me to think upon, was avoided, I would allow my mind to dwell on other things for a space. Deceived with Thought's apparent consent, I let Mildred and the prospect of her sweet companionship engage me. Already we had agreed to read and translate German together. This was pleasant, and I went back to our early school-days, to our earnest friendship then, and wondered, very naturally, that it had not occurred to me that my former schoolmate, Milly Forrester, was the daughter of my employer.

Presently an unlooked for and mournful recollection of the Past brought me full against the rock I dreaded, and with a malison on my false Thought, I struck it out madly into the sea. This time it made a wide circuit, but it came steadily round again. From following the dear ones on their Western journey; from wondering if Kate was lonely at Madame Merillat's; from dwelling on my position in Mr. Forrester's family, and the duties incumbent upon me, it veered and veered, until the old point was struck once more. Lacerated heart and weary brain gave token of the

pain I endured. Erelong I was weeping at the wildest rate, and swaying back and forth with the violence of my emotion. "Is this never to end? Is Lawrence Esterlyn never to break the silence between us? If he had only confided to me about the pamphlets! Nowif he suffers as I do, surely he will forgive the fault in time. But when? With beatings of the breast, with an anguished sense of remorseful self-blame, I may cry out, Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,' but the fault is not atoned for; the sinned against cannot hear the cry or witness the expiation. But oh! Lawrence seems to me at times more inexorable than a god. I put the thought away, but it comes and comes, and maddens me with the conviction that he loved me not strongly or well, since he could give me up in a day.”

And the weeping went on, till, far in the night, I heard the approach of the carriage which brought Mildred home, and fearing lest she should see my tears, and inquire their cause, I extinguished my light, and crept wearily to bed.

Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between ;
The venerable woods; rivers that move

In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green."

BRYANT.

Hamlet.-"Alas! poor Ghost!"

SHAKESPEARE.

LEN-BECK was a lovely place in summer, where the leaves rustled,

and the birds sang, and merry-voiced

waters leaped to the sunlight, while stately. mountains kept grim guard in the distant background.

All along the high-road from the city of MM—, for the distance of eight or ten miles,

+

there were erected handsome dwellings, surrounded by beautiful and well-kept grounds; but Glen-Beck exceeded all these, by reason of great natural beauty of situation, which had been assisted and heightened by the hand of art. The same cultivated and exquisite taste that had adorned the interior of Mr. Forrester's mansion, had been at work in every direction upon the grounds. Vistas were opened through groups of trees, whose growth had shut out pleasant prospects; upland and vale were cleared and planted anew; and water, brought from its rocky source, rose and fell again into marble basins, with a rejoicing sound, through all the summer-time. The forest Dryad, the Oread from the hills, and fountain-watching Naiad, might seek no fairer home.

The mansion, which stood on an elevation, was large, built of a kind of grayish stone, modern in architecture, and strong in structIt was approached from the high-road. by a carriage-way leading through trees to the great front entrance, from which a path diverged on either hand, and led round the sides

ure.

of the house, to a large garden in the rear, where the ground fell with a few gentle undulations to the banks of a small stream, which still retained its Indian name, Monoskisy. On the other side of this stream a small house was built, where lived the gardener, Andy Ray, and his family. To the right of the mansion, a country road wound past the garden hedge, and the grounds beyond it, for the distance of three-quarters of a mile, leading to a large wooden bridge extending across the river Wissitere, which here ran parallel for a space with the small stream that flowed through Mr. Forrester's grounds. To the left of the garden, and concealed from sight by large trees, stood a farm-house, occupied by Mrs. Grey, whom my pupils called Nurse Matty, and who had been a sort of foster-mother to all the children, from Walworth down to Lillian. Mrs. Grey's son Robert took care of the farm, which was in the rear of the house, and acted also as a sort of steward for Mr. Forrester.

On the other side of the river, and just beyond the bridge, lay the little village of More