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OF

THE

EARLY

SETTLERS.

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

CHAPTER 1.

CHILDE HAROLD.

200 PR I ZE ARTICLE.ling, of two rooms, on the little island, which the old lady

selected for her residence. Mrs. Derwent had chosen At the very pressing solicitation of many of our present sub

this location, for other reasons than its surpassing loveliscribers, we have been induced to ro-publish the Prize Tale of

ness. Yet, with a natural taste for the sublime, and “ Mary Derwent.” At the time of its former publication, there beautiful, there brought into close neighborhood, she exwere only four thousanı, five hundred copies issued, now the erted all her ingenuity in ornamenting her little bouse. "Ladies' Companion" has a circulation of secenteen thousand. The native fruit trees, which grew in abundance among

the wild rocks, and on the brink of the river, were M ARY DERWENT. *

transplanted to her domain; the brush-wood and stinted A TALE

trces were cleared away; a few sugar maples, and one
magnificent oak, flung their shadows over the stream;
and in the autumn, when the trees were burthened with
fruit, when the crab-apples hung in crimson clusters on

the boughs, when the luxurious peach, the purple grape,
"To sit on rocke, to muse on flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,

and the wild plum, blushed together, and ripened in Where things that own pot mau's doininions dwell,

the same sun-shine, the little island might have been And mortal foot has ne'er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen

mistaken for a floating garden of the East, lost among With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Above air deep and foaming falls to lean;

the stupendous mountain-scenery of our colder climate. This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold

Mother Derwent was happy in her new dwelling. She Converse with nature's charins, and view her storms unroled."

had contrived to purchase implements for spinning and Moxockosok Island lies in the stream of the Susque- weaving the coarse cloth, which constituted the principal hannah; its trees cast their shadow with a dreamy of work, and the share of produce from her farm supplied

clothing of the settlers. The inhabitants gave her plenty beauty over the waters, as they sweep onward toward their outlet, and its green slopes, broken into little hil- her little household with grain and vegetables. Even locks and enamelled with wild flowers, lie sleeping in the the two little girls, who under many circumstances would sunlight like a vast pile of emeralds drifted up from the have been a burthen, were in reality an assistance to ber. bed of the river, and heaped like a miniature paradise Jane, the eldest, was a bright and beautiful child, with upon its bosom. On either side are hills, burthened dark silky hair, pleasant cyes, and lips like the damp with rocks and abundance of foliage, sometimes crowd

petals of a red rose. She was withal, a tidy, active little ing to the very brink of the river, in ragged cliffs, and maiden, and, as mother Derwent was wont to say, then falling back with a majestic sweep, and slooping

"saved grandma a great many steps,” by running to the down to the waters in a broad meadow, or a breczy spring for water, winding quills, and doing what Miss grove. Down a few miles from the island, nestled in Sedgwick calls the odds and ends of housework. Jane between a bold curve of the river and a picturesque frolic and mirthfulness, and it suited her joyous nature to

led a pleasant life on the island. She was a creature of mountain, lies the little town of Wilkesbarre, a gem of a village set in a haven of loveliness. But the valley of paddle her canoc on the bosom of the broad river, or even Wyoming is classical ground; our pen glides timidly

to urge it down the current, when "grandma” wanted a over its beauties, conscious that a mightier has gone piece of cloth carried to the village, or was auxious to before. More than half a century ago, a few log cabins procure from thence, tea and other little delicacies for stood on the site of the beautiful village. A clearing,

her household. When mother Derwent's quill-box was now and then, with its humble dwelling was scattered full

, and “the work all done up,” Jane might be found along the brink of the stream; and one log hut, shelter- clambering among the wild rocks, which frowned along ed by a huge sugar maple, with a grass plot slooping to

the shore, looking over the face of some bold precipice, at the water in front, and a garden made cheerful by a few her image reflected in the stream below; or, perchance, hollyhocks and marigolds behind, stood like a mammoth perched in the foliage of a grape-vine, with her rosy face bird's nest, on Monockonok Island. Its resident was an

peering out from the leaves, and her laugh ringing merrily aged and infirm woman, who had moved into the valley from cliff to cliff, while her little hands showered down among its first settlers, with an only son, and his two the purple clusters, to her sister below. Such was Jane motherless daughters. While the son was yet laboring

Derwent, at the age of fourteen; but different, far differto clear the fifty-acre-lot, which he had purchased with ent, was her younger sister, «Mary.

