violent altercation ensued, and the sated young man, not sorry for an excuse to quarrel, parted from her forever.

We draw a veil over years that followed. The deserted, heart-broken creature, whom common rumor said had consented to marry Arrison, would not even see that person, but hiding herself from all eyes, sought to earn a humble livelihood by her needle. But the blow, which had ruined all her bright hopes, had undermined her health forever. She was not fitted, either physically or otherwise, to struggle with adversity. From the hour that she learned she was not a wife, she faded slowly but surely. After a few years of severe toil, rendered necessary to obtain food for herself and child, she found herself on the bed of death.

At this crisis, the pride, which had made her reject pecuniary assistance from Aylesford, gave way in view of the approaching destitution of her child. She penned a letter to her betrayer, which would have moved a heart of stone, and which induced him, though he had long since forgotten her, and though he had sworn, when she first declined his money, never to give her or her babe a farthing, to propose supporting the orphan. He would not consent, however, even to do this, unless the child should pass for Arrison's niece. An annual stipend, promised to his uncle's former servant, secured the co-operation of the latter. To these cruel terms the dying mother was compelled to accede. Deserted by all the world, she was fain to charge her child to remain with Arrison.

But trembling for the influences the orphan would be brought under, she besought the little one to remember what she had taught of God, and to read, at least once a day, the Testament, her only legacy, which she placed in the daughter's hands. Perhaps the dying mother would have declined the proffered aid altogether, if it had not been for a secret hope that when Aylesford knew the child he would become interested in it. But this expectation

was never realized. Aylesford studiously avoided seeing the friendless orphan, and only remembered her existence when called on to pay her annual stipend.

With these facts before her, no wonder that Kate loved that orphan so much. The mother's wrongs, not less than the child's sufferings, appealed to our heroine's heart. "Little Maggy," as she called her protege, repaid these feelings with a fervor that was beautiful to see. Never having had any one to love since she lost her mother, the child fairly worshipped our heroine.

Kate took pleasure in instructing the orphan, and in watching the rapid unfolding of this youthful intellect, which promised to be one of rare and precocious power. Yet often a sigh rose to our heroine's lips, as she thought of the future destiny of her protege, for in that day, even more than in this, such children suffered for the parent's sin; and Kate foresaw that the cruel sneer, the whispered remark, the cold avoidance, would be almost death to the sensitive nature of little Maggy.

Meanwhile the family at Sweetwater went into mourning for Aylesford, and the marriage of Kate, which otherwise would have taken place immediately, was postponed until the spring. There was a town house in Philadelphia, belonging to the family, and thither it was resolved that they should remove for the winter, partly because Kate wished her protege to have the benefit of teachers, who could not be obtained at Sweetwater, and partly for reasons connected with her large property.

In one particular, the arrangement was fortunate for the lovers, for, about this time, Major Gordon received an appointment in the metropolis.

While these events had been transacting, the British expedition, which burned the Neck, having found itself thwarted in the further measures it proposed, had returned to New York. Count Pulaski, though arriving too late to

prevent the destruction of the prizes, succeeded in intimidating the enemy, who abandoned the field, being able to pluck no more laurels except the surprising of a picket, about thirty in number, whom they slaughtered in cold blood. In retiring, the man-of-war which accompanied the expedition grounded in the inlet, when the British, finding they could not get her off, set fire to her, lest she should fall into the hands of the Americans. It was amid the derisive cheers of the patriots, and the echoes of her guns, which went off as they became heated, that the royal troops finally stood out to sea, and took their way, crest-fallen, towards Sandy Hook. They had, indeed, burned a few store-houses, given some thirty dismantled prizes to the torch, and ravaged one or two inconsiderable patriot settlements; but they had failed of the great object of their undertaking, the seizure of the privateers, and had lost the most valuable ship of their flotilla. Taught by the result of this enterprise, they never again vexed the neighborhood, though it continued to be a thorn in their side to the very last month of the war.

This is the proper place to mention that one of the refugees who had escaped into the swamp, was captured the day subsequent to his flight, on his coming forth to seek some food; and that, it being proved that he had committed many atrocities, which brought him within the pale of the law, he was condemned to be hung. The sentence was executed at the Forks, and to this day, as a superstituous tradition goes, his ghost haunts the spot where he expiated his crimes.

28

Farewell! I will omit no opportunity

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee."-Shakspeare.

WHEN the leaves had fallen, the November rains set in, and the winds begun to rave and sob, alternately, around the mansion at Sweetwater, the family departed for Philadelphia.

The old church, amid its now verdureless grove of oaks, seemed, as they drove past, to look sadly on their departure; while the stream in its rear audibly lamented, and the ancient cedars sighed mournfully in the wind. Kate gazed at the dear objects, and then turned, just as the carriage was about to enter the forest, for a last glance down the pond, in the direction of the house. At that instant the sun, which had been obscured by the leadencolored clouds, suddenly burst forth, kindling the whole landscape into life: the white mansion flashed out; the ruffled lake sparkled like silver; and a glory was flung over the whole western heaven, where the clouds lay piled like peaks and ridges in a mountain region.

When the travellers reached the cross-road, which led towards Uncle Lawrence's farm, the old man was there waiting for them. He stood leaning on his gun, silently

enjoying the beauty of the autumn-tinted sky, and inhaling the soft air, as one quaffs delicious wine. So profound was his abstraction, that he did not hear the approaching vehicle, until it was close at hand.

"Good morning, Uncle Lawrence," said Kate, merrily. "Confess now that we have taken you by surprise; and surrender a prisoner at discretion. In other words, jump in and go to town; for we have a spare seat."

The veteran smiled kindly.

"I own that I was off my guard," he said, "but it was the sweet air and beautiful skies that made me forget myself. I was thinking, my child," he continued, his eye kindling, and looking at Kate as if he knew she would appreciate him, "that the New Jerusalem must be as much more splendid than the clouds yonder, as they are than the common things of earth; and I said to myself, that if looking at 'em made me so happy here, what would I be should I get to the heavenly Canaan; and so I prayed to the Lord to keep me steadfast to the end."

Kate gazed at him almost reverently.

"I've no

"But I've not been idle, either," he said. doubt I was up before you, after all; for I had shot a deer two hours ago; he hangs out yonder, a mile away, where I left him for the boys to bring home. Remember, you're to tell the Major that I'll look out for him about the time he promised; and that we'll have as great a hunt as ever was known in these parts. Now will you be honest in telling him?" he asked, with a sly twinkle, "for, if you wont, I'll get sister Maggy to do my errand instead."

"Oh! I'll tell him," replied Kate, with a blush and a gay smile, answering in something of her old rattling style. "He'll be getting tiresome, I've no doubt, before Christmas, so that it will be a happy deliverance to me to have him go away for awhile. But, meanwhile," she added, "why not come to town with us, as I have proposed? You