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leaped the garden pales, and finally, undiscovered, but very pallid and remorseful, gained the casement.
Softly raising his head, he peeped within.
The room was full of the music.
He seemed to grow blind for the moment.
Lo! prone upon the kitchen hearth, sat the mysterious songstress--an ebony-hued negress, scouring the tin kettles.
The soldier's limbs sank beneath him, and the discovered, looking up, said, “Go ‘way dar, won't ye, or I'll shy de fryina — pan out oa de winder!”
The soldier left — but not to dream, perchance!--Boston Saturday Evening Gazette, Aug. 3.
Van Nostrand. New York, New York. 1862.
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