"And now tell me of yourself! You are looking worn.

Men work too hard in Richmond.

Oh, for the Albemarle air! The snow will be white to-morrow on my fir tree, and Deb will have to throw crumbs for the birds.

I have learned a new song.

When next you come, I will sing it to you." "Will you not," asked Cary,--"will you not sing it to me now ?" She shook her head.