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 accompany 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 coming 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, and Woe and Wrath, Between our spirits stood.