CARMEN LYRICUM CELEBERRIMUM COLONICUM ;* "SITTIN' ON A RAIL," ACCURATE

See "Comments on Travel, No. 5," American Monthly, Vol. 2, page 227.

A DAY IN VACATION.

BY F. EGO. BROWNE, ESQ.

"You credit it, surely?" interrupted Rose, in haste.

"I believe it, strange as it is, and perhaps may be an old fool for doing so," rejoined the doctor.--Oliver Twist.

"FOUR weeks gone! and what is more, but two remaining ;horrible thought! John, bring me my boots. John, where have you put that brush? John, you lazy fellow, has the morning paper come? Quick, scamper-bring it. Well, and what's to be done to-day? Let me see what sort of a day it is." So I raised the curtain and looked out, and as I raised, the glorious sun looked in, and my eye shrunk from his splendor. Ah! a charming, lovely day it was. The spires all gleaming in the morning light; the dew-drops yet bright on the bushes and the changing leaves, changing-for, alas! Autumn was playing his annual "roundelay of death" among them.

There it is again-getting sentimental at the first start.-Kind reader, it is my way. You don't believe me? Listen, then.

Did you ever read a really first-rate story with no love in it? No; nor I. Once in a great while, you will come across an account of some pirate or bandit, so bloody and so terrible, that for very horror, you acknowledge yourself enthralled. Puns, bonmots, and bar-room jokes are all fine in their way; but the substratum of the interesting in narrations is love. How eagerly one picks out the love scenes in history. A great author once tried to keep up the interest in his novels, and keep out love; but he failed in the attempt-it would not do.

A beautiful cousin! How much has been said about the danger of losing your heart to one with whom the privilege of relationship may be pleaded as an excuse for a delightful familiarity, and yet not quite enough a sister to make you feel entirely at your ease. Escort her every where; be ever so attentive-she is your cousin, and that's excuse enough. And then when your affections are really quite gone, comes the full sense of your advantage.

"John," said I, "is Miss Ellen up?"

"Oh! yes sir," said John," she's been up these two hours." "Well, John, tell Samuel to have the horses at the door precisely at ten. I think I will ride."

"Yes, sir."

"Stop, John,-stop a minute,—is your mistress in the drawing

room?"

"She 'aint come down yet, sir." "What do you say?"

"I said she 'aint come down, sir.”

"Not come down?"

"No, sir."

"Where is she then ?"

"I dont know, sir."

"Did'nt you just tell me she had been up these two hours?" "Oh, sir! that's Miss Ellen, sir,-he! he! he! sir."

Stop laughing, you scamp, or I'll-stop, I say;-John, where is Miss Ellen ?"

"She's reading in the parlor, sir,-he! he!

"Out of the room-out, I say."

And away he went. I heard him laughing uproariously as

the door was closed.

I finished dressing, arranged the artificial Hyperions, essenced, donned my morning-gown, and "all trembling with transport, raised the latch”—there she was!

"Cousin Ellen-pray, what are you reading?"

"Indeed! So you have actually prevailed on yourself to get up at last."

"Get up! I think I have done remarkably well; but there was a cause for it. I awoke, thought of you-thought of""Yourself?"

"Oh! then I came to find you. I've got a request to makenow do grant it. I have set my heart upon it-so you see you must-wont you? There's a good cousin."

"Tell me what it is, first, you foolish fellow."

"Well, then, the day is so fine, and we should enjoy it so much;

I want you to ride with me this morning."

"Pshaw! is that all?-Make so much ado about a little ride. Why cousin Frank, I really believe you are crazy."

"No, I am not crazy," I replied slowly.

"What then?"

"Oh! n-othing."

"Is'nt this beautiful, Frank?" She held up the volume-it was the "Rose of the Harem," in Finden's Tableaux. I thought it never seemed so fine before then the taper fingers fixed my eye, and the charms of the engraving were lost upon me.

"Beautiful indeed," I answered.

"But see here," said she, "here is something prettier still;"— and she went on to point out the beauty and ingenuity of the design.

