in his arms. They all soon regained the shore. There had been just enough of danger in the accident to give excitement without seriousness, to the feelings of all parties. Lora was used to rural accidents; and the scratches, rents and wetting were trifles in her eyes.

Her young knights errant applauded her spirit. Harry let fall something of her liking Graham's arms better than his shoulders; and Francis confessed himself pledged to Mrs. Lee, to make good the torn and soiled frock with a pretty new one.

This was to them the period of gay visions and romantic dreams. Life was all joy. The spirit of youth gave a charm to the trifling incidents we have related; and subsequent events preserved them from oblivion. Lora Cameron was an orphan niece of Mrs. Lee. "Orphan woes draws nature's ready tear;" but Lora had only the name of an orphan, for her aunt supplied to her every thing of parental vigilance, and more than parental indulgence. It must be confessed that she was bred somewhat daintily; in spite of many a suggestion from Mrs. Lee's thoughtful neighbours, that instead of fitting Lora to be a farmer's wife, she was bringing her up for an idol, and nothing else. And an idol she was, if unmeasured love could make her 80. But as Mrs. Lee very justly said, it was nobody's fault, for nobody could help loving her. Lora was one of those who seem to be gifted with a marvellous touch, that opens the fountains of affection in every nature, that elicits harmony from the coarsest and most discordant instruments. That Lora, with her tender affections, her grace and beauty, should be loved by her cousin Harry Lee, and his friend Graham, was a matter of course; but that the old and severe should light up as she passed them, as if they had been touched by an angel's wing; that Madam Graham, the perpendicular Madam Graham, fit relict, or ghost of the murdered aristocracy of the land, should caress and pet her, we must refer to some mysterious gift, similar to that of the kind fairy to the good little girl, whose lips dropped pearls whenever she spoke.

Lee's farm lost none of its attractions for Graham, when the intellectual pursuits of collegiate life, the occupations of a liberal profession, and a familiarity with the first and gayest circles in the land, would seem to have created barriers between him and his rustic friends. The world had no pleasure for him, equivalent to his welcome at Lee's farm, to the cordial grasp of Harry's hand, to Lora's unrepressed joy, and the good mother's protracted smiles.

It was not long before Graham felt that there was one circumstance in his friend's condition, that far more than counterbalanced the apparent superiority of his; but it would be, as it seemed to his noble mind, crime or misery to betray this feeling; and through all the perilous scenes of youth, he maintained so gay and seemingly frank and careless an intercourse with Lora, that no one ever suspected that the affianced bride of his friend was the object of the tenderest sentiment, he ever felt, or ever was destined to feel.

Love is in its nature engrossing and selfish, and he who" ruleth his spirit" in this particular, is certainly “greater than he that taketh a city.” Harry was naturally easy and confiding in his temper. He loved Lora, and he believed Lora loved him; and she believed so too: nor till instructed by events, that like the prism nicely separates shades, did she learn to distinguish the simple and tranquil sentiment she felt for Harry, from that in which all modes and capacities of feeling unite and blend.

Once she involuntarily and most innocently betrayed to Graham the real state of her affections. It was the discovery of a world to him; but not a word, not a glance informed Lora the discovery was made. One treacherous look would have given them both occasion for everlasting sorrow; but loyalty to Harry seemed to be the instinct of their natures. Lora never dreamed her feeling was responded. She suffered none of the misery that is supposed to be inseparable from repressed love. There was no affinity for misery in her sweet and happy disposition. When she thought and talked of her marriage, which had been long appointed for her seventeenth birthday, the perspective of life beyond, if not lit up with the bright hues of romantic love, was illumined with the light of conscious truth and fidelity-a light that shineth for ever and

ever.

Nearly eight years had passed since the period at which our story began, and our young friends had entered upon the strifes and duties of manhood. Their characters had retained their original cast. The texture of the wood does not change, though the surface may be polished or marred by effort or accident; an obvious truth which Crabbe has somewhere poetically expressed. Fortune had shown her two faces to the friends. Graham had entered on the rich harvest that had been accumulating for the lawyer; and Harry into possession of a farm, heavily encumbered with debts; debts contracted by his father in the service of his country. This father, just at the close of the war, and when his honours were thick upon him, had met the death of the patriot soldier, and had left no inheritance to his son, but the glorious memory of his devotion to his country.

During the war of the revolution, debts were heedlessly contracted, and payment suspended, with political independence: a sort of Millenium seemed to have been expected, when the debtor and the creditor should lie down together. But peace came, and the sordid passions of men revived. At the moment that reward and enjoyment were expected, a grievous portion of the cost of the struggle was to be paid. The shrill fife and spirit stirring drum no longer gave the impulse to deeds of high emprise; and difficult efforts and protracted self denial were necessary.

