The Library, all done up new And comfortable, with a view Of Salisbury Spire between the boughs. When she had shown me through the house, (I wish I could have let her know That she herself was half the show; She _is_ so handsome, and so kind!) She fetch'd the children, who had dined; And, taking one in either hand, Show'd me how all the grounds were plann'd. The lovely garden gently slopes To where a curious bridge of ropes Crosses the Avon to the Park. We rested by the stream, to mark The brown backs of the hovering trout. Frank tickled one, and took it out From under a stone. We saw his owls, And awkward Cochin-China fowls, And shaggy pony in the croft; And then he dragg'd us to a loft, Where pigeons, as he push'd the door, Fann'd clear a breadth of dusty floor, And set us coughing. I confess I trembled for my nice silk dress. I cannot think how Mrs. Vaughan Ventured with that which she had on,-- A mere white wrapper, with a few Plain trimmings of a quiet blue, But, oh, so pretty! Then the bell For dinner rang. I look'd quite well ('Quite charming,' were the words Fred said,) With the new gown that I've had made I _am_ so proud of Frederick. He's so high-bred and lordly-like With Mrs. Vaughan! He's not quite so At home with me; but that, you know, I can't expect, or wish. 'Twould hurt, And seem to mock at my desert. Not but that I'm a duteous wife To Fred; but, in another life, Where all are fair that have been true, I hope I shall be graceful too, Like Mrs. Vaughan. And, now, good-bye! That happy thought has made me cry, And feel half sorry that my cough, In this fine air, is leaving off. IV. FROM FREDERICK TO MRS. GRAHAM.