on. It is analagous to that of the collector in England, who had gathered together every picture and print of Charles I. that had ever been published; and he would travel thousands of miles, and spend any money to secure a new, or rather, a different one.
But it is a task which, if not vast in its proportions, is, or may be, vast in its outlay, and one which we should hardly think it worth while to encourage. It is not an American taste or passion, and until we found dynasties and families is not likely to be.
I will close my paper, however, by mentioning a curious conversation which I was long ago a party to. It was with Colonel Croghan, then the owner of the Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, He said—
"Yes. I bought it for $4,000, and it has been a good purchase. I have been buying caves now this twenty years. The first one I owned was in Illinois, and I now own fifteen. People found I was fond of caves and they brought them to me, and I bought them. They are curious things. I always was fond of caves."
That, I call in America taste; and that, I think a peculiarly American collection—a museum of caves. Quite different from the collection of jewels in the Tower of London.
T. W.
DESIDERO TE.
So sweet in that moonlighted air
Dwelt the breath of the damp mignonette—
As sweet as the pain and the love
Of that time when we met.
Your face in the radiance there,
Turned to my own in the dusk,—
The clasp of your hand upon mine,—
The odors of flowery musk,—
The murmur of words that you said—
That music of love which I heard—
Far in the trees of the garden
The song of a lonely night bird,—
Sweetest brown eyes in the world,
Giving all to my heart that it asked,—
Dearest of lips smiling on me—
Souls to each other unmasked,—
O heart of my heart, do you wonder
The days are long while you stay?
That I wait with passionate wishes
For the touch of a hand that's away?
