ng loose at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind."

"And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod;
Ay! how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God!"

In a great square room, standing, as usual, on cocoa-nut stilts, which
had once been used for a billiard-room, were half a dozen iron-framed
cots, ranged along the walls, in which some of the Escondido's guests
were to bivouac. Every thing, however, was tidy and comfortable;
snow-white bedclothes and gauze musquito nets, lots of napkins and
ewers, and things for bathing behind a screen of dimity curtains; and
not forgetting a large table--vice the billiard-table--in the centre, on
which stood plenty of sugar and limes, cinnamon and nutmeg, bottles and
flasks, red and white, and--very little water, in jugs.

The occupants of this bivouac had turned in, and the lights had been
doused. Conversation, however, was kept up, especially by the thin
little voice of Mr. Mouse, who, having enjoyed a nap in the early
evening, and having been danced and tumbled about on the trip to the
lodge by Harry Darcantel, who was in tiptop condition, the reefer was as
wide awake as a blackfish. Don Stingo chanted a few convivial airs and
snored; so did Jacob Blunt, with a spluttering groan intermixed; and
Paddy Burns fell off into a doze, saying blasphemous words addressed to
the world at large, with a mutter against the military, hoping he might
look at a Bolivian patriot edgewise with a friend and companion of his,
Mr. Joe Manton, at his side; he would put an end to any more lies about
charges of cavalry, and cutting out frigates in Callao Bay. That Paddy
Burns would, though he didn't wear a wig and a large sapphire on the
only finger he had left on his left hand, and with a diamond snuff-box,
too! Presented to you by a connection of your family, was it? Take a
pinch out of it? D---- him, no! Begorra, the snuff is not Lundy Foot's,
and the box is brass, sir, brass!

"I say, Mouse, keep quiet, will you, and let me go to sleep!" Harry
Darcantel did not think of going to sleep; that was a fib he told the
reefer; he wanted merely to shut his eyes and dream of--you know who--a
tall, graceful girl with blue eyes and light hair, who looked a