In the first years of the retirement of the Colonels at Hadley, they enjoyed the society of a former friend, who did not feel obliged to use the same strict precautions against discovery. John Dixwell, like themselves, was a colonel in the Parliamentary service, a member of the High Court of Justice, and a signer of the death-warrant of the King. Nothing is known of his proceedings after the restoration of the monarchy, till he came to Hadley, three or four months later than Whalley and Goffe. After a residence of some years in their neighborhood, he removed to New Haven, where, bearing the name of James Davids, and affecting no particular privacy, he lived to old age. The home-government never traced him to America; and though, among his acquaintance, it was understood that he had a secret to keep, there was no disposition to penetrate it. He married twice at New Haven, and by his second nuptials established a family, one branch of which survives. In testamentary documents, as well as in communications, while he lived, to his minister and others, he frankly made known his character and history. He died just too early to hear the tidings, which would have renewed his strength like the eagle's, of the expulsion of the House of Stuart. A fit monument directs the traveller to the place of his burial, in the square bounded on one side by the halls of Yale College. TO THE CAT-BIRD. You, who would with wanton art Counterfeit another's part, And with noisy utterance claim Right to an ignoble name,-- Inharmonious!--why must you, To a better self untrue, Gifted with the charm of song, Do the generous gift such wrong? Delicate and downy throat, Shaped for pure, melodious note,-- Silvery wing of softest gray,-- Bright eyes glancing every way,-- Graceful outline,--motion free: Types of perfect harmony! Ah! you much mistake your duty, Mating discord thus with beauty,-- 'Mid these heavenly sunset gleams, Vexing the smooth air with screams,-- Burdening the dainty breeze With insane discordancies. I have heard you tell a tale Tender as the nightingale, Sweeter than the early thrush Pipes at day-dawn from the bush. Wake once more the liquid strain That you poured, like music-rain, When, last night, in the sweet weather, You and I were out together. Unto whom two notes are given, One of earth, and one of heaven, Were it not a shameful tale That the earth-note should prevail? For the sake of those who love us, For the sake of God above us, Each and all should do their best To make music for the rest. So will I no more reprove, Though the chiding be in love: Uttering harsh rebuke to you, That were inharmonious, too. THE PROFESSOR'S STORY. CHAPTER XIII. CURIOSITY. People will talk. _Ciascun lo dice_ is a tune that is played oftener than the national air of this country or any other.