I answered not a word. How could I? Not one word had I heard. The soft tones of her voice fell upon my ear like the harmony of distant music, of which you can scarcely distinguish a single note. I attempted a reply. I stammered-I hesitated-I bent down to conceal my confusion, in examining the drawing; as I did so, my cheek touched hers, and for a moment I thought she did not recoil. She turned her head, and that eye, that beaming eye, met mine. The crimson of her face grew deeper; the eye more " beautifully shy." It did not last long. She sprang from the seat, and pointing her pretty finger at me, in a threatening manner, said:

"Now I am positively convinced of your insanity. First talk of a ride as though it were a matter of life and death; and then when asked a plain, simple question, blush and hesitate as though -but, there, some one calls; so good morning, my crazy cousin.” "But stay, Ellen, do you consent to the ride?"

"Why y-es." And off she darted to the open door. There are many delightful rides about R

Seven miles to the north is Ontario, lake of lakes, for the purity and transparency of his waves, and the road hither on the eastern shore of the Genesee, the old Indian's favorite river, is sufficiently romantic and picturesque. Immense rocks, to the height of forty or fifty feet, stretch along the banks of the dark and rushing stream. Here, in the green valley, herds of cattle are grazing, and beyond, you can scarcely discern the cars, rapidly passing above the level of the water, some hundred feet or more. Then there is Mount Hope, name so appropriate to its object-the depository of the dead. It is elegantly described in a late number of the Knickerbocker; the writer of that article is a poet, I am sure: his conceptions are vivid, yet not extravagant is the eulogy. Reader, would'st thou realize the charms and beauties of the old Athenian burial-grounds, of Pére La Chaise, wend thy way to the sweet solitudes of Mount Hope. From this gentle eminence you may behold far to the south, the lofty ridges of the Alleghany, bounding the horizon; and this sacred mount, too, commands a view of the distant lake, and the light craft studding its blue expanse, and you may trace to its bosom the turbid waters of the river, rolling along through bog, morass and flowery meadow. Irondiquoit Bay! name dear to my heart-dear from association-beautiful in itself! A few centuries hence, and these Indian names, harsh, guttural sounds may be, but musical withall will be the last memorials of those who framed them. What we have, then, let us preserve; in this respect, at least, we may be just. The bay I have named is much frequented by those who find delight in the sports of the flood and the forest; for the woods around abound in game of all kinds, and the waters reward the labor of the fisherman with the most delicious product.

Breakfast done, nine-ten o'clock, and the horses were at the door. I stood at the gate impatiently tapping my boot with the riding whip, and eyeing the graceful animals, champing their bits and pawing the dust, as eager for action as myself. At last I got impatient.

Ellen, Ellen, are you ready?"

"I'll be down in a moment," was her answer. And soon she appeared. If she was lovely before, now she was divine. Halfshrouded from view, with Turkish cap and plumes, the luxuriant tresses of a girl with sparkling, jetty eyes; so that the remaining locks fall about the shoulders, in charming confusion, and expose the chaste whiteness of the forehead to contrast with the soft carnation of the cheek, and you have the likeness of the Oriental beauty-just such a one as I could fancy-moving among the delights and enchantments of an Ottoman seraglio.

I don't doubt that there is such a thing as humility. I think I have felt it, especially when every thing cheerful and comfortable around me, I have been taking extensive views of philosophy and human nature in general. It is the case with most men. But take a young man of twenty, in sound health, fearless, and possessed of moderate sensibility-place him astride of a spirited horse, and a beautiful girl by his side; her natural charms enhanced a thousand times by the exertion of her skill in guiding the movements of a "horse that knows its rider," and, Lucifer! there's pride for you.

The day was auspicious: a slight shower in the morning had settled the dust, and given an agreeable coolness to the atmosphere it was determined that we should ride in the direction of the bay, that route being most protected from the heat by the foliage. I had another reason, too, which determined this choice. In this solitary portion of the town, and buried among the trees, was an old mansion, commonly called "the haunted house." It had three stories, and was built of stone. For years none had inhabited it; for the tradition connected with its desertion rendered it desolate, and a source of superstitious terror to the people of this district. This legend, I knew, would interest my fair companion, and serve to beguile the monotony of the excursion, if weariness with her were possible.

We passed leisurely along the eastern bank of the river, enjoying the various scenery beneath and around us: every where something of interest was found; and it was almost with regret, that we beheld the lonely white walls, conspicuous through the trees; for these we had decided should limit our ride.

"Now, Ellen," I began, "prepare yourself for the tale. We are fast approaching this dreaded mansion. You would scarcely suppose that joy ever crossed its threshhold; yet these neglected grounds have witnessed many a scene of boisterous merriment,