as the sole means of preserving her gravity. I think Mrs. Dacre had never come so near stupefaction in her life. The woman whom she had persistently annoyed and insulted for two seasons was actually the owner of that fortune-" fabulously rich," thought she. "How could I have been such a fool ?" And dear Philip, she always knew he would marry a fortune. He might talk of not caring for money, but he had kept this knowledge very close-yes, he knew what he was about. And Ethel was well! perhaps she was mistaken in not thinking her handsome; very distinguished looking-and her poses were superb. To think that Philip had done his duty at last! This, and much more, Mrs. Dacre pondered during service, and when Ethel and Philip walked into Aunt Pomeroy's parlor on going home they found Mrs. Lottie there waiting for them.

"My dear, dear Ethel!" cried the gushing lady, every other word in italics. "I am so surprised! How could you let Philip tell me in that dreadfully sudden way-just like a novel. And that beautiful book! I must read it again, I read it too hastily, I fear. And how did you settle it? For I've been

expecting this for a long time. Philip, you sly fellow, I suspected you!"

For a second Ethel thought she would resent this, but Philip's dancing eyes, and the comical suddenness of Mrs. Dacre's recantation proved too much for her risibles. So she answered, with a smile:

"It's very pleasant not to have taken you by surprise. How did we settle it? He pushed me into the lake, and when I was in a half-drowned condition he made me saywhat, Philip ?"

"Nothing, so far as I can remember," said Philip, with great demureness.

"And what did Master Philip say ?" questioned Mrs. Dacre, in high glee.

"Told me I talked nonsense," with a merry laugh. “I think he's dangerously wicked, Mrs. Dacre."

What Mrs. Lottie answered the historian knoweth not, but you may rest assured that every one of her "dear five hundred" friends in town were confidentially informed that "Philip never would have got her, my dear creature, if I had not assisted him with a true woman's style of TACTICS!"

O careless brook! to sing as light a song
As if you sung in unenchanted wood;
Now purple shadows linger, deep and long,
And sleepy leaves complain of solitude!

To sing as light a song as if you ne'er

Had echoed sweeter voice than nightingale,

So long ago, when the soft scented air

Of an old summer crossed these velvet dales.

As if you ne'er within your mirror bright Held fairer face than even the fair day's; Nor felt a touch more thrilling than sunlight, Nor felt a glow more splendid than dawn's

gaze.

As if you knew but idle woodland tales, Blown by the loitering wind to lily flowers, Or hummed by gossip-bees about the vales, The silly secrets stolen from garden bowers. As if you knew no tenderer tone to wake When once you heard, though long and long ago,

Her laughter ring. But, brook, for love's dear sake

This leafy place is haunted, so sing low! Sing low, I pray; and while the restless bees And tumbled leaflets say "how still it seems!" Who knows what charméd voice may, on the

breeze,

Sound from the long ago upon our dreams?

THE ROMANCE OF A NIGHT.

ONE moonlight evening in May, a number of years ago, Mr. Nelson Ashley sat on the piazza of his father's house and looked at the Mississippi. Aided by the soothing influence of a fragrant partaga and by the comfortable position of his chair, which was tilted carelessly back so as to allow his feet a place against one of the piazza pillars, both Ashley's mind and body were at that moment in a state of indolent and delicious repose. The evening was not unpleasantly warm. Before the house the broad shining belt of water gleamed across the landscape like a snowy ribbon, its winding course cutting the green fields into graceful curves as far to the north and south as the eye, from the high ground on which the Ashley mansion stood, could reach. The Father of Waters was putting his best foot foremost now. Within two days the river had risen twenty feet, and to-night was pouring down a swift and turbid flood which had stolen whole forests from the banks above and was sweeping them away toward the sea in the bewildering rush of its whirling current. Miles above whole tracts of bottom lands had been flooded by the breaking of the levees, and the mighty river had availed itself of this new lease of elbow-room by spreading out into lakes of marvellous width, which now shone white in the moonlight and glimmered in the far distance amid the dusky green of the plantations like so many silver shields. A breath of faint fragrance from the orange grove behind the house hovered in the air that night, and the entire landscape seemed steeped in a languid sense of rest. Along the levees bright fires were kindled, the beacons of the slave gangs who were watching the advance of the flood, and from the negro quarters the music of a banjo, accompanying some plantation ditty, rang out into the calm night. Anon a sound came up from the river-a deep and sullen boom, as a floating tree, perhaps larger than the average, was borne down bodily against some halfsubmerged obstacle, or a louder crash, as a portion of the bank succumbed to the under

