known to speak of a Yankee, but in terms of the bitterest wrath: That he had been made a Squire, in which vocation he exercised an inveterate feud against all patent machine-makers, and unlicensed pedlars." The stranger laughed heartily, in concert with Rosalie, at the conclusion of the tale, and observed that poor Carle's misfortune was one of the very few that never excited sympathy or compassion. The next morning, after all the necessary preparation of fastening hooks, arranging sinkers and floats, packing provision and procuring bait, Edward and his guest started down the stream upon a crusade against the trout. Those who have ever indulged in the glorious sport of trout-fishing, beneath the shade of massive trees, in the deep black pools of the mountain branches, when the ravenous speckled fish swallow the hook as soon as it touches the water, may imagine the sport that the two friends enjoyed. They returned again to the cottage, and again were the stranger's feelings enraptured and entranced by the powers of music, and the beauty and charms of the lovely Rose. He remained for several days at the cottage, and with every returning day did he feel his spirits and health rapidly reviving. He at last returned to the Springs, but with a pressing invitation to pay another visit. The company at the watering-place were astonished at his return and sudden revival; there was something inexplicable about the man. He had strayed off in a deep melancholy into the mountains, no one knew where; and at the time when he should have committed suicide, or died a natural death, he returned with every symptom of reviving happiness and health. Strange and desperate were the attempts to penetrate his mystery, but all in vain; and an old lady from the Eastern-shore at last protested that he was as close as an oyster. The mystery was at last unfolded; from some letters which he took from the post-office, his name was at last revealed; enquiry was set afloat concerning his rank and prospects, and it was reduced to a certainty that he was of one of the noblest and most wealthy families in the State. In the mean time, every day saw the stranger a visitor at the cottage; the company at the Springs were amazed at, and curious to know the cause of his frequent absence, and the astonishing change in his appearance and manners: For, although cold and formally polite in his general deportment towards the fair deities who ruled the destinies of the beau monde at the watering place, yet he was completely free from those symptoms of confirmed misanthropy, which he had at first displayed, and at times, he would enter into the amusements which were in vogue with the spirit of a genuine Cavalier de Servente. The cause of all this singularity, and of his frequent absence, was at length explained; his incessant visits to the cottage were at last discovered, and the lovely Nymph whom it contained, was set down as the magic cause of his revival and the object of his attraction. Much regret and surprise were of course manifested at his choice; he might certainly have discovered some one of the ladies who were at the Springs, and who were his equals in rank and fortune, to have bestowed his heart upon; but, that he should have thought of addressing a mountain lady, one whom they were certain was neither accomplished nor wealthy, was astonishing. However, the chance was hopeless, and he was resigned by the fair bevy with many an indifferent compliment to his taste. The Springs season had passed, and the epitome of the world who were visitors, had all departed with it: the parti-coloured hue of the forest, denoted the rapid approach of winter, yet was the stranger still in the neighbourhood of the cottage. He was one day at the watering place, when a letter was put into his hands from the place of his nativity; he burst it open, and found it was from his agent at home, containing a strong and positive injunction to return upon matters of vital importance. His countenance fell, and biting his lip with vexation, he unconsciously glided down the path which led to the cottage. He found Rosalie sitting alone beneath the little arbour; it was a heautiful Indian summer's day, and as her sylph-like form and lovely face appeared through the branches and leaves of the vine, she might have seemed the fair priestess of a temple to the season. She sat as in deep medita tion, and her eye was fixed upon a book which he at once recognized; for, he had lent it to her. Without disturbing, he walked slowly behind her, and examined the spot upon which she was earnestly gazing. It was the poem of Marcian Colonna; it was open at the place where Julia, in parting with Marcian, thus addresses him: "I would fain from out the golden hoards As Rosalie read these lines, a sigh escaped her; she shut the book, and slowly turning round, encountered the form of the stranger: A crimson glow of surprise and pleasure lighted her face as she extended him her hand and invited him to a seat. He placed himself beside her, but for some moments could not utter a word; the difficulty of speaking appeared to be mutual, and it was some time before a single syllable was exchanged. At last, he broke the silence; "Miss Neville," he exclaimed, "I must leave you; affairs which admit of no postponement, imperiously demand my presence far from you." The tear of regret started from her eye, and she could not answer. "Will you think of me sometimes," said the stranger, "when I am gone? Will you bestow at times a transient thought upon the melancholy invalid, whom your kindness has restored to health and happiness ?" "Will you never return?" she faintly replied. "Yes, my dearest Miss Rosalie, but it will be upon one condition, and one alone." She cast her eyes upon the ground, but a glow of pleasurable enquiry mantled her countenance: "Will you consent to be mine if I return ?" at last escaped him. His heart throbbed with painful anticipation, and a pause succeeded: with a tremulous intonation so low as hardly to strike the ear, was the assent given; it thrilled upon the ear of the stranger like the dying cadence of her own harp. "Seal the bar gain," he exclaimed, in an emotion of rapture, while he imprinted a burning kiss upon her lips. * * * * The wintry blast was drifting the snow in eddying whirl over the crag which based the cottage: A bright fire blazed in the hearth, and the little parlour showed by its decorations, symptoms of some uncommon approaching fete. Edward Neville was sitting at a table copying the music of a new song, and Rosalie was employed between spangling a piece of white muslin and looking intensely out of the window. Neither of them said a word, but the face of Rosalie glowed as if with expectation of some beloved object. "I wonder," said Edward, "that they don't arrive; it is now late in the evening." The loud baying of the stag-hounds announced the approach of some one, and they both started to the door. The rattling of wheels and clattering of hoofs resounded on the frozen road, and a large cavalcade, with the stranger at the head, soon alighted at the gate. He was met by Rosalie with a fond exclamation of joy: the parson of the neighbouring village was in the train, and as night-fall rapidly succeeded, the little cottage was brilliantly illuminated for the approaching ceremony. It was speedily concluded; and the enlivering notes of the violin drawn into rapid melody by the art of old Hull black, the neighbourhood Orpheus, soon awakened the echoes of the crag into rivalry. The dance and the feast continued through the greater part of the night; and |