between their double roots for another grave; "Whose will it be?" thought the Pastor, looking down on the white soil, and then up at the sky, with meek resignation in his eye, while both his hands rested on the top of his stick; "Lord, if me, I am ready; I desire to be dissolved, and to be with Thee, and the dear ones I have lost. Yet I would be passive in Thy gracious hands; all the days of my appointed time will I wait till my change come." " Arthur leaned his elbow on a beautiful tombstone that had been made of the white marble with which the district abounded. It was of an uncommon and antique shape, and bore this inscription LUCY LEE, AGED 19 YEARS AND 4 MONTHS; BORN IN ENGLAND, IN THE RECTORY-HOUSE "She is not dead, but sleepeth." The noble evergreen cypresses were still any thing but bare of foliage, which was loaded with superb frost-work. The clergyman and Arthur Lee lingered a little while in the neighbourhood of the tomb conversing. Time had taken away the first sharp agony of grief, and a tender regret, a calm, resigned sorrow, had succeeded in its place. They were of one mind and one heart in faith and hope, and the certainty of a blissful meeting with the dear departed in a happier state of being, was so continually before their mutual sight, and they so frequently made it a [subject of converse between themselves, that gradually a halo of hope encircled the dark abyss into which their hopes had descended, and peace shone on their desolated hearts once more. They now slowly returned to their tranquil, if not happy home. When they addressed each other it was with peculiar tenderness and respect, for each felt the value of his beloved and only companion, relative, and friend, and anticipated the hour when a second bereavement must divide even them. It was a very unusual thing for either to advert to Clinton or Jane, but as they now proceeded on their walk they did so without intending it. "I have never heard you say that you forgave him," said the Pastor. An expression of settled resentment was instantly apparent on Arthur's face, and he said not a word for some minutes. "It is hard to do so," at length he observed, as if arguing with himself, rather than replying to his grandfather; "it is almost beyond the strength of nature.” "But it is not beyond the power of grace, my dear grandson," said the Pastor reprovingly; "with God all things are possible. If ye forgive not men their tresspasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive you." " May God forgive him-I will try to do so," said Arthur, emphatically, while in his heart the obligations of the Christian struggled with the deep-rooted indignation of the man. '' "If our departed Lucy is now a happy, glorified spirit made perfect, which I thank the Lord we have no reason to doubt," said the Pastor, as they descended into the lower, and most rocky parts of the glen, "think you she can look with pleasure on your continued anger against that misguided, but I still hope not totally depraved, young man. If she is now with the Lord, who, when he was dying on the cross, forgave his destroyers, can she, do you think, approve your unpardoning temper toward him who really was but the indirect cause of her death?" "No, you are right, grandfather-you are right!” exclaimed Arthur, mastering his natural feelings; "this unholy bitterness which I feel against Mr. Clinton must, and, with the help of Almighty strength, shall be suppressed." The Pastor wept. "I surely ought not to repine," said he, "since I have a child left to me so willing to obey the Divine commands." Occasionally, as they walked along, they slackened their steps, and dwelt with quiet admiration on the wellknown scene, now so altered by its frosty drapery that it hardly looked the same. The vale here was narrow, sunken between tremendous elevations. On one side stretched that monotonous and vast mountain wall which has been before described; on the other, arable soil, abounding in evergreens, and diversified with rocky crags, swelled up to every variety of height and shape. Snow might have concealed the beauty of the scene, but the glassy ice, and the lovely hoar-frost, had a contrary effect. The stern majesty of the bare rocks, and the dark tints of those parts of the evergreens which had not received the frost, admirably set off the effulgent glitter that everywhere else enchanted the eye. Arthur, with a settler's anxious interest, scanned the corn land along the mountain foot, and inwardly speculated on the coming year's harvests. The surface of the track they were upon crackled under their feet; their breath froze about the fur collars which were pulled up over their chins; the radiancy of the sun, and the dryness and clearness of the atmosphere, were invigorating and delightful in spite of the intense cold. As they proceeded, they were completely surrounded by hills clothed with evergreens; the mighty trees cracked with a sound like thunder under the pressure of the ice; their regular branchless shafts running up straight to a surprising height, and covered with the shining particles of the hoar frost, permitted a wide range of view into the depths of the woods. Arthur, who was very little given to the quoting of poetry, nevertheless, inspired by the scene, repeated these lines, smilingly, to his grandfather : "All that thou seest is Nature's handiwork;- Those venerable stems, that slowly rock "God's handiwork, my dear grandson," interrupted the Pastor. "The handiwork of nature's God. I could have thought I had, instead of you, Mr. Clinton at my side. The young man was certainly very pleasing society, and had a fine relish for the works of creation. Well, it is a pity his principles were corrupted—a very great pity. I wonder what has become of him." An abrupt turn had brought them in sight of the lodge, while the Pastor was speaking this with an earnestness that told plainly he had not entirely freed himself from his prepossession for the individual he had named. "What is that before the door?" asked he, stopping, taking Arthur's arm and pointing. "A sleigh? Yes, surely it is. What visitors have we here, I wonder? Perhaps the Bathursts." "No, that is not the Doctor's sleigh," said Arthur; nor is that Miss Bathurst." A thickly-muffled female figure sprang out from the vehicle, and, received by the servants, entered the front doorway; a young man, in a shaggy overcoat, with a bear-skin cap on his head, then led the horses with the carriage round to an outhouse at the back of the lodge. "I cannot imagine who they can be if not the Bathursts," said the Pastor, pushing forward at a quicker pace, with the help of Arthur's arm. "Next sabbath is not sacrament day, or I should think they were two of our communicants come to prepare for the ordinance with us. Who can they be? I certainly expected no one at present." The The abundant smoke that curled straight upwards from the four huge chimneys of the lodge, gave comfortable evidence of the unstinted fires within. cold white sides of the building were cheerfully relieved too by the thickly-draperied windows in front, through each of which a ruddy light streamed out upon the frozen flower-beds. The Pastor and Arthur opened the little gate in the palisades that surrounded the building, and crossed the garden, which had much fallen off in appearance and value since the decease of Miss Lee and the depar |