze (O goodly sight!)

Where green Chenango's glory lay
Beneath the enamoured eye of day,
At softly slumberous ease reclined,
Her green robes waving in the wind,
With liquid-silver ribands* wound,
And leafy garlands wreathed around,
And yon far-gleaming lakelet set,
Like jewel in her coronet.

The fiery-god arrests his car,

And bends to breathe his passion there;
While the full chorus of the groves

With nuptial songs salute their loves,
Sounds of the distant waterfall
Embassing the sweet madrigal.

Then plunging into forest shades,
We sought the cool sequestered glades,
Where holy Nature dwelt alone,
From sight and sound of men withdrawn,
And, myriad-voiced, her MAKER praised,
In temples His own hand hath raised.
But all-unworshipful were we,
Shouting aloud our graceless glee;
Laughing in consecrated bowers,
And plucking all the holy flowers;
Or huddled in some leafy nook,
Along the margin of the brook,
With songs and cachinnations there,
Startled to life the sleepy air;

Then spread our feasts to gods unknown,

And, sated, left the ground bestrown
With cake profane and chicken-bone.

Ah! happy days were those, I ween!
Those days of gladness and of green.
But now, alas! in vain we rove
The faded field, the fading grove,
And search each memory-haunted spot
For those we love we find them not!

The season has begun in town,

And every Gothamite is flown:

Where late we saw their soul-full faces

We gaze into cold, empty places,

And freezing silence smites the ear,

Bent their familiar tones to hear.

They 're gone, all gone! the summer hours,

The friends we love, the birds and flowers;

And these entrancing memories seem

The fragments of some fading dream.

But while we mourn, of these bereft,

Thank Heaven, our happy home is left!
And other friends, a cherished few,
And cheerful work enough to do.

ONE of the prettiest features of our landscape is furnished by the windings through it of the beautiful Chenango and the canal. The river, here just swelling beyond the dimensions of a millstream, wanders across the plain and into the broad mouth of the valley, at its own sweet will.' And the bold, graceful curves of the canal slide into the lines of nature with an ease and a decision which speak well for the taste of the engineer (I had almost said of the artist) who traced them.

enemy.

HERE we are yet, dear Gustavus, lying quietly in front of the I do not understand the reason of this eternal delay; the whole army is anxious for the battle, and all, with me, curse this tiresome inactivity which so wears out our spirits. According to all appearances, we shall remain here for some time yet, and our hopes of an engagement with the French seem likely long to remain unfulfilled. To-morrow I am to advance with my guards some fifteen miles to Villarosa. My comrades envy me even this change, for it is said to be a very pleasant spot. It belongs to Count P, who has also considerable possessions in the Tyrol, where you certainly have heard of him. He is living here in the bosom of his family, who, as well as himself, are praised by every body, enjoying the delightful rural scenery. It is not to be denied that one learns here, in the rough companionship of war, how to value the privilege of living in the society of refined and intelligent persons. But such reflections are only transient. I would we might go into battle to-morrow, rather than live in this intolerable idleness.

That I should thus visit this land, this Italy, the subject of my fondest dreams; that I with rough and bloody hand should help to drive sweet Peace from its hallowed vales, pains me deeply. I had hoped to cross its borders under other circumstances. I am a soldier; a soldier from choice, from pure love and thirst of battle; but such wild passions suit not this sky, this scenery, where every thing, in spite of these troublous times, flourishes in such luxuriance and beauty. Oh, you should see, my dear Welland, its richness, its splendor and bloom! Who could bear to enter here at the head of a victorious army?

Villarosa, July 21.

I WRITE to you from Villarosa, this Paradise of nature. Friend, envy me; envy me each hour I am permitted to live here. What a circle of noble persons! You should see Magdalene; her tall, noble figure, her full dark eye, her rich flowing tresses. You should hear the music of her voice, sweet as the note of a seraph, and you would forget, as I do, war and its tumults. The quiet sadness-gentle trace of some deep sorrow-giving a softening richness to her exquisitely beautiful features, and the expression of fondest love that beams forth from her eyes, make her appear most unspeakably ravishing. But I cannot describe her to you; I cannot tell you all the wild sensations that with sweet intoxication fill my soul!