l'oor little Mary the intention of forming a home for his aged parent and Derwent! as she was called in the neighborhood. While his orphan girls, death called him suddenly from his her sister was endowed with rare beauty and unclouded labors, and old mother Derwent, was thrown on the cheerfulness, she, poor delicate thing-shrunk instinctiveworld, burthened with two helpless children. But the ly from the eyes of her fellow creatures, and sought comsympathies of our nature take deeper root and flourish panionship, only, with the inanimate things of nature;

she could not bear that strange eyes should gaze on her more kindly among the hardy setulers of our forests, than

deformity. in our crowded and fashionable cities. A tenant was soon found to work the cleared land, "on shares," and

From her birth, the little girl had presented a strange the neighbors collected together, and erected a dwell- mixture of the hideous and the beautiful. Her oval face,

with its marvellous symmetry of features, might have * Copy-right secured, according to law,

been the original, from which Dubufe drew the chaste

1

and heavenly features of Eve, in his glorious picture of group gathered around her, awe-stricken and afraid. "The Temptation.” The same sweetness and purity | They could not comprehend this fearful burst of passion was there, but the expression--that was chastened and in a creature, habitually gentle and sweet-tempered to a melancholy. Her soft blue eyes were always sad, and fault. almost always moist; their heavy lashes drooped over Her brave defender knelt and raised her head to his them, with an expression of languid misery. A smile bogom, while tears of generous indignation still lingered never brightened her delicate mouth-the same chasten

on his burning cheek, and his form shook with scarcely ed expression of hopelessness, sat for ever on that calm, 1 abated excitement. Unmindful of the threats, and hostile white forehead; the faint color would often die away gestures of his cousin, he fanned the pale face, which lay from her cheek, but it seldom deepened there, and her

so like marble upon his bosom, rubbed the cold hands, tresses, bright as a sunbeam and silky as thistle-down, and exerted all his little skill to re-animate ber. Jane seemed too free and sunny to shadow that joyless face, stood by, wringing her hands and moaning like a demenor to perform the office of concealment, when they fell in ted thing; for, poor child, she was ignorant of the strength shining radiance over the unseeinly hump, and the dis- of human passions, and thought that nothing but death torted limbs, which rendered her misshapen person could take a form so appalling. At length Mary Deralmost hideous to look upon. Nature, as if to inflict the went arose with the calmness of a hushed earthquake greatest injury with the most cruel consciousness of it, upon her face, and bent her way to her father's house. had imbued her spirit with that subtle fire, which men She was henceforth a changed being. One great shock call genius, but which mingles with the delicate nature had thrust her forward, as it were, to a maturity of suffer of woman, like the holy flame which lighted the altars of ing; her smile became mournful and sad in its expression, the ancients, consuming the heart it preys upon, with a as if the poor creature had become weary of life and of rapidity proportioned to its brightness.

all living things; she never again joined in the childish It is almost startling to learn the strength of feeling, sports of her companions. When their shouts of merriand the hoard of bitter thoughts, which are sometimes ment rang loudest on the green, she was alone among exposed lurking in the bosom of a child. Mary was ten the wild, high rocks, or away by the river's brink, gazing years of age before any person supposed her conscious of upon the perpetual flow of its waters, and musing, hour her horrible malformation, or was aware of the deep sen after hour, upon the beautiful fancies, which at that sitiveness of nature. The event which brought both to period dawned upon her intellect, as if to compensate for life, occurred a few months, before the death of her father. the evils that had been heaped upon her person. In the It was on the clearing, before the little log school-house solitude of nature, alone, could she escape the terrible of the village. Mary was chosen into the centre of the consciousness of her deformity; a consciousness so sudmerry ring, by Edward Clark, a bright-eyed, handsome denly and cruelly brought home to her delicate spirit. boy, with a gay, open countenance, and with manners bold The flowers had no eyes to mock at her unshapely form, and frank almost to carelessness.

