He remained that night until a late hour writing and arranging his things for his departure. Then bidding the servant call him at an early hour in the morning, he threw himself upon the bed—but not to sleep. What the fair vision continually flitting through his brain and repelling the powers of the drowsy god, needs not be told. CHAPTER IV. Summer has come with its fruits and flowers; and away from the dust and turmoil of the city, our story takes us to a beautiful village overlooking the bright waters of the Cayuga Lake. It is evening. The laborers are returning from their daily toil, some with their cradles and scythes thrown over their lusty shoulders, others, sunk amid the fresh and fragrant new-mown hay, are driving their teams homeward. From every branch the birds are gayly singing; cheerful sounds greet the ear from the farm-yard, and sweet on the gentle evening air floats the fragrance of the countless blossoms which adorn the neat garden-plots, and climb around the windows of the villagers. Seated in the piazza of the comfortable inn is a traveler, who but a half hour since alighted from the stage, and made known his intention of spending some weeks in the village; consequently, the best room in the house is at his service, as also the best bows of Boniface and his attendants. One glance will suffice us to recognize in the stranger our young artist, yet at the second we shall wonder what can have wrought so great a change in the outward man; why that happy, joyous air is exchanged for one so grave and even gloomy; why that fresh and blooming countenance is now so wan and haggard! O, this love—this love! Either absorbed in the beauty of the scene around him, or in his own moody thoughts, most probably the latter, the moments passed unheeded away, nor until aroused by his host with the announcement of supper, did he once move from his half-recumbent position. After slightly partaking of this repast, to the evident discomfiture of the good landlady, who attributed the dainty appetite of her guest, to nothing less than a dislike for her excellent fare, Auburn strolled forth from the inn, and proceeded slowly along the now almost deserted street. The moon had by this time risen, casting her mild radiance over the peaceful village, and silvering the bosom of the placid lake below, while many a gambol did the shadows play upon the dewy green-sward, and upon the house-tops, as the leaves of the large elms flittered and danced in the soft evening breeze.