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I wish you would come over some time, and take a run with us around the gymnastic pole, a walk on the promenade grounds, or a swing in what they call the scupp. I pass an hour every morning in the upper piazza, on the side of the building that looks away towards Rochester. Oh truly, the fairest land is where our friends abide. Rochester has been to me an eventful place. There my eyes first opened to this beautiful world, and there they closed upon its glories for ever. There I learned to love, and there I breathed love's vows; there I saw the guardian angel break the idol of my affections; there, in the night-time of sorrow and care, strangers took me up, and blessed me, and loved me too. Oh chide me not then, if, more than all the world beside, I love the warm hearts of Rochester.

Stone Cottage.

THE stars are bright on the brook by the door, as if they had alighted there, awhile to bathe and watch their shadows in the sky whence they came. Night, oh lovely night; in thy peaceful hours the heart is ever wont to go abroad in search of those it holds most dear. The last hour, Nin has been reading me "The Lays of Many Hours," by Miss Maylin, of Salem, New Jersey, a cousin of the distinguished Dr. Bowring, of England: there is a beautiful ease in the tread of her fancies, which reminds me of Mrs. Embury.

Yesterday we finished "The Neighbors," and in the evening paper saw a notice, that its fair authoress is on her way to our country. I wonder who will go out to meet her. Certainly, the ladies of our land should do something to signalize their gratitude and esteem for one of their sisters, from whom they have received so many lessons of literary and domestic instruction. *****

Nine summers ago, in a neat school-room, a little way down the hill from my uncle's, I played the school-mistress. One day, a black-eyed, curly-headed little boy, with a green satchel on his arm and a straw hat in his hand, walked into the room and accosted me so handsomely, that I was straightway in love with him; and when I asked his name, he replied promptly, "Master William Lovejoy, Ma'am; my father and mother are travelling this summer, and if you please, they have sent me to attend your school." "Ah!" said I, we are indeed very happy to welcome you one of our little number." Then by way of attention, I gave him a conspicuous seat, hung up his hat, then opened his satchel and looked over his books, smoothed down his curls, and patted his rosy cheeks, until the new-comer seemed to feel himself quite at home; then I went on again hearing my little ones read their a, b, c, and spell out their b l a, bla! But ever and anon my eyes wandered to little William's seat; and as often met his, glancing over his shoulder, peeping quizzingly into the face of one, and exchanging knowing looks with another, and when he saw me observing him, half laughed, and looked on his book again.

I soon learned that his mother was a distant relative of my aunt, which served not a little to increase the interest I already felt in my new pupil. However, the summer wore away, the school closed, William's parents returned and took him to their home. Another summer passed, and my dear aunt died. I saw them lay her in the grave; and shortly after William's mother came to me, saying, "Evermore I will be your aunt, and my home shall be your home." And his father added, "Yes; and if she will be a good girl, she may have me for her uncle;" "and me for Cousin Will," shouted a sweet voice, and with his arms around my neck, half said and half kissed Cousin Helen, on my tearful cheek.

A few years after, when these rayless shades had but lately gathered about me, a letter from Cousin Will first broke my melancholy. -- "Come to us," said he; "we think of you all the time. Come, do come soon; bring all your books and every thing. Mother and I have made all the plans for the winter -- what we shall read, and where we shall go, and so on. Your pet table has been in my room this summer, and that old chair with the squeaking back you loved so well; but they are all replaced now, and it looks there again as if my dear coz. had but just stepped out." * * *

Friday, you know, was our National Fast Day. I took no supper the previous evening, nor breakfast the next morning; attended church at St. Luke's; heard Marion play. During the service I took it into my head and heart to be lonely, and on my way home said to sister, "Come, let us go and see what time the stage leaves for F." In spite of her remonstrances we did so, and at three I took a seat for a ride of twelve miles, over to the home of my black-eyed, curly-headed Cousin Will. There all my books and papers were, and all my letters since I first began to write, and all the little relics of my school-days, which Cousin Will read for me, and I tore them in pieces and burned them. Not a scrap have I left which has my handwriting on it, save a little French song which I copied a long time ago. That I preserved for you, and a drawing of a little tired deer crawled among the brambles to die. In my Bible I found a book-mark which I send you, for my hands will do those things no more.