The night was so dark when I repaired to the casement, that I have been trying to compose a description of it for you, in the style of the best romances. But after having summoned to my mind all the black articles of value that I can recollect--ebony, sables, palls, pitch, and even coal, I find I have nothing better to say, than, simply, that it was a dark night. Having opened the casement, I sat down at it, and repeated these lines aloud. SONNET Now while within their wings each feather'd pair, Hide their hush'd heads, thy visit, moon, renew, Shake thy pale tresses down, irradiate air, Earth, and the spicy flowers that scent the dew. The lonely nightingale shall pipe to thee, And I will moralize her minstrelsy. Ten thousand birds the sun resplendent sing, One only warbles to the milder moon. Thus for the great, how many wake the string, Thus for the good, how few the lyre attune. As soon as I had finished the sonnet, a low and tremulous voice, close to the casement, sung these words: SONG Haste, my love, and come away; What is folly, what is sorrow? 'Tis to turn from, joys to-day, Tis to wait for cares to-morrow. O'er the river, Aspens shiver Thus I tremble at delay. Light discovers, Vowing lovers: See the stars with sharpened ray, Gathering thicker, Glancing quicker; Haste, my love, and come away. I sat enraptured, and heaved a sigh. 'Enchanting sigh!' cried the singer, as he sprang through the window; but it was not the voice of Stuart. I screamed loudly. 'Hush!' cried the mysterious unknown, and advanced towards me; when, to my great relief, the door was thrown open, and the old peasant entered, with Mary behind him, holding a candle. In the middle of the room, stood a man, clad in a black cloak, with black feathers in his hat, and a black mask on his face. The peasant, pale as death, ran forward, knocked him to the ground, and seized a pistol and carving-knife, that were stuck in a belt about his waist. 'Unmask him!' cried I. The peasant, kneeling on his body, tore off the mask, and I beheld--Betterton! 'Alarm the neighbours, Mary!' cried the peasant. Mary put down the candle, and went out. 'I must appear in an unfavourable light to you, my good man,' said this terrifying character; 'but the young lady will inform you that I came hither at her own request.' 'For shame!' cried I. 'What a falsehood!' 'Falsehood!' said he. 'I have your own letter, desiring me to come.' 'The man is mad,' cried I. 'I never wrote him a letter.' 'I can produce it to your face,' said he, pulling a paper from his pocket, and to my great amazement reading these lines.