"There's many an 'o'er true' tale, coz,
That comes to the listening ear,
That makes the cheek turn pale, coz,
And brings the glistening tear."

During the last summer, Mary mine, I was one of a party of friends,
who, tired of the bustle and confusion of the busy city, resolved to
lay aside business and all other engagements, for the brief space of
one day, which was to be devoted to a picknick in some retired country
location. The destined spot for our intended _fete_ was, after
considerable consultation, at length decided upon, and we unanimously
agreed to spend the day in a pleasant woods in the neighborhood of New
Brighton.

It was upon a balmy June morning, when, with light hearts, but heavier
baskets, laden with provisions, sun-bonnets, books, music, and sundry
et caeteras indispensable upon such an occasion, we found ourselves
snugly ensconced upon the deck of one of those spacious steamboats
which hourly wend their way toward the sunny shores for which we were
bound; and after an exhilarating sail of half an hour's duration, we
landed at Snug Harbor, and proceeded toward our place of destination,
which was situated about ten minutes' walk distant.

It was to the Sailor's woods that our steps were bent on the morning
of our picknick. Sauntering slowly through a shady lane we first
passed the great gate leading to the Sailor's Snug Harbor, an
institution which, as you doubtless know, Cousin Mary, was, through
the munificence of a certain private individual, erected some years
since as a place of refuge and repose to the weary, wayworn seaman.
Walking a short distance beyond these stately buildings, we found
ourselves within "the deep solitudes of the leafy wood."

How shall I describe to you, gentle coz, that dear old woods, as on
that eventful day its beauties and wonders first greeted my gaze? We
had not advanced far within its recesses, when a welcome sound fell
upon our ears, and in a moment more

"The flashing ray
Of joyous waters in their play,"

came gladly upon our sight. A laughing little streamlet rose before
us, its bright waters rippling and dancing, and here and there
illuminated by a stray sunbeam that stole softly and faintly through
the thick foliage of the sturdy old trees above. The brook was narrow,
and one could have crossed it almost at a bound; but there was no
necessity for the exertion, for glancing but a few yards ahead, we
beheld a rustic