ician；　either；　but　I　delighted　in　listening　when　the　performance　was　good。　No　sooner　had　twilight；　that　hour　of　romance；　began　to　lower　her　blue　and　starry　banner　over　the　lattice；　than　I　rose；　opened　the　piano；　and　entreated　him；　for　the　love　of　heaven；　to　give　me　a　song。　He　said　I　was　a　capricious　witch；　and　that　he　would　rather　sing　another　time；　but　I　averred　that　no　time　was　like　the　present。

“Did　I　like　his　voice？”　he　asked。

“Very　much。”　I　was　not　fond　of　pampering　that　susceptible　vanity　of　his；　but　for　once；　and　from　motives　of　expediency；　I　would　e’en　soothe　and　stimulate　it。

“Then；　Jane；　you　must　play　the　acpaniment。”

“Very　well；　sir；　I　will　try。”

I　did　try；　but　was　presently　swept　off　the　stool　and　denominated　“a　little　bungler。”　Being　pushed　unceremoniously　to　one　side—which　was　precisely　what　I　wished—he　usurped　my　place；　and　proceeded　to　acpany　himself：　for　he　could　play　as　well　as　sing。　I　hied　me　to　the　window…recess。　And　while　I　sat　there　and　looked　out　on　the　still　trees　and　dim　lawn；　to　a　sweet　air　was　sung　in　mellow　tones　the　following　strain：—

“The　truest　love　that　ever　heart

Felt　at　its　kindled　core；

Did　through　each　vein；　in　quickened　start；

The　tide　of　being　pour。

Her　ing　was　my　hope　each　day；

Her　parting　was　my　pain；

The　chance　that　did　her　steps　delay

Was　ice　in　every　vein。

I　dreamed　it　would　be　nameless　bliss；

As　I　loved；　loved　to　be；

And　to　this　object　did　I　press

As　blind　as　eagerly。

But　wide　as　pathless　was　the　space

That　lay　our　lives　between；

And　dangerous　as　the　foamy　race

Of　ocean…surges　green。

And　haunted　as　a　robber…path

Through　wilderness　or　wood；

For　Might　and　Right；　a