To the north, and east, and west, in every direction, in short, over one entire half of the novel panorama, lay a field of rolling waters. The element was neither of that glassy green which distinguishes the American waters in general, nor yet of the deep-blue of the ocean; the color being of a slightly amber hue, that scarcely affected its limpidity. No land was to be seen, with the exception of the adjacent coast, which stretched to the right and left, in an unbroken outline of forest, with wide bays, and low headlands or points; still, much of the shore was rocky, and into its caverns the sluggish waters occasionally rolled, producing a hollow sound, that resembled the concussions of a distant gun. No sail whitened the surface, no whale or other fish gamboled on its bosom, no sign of use or service rewarded the longest and most minute gaze at its boundless expanse. It was a scene, on one side, of apparently endless forests, while a waste of seemingly interminable water spread itself on the other. Nature had appeared to delight in producing grand effects, by setting two of her principal agents in bold relief to each other, neglecting details; the eye turning from the broad carpet of leaves to the still broader field of fluid, from the endless but gentle heavings of the lake, to the holy calm and poetical solitude of the forest, with wonder and delight.

Mabel Dunham, though unsophisticated, like most of her countrywomen of that period, and ingenuous and frank as any warm-hearted and sincere-minded girl well could be, was not altogether without a feeling for the poetry of this beautiful earth of ours. Although she could scarcely be said to be educated at all, for few of her sex, at that day, and in this country, received much more than the rudiments of plain English instruction, still she had been taught much more than was usual for young women in her own station in life, and, in one sense certainly, she did credit to her teaching. The widow of a field-officer, who formerly belonged to the same regiment as her father, had taken the child in charge at the death of its mother; and under the care of this lady, Mabel had acquired some tastes, and many ideas, which otherwise might always have remained

strangers to her. Her situation in the family had been less that of a domestic than of an humble companion, and the results were quite apparent in her attire, her language, her sentiments, and even in her feelings, though neither perhaps, rose to the level of those which would properly characterize a lady. She had lost the coarser and less refined habits and manners of one in her original position, without having quite reached a point that disqualified her for the situation in life that the accidents of birth and fortune would probably compel her to fill. All else that was distinctive and peculiar in her, belonged to natural character.

With such antecedents, it will occasion the reader no wonder if he learn that Mabel viewed the novel scene before her with a pleasure far superior to that produced by vulgar surprise. She felt its ordinary beauties as most would have felt them, but she had also a feeling for its sublimity; for that softened solitude, that calm grandeur and eloquent repose, that ever pervade broad views of natural objects which are yet undisturbed by the labors and struggles of man.

"How beautiful!" she exclaimed, unconscious of speaking, as she stood on the solitary bastion, facing the air from the lake, and experiencing the genial influence of its freshness pervading both her body and her mind. "How very beautiful; and yet how singular!"

The words, and the train of her ideas, were interrupted by a touch of a finger on her shoulder, and turning, in the expectation of seeing her father, Mabel found Pathfinder at her side. He was leaning quietly on his long rifle, and laughing in his quiet manner, while, with an outstretched arm, he swept over the whole panorama of land and water.

"Here you have both our domains," he said, “Jasper's and mine. The lake is for him, and the woods are for me. The lad sometimes boasts of the breadth of his dominions, but I tell him my trees make as broad a plain on the face of this 'arth, as all his water. Well, Mabel, you are fit for either, for I do not see that fear of the Mingos, or night marches, can destroy your pretty looks."

"It is a new character for the Pathfinder to appear in, to compliment a silly girl."

"Not silly, Mabel; no, not in the least silly. The sergeant's daughter would do discredit to her worthy father, were she to do or say anything that, in common honesty, could be called silly."

"Then she must take care and not put too much faith in treacherous, flattering words. But, Pathfinder, I rejoice to see you among us again; for, though Jasper did not seem to feel much uneasiness, I was afraid some accident might have happened to you and your friend, on that frightful rift."

