THE DREAM.

BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

LAST night, my love, I dreamed of thee—
Yet 'twas no dream elysian:

Draw closer to my breast, dear Blanche,
The while I tell the vision.

Methought that I had left thee long,
And, home in haste returning-
My heart, lip, cheek, with love and joy
And wild impatience burning:

I called thee through the silent house-
But here, at last, I found thee,
Where, deathly still and ghostly white,
The curtains fell around thee.

Dead!-dead thou wert!-cold lay that form,

In rarest beauty moulded,

And meekly, o'er thy still, white breast,

The snowy hands were folded.

Methought thy couch was fitly strewn
With many a fragrant blossom;
Fresh violets thy fingers clasped,

And rose-buds decked thy bosom:

But thine eyes, so like young violets,
Might smile upon me never,

And the rose-bloom from thy cheek and lip
Had fled away forever!

I raised thee lovingly-thy head
Against my bosom leaning,

And called thy name, and spoke to thee
In words of tenderest meaning.

I sought to warm thee at my breast—
My arms close round thee flinging;
To breathe my life into thy lips,

With kisses fond and clinging.

Oh, hour of fearful agony!

In vain my frenzied pleading!

Thy dear voice hushed, thy kind eye closed, My lonely grief unheeding!

While thus, from slumber's shadowy realm,

Thy truant soul recalling,

Thou couldst not know whence sprang the tears Upon thy forehead falling.

And, oh, thine eyes!-sweet wonderment,
When thou didst ope them slowly,

To mark mine own bent on thy face

In rapture deep and holy!

Thou couldst not know, till I had told
That dream of fearful warning,

How much of Heaven was in my words--
"God bless thee, love-good morning!"

BORN TO LOVE PIGS AND CHICKENS.

BY N. P. WILLIS.

THE guests at the Astor House were looking mournfully out of the drawing-room windows, on a certain rainy day of an October passed over to history. No shopping-no visiting! The morning must be passed in-doors. And it was some consolation to those who were in town for a few days to see the world, that their time was not quite lost, for the assemblage in the large drawing-room was numerous and gay. A very dressy affair is the drawing-room of the Astor, and as full of eyes as a peacock's tail -(which, by the way, is also a very dressy affair.) Strangers, who wish to see and be seen (and especially "be seen") on rainy days as well as on sunny days, in their visits to New York, should, as the phrase goes, "patronize" the Astor. As if there was any patronage in getting the worth of your money!

Well-the people in the drawing-room looked a little out of the windows, and a great deal at each other. Unfortunately, it is only among angels and underbred persons that introductions can be dispensed with, and as the guests of that day at the Astor House were mostly strangers to each other, conversation was very fitful and guarded, and any movement whatever extremely con