Loosed are the silver strings Of thy heart's ringing lyre-- Are broken thy wild wings, Spirit of love and fire! No, I feel hovering near, Thy presence mild and tender, My heart looks in thine eyes so dear, And thrills at their soft splendor. The dreams I dream are thine When come my sweetest slumbers; No melody is so divine As memories of thy numbers. Why art thou near my soul Yet flying my fond vision? Eluding yet love's sweet control, Yet raining dreams elysian? Oh angel, who before us Art summoned home to heaven, Still, still, oh linger o'er us, Till we too are forgiven; 'Till we in holiest songs Repeat each sweetest duty, In that pure air where Heaven prolongs Thy gentle life of beauty. MR. ASHBURNER IN NEW-YORK. BY FRANK MANHATTAN, JUN. _To the Editor of the International._ The very graphic and interesting pictures of American society with which my respected progenitor has recently favored the English public having been received with unusual favor, and the series having been suddenly terminated, to the great regret of the literary public, it becomes, I conceive, my duty to carry on the work so nobly begun, even though the superstructure be far inferior in beauty and solidity to the foundation. In pursuing these, my filial labors, I shall always keep in view the two pole stars which ever guided the senior Mr. Ashburner--first, that these letters are designed for English and not American readers, and second, that I am portraying a class, and not individuals. As I shall thus address myself to a foreign audience, it will of course be my duty to describe the frivolities of American manners--the faults of American ladies, the imbecilities of American gentlemen, the scurrilities of the American press, the weakness of American magazines, the degeneracy of American literature, the roguery of the American public, the want of taste of American engineers, the ignorance of American professors, and to discuss any questions of strictly local interest which may happen to present themselves. I shall studiously avoid stating that education or intelligence or usefulness are ever encountered here; and if occasionally some little sketch of domestic happiness or private worth should be given, you will attribute it to my own inadvertence, or set it down as a result of English education. As I shall be describing a class, and not individuals, it will of course be perfectly proper for me to narrate any little incidents of private life which I may have heard; and persons interested will (or at least ought to) bear in mind, if my letters are ever read by themselves or talked of by their acquaintances, that I am not alluding to them in the slightest degree, but