as it bent over them; the moss received her weary frame, The kind-hearted boy drew her gently into the ring, as lovingly as if limbs of the most perfect symmetry pressed his lips to her innocent forehead, and joined the pressed its green bosom. There was no hollow mockery circle, without the laugh and joyous bound which usual- in the gurgle of the rivulet, as it leaped like a shower of ly accompanied his movernents. There was an instinctive liquid light from its basin in the wild rocks--no disgust feeling of delicacy and tenderness towards the little girl, I in the heavy greenness of the trees, or the fluttering birds which forbade all boisterous merriment when she was his that congregated, with their bright plumage and sweet partner. The feelings which were to form the misery of voices, among the leaves. She held communion with the woman breathed in the bosom of the child even at this nature, till her spirit became imbued with its poetry, as early age; a slight tremor stirred her heart, and when the young grass receives its color from the light in which those frank lips where raised from her forehead, a Alushit exists. Her heart became gentle, delicate as a flower, more rosy than the light pressure could have warranted yet in the unfathomed depths thereof, lay strength and remained upon its surface. It was her turn to select a passion, and fervency of feeling; with the vivid imagina. partner; she extended her hand timidly towards a boy tion which lavishes a portion of its own brightness on all somewhat older than herself, he drew back with an in-earthly things. To the few beings who had been the sulting laugh, and refused to stand up with the hunch- cherishers of her helpless state, her heart twined with a back. Instantly the ring was broken up. Edward Clark double intensity, from the repulse she had met with elseleaped forward, with the bound of a panther, and with a where. She clung to the love of her grandmother with blow, rendered powerful by bis honest indignation, smote the trusting fondness of a sickly infant. To her sister, the insulter to the ground. For one moment Mary look-Jane, she was at once a dependant, from physical weaked around bewildered, as if she did not comprehend the ness, and a monitress in intellect. Though exceedingly nature of the taunt; then the blood rushed up to her face, sweet and affectionate in her nature, she retained an inher soft blue eyes blazed as with a flash of hidden fire, fluence over the headstrong will and more common-place the little hand was clenched, and her unseemly trunk propensities of her beautiful and healthy sister, which dilated with passion a moment, then the blood flowed the lofty and strong mind always possesses over those back upon her heart, her wbite lips closed over the of a more earthly mould. Her spirit mingled with the clenched teeth, and she fell forward with her face upon coarser and more buoyant mind of her sister, as the the ground, as one stricken by unseen lightning. The sweet song which rises and swells from the heart of a

nightingale, while she sits panting with the love of her " tions of more than earthly beauty and intensity. Her own music among the thick branches, may charm the thoughts turned continually on themes too spiritual and notes of a louder and stronger bird, hushing bim to visionary for mere humanity; yet, with which the few silence by the sweetness of a richer and more thrilling, earthly objects, which were left to her love, were intermelody. With her father, there was more of equality woven, till ber attachments were refined and concentrated and companionship. Her helplessness had rendered her to a degree of affection almost painful to its possessor. a thing of almost holy attachment to him, and with her | The objects of her earthly love became the idols of the quick feelings and almost intuitive perception of his own, ideal world pictured in the depths of her mind. One she had won for herself a portion of confidence and respect, being had so entwined himself with her every thoughtwhich gave to the tie between them, a dignity almost had been to her heart so like a kindred harmony—that proportioned to its immeasurable tenderness.

she loved him with an impulse as natural and as innocent, Mr. Derwent was an educated man, and one of strong as that which turns the sun-flower to the west when the natural understanding; yet he was not fully capable of day closes. That being was Edward Clark-he who bad appreciating the strange combination of weakness and avenged her insulted feelings so bravely. I have said strength—the spiritual and the passionate, which formed that she loved him-and it was with a passion deep and the character of his child. At times, his strong spirit holy as an angel's prayer—yet passionate, sincere, and would become absolutely subdued by the depth and fer-self-devoting, “as woman's love." All these elements vency of hers. He was occasionally startled almost out of misery had ripened in her heart while she was a mero of his protecting love by the vivid flashes of intellect child, and the current of her young existence flowed on, which broke upon him from the frail child, whom he had colored and mellowed by them, as waters receive a tint cherished the more dearly for her very helplessness and from the minerals over which they flow. supposed inferiority. When the poetry, which was its Mary never dreamed of the nature of the unquiet essence, would break up from her heart, like a fire from guest she had taken to her boson. Edward Clark was a kindling altar, he would take her to his arms almost in the only being, of the other sex, with whom she had fear, as one who has fostered some feeble object, believ- associated since the death of her father. If a tremor like ing it a creature of weaker powers and kindred sympa- a soft breeze rippling the surface of a bright lake, stole thies, but who suddenly finds that an angel-a spirit of a through her heart, at the sound of his footsteps—if every far off and beautiful world, higher and brighter than he heart-string vibrated, as with a thrill of music, when he can comprehend, has been nestled lovingly in his bosom,read to her, in his deep, rieh voice, the passages she loved the object of kindly feelings and the creature of its foster- | most in Milton—could she, a child, full of strange