mining current and slipped bodily into the

stream.

Listening to these solemn notes by which the great river gave evidence of its presence, lulled by the deep music of the night owls among the sycamores, enjoying to the fullest the peaceful beauty of the scene before him, Nelson Ashley smoked his cigar and indulged in the luxury of falling into a profound reverie. Within doors the girls were drumming duets upon the piano for the amusement of Ned Winters, who had refused Nelson's invitation to smoke, preferring an hour of Kate Ashley's society, as he afterwards whispered to that young lady herself, when they were sitting together by the south window in the twilight, to all the Havana cigars in the market. Captain Tunstall, who owned the adjoining plantation, was playing chess with the governor in the dining-room, and Ashley's mother was in her favorite rocking-chair, absorbed in the perusal of Festus. So it happened that each had that night betaken himself or herself to his or her favorite amusement, independently of the others, and that Nelson in consequence found himself on the piazza looking at the Mississippi and scenting the fragrance of orange blossoms between the whiffs of his cigar.

As he tossed his first stump away from him into the grass and proceeded to light again, an ebony Cupid darted forward from around the corner of the house, where he had been patiently awaiting his opportunity.

"Please, Mars'r Nelson," he asked, picking up the unburned portion of Ashley's cigar, can I have dis yer?"

"Where's Sam ?" "Down on levee." "How's the river?"

"Golly! She's comin' up a boomin'. Uncle Jules got all de men down dar walkin' round de fire fur to make 'um stop risin'."

"Doing what?"

“Walkin' round de fire, making voodoo charms."

"Curse the fellow," said Ashley, rising from his seat; "I thought the old man had done with that nonsense. Sam ought not to allow it. Is the river rising very fast, Nap?" "Yes sar. I'se just been down to de fire, and she mos' clean up top de levee."

"I'll go down and take a look at it," said Ashley. "Go in the house, Napoleon. It's time little nigs like you were in bed."

In fact, the boy had no business outside of the quarters at that hour of the evening, but during the last two days he had been employed as a sort of messenger between the house and the guard stationed upon the river bank, and in virtue of his services had been allowed unusual latitude. As Napoleon disappeared puffing vigorously away at his cigar stump, Nelson descended the piazza steps and sauntered leisurely along the path which wound through the wilderness of flowers before the house, toward the river. At the foot of the garden was a small arbor, at the end of which a gate opened directly upon the broad strip of green which stretched sheer to the levee embankment. A line of huge sycamores and water elms fringed the bank at this point, hiding the mansion grounds completely from the river, except in one place where they had been purposely cut away to furnish a view across to the opposite shore. Nelson passed across the dewy grass and stood upon the embankment. The river, seemingly swollen to twice its usual width, was sweeping past at a furious rate, its surface covered with masses of driftwood, which, caught by interposing snags, whirled round and round in the eddies, or were plunged madly beneath the surface to reappear again perhaps a mile away. Boards, logs, portions of broken scows, whole trees came rushing down, some of them in swift procession retaining the middle of the stream, some of them left spinning rapidly around in the whirlpools near the band, all of them plunging and splashing as they hurried onward, and the great river boiling and gurgling a wild accompaniment. It was a wonderful sight, even to Nelson. Those who have never