But I just perceive that I have written nothing as I should have done. Know then that Magdalene is the daughter of Count Pto whom Villarosa belongs. An old friend could not have hoped to have been better received than I have been; such warm-hearted kindness has been shown me, that I cannot understand my own good fortune. Brother, now I live under the same roof with her; am almost always near her. I accompany her on the guitar when she sings her native airs; those sweet songs of love and sadness. She leads me through the beautiful grounds of the villa, and enters with such delight into my astonishment at this Garden of Eden. Ah! she is an angel; a creature of perfect sweetness and gentleness! How I feel all the inclinations of my spirit changed! I feel that I am become better; that her presence elevates me. I am happy, for I may see her. In

deed, I am blessed!

Villarosa, July 23.

THANK GOD, as yet we hear nothing of any change in our quarters! Probably the armies will remain thus opposite each other for some wecks yet, and I shall not be compelled to leave my paradise. I never thought that love could so have changed me. Formerly, a continual, burning uneasiness drove me out into the mists of the distant; all my wishes lay in the future, and life with mournful tones passed shapeless before me. But now!-all my longing has ceased, and in her hallowed presence the wild storm of the soul is hushed in sweetest contentment. The present fills me with inexpressible bliss; and, moved by the breath of love, there is vibrating deep within me the chords of a higher and holier life.

With how much kindness they treat me! They do not let me feel for an instant how burdensome I necessarily must be to them. What noble persons they are! The father, with his eye fixed so calmly on these stormy times, his tall, manly, respect-commanding figure; and the mother, who exists only in the circle of her dear ones, embracing all things in her deep and holy love; and Magdalene- Magdalene! He has never known what is holy and rapturous in life who has not seen in her angel-eye the dawn of a higher existence; who has not before this pure shrine bowed his knee in sincerest devotion.

She has a brother whom she most fondly loves. He has been obliged to absent himself on account of a duel, and they hardly know

where he has gone. This is the cause of her sadness; for she clings to this brother with a love and tenderness that only her own heart can know. How she told me it all, with such an expression of anguish! How the tears filled her eyes! I cannot tell you how deeply her story affected me. There are no circumstances in human life under which the tenderness and nobleness of the soul are more fully displayed than in sorrow; and it is not possible that there can be any thing more affectingly touching than the tear-drops sparkling in the lovely eyes of one so beautiful. I told her so, and she felt it was not a mere compliment. Gently withdrawing the hand I had seized in the excitement of the moment, she rose quickly, and whispered as she left me: 'I believe you have a kind heart, Waldemar! Oh, you can form no idea of the heavenly sweetness in the tone of those few words! For some time I stood and gazed at her receding form, then threw myself on the ground and kissed the grass she had gently swayed as she passed. Do you call me a child, Gustavus ? Well, yes, I am; but I am a happy one!

At evening I stand by my window as long as I can see a light in her room; for as hers is in the left and mine in the right wing of the villa, I can look directly upon her apartments. Often do I stand thus for hours and watch the flickering of her light until it expires, then seize my guitar and pour out its passionate tones on the clear moonlight, which here under the Italian sky lies like the spirit of the ETERNAL ONE holy and quietly upon the earth. Can you form an idea of the bliss that then surrounds me with heavenly harmony? Have you the least conception in your bosom of these raptures? No, Gustavus; we never dreamed of such!

Villarosa, July 29.

On, that I could throw myself into your arms, that on your brotherly heart I could shed tears of deep, unfathomable delight! That I must endure alone this overflowing of endless joy! My poor heart cannot bear the throbbing of these emotions; it must break!

Gustavus, she is mine! From her quivering lips trembled the confession of her love; she lay upon my breast, and I dared to press burning, glowing kisses on those lips. We were sitting together in silence upon the balcony, lost in sweet dreams, the sun just setting behind the mountains, when a squadron of our troops emerged into view, the arms of the riders flashing in the setting sun light. At that instant it seemed as though the voice of a spirit whispered in my ears: Thou must depart!' Magdalene perceived my emotion, and sympathizingly asked me the cause. I told her my fears, and added, as I seized her hand: 'And will you shed a tear for me?' She trembled with emotion, and gazed tenderly into my face, while the tears gushed into her eyes. I could restrain myself no longer, but throwing myself at her feet, exclaimed: Magdalene, I will not disguise it: I love you!' She sank, overcome by her feelings, into my arms, and our lips sealed the holy confession.

When at length I roused from the sweet delirium, what think you were my feelings? The evening shadows indeed lay upon the earth,