and preceding
her by a few hours on Mount Willard, he was in time at the Echo Lake to
signalize her, and by a good providence had been present at her hour of
need on the magic domain of 'The Old Man of the Mountain.'

It was flood-tide in the old gentleman's heart. Mary's affairs ripened
rapidly. They seemed to me well typified by one of my Malmaison
rose-buds that I have watched slowly growing through the ungenial
May-days, drooping under a cold rain, suddenly expand into luxurious
perfection with a half-day's June sunshine. The happy future was already
arranged. The thrice-blessed October sun was to shine upon the bridal
festival, and then Mary was to go with her husband, and accompanied by
her father, to pass a year in Europe. 'Mary and I are already wedded,'
said he to me, with a smile of complete satisfaction; 'we only take this
young fellow into the partnership.'

* * * * *

It was a bright day in the outer and inner world when we separated. And
thus ended our October visit to the White Hills of New-Hampshire, but
not our gratitude to Him who had held us

'In his large love and boundless thought.'

If our young friend has imperfectly sketched the beauties of the
mountains, she has exaggerated nothing. We hope our readers--though,
alas! perchance over-wearied now--may make the complete tour of these
White Hills, including, as it should, the enchanting sail on Lake
Winnipiseogee, the beautiful drive by North-Conway, and the ascents of
Kiarsarge, Chicoma, Mount Moriah, and the Red Mountain.

THE LAST TOAST.

'Quick! fill up our glasses, comrade true!
I hear the reveille,' he fainting said;
'O brave MCCLELLAN! I drink to _you!_'
His glass lay broken--the soldier was dead.

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-TWO.

Alone at her window a maiden sat,
And toward the South looked she,
Over the field, over the flood,
Over the restless sea.
My Love, she said, he wanders far,
He may not come to me.
To and fro, to and fro,
Sweeps the tide in ebb and flow:
You and I, ah! well we know
How hope and fear may come and go.

With folded hands the maiden sat;
Her work beside her lay;
She saw the dusty, lengthening miles,
A weary, weary way,
Dullest links of a leaden chain,
Unfolding, day on day.
To and fro, to and fro,
Breaking waves in restless flow:
You and I, ah! well we know