seen the Father of Rivers during the height of a spring "rise," have little idea of the grandeur of the spectacle. On that night, as he looked out from beneath the shadows of the trees upon the broad bosom of the river, glistening in the white moonlight, with every bubble a sparkling crystal, and with the masses of drifting timber tossing up bright showers of silvered drops as they plunged along, the fairylike enchantment of the scene could not fail to impress itself upon Nelson's mind, ever quick to appreciate the beautiful, or open to an impression of the sublime. At a short distance above, the watchfire of the levee guard was blazing brightly, and around it the negroes, headed by the white-haired Uncle Jule, were marching in slow procession and chanting a wild exorcism of the "debbil" that possessed the river. Mulatto overseer Sam was sitting on a prostrate log in the ruddy firelight, watching the proceedings with a countenance expressive of considerable doubt as to the efficacy of the charm, but offering no opposition to the experiment.

Nelson removed his hat the better to enjoy the coolness of the night air, and walked along the embankment toward the fire. He had scarcely advanced a dozen yards, however, before a sound fell upon his ears, wafted to him from far up the river, which caused him to stand still for a moment to listen. A long cry, rendered soft and low by the distance from whence it came, fluttered in the air, distinct above the gurgling of the water or the rasp of the crickets among the leaves. Was it a part of the negro chant? There, again! The river could hardly cause a sound like that. Once more, as Ashley listened, the cry was borne to him through the still night-a terrible cry, like the wail of a creature in distress. It was singular indeed that the negroes did not hear it. He advanced to the extreme edge of the levee and waited for a solution of the puzzle to present itself. No sound save the song of the slave gang around the fire and the splash of the driftwood as before. A huge cottonwood tree swept around the bend as he stood there, and shot into the eddy not a dozen yards from the bank. Its progress checked as it left the centre of the current, the huge mass was still borne rapidly down with the impetus of its former motion, and Nelson's straining eyes caught sight of it some time before it reached a point opposite to where he stood.

Hark! Again that despairing cry-not

this time borne from far over the water, but rising into the still night from some point close at hand.

"Help! Help!"

Could it be that yonder dark clump between the forked branches of the drifting tree was a human being?

"My God!" cried Ashley, as the cottonwood swung into the moonlight from beneath the shadow of the trees, "it is a human creature, and I believe it is a woman!"

The trunk had caught for an instant on the top of a half-submerged sycamore. Immediately below the spot where Ashley stood a large tree extended a bough laterally over the water. The river had risen to within a yard of this leafy bridge, and Ashley saw at once that if the cottonwood overcame the present cause of its detention, it would inevitably be stopped below. Quick as thought he seized upon a branch of the inclining tree and swung himself out over the water. It was a dangerous feat, and for a moment he dangled helplessly upon the swaying limb, with the river boiling and surging close beneath him. With an effort he raised himself upward and, finding firmer footing above, crept swiftly out upon the further bough. As the cotton tree swept away from the monentary obstacle to its progress, he dropped flat upon his breast and clung tightly to his frail support.

With a great crash the drifting log was borne against him, and a huge surge of icecold water swept over him, but with one arm he grappled at something which felt like a woman's dress, and as the huge mass of timber plunged out into the stream and sped swiftly away, he raised his rescued burden up so that her hands could find a clinging place beside him. Then, still supporting her trembling form, and without changing his position, he called loudly for assistance.

"No, not dead," said Nelson, in answer to the eager fire of questions. 'I found her in the river. Don't stand here like so many idiots. Get some things and help her, can't you ?"

He had no idea what ought to be done, but his mother and sisters had, and when the poor cold form had been tenderly laid upon a sofa, Nelson and Ned were banished at once to the dining-room to keep company for Mr. Ashley and the captain. To Ned's questioning Nelson gave a brief account of the adventure, modestly disclaiming all pretence of heroism, and protesting against the notes of admiration which his three listeners interpolated at frequent intervals throughout the story.

"You're in luck, Ashley," said Winters, when the former had finished. "I shouldn't mind being the hero of so romantic an affair myself. The girl is no plebeian. I caught a glimpse of her face as you brought her in. If I'm not mistaken, it will prove to be handsome when they get a little color back to it." Perhaps so," replied Nelson, “but you're no judge of beauty. Kate has been spoiling your appreciation of other women for the last three months."

