In the meanwhile, the regiment had been again arranged in marching order, and with a blithesome quickstep, had left the green, swept up the little village to its outskirts, and then turning, was now on its way back to its starting place before Wiggins’s tavern-porch. A cloud of dust gave token to those at the porch that the martial show was approaching. The piercing fife—the rub-a-dub of the drum—and the deep blows of the bass-drum, were next heard; the arms broke glistening from the dusty cloud—down came the column with its hasty tread, and fronted before the tavern in one long line. After a few words of command, the magic words, “you’re dismissed,” sounded upon the air, and with a wild hurrah, the ranks broke into scrambling confusion, and “General Training” was ended. Wagon after wagon filled with the soldiery, rattled away; throng after throng of those on foot hurried off by the numerous roads leading into the adjacent country, and at sunset, the village had once more relapsed into its customary quiet. So have we seen a pool, shaken by a breeze, tossing its waters in confusion, and then calming itself into its usual tranquillity, uniting the scattered fragments of rock, tree and sky, again into the soft, reflected picture of its quiet and beautiful mirror. * * * * * TO THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. BY PROFESSOR CAMPBELL. Sweet little flower, That hang’st thy fair and modest head Beneath the shower, And bendest o’er thy parent bed, As mourning for thy sisters dead— Oh! smile again—the storm has fled. Ah! who could break Thy tender stem, so very fair, So very weak— To deck his breast, to perish there, Beneath the coldly piercing air, Of harsh neglect, regret, despair? Nay, droop not so— No ruthless hand shall touch thee here— No, gentlest, no— I’ll hide thee where, devoid of fear, Thou’lt bloom, to one lone heart most dear, Nor ruder love than mine be near. And I will leave All other cares, and steal to see, At morn and eve, Mine own lov’d flowret’s purity— For I alone shall smile on thee, And thou alone shall smile on me. And when thou’rt gone And all thy sweetness buried deep, And I alone— Still will I in my fond heart keep Thy memory green, and come to weep, Where thou, my loved one, shalt sleep. And soon, dear flow’r, Ah, very soon I’ll follow thee— My little hour Of fated life must quickly flee— Then cold and lone my grave shall be, Without a tear—oh! not like thee. * * * * * “GOOD-NIGHT.” FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE WALTER HERRIES, ESQ.