-

the roar of the glad cannon. When the parade and bustle of the celebration were gone by, we headed our little row-boat towards Whitehall. It was a long and tedious pull, and my friend and I were juvenile in the exercise. At last our prow struck the wharf, and terra firma received us. I was worn out with heat and fatigue, and the excitement of our piscatory abductions. It was a long walk home, and I willingly accepted Horatio's invitation to stop at his domicil and rest. Scarcely had I set me down, when I found myself in the kingdom of Morpheus. I made myself happy there, until about eleven o'clock, when Horatio called me back, and advised me to go home, and to bed.-My father exacted of me good hours. He awakened me, of this I am certain.—I rose, and directed my steps homeward. On my way, I had to pass the old family mansion, from which we had removed, some three years before. The street door was now open. The house-the wide hall-the entry lamp seemed all as usual. Without hesitation, and as a matter of course, and in honest joy, I entered, and closed the street door, wondering all the while why it should have been left open. I was wide awake, but I was living back in the third year previous. I was at my own home, as truly, as ever I had been in my whole life. and I was ready to give a good account of myself, for being out so late. On I passed—but nobody did I encounter. My foot was soon upon the stairs, and my hand upon the balustrade. Up I mounted into the third story, entered into my old room, shut the door, pulled of my coat, and turned to the bed, when, what was my surprise, to see in the dim moonlight sweetly sleeping there, a young lady! She was beautiful-women sleeping in the moonbeams always are. My first impression was that there was some trick to be played

off upon me, by my cousin Harry, who had come from Scio to spend the holidays with us. I looked closer to see if it was not a rag baby-when no! Heavens! she breathed-she moved -Flesh and blood was in my bed! I dare not tell all the rapid thoughts that burned their traces across my brain.-But I do remember that among my better imaginings, I fancied it possible that some visitors might have unexpectedly arrived, and that my room had been appropriated for the accommodation of one of them. I looked around, and seeing a considerable change in the arrangement of the furniture, my fancy became almost conviction. At all events, thought I, I must retreat. With this intent, I took up my coat, and turned toward the door, when horror! the lady awaked, and screamed! In ten seconds, a half drest, trembling boy burst through the door and blubbered out "who are you?" I cannot tell which of us was then the most frightened. For my own part, I did not know what to make of it." What do you want ?"—" who are you?"—" Mother?"-came in quick succession upon my doubting ears. Rip Van Winkle was not worse off, when he saw his own soul beating beneath the thorax of his progeny, and stood the empty case of an absent spirit. I was satisfied, however, that there was a mistake somewhere, and I hurried to the door.

Down the stair way I rushed, but hardly had I reached the landing in the second story, before I was surrounded by a troup of old women. That I was where I ought not to be, was now evident; and escape was impossible—and whether I was in heaven, earth, or hell, I knew not." Who are you?"—" What are you doing here?"—" What do you want?" screamed half a dozen shrill voices at once.-In that moment I died.—I lived again.—" Go for a watchman, James,” said

It did not escape me.

an old lady, in a low tone-aside. Watchman!—thought I-thank God! then I am still in a civilized country! Happy institution of a watch district! "Ladies,"I at last struggled out-"I have been committing some egregious blunder-but what it is, I know not-I am a respectable young man, I assure you-I had no sinister intentions in going up stairs-ask the young woman-nor am I a thief-perhaps some of you may know my family, by repute. My name is Cypress-Jeremiah Cypress.-But I"here I was interrupted by the old landlady, who came forward and exclaimed, "La! Mr. Cypress, is it you?-Why, to be sure, I know you. Why, I'm so sorry-but gracious-I was so frightened—and here she told me her name, and I for the first time found that she was the keeper of the aforesaid boarding-house. It all flashed upon me at once—or rather, I was back again into the year as numbered on the vulgar calendar. "Dear madam," said I, "I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, though I well know your name. I am sure I can never sufficiently apologize for my rudeness. I cannot tell how to account for it. But I have been out a-fishing all day, and am returned very tired, and from particular notice, or from some distress or absence have followed a dream of former days, and”the old lady, "you're very excusable, Mr. Cypress, it's fourth of July, you know, and we all know, that"—" Pardon me, madam—I assure you-I hope you don't think I've been drinking-I have drank nothing to-day—that is, nothing of any consequence"-" Certainly, Mr. C. I see you are not in liquor, but"-" but my dear madam, I am not in the least affected-do not let me detain you, however, any longer-I will bid you good evening, and do myself the honor of call

not taking

of mind, I "O" cried

ing and making a further apology to-morrow."- —“Good night, Mr. C. don't be distressed-it's fourth of July, you know—I shan't say nothing."

Thus terminated this Rachel-bakerism excursion of my soul. I was very tired, but not asleep nor drunk-on my honor-and I do protest that the scream of that maiden banished every particle of fatigue, too, and well it might—for I hear it yet.

HYMN TUNES AND GRAVE-YARDS.

I WENT to church one night last week,

"Ibam forte via sacra,”—

as Horace has it; and into what shrine of shrines should my sinful feet be led, but into the freshly hallowed tabernacle of the new free Chapel. It was Carnival week among the Presbyterians, the season of Calvinistic Pentecost; and one of the Missionary Societies in the celebration of its blessed triumphs, bulged out, on that night, from the windows of the gigantic meeting-house, like the golden glories of thicklycrowded wheat-sheafs from the granary of a heaven-prospered garnerer. Not, however, did the zeal of a Crusader against the Paynim, nor the expected rehearsal of the victories of the Christian soldier, draw me, unaccustomed, upon holy ground. Wherefore did I, just now, pricked by conscience, stop short in the middle of that line from Flaccus. I could not add

-"sicut meus est mos."

"Meus mos" stuck in my throat. It was no good grace of mine. Non nobis. Reader, I confess to thee that I was charmed into the Tabernacle by a hymn tune.

Now, before I ask for absolution, let me declare, that my late unfrequent visitation of the Church is to be attributed to no lack of disposition for faithful duty, but to the new-fangled notions and fashions of the elders and preachers, and to my dislike for the new church music.

It had been an unhappy day with me. My note lay over in the Manhattan ; and I had ascertained that some "regulated" suburban "building lots," which I had bought a few days before, unsight unseen, upon the assurance of a "truly sincere