impulses, be supposed to understand the mysterious While this feeling of mingled tenderness and venera- throbbings of that mysterious creation—the heart? She tion was springing up in the bosom of the father, he died, only knew that a sensation, tremulous, blissful and very and she was left without companionship and without strange—a commingling of all the sweet and sensitive preceptor, with the elements of good and evil slumbering eelings she had ever known before-had broken up from in her heart, like a mine of rough gems bedded in earth, the depths of her heart. It might be poetry—it might and but partially lain open to the sunshine.

be prayer—but it could not be love! Had she supposed From the time of her father's death, the love of soli- it possible, she would have sunk to the earth shuddering tude became a passion with the deformed girl. Ex- with self-disgust, as one who had committed a deadly empted by the tenderness of her grandmother, from the sin against nature. For what had she, a creature flung labors of the household, she spent her time in summer out from the rest of her kindred-branded, and set apart, constantly among the hills. She could manage a canoe, with a fearful mark upon her to do with the feelings and was familiar with every grassy hollow and flowery which link human beings together? nook for miles up the river. She had but two books,

" It is a fearful trust, the trust of love. the Bible and an old volume of Milton; one of these was

In fear, not hope, should woman's heart receive her constant companion. With a refinement of taste

A guest so terrible. Ah! never more

Will thy young spirit know its joyous hours inherent in her nature, she selected such portions of

of quiet hopes and innocent delight: Holy Writ as contain, perhaps, the highest and holiest

Its childhold is departed." poetry out of heaven, and over them she pondered with Poor Mary Derwent! better had she wandered away a thirst for the beautiful and intense longing for some- a harmless life, among the high rocks and the lovely wildthing higher and more loftly than she had yet known, flowers which made her home a sheltered paradise, dreamtill her heart drooped with a sense of its own feebleness. ing of the future, and of that Heaven which is the only The genius within was struggling for utterance. She quiet hereafter to a spirit like hers, than to bave cast her know nothing of poetry as a science—nay, was almost all of hope on a being changeable and wayward as man. ignorant that the thoughts, which sometimes filled her: For what man ever returned, or rewarded, the devotion heart with the sweetness of “ unwritten music,” were not of a heart like that? Love is a dangerous and a fearful natural to all. She only wondered that she had never trust even to the quiet and the beautiful. And what had heard them spoken of. Then, remembering the sensitive she to hope for, with her lofty mind and hideous person? feeling, which caused her own heart to conceal its bright | A return of love! There are men who can appreciate hoard of ideas, she supposed others to be actuated by the intellect and goodness even in a form like hers! A same shrinking impulse, and went on, dreaming and broken or a hardened heart? Why should we question? filling the paradise of her mind with images and aspira- | Her distiny was before her.

ing love.

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CHAPTER II.

An

they say

you,

day!"

to her person, and she felt as if the sister whom she " Where is the heart that has not bowed

loved so dearly, would be shut out from her heart for A slave, eternal love, to thee! Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,

ever, were she to repeat the unfeeling remarks which she is there one among them free?

suspected to have been made on her deformity, by those " And what must love be in the heart,

who had been the playmates of her childhood. After All passions's fiery depths revealing,

her question, there was a moment's silence. They had Which has in its minutest part, More than another's whole of feeling?"

both arisen, and the deformed girl stood before her "And so you will go, Mary, dear—though this is my sister with a tremulous lip and a wavering, anxious eye. birth-day? I have a great mind to cut the canoe loose The expression of her face was like that of a troubled and set it adrift."

angel. Yet with the jealous restlessness of spirit, which “And then how will your company get to the island ?" || in some, never tastes one drop of a bitter cup without said Mary Derwent, raising her eyes to the blooming draining it to the dregs, as if enamored with soul-torture, face of her sister, while a quiet smile stole unto their blue she could not help putting her question again somedepths.

what impatiently. “Why will you not tell me what I don't care for company! I don't care for any

?" thing--you are so contrary—so hateful. You never stay “Jane was quick witted, and with many faults; very at home when the young folks are coming—it's too bad!" | kind of heart. When she saw the distress, visible in And Jane flung herself on the grass which surrounded a her unfortunate sister's face, she formed her reply with little cove where a bark canoe lay rocking in the water, more of tact and kind feeling, than of strict regard to and indulged her petulence by tearing up a bed of straw-truth. “Why it is nothing," she said, " the girls always berry-vines which her sister had planted there.

