thing like fear. There was something unaccountable about her, at least I thought so, which prevented me from feeling so at ease as I had always been with other females. A great part of this might be the fruit of imagination, for I had always a great inclination for the marvellous, and had spent many an hour, in my younger days, in framing plots of castles and giants, sphinxes, hypogriffs, and knights, and ladies, all mighty terrific and wonderful; as I thought then

-Forms that bore

A shadowy likeness to those fabled things
That sprung of old from man's imaginings;

Each look'd a fierce reality, or seem'd
Nourish'd among the wonders of the deep,
And wilder than the Poet ever dream'd!

-As we walked along, we conversed on various subjects. Her discourse was interesting, fluent and animated, perhaps too much so, for it was interspersed with remarks whose general truth and well-directed pungency scarcely atoned for their freedom and boldness, which I did not altogether admire perhaps she perceived this, for she changed the style of her conversation, and I began to listen to her with considerable delight. It may be men

tioned, as an instance of my absence of mind whilst in her company, that I forgot to think, far less to inquire, where we were going. Indeed, I seemed to be in a dream-a dream, the awakening from which has been terrible.

We arrived at a spot, the most delightful I ever beheld. The earth sank in a kind of natural basin, the sides of which were covered with the highest green, and enamelled with the loveliest flowers: harebells, daisies, "wee crimson-tipped flowers," and innumerable others, of all colours, gushed out in profusion. Water-lilies waved their graceful heads on the brink of a spring that bubbled from the bottom of the spot, and oozing away through the long grass and weeds which impeded its progress, trickled down its narrow channel with almost imperceptible murmurings.

My companion complaining of increased pain, occasioned, as she thought, by walking, we sat down on a large stone, which seemed to have lain there undisturbed by ages. A large oak spread over its branching arms, "the massy growth of twice a hundred years," to which the ivy clung and twined about in fantastic wreath

ings. The magic of the spot, the light whispering of the winds through the quivering leaves, the gurgling of the brook as it boiled in mimic rage over the stones and other obstacles which presented themselves to its course; the perfume of the air, the witching hour, joined with a strange feeling of inquietude, the cause of which I feared to search into, overpowered my senses and unhinged my faculties. A thought of Mary intruded itself on me, for the first time; I felt it an intrusion, and strove to banish it.

Meanwhile my companion had remained silent: at last she spoke, in a sportive manner, to me on the cause of my abstraction. I did not answer, and, plucking a flower from the ground, she offered it to me. I snatched at it: I caught her hand in mine; she smiled, and I was at her feet!

I was startled by the approach of a footstep. I looked up, and to my confusion, beheld the brother of Mary. He had never been favourable to my passion for his sister, and I feared the worst consequences from his rage and dislike to me. I flew

to him; he passed on, and strove to avoid me, but I followed, and overtook him. I said something about explanations. "Sir," he replied, “I wish for no further explanations; the thing explains itself. Meanwhile I wish at present to be alone. I wish you a good night." I remonstrated with him, and he replied in terms which, however warm, were, I must confess, authorized by my conduct. To be brief, our quarrel became serious, he gave me a challenge, I accepted it, and we parted.

I rushed home in a state of madness. At the gate I met Mary: she laughed, and playfully attempted to stop me, but I passed by with a violence that allowed no time for converse. I flew to my room, and, flinging myself into a chair, gave myself up to the flood of passion and misery that overwhelmed me.

And when I reflected, it was misery. I had been seduced (I could not think by what evil influence) from the allegiance I owed to Mary-to her who, to-morrow, should become my wife; and, e'er the nuptial hour should arrive, I might

be the murderer, or have fallen by the hand of her brother. At any rate, it was probable, almost certain, that he would disclose what he knew it might be, nay, was it not likely that she should feel indignant at my conduct, and cast me off as unworthy of her? I was filled with agonizing apprehensions; the tumult of my mind was dread

ful.

In about an hour would be the time at which I was to meet Mary's brother. I took out my pistols and loaded them, and was almost ready to use them to put an end to my existence. Whilst I was thus employed, I heard a gentle rap at the door. I went and opened it, and found Mary. I went back, and she followed me. The first thing she saw was my pistols, which I had forgotten to conceal. "What are these for?" was her question, pointing to them. I was so confounded that, for some time, I could make no answer. At last, I said that I had been cleaning them. I looked at her; her eyes were swoln and inflamed with weeping, and I cursed myself for bringing misery on her. She held out her hand to "What ails you? you seem unwell." I took her hand-"Mary, forgive me," and I clasped her

me.