From various causes the pressure was most severely felt in Massachusetts; and complaints of excessive taxes, of the vexatious forms of law, and of various grievances, real and fancied, per

vaded the state. The discontents finally broke out in 1786-7, in the insurrection commonly called Shay's war. Many of the virtuous yeomanry were found in the ranks of rebellion. The ruinous state of Lee's affairs cast him naturally among the disaffected. Graham as naturally became a zealous and effective leader of the government party. Harry's love of peace, his integrity, and, more than all, his love for Graham, prevented him at first from taking part with the rebels; but unfortunately, Graham's activity and importance suspended their intercourse, and in the mean time Lee was exposed to the constant influence of the insurgent leaders, and to the goadings of pecuniary embarrassments. While it was possible he had forborne to communicate his perplexities even to his mother; but this manly reserve was no longer practicable. An execution was about to be levied on his farm, and he was menaced with imprisonment, unless an accommodation could be effected with one Seth Warner, his principal creditor. It was early in the month of February that he returned home, after having been absent all day. His mother was alone. She looked towards him with an expression of anxious inquiry. He sat down by the fire without speaking. His mother first broke the ominous silence. "My poor boy, you have not succeeded?"

"No mother."

"Did you apply to Francis Graham?" "No, mother."

"Oh Harry, he is a friend for a wet day!" "He was, mother. But now he thinks of nothing but hunting down the poor fellows who are struggling for their rights. He led the party that took Wily's son; and they say the poor lad will be hung for his father's sake. No, mother, there is neither mercy nor justice, and certainly not forbearance to be hoped from any of the court party*."

"Well, my son, the will of the Lord be done." "But is it the will of the Lord, mother? Is it his will that one man should have his table spread with all the dainties of the land, while another man starves? That the children of those who sacrificed their property and their lives for the independence of their country, should be reduced to slavish dependence on hard hearted creditors. Did not my father fight for his home; was it not his watchword through seven years of hardship, in battle and in death; and are we now to be driven from it without resistance?"

Never before had Harry Lee made so formal and so complicated a speech; and it was with difficulty that his mother threaded her way to the result, which she expressed in a low and apprehensive voice. "Harry, you have been listening to Shay's men: you surely don't think of joining them?" Harry made no reply. "Let alone the right and wrong of the matter, it would be madness now, when general Lincoln is carrying all before him; the lower countics are quiet; the

This was the name by which the insurgents designated the government party, the supporters of the courts of law.

insurgents are routed at Petersham; and they will scatter like scared geese in Berkshire, the moment the general sets foot in the country."

"Mother," replied Harry, with that decision with which men usually put down feminine opinions, touching subjects beyond their province, "mother, you know nothing about the matter. Forces are expected from Vermont. All the lower part of the county is rising, and Hamlin is coming in from the West; and there is every reason to hope the court party will be put down."

"Oh, Harry, I can't bear to hear you talk so -as if you were one of them; are they not all proclaimed rebels?"

"So was my father, and he changed the name to patriot; but take comfort, mother, we can't be worse off. Where is Lora?"

"At Madam Graham's. Poor Lora, she is made so much of there, that I often wonder she is so contented at home; but bless her, she is just like the sun, shining as pleasantly into the deepest valley, as on the highest hill."

The sound of sleigh bells interrupted the mother and the son, and an instant after Lora entered. Graham from the sleigh called to Lee, "What in the world, Hal, have you been about? 1 sent for you this morning to join us in our sortie on Hubbard." Lee's countenance fell at the mention of Hubbard's name; but his back was to the light, and Graham, without suspecting the train of his emotions, proceeded. "We had a detachment of thirty-seven infantry and seven gentlemen. It would have done your soul good, to have seen the panic of the scoundrels when we approached them-two hundred of them drawn up in battle array; but our very horses had more soldiership in them than the blackguards. Their sentries fired on us once, but we pressed on in front of their line. The poor devils staggered with fear. We commanded them to lay down their arms, and they laid them down. The ass knoweth his owner."

"And the ox his master's crib,” replied Lee; "but when the crib is empty, and the poor beast overworked, he may well refuse any longer to tread out the corn."

"Why, Hal, my dear fellow, what do you mean? not to take the part of these beggarly rascals?"

"If they are beggars, Graham, it would be well to remember what has made them so, and well to ask yourself, which deserves the name of rascal, the oppressed or the oppressor."

"My good friend, you are possessed; but I have dropped an angel at your door, that will drive the foul fiend away; so good night to you. Good night, Lora, God bless you."

Lora perceived that a deep gloom had settled on Harry. In vain she related the little occurrences of the day: she called forth no questions, awakened no sympathy.

"Harry," she said, "do you know Madam Graham has promised us a ball on the twentyseventh, if General Lincoln and his staff are here?" Harry gave no intimation that he heard

Mrs. Lee and Lora were both sure that if they could rectify Harry's impressions, before he was discovered with the insurgents, all would yet be well. But whither he had gone, or how to communicate with him, they knew not. It naturally occurred to both, that Graham would be the best counsellor and aid; and Lora went immediately, through a deep and newly fallen snow, to the village. When she arrived at Madam Graham's, she found that Francis was absent: to await him, with what patience she might, was the only resource. She dispatched an explanatory note to her aunt. The day was fraught with small, as well as great misfortunes to Lora.