And laughing, he betook himself up stairs

II.

MISS URQUHART.

NED WINTERS was not far from right. When Nelson entered the parlor on the following morning and first presented himself to the heroine of his previous night's adventure, he saw before him a very pretty woman.

A figure of medium height, slenderly built; a hand small and delicately veined; a pure oval face, with a pair of large dark eyes that appeared to moulder with a hidden fire which needed only the impulse of a sudden excitement to leap into a blaze of light-these things Ashley, with his quick habit of observation, noticed as he entered the room. She could not have been more than twenty-two or three, though a certain quiet dignity in her manner betokened the maturity of a woman who had passed beyond the vague boundary which defines the limits of mere girlhood. A mass of luxuriant hair was bound up in negligent braids and intertwined with a bright bit of ribbon, which in color seemed to Nelson exquisitely consistent with the general cast of the striking face beneath it. The lips were round and full, sensuously ripe, but with no inclination to grossness; the complexion pink and white, and soft as that of a child; the chin retreating, and with a shadowy, wavering line below the mouth, which betokened a certain indecision of character strangely inconsistent with the lustrous fire which lay dimly burning in the depths of the wonderful eyes. It required but a glance for Nelson to take in all this as he crossed the room to the sofa where the lady sat partially reclining.

She arose and advanced to meet him with a movement which appeared to him the very embodiment of natural grace.

"I have been thinking," she said, "how I ought to express my thanks to one who has perilled his life to save mine. What shall I say ?" He took the hand which she extended, and their eyes met as she spoke. A subtle flash of intelligence, swift and transitory as thought itself, leaped for an instant into the face of each, as though with the joining of hands a strange electric circuit had been established between two natures that were widely different.

But I am very curious to know how you came on that cottonwood log, and you must forgive me for asking."

"I'll tell you," she said, " and we will begin at the beginning."

He led her to the sofa and placed himself beside her in an attitude of attention.

She had floated on her perilous craft, she said, all the way from Bayou Sara. On the afternoon of the previous day she had strolled from the hotel where she had been temporarily staying, to the bank of the river near the town to look at the broad expanse of the Mississippi as it came rolling down-a sight new to her eyes, for she was of northern birth, and her acquaintance with the South dated from a period scarcely six months since. As she stood upon the levee, gazing in awe at the vast volume of water sweeping past her, the bank sank beneath her feet, and although she sprang for her life, she was carried with the mass of crumbling earth into the river. Her cries for help were of no avail, for she was alone and no help was at hand. She was conscious of sinking for a moment beneath the surface, and when she arose again the current had swept her far away from the scene of the accident. She grasped at the nearest object, which proved to be a branch of the huge cottonwood on which she made her perilous voyage, and drawing herself from the water, she succeeded in finding a temporary safety upon the broad trunk.

All that afternoon she had floated swiftly down the stream upon her precarious support, sometimes approaching so near the bank that she thought the men at work upon the levees must surely have seen her. But if they did they paid no heed, thinking, perhaps, that the dark object upon the drifting log was a part of the tree itself. Once she caught a floating board and tried to guide her unwieldy craft toward the shore, but her strength was of little avail against the power

"Here," thought the lady, "is a most admirable man!"

"Say nothing," said Ashley, in answer to her question. "The affair was to me productive of nothing more unpleasant than a slight wetting. Surely you have had the worst of the adventure."

"But you risked your life," she said, simply. "I did not think of that at the time, and now that it is all over, it is of no consequence.

despair. As the night closed in she became chilled and half unconscious, sinking helplessly back in the fork of the tree and rousing herself at intervals to ejaculate a feeble cry for help. It was long before assistance came, and she had given way to a hopeless despair hours before she felt Nelson's strong arm around her, and awoke to meet his eyes as she was raised from her floating prison.

And that was all the story. As the young man sat beside her, watching the flexions of