“No! the devil! I don’t want to be reminded of my coffin every night by being tucked up,” and away went the clothes from the foot and side. “Oh, how I wish——” groaned the major, as Mrs. Micalf again patiently smoothed them down. The wish died upon his tongue, but it was embodied in his dreams:—Once more he was the quiet possessor of the snug little room, and no less snug little bed, at the “Full Moon,” the atmosphere dense with tobacco-smoke and the vapor of whiskey-punch regaling his nose—when the shrill, sharp voice of his help-meet, at dawn of day, dispelled the illusion, and, with the sun, he arose with the comfortable thought that he was not the only being that had sold peace and happiness for _gold_. And, ere the honey-moon had expired, Mr. and Mrs. Micalf began to perceive that they had made a great mistake in their moonlight flitting. * * * * * I NEVER HAVE BEEN FALSE TO THEE. A NEW SONG. BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. I never have been false to thee! The heart I gave thee still is thine; Though thou hast been untrue to me, And I no more may call thee mine! I’ve loved, as woman ever loves, With constant soul in good or ill:— Thou’st proved, as man too often proves, A rover—but I love thee still! Yet think not that my spirit stoops To bind thee captive in my train!— Love’s not a flower, at sunset droops, But smiles when comes her god again! Thy words, which fall unheeded now, Could once my heart-strings madly thrill! Love’s golden chain and burning vow Are broken—but I love thee still! Once what a heaven of bliss was ours, When love dispelled the clouds of care, And time went by with birds and flowers, While song and incense filled the air!— The past is mine—the present thine— Should thoughts of me thy future fill, Think what a destiny is mine, To lose—but love thee, false one, still! * * * * * A CHAPTER ON AUTOGRAPHY. BY [Illustration: signature of Edgar A. Poe]