less sky, as we climbed the wooded spurs that lie
as outworks before the main range of the Alleghanies; the silvery
transparent shimmer of the frost-work on the feathery for-sprays, was
one of the most remarkable effects of reflected light that I can
remember. The snow was more than fetlock-deep where it lay level, and
the filly tired fearfully towards morning. She could not walk near up to
Falcon's long, even stride. I had to halt perpetually, to wait for my
companion; but in the tenth weary hour we sighted the crazy bridge that
spans the North Branch, and by four, A. M., on Good Friday, our steeds

Might graze at ease
Beyond the brood Borysthenes.

Rock, and wood, and water, were all looking their best, under a
brilliant sun, when I rose, but the object on which I gazed with most
satisfaction, was the accursed river circumvented at last. The solitary
green things I could find actually on the bank, were some sprigs of
cypress: these I gathered with due formula of lustration; but the _absit
omen_ was spoken in vain.

Then I wrote two or three letters, inclosing in each the cypress, token
of partial success; but these never reached their destinations: they
were prudently suppressed, three days later, by the person to whose
discretion I trusted to forward them. My correspondence being cleared
off, and Falcon thoroughly groomed, I fell back upon the resources of
the little town for amusement, and lighted on one scrap of light
literature, the fragment of a nameless magazine. In this there were some
good, quiet verses, that I thought worth transcribing, were it only for
the incongruity of the place in which I found them: perhaps they are
already well known; but _I_ am ignorant even of the author's name.

MAUD.

Yes, she always loved the sea,
God's half uttered mystery;
With the murmur of its myriad shells,
And never-ceasing roar:
It was well, that when she died,
They made Maud a grave beside
The blue pulses of the tide,
'Neath, the crags of Elsinore.

One chill red leaf falling down--
Many russet autumns gone;
A lone ship with folded wings
Lay sleeping off the lea:
Silently she came by night,
Folded wings of murky white,
Weary with their lengthened flight;
Way-worn nursling of the sea.

Eager peasants thronged the sands;
There were tears and clasping hands;
But one sailor, heeding none,
Pass