over your breast, the breeze is growing stronger, and though it is warm, yet you had better not meet it without a covering."

"You are very tender to me," said Lucy, restraining the tears which pressed upwards to her eyes.

The Pastor led the way down an irregular mountainpath, and the younger persons followed. Their steps were slow, and they spoke to one another as they went with gaiety and freedom. Few would have surmised that the heart of either had ever felt a wound. Yet even now, what doubts-what apprehensions-what jealousies —what anguish-what poignant regret―rankled beneath those five seemingly happy countenances. The Pastor sighing for his departed children, and trembling for the life of his granddaughter-Lucy suffering the pangs of a breaking heart-Arthur the anxieties of a brother and a suitor-Clinton tortured by jealousy, and the secret stings of conscience-and Jane, although enjoying the unequalled luxury of a first affection, enduring more real distress of mind than either of the others. In the most blissful situations, "the ills that flesh is heir to," will find out their victims-the most beautiful scenes of nature, and the most retired, nourish human troubles.

High above the valley towered the noble mountain which the party had newly left, whose vast summit was nearly flat, and loaded with pines, and whose lower half formed a perpendicular wall of granite, extending along the side of the dell to some distance.

Wheat-fields were laid out along the base of that mountain in soft beauty; the breeze gliding over the full ears, caused them to bend on their long stalks, and they appeared to Jane, who was expert in such associ

atious, to resemble exactly the waves of a quiet sea undulating in gentle swells.

The Pastor and the young persons crossed the slender bridge, and passed a shallow pool, studded with little patches of verdure, and surrounded with beautiful willows. Several horned cattle grazed in an enclosure close by, with some sheep and swine. The mill, which was but small, and only employed for the use of the lodge, had just ceased to play, and the man who performed the office of a miller, was shutting the door on the outside; he touched his hat to the Pastor and Arthur as they passed him, and walked leisurely to the house by a bye path.

The garden gate was opened by the Pastor, and he held it back until his young friends had passed through, then stood leaning against it with Clinton and his grandson, while Lucy and Jane went forward to see the table spread for the last meal of the day, which included tea and supper.

The garden covered a large space of ground around the house, and, though arranged with very little regularity, was both useful and ornamental in a high degree. The flowers were mixed with many weeds, but such as were in themselves so charming, that the person must have had little taste who would have wished them away. Abundant vegetables were cultivated beyond the flowerplots, and beyond these again, next the palisades, were sheds and hay-ricks, a plough, rude carts, and other farm appurtenances.

In front of the kitchen door of the lodge many tubs and pans might be seen, filled with delicious fruit, mostly wild, which Deborah, the principal woman-servaut, was just about to preserve for winter use.

L

Deborah was sitting on a stool, singing to herself with much untutored pathos, one of the old ballads of her country; occasionally she stopped to sigh, and looking on vacancy a few seconds, suffered her memory to dwell with regret on past scenes.

"What are you thinking of Debby?" said the Pastor, with that unformal kindness which had won him the affections of every domestic of the lodge. "Have you

not forgot Ireland, yet?"

No, indeed, your worship," said Debby, examining with double diligence the luscious plums and raspberries heaped by her side, in the state in which they had been gathered in the woods. "How should I ever forget the bonnie land where the bones of my father and mother lie? The mud walls of their cabia, are they not still seen upright by the bogs of Kilfenora? 'Tis the wind of Ireland sweeps over their cold hearth, and that same wind sings in my ears now. I'll never see the place again, I know, where the cabin is. I know I'll never kneel to the priest of the parish to say my confessions again--I'll never dandle on my knees my dear little brothers and sisters-I'll never kiss the cross at the head of my parents grave-as I have come over sea so far from Ireland, I must never go back to it again--that I know at any rate, your worship;-but it is not asy to forget her, and I never shall forget her."

"But

you are happy here, Debby, are you not?"

Yes, your worship, happier than I could be any where else out of Ireland."

“And how, my good girl, since you loved your country so sincerely, came you to leave it?"

Deborah's homely face was all on fire at the question :

a chord was touched that vibrated painfully:-" Ah, your worship!" said she, "most persons have a tale to tell ; and every one, high or low, at my age, have had a taste of affliction. I came out to be married, your worship; but my husband that was to be, united himself to a Canadian-French peasant, instead of to the girl he had sworn faith to in Ireland, and that was me. I broke a piece of silver with him, twelve years ago next autumn, and here it is;" so saying she drew from her breast the token she named, which was suspended from her neck by a piece of black ribbon. "He was a playmate of mine, your worship, and went to America to seek a situation. And indeed O'Reilly did send for me, your worship, I have his letter in my pocket now," she groped in that expansive receptacle, and brought to the Pastor's view an old sheet of paper, written over, which had been evidently preserved with great care. The Pastor, as if the circumstances she related were of the highest consequence to him, read the relic to the bottom (though this was no easy matter, the writing and spelling being very bad, the ink pale, and the creases of the paper numerous,) then returned it to her, with as much real respect as if she had been a lady of the first order of rank and refinement. "But he decaived me," said Deborah, and wiped her eyes," and I have never seen the face of him since the first week I landed, when he told me himself he was wedded to another."

"He behaved very ill to you, Debby," said the Pastor. "But why not accept the miller, who is so sincere in his regard for you?"

"O'Reilly has broken his troth," said the girl, "but I have not broken mine; and I'll wear this bit of a sil

ver token till lie down in my grave, at any rate, your worship."

"The beautiful flower of constancy can grow, you see, in rough soils," said the Pastor, to Clinton and Arthur, then shutting the gate the three walked forwards.

The summer-house was large, and delightfully shaded in front with a maple tree, which, as it was now July, was fast becoming clothed with richly-tinted foliage, that drooped upon the roof of shingles. The long table, of black walnut-wood, was in the middle, chairs of the same material, and of easy shape, stood at the upper end, and stools at the lower. The Pastor occupied the chief place: Lucy was on his right, a bubbling English tea-urn, and a silver teapot, being before her; from the latter she filled the cups with the incomparable and far-celebrated Chinese decoction; Arthur, on the Pastor's left, dispensed small cakes, of different sorts, some hot, casting up thin smoke, which blended with the fumes of the tea, inviting the unsophisticated appetite with the most pleasing smell. Clinton sat near Lucy, lower down the board, and cut for the domestics and labourers as they came in from the fields, the house, and the outhouses, liberal slices from a majestic pile of beef, that had been salted and boiled to the exact point of perfection. Opposite him Jane helped portions from a stately round of messed pork. On the other parts of the table were grouped moist new cheeses, and butter fresh from the churn, rich creams, omelets of eggs, custards, buttermilk, syrup of molasses (or maplesugar in a half liquid state), honey of a pure tint, rolls of rye, barley, and wheat, and sweet cyder.

The conversation was cheerful, and every one at table contributed to it, each possessing information on one or