y cool? The
slope down to the river's brink is covered with a wilderness of
shrubbery; while to the right of the garden-fence spreads a
magnificent grove of white pines, once making a famous play-ground for
us children. Down yonder, in that old field waving with long grass,
beyond the grove, is a patch of splendid blackberry bushes; and near
that old ivy-bound oak on the bank, leaning so gracefully over the
placid waters, as if to greet his image reflected in its vast mirror,
is a fine place to hunt summer grapes. At the building, that little
right-hand window with a shutter, around which are trailed pea-vines
and purple morning-glories, and just above the roof of the porch,
opens into a small chamber--my sleeping-room. At night you can behold
a most magnificent prospect from that little window. It looks directly
down upon the river, which, when there is a full moon and cloudless
sky, seems like one broad belt of molten silver, weaving its way in
and out among the gnarled old trees, at intervals, sparkling through
openings in the thrifty foliage with exceeding beauty; and again,
entangled in the black shadows flung upon it by the beetling crags
above. Then all is so silent, too, save the snowy water-fall sending
up its eternal anthem to the skies, yet coming to your ears with such
a pleasant sound that you never tire in listening. Sometimes the sky
is full of golden stars, and then the scene is so beautiful--oh! so
very beautiful! Many a time have I stolen from my bed, far away in the
night, while all the rest were in deep repose, to gaze upon the soft
moonlight flashing over the meadows until they looked like acres of
green velvet, and gathering upon the dark foliage until it almost
seemed as if it were sprinkled with umber dust, or to gaze at the deep
blue cerulean, studded with innumerable burning orbs.

There is another object to which I must direct your particular
attention, since it assumes an important place in the relation of my
story. Trace the road from where it leaves the east end of the bridge
with an abrupt curve, sweeping around that magnificent grove of
evergreens, passes the old mill, and turning to the east again for a
short distance, threads its way along a grassy lane, and you arrive
before a neat, commodious frame building, prettily white-washed in
front, and hedged in by a rustic fence, with a little gate opening
next the road. This was the dwelling of our schoolmistress, the
remembrance of whom wi