loved and petted you so much, when we were little “Dont't spoil my strawberry bed,” said Mary, bending children in school together, that they don't like it when over the wayward girl and kissing her forehead. “Come, l you go away without seeing them. They think that you do be good-natured and let me go, I will bring you some are grown proud since you have taken to reading and honeysuckle-apples, and a whole canoe full of wood- talking fine language. You don't have to work like the lilies. Come, I can't bear to see you discontended to rest of us, and they feel slighted and think you put on

airs." "I would not care about it so much—though it is hard Oh, it is happiness to feel that we are still cared for that you will never go to frolic, nor enjoy yourself like and sought after by those whom we have supposed other folks—but Edward Clark made me promise to keep estranged from us; and the highly gifted-those whom you at home to-day."

wo might suppose the most independent from their A color like the delicate tinting of a shell, stole into mental resources, are perhaps the most susceptible to Mary's cheek, as it lay caressingly against the rich dam- kindly feelings in others; the most unwilling to break ask of her sister's. “If no one but Edward were com

any of those sacred ties which keep the heart young. ing, I should be glad to stay," she replied, in a soft, sweet

Tears stole into the eyes of the deformed girl, and a voice: but you have invited a great many, havn't you? sudden light, the sunshine of an affectionate heart, broke Who will be here from the village ?

over her face, as she said, Jane began to enumerate the young men who had been

“It is not that, my sister-I have loved them very invited to her birth-day party: they held precedence in much, all these years that I have not seen thein, but her heart, and consequently in her speech; for, to own

since that day sister, you are very good, and oh, how the truth, Jane Derwent was a perfect specimen of the beautiful; but you cannot dream of the feelings of a poor rustic coquette; a beauty, and a spoiled one; but a warm

creature like myself. Without sympathy, without comhearted, kind girl notwithstanding. “There are the panions, hunch-backed and crooked. Tell me, Jane, ain

I not hideous to look upon." Ward boys, and John Smith, and Walter Butler to" Jane stopped, for she felt a sliver run over the form This was the first time in her life that Mary had peraround which her arms were flung, as she pronounced mitted a consciousness of her malformation to escape the last name,

and she saw that the cheek of her her in words. The last question was put in a voice of sister was blanched to the whiteness of snow. “I had mingled agony and bitterness, wrung from the very forgotten,” she said, timidly, after a moment; "I am depths of her heart. She fell upon the grass, as she sorry I asked him. You are not angry, with me, Mary, spoke, and with her face to the ground, lay grovelling at are you?"

her sister's feet, like some wounded animal; for now " Angry, no! I never am angry with you, Jane. I that the loveliness of her face was concealed, her form don't want to refuse you any thing on your birth-day- seemed scarcely human. but I cannot meet these people. You cannot guess-you All that was generous in the nature of Jane Derwent, can have no idea of my sufferings when any one looks swelled in her heart, as she bent over her sister. She upon me except those I love very, very dearly."

wept like an infant, and with broken words and half “That is just what they say,” replied Jane, while a

stifled sobs, strove to raise her from the ground. flush of generous feeling spread over her forehead. “Hideous! oh, Mary, how can you talk so ?" she

“What, who says?" inquired Mary, for her heart said, kneeling down and raising the head of the unfortrembled with a dread that some allusion was to be made tunate tenderly to her bosom. “ Don't shake and tremble

mons.

in this manner.

You are not frightful nor homely; only call from Jane, who had run off to the other side of the think how beautiful your hair is. Edward Clark says he cove; probably with the hopes of being speedily followed never saw any thing so bright and silky as your curls; he by her visitor. said so, indeed he did, Mary, and the other day, when Come here, Edward, do, and break me some of this he was reading about Eve in the little book you love so sweet-briar; it scratches my fingers so." Clark dropped well, he told grandmother, that he fancied Eve must Mary's hand, and went to obey this capricious sumhave had a face just like yours.”

“Did Edward say this, murmured the poor deformed, “Don't try to persuade Mary to stay,” said Jane, as as Jane half lifted, half persuaded her from the ground, she took a quantity of the sweet-briar from the hands of and with her arms slung over her neck, was pressing the her companion. “She is as restless when we have comface she had been praising to her heaving bosom. For pany as the mocking-bird you gave us; besides," she Mary, though naturally tall, was so distorted, that when added, with a little hesitation, “Walter Butler, will be she stood upright, her head scarcely reached a level with here and she don't like him.” the graceful bust of her sister.

