line; and a through ticket from Richmond to New York, by way of
Fredericksburg and Washington. What other tickets could I mean?"

"I know nothing about them," said Mr. P.; "and what can you possibly
want with railroad tickets?"

"Oh, I am going to leave here," said she.

"Indeed!" cried Mr. P. "Going to leave here--this lake; this swamp; this
firefly lamp? To leave this spot, rendered sacred to your woes by the
poem of the gifted MOORE--"

"No more!" cried she. "I'm tired of hearing everybody that comes to this
pond a-singin' that doleful song."

"That is to say," said Mr. P., with a smile, "if your canoe is birch,
_you_ are Sycamore."

"That's so," she gravely grunted.

"But tell me," said Mr. P., "where in the world can you be going?"

At this the maiden took a straw, and ramming it down the chimney of her
lamp, stirred up the flies until they glittered like dollar jewelry.
Then she chanted, in plaintive, tones, the following legend:

"Three women came, one moonlight night,
And tempted me away.
They said, 'No longer on this lake,
Good maiden, must you stay.