stic fittings, its heavy old seats, its gravelled floor, had been the
scene of a thousand childish gambols with my brother and sister. Old
memories clung to it with a loving fondness. Even when the sports of
childhood gave place to graver thoughts and occupations, the cool
retirement of this rustic solitude had never failed to possess the
strongest attractions for me. The songbirds built their little nests
within the overhanging foliage, and swarms of bees gave melodious voices
to the summer air as they hovered over its honey-yielding flowers. The
past united with the present to direct my steps toward this favorite
spot I entered, and, seating myself on one of the old low branches that
encircled it, was looking up through the straggling vines that festooned
the entrance, admiring the soft haze through, which the cloudless moon
was shedding a peculiar brilliancy on all around, when I heard a step
approaching from the house.

I stopped the song which I had been humming, and listened. It is said
that there are steps which have music in them. I am sure, the cadences
of that music which the poet has so immortalized sounded distinctly in
my listening ear. It was the melody of recognition. I knew instinctively
the approaching step, and in a moment Mr. Logan stood before me.

"What!" said he, extending his hand as I rose, and pressing mine with a
warmth that was unusual, even retaining it until we were seated,--"ever
happy! There must be a perpetual sunshine in your heart!"

"Oh, no!" I replied. "Happiness is a creation of the fireside. One does
not find it in his neighbor's garden, and many times not even in his
own."

"For once, dear Lizzie, I only half agree with you," he replied, again
taking my hand, and pressing it in both of his.

I sought in vain to withdraw it, but he held it with an embarrassing
tenacity. He had never spoken such words before, never used my name
even, without the usual prefix which politeness exacts. I was glad that
the moonlight found but feeble entrance into the arbor, as the blood
mounted from my heart into my face, and I felt that I must be a
spectacle of confusion. I cannot now remember how long this
indescribable embarrassment kept possession of me, but I did summon
strength to say,--

"Your language surprises me, Mr. Logan."

"But, dear Lizzie," he rejoined, "my deportment toward you ought to
lessen that surprise, and become the apology for my words. Others may
find no happiness in thei