“The lad knows us both, and was sartain that we should not drown, which is scarcely one of my gifts. It would have been hard swimming, of a sartainty, with a long-barreled rifle in the hand; and what between the game, and the savages, and the French, Killdeer and I have gone through too much in company, to part very easily. No, no; we waded ashore, the rift being shallow enough for that, with small exceptions, and we landed with our arms in our hands. We had to take our time for it, on account of the Iroquois, I will own; but, as soon as the skulking vagabonds saw the lights that the sergeant sent down to your canoe, we well understood they would decamp, since a visit might have been expected from some of the garrison. it was only sitting patiently on the stones, for an hour, and all the danger was over. Patience is the greatest of virtues

in a woodsman."

So

"I rejoice to hear this, for fatigue itself could scarcely make me sleep, for thinking of what might befall you."

"Lord bless your tender little heart, Mabel! But this is the way with all your gentle ones. I must say, on my part, however, that I was right glad to see the lanterns come down to the water-side, which I knew to be a sure sign of your safety. We hunters and guides are rude beings, but we have our feelin's, our idees, as well as any giniral in the army. Both Jasper and I would have died, before you should have come to harm, we would."

"I thank you for all you did for me, Pathfinder; from

the bottom of my heart, I thank you, and depend on it my father shall know it. I have already told him much, but still have a duty to perform on this subject."

"Tush, Mabel!

The sergeant knows what the woods
There is little

be, and what men, true red-men be, too.
need to tell him anything about it. Well, now you have
met your father, do you find the honest old soldier the sort
of person you expected to find?”

"He is my own dear father, and received me as a soldier and a father should receive a child. Have you known him long, Pathfinder?”

"That is as people count time. I was just twelve when the sergeant took me on my first scouting, and that is now more than twenty years ago. We had a tramping time of it, and as it was before your day, you would have had no father, had not the rifle been one of my natʼral gifts."

"Explain yourself!

We were ambushed,

"It is too simple for many words. and the sergeant got a bad hurt and would have lost his scalp, but for a sort of inbred turn I took to the weapon. We brought him off, however, and a handsomer head of hair, for his time of life, is not to be found in the rijiment than the sergeant carries about with him, this blessed day." "You saved my father's life, Pathfinder?" exclaimed Mabel, unconsciously, though warmly, taking one of his hard sinewy hands into both her own. "God bless you for this, too, among your other good acts."

"Nay, I did not say that much, though I believe I did save his scalp. A man might live without a scalp, and so I Jannot say I saved his life. Jasper may say that much consarning you; for without his eye and arm the canoe would never have passed the rift in safety on a night like the last. The gifts of the lad are for the water, while mine are for the hunt and the trail. He is yonder in the cove, there, looking after the canoes, and keeping an eye on his beloved ittle craft. To my eye there is no likelier youth in these parts than Jasper Western."

For the first time since she had left her room, Mabel now turned her eyes beneath her, and got a view of what might

be called the foreground of the remarkable picture she had been studying with so much pleasure. The Oswego threw its dark waters into the lake between banks of some height; that on its eastern side being bolder and projecting further north than that on its western. The fort was on the latter, and immediately beneath it were a few huts of logs, which, as they could not interfere with the defense of the place, had been erected along the strand for the purpose of receiving and containing such stores as were landed or were intended to be embarked in the communications between the different ports on the shores of Ontario. There were two low, curved gravelly points that had been formed with surprising regularity by the counteracting forces of the northerly winds and the swift current, and which, inclining from the storms of the lake, formed two coves within the river. That on the western side was the most deeply indented, and as it also had the most water, it formed a sort of picturesque little port for the post. It was along the narrow strand that lay between the low height of the fort and the water of this cove, that the rude buildings just mentioned had been erected.

Several skiffs, batteaux, and canoes were hauled up on the shore, and in the cove itself lay the little craft, from which Jasper obtained his claim to be considered a sailor. She was cutter-rigged, might have been of forty tons bur den, was so neatly constructed and painted as to have something of the air of a vessel of war, though entirely without quarters, and rigged and sparred with so scrupulous a regard to proportions and beauty, as well as fitness and judgment, as to give her an appearance that even Mabel at once distinguished to be gallant and trim. Her mould was admirable, for a wright of great skill had sent her drafts from England at the express request of the officer who had caused her to be constructed; her paint dark, warlike, and neat; and the long coach-whip pennant that she wore at once proclaimed her to be the property of the king. Her name was the Scud.

That, then, is the vessel of Jasper!" said Mabel, who associated the master of the little craft quite naturally with the cutter itself. "Are there many others on this lake?"