“It were strange if she did," replied the youth; and “Did he say it, Mary.” “Yes, he certainly did, and a frown passed over his fine forehead; "but tell me, Jane, so do I say it. Look here." And eargerly gathering how it bappened that you invited him, when you know the folds of a large shawl over the shoulders of the de- that I dislike him almost as much as she does." formed, she gently drew her to the brink of the basin,

Jane looked confused, and like most people, when where the canoe still lay moored. “Look there,” she they intend to persist in a wrong, began to get into a exclaimed, as they bent together over the edge of the passion. green-sward, “can you wish for any thing handsomer

"I am sure I thought I had the right, to ask any one than that face?

I pleased," she said, petulently. The two young girls did indeed, form a beautiful pic “Yes, but one might expect, that it would scarcely ture as they stood, with their arms interlaced, bending please you, to encourgo a man, who has so shamefully over the tranquil waters. Never had that smooth sur- insulted your sister. My blood boils when I think of the face mirrored two faces more strikingly lovely, yet more wretch! Poor Mary, I had hoped to have seen her enunlike in their beauty. Unconsciously they had taken the joy herself to-day; but now she must wander off alone attitude a painter would have chosen. The head and as usual. I have a great mind to go with her.” And half the form of the elder, from the finely rounded shoul- | turning swiftly away from the angry beauty, he went to ders down to the graceful outline of the waist, was flung | Mary, spoke a few words, and they stepped into his canoe back with the exactness of life. Her eighteenth birth together. But, he had scarcely pushed it from the shore day had brought its richest bloom to her cheek, and re- when, Jane ran forward and leaped in after them. “If cent excitement had lent a brilliancy to her eyes, and an you go, bo will I!” she said, angrily seating herself in intellectual beauty to the forehead, which was scarcely the bottom of the canoe. Mary was amazed and pernatural to them. Her head was partly bent, and a pro- plexed. She looked into the stern, displeased face of fusion of rich curls fell over her graceful neck. A few the young man, and then at the sullen brow of her sister. white blossoms had been twined among them in honor of “What does this mean?" she inquired, gently, “what her party, and thus she was mirrored, half concealing is the matter, Jane?" Jane began to sob, but gave no the form of her sister, whose face, in all its pale spiritual answer, and they rowed across the river in silence. They loveliness, beamed out from the protection of her arm. landed at the foot of the broken precipice, that hung It was like the head of a cherub, sheltered and cherished

over the river like a ruined battlement. Clark assisted by a form of earthly beauty. A green tree waved its Mary to the shore, and was about to accompany her up branches over them, and the sunshine came shimmering the foot-path, which wound over the precipice, but Jane, through the leaves with a wavy light. The waters were who had angrily refused his help to leave the boat, began tranquil as the arch of a summer sky, and the sisters

to fear that she had carried her anger too far, and timidly were still gazing on the lovely faces, speaking to theirs called him back to her. There was a few angry words from their clear depths, when a canoe swept suddenly from the young man–expostulation and tears from the round the grassy promontory, which formed one side of maiden, all of which, a bend in the path prevented Mary the cove. With a dash of the oar, it shot, like an arrow, observing; and then, Clark went up the hill-told the into the basin, and its occupant, a young man of perhaps solitary girl not to wander far—to be careful and not sit two-and-twenty, leaped upon the green-sward. The sig

on the damp ground-and that he would come for her ters started from the embrace. Both blushed, and a by sun down; the young folks would have left the island glad smile dimpled the round cheek of the elder, as she by that time, he said. They were all going down 10 stepped forward to greet the new comer. But Mary Wilkesbarre, to have a dance, in the old school-house. drew her shawl more closely over her person and shrunk He and Jane, were going, but they would wait and take timidly back; but with a quickened pulse and a soft her home first. Edward was almost out of breath, as he welcome beaming from her eyes.

said all this, and he appeared anxious to go back to the “I have just come in time to keep you at home, for car

canoe. But Mary, had not expected him to join her once," said the youth, approaching the timid girl, after , lonely wanderings, and his solicitude about her safety, having gaily shaken hands with her sister. I am sure was so considerate and kind. It went to her heart like we shall persuade you," He was interrupted by a a breath of summer air. She turned up the mountain

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