Madam Graham's household were preparing for the reception of Governor Lincoln, and Lora was called on to give certain little embellishing touches too delicate for servile hands. But every thing went wrong with Lora. She threw salt, instead of sugar, into the cranberries; curdled the liquid custards; scorched, and spoiled irretrievably, a Mechlin lace of Madam Graham's; and finally dropped a dish containing a rich trifle, compounded by the old lady herself, on the centre of the best carpet: and bursting into tears, she left the ruin to tell its own story, and retreated to an apartment at the extremity of the house.

There she seated herself at the window, and waited and watched, hour after hour, till, just at the close of day, she heard the well known ring of Graham's sleigh bells. His fleet steeds rapidly approached. Lora's heart throbbed with joy. His presence, she thought, insured safety, and restored happiness to Harry. She threw up the window and waved her handkerchief. He gallantly doffed his cap in return. At that instant a loud shout from many voices was heard; and Lora perceived a troop of horse sweeping into the village in a direction opposite to that from which Graham had approached. Each horse was decked with a branch of evergreen, the well known insignia of the Shaysites. They made a dash towards Graham's sleigh. He attempted to force his spirited horses through their ranks, but it was impossible; they closed around him; and, after a moment of breathless suspense, Lora saw his sleigh turned and driven away, well guarded. The cry of "Hurra for Hamlin!" now rung through the street. The troop was broken into small parties, and dispersed to every house in the village. All the men at home belonging to the government party, or, as they were termed in the descriptive phrase of their opponents, the "ruffled shirts," were made prisoners.

The depredations committed on that day, the brave resistance of a few Amazonian dames, and the ludicrous panic of others, are still the burden of many an old wife's tale. But we dare not now ask grace for these particulars.

Our heroine was thrown, by Graham's capture, upon her own unassisted energy. Her first object was to ascertain where the insurgents were to rendezvous, and what was to be their next movement. In spite of Madam Graham's entreaties, she lingered in the apartments where the depredators were most busy and communica

tive, and she soon learned enough to shape her own projects. Hamlin had made his incursion with a small detachment. The main body of the insurgents had marched to Sheffield on the west side of the mountain. There they expected to meet reinforcements that would enable them to resist Colonel Ashly, who was at the head of a considerable body of Militia.

Lora's resolution was at once taken. She decided to go, herself, to Sheffield. A ride of fourteen miles, alone, in mid-winter, and over a road thronged with armed rebels, was a bold enterprize; but nothing seemed to Lora impossible, except to suffer her deluded cousin to be involved in ruin which she might avert. Without consulting Madam Graham, who, she well knew, would put her veto on the proceeding, she ordered a servant boy to saddle Jenny Gray, a high mettled riding horse of Graham's. The boy replied, that Peter Parker, one of Shay's men, had just stolen Jenny Gray from the stable, and was trying to mount her. Peter Parker, the pedlar!" exclaimed Lora; "he dare not-he shall not." She knew Peter, an itinerant vendor of brooms, wooden bowls, primers, and notions; and that he should presume to mount the patrician palfrey was incredible to Lora. She threw on her cloak, hood, muff, and tippet, and, arming herself with a riding whip, proceeded with characteristic impetuosity to the yard. Jenny was saddled, she had quietly permitted Peter to perform the office of groom, which fitted him, as she seemed instinctively to know; but when he attempted to mount her, she became restive, and Peter patted and coaxed in vain. Lora assumed a commanding attitude; and in a manner that would have become queen Bess, and was quite striking in a little person scarce five feet high, she ordered Peter to give her the reins. But Peter, whose bold aspirations at this moment rose to at least a twitch at the reins of government, was not in the humour to resign the reins of Jenny; and ashamed of the dastardly figure he was making in female eyes, he summoned all the spirit within him, and jerked himself astride the saddle. The spirited little animal, all unused to so ungainly and ill fitting a burden, reared and plunged. Lora snapped her whip. "Throw him, Jenny, throw him!" she cried. Peter dropped the reins and clung to the mane. Jenny

"Chauffed and foamed with courage fierce and stern, And to be eased of that base burden still did yearn."' And eased she soon was. The poor pedlar made a somerset over her head, and was laid sprawling on the ground.

The next moment, obedient to the well known voice of her whom she had often proudly borne beside her master, she stood gently while Lora sprang into the saddle; and before the pedlar was on his feet again, Lora and Jenny, for Jenny seemed well to comprehend her part in the strife, had fairly distanced him.

The insurgents, excepting a few who had discreetly loitered in the hope of avoiding the expected combat, were far in the advance of Lora;