progression of the season aroused him from his temporary apathy, and his smiles returned with the animated looks of summer.

The heats of the days, and the frequent occurrence of balmy showers, had completed, in an incredibly short period, the growth of plants, which the lingering spring had so long retarded in the germ; and the woods presented every shade of green that the American forests know. The stumps in the cleared fields were already hid beneath the tops of the stalks of rich wheat that were waving with every breath of the summer air, shining, and changing their hues, like velvet.

During the continuance of his cousin's dejection, Mr. Jones forbore, with much consideration, to press on his attention a business that each hour was drawing nearer to the heart of the Sheriff, and which, if any opinion could be formed by his frequent private conferences with the man, who was introduced in these pages, by the name of Jotham, at the bar-room of the Bold Dragoon, was becoming also of great importance.

At length the Sheriff ventured to allude again to the subject, and one evening, in the beginning of July, Marmaduke made him a promise of devoting the following day to the desired excursion.

CHAPTER VII.

"Speak on, my dearest father!

Thy words are like the breezes of the west."

Milman.

It was a mild and soft morning, when Marmaduke and Richard. mounted their horses, to proceed on the expedition that had so long been uppermost in the thoughts of the latter; and Elizabeth and Louisa appeared at the same instant in the hall, attired for an excursion on foot.

The head of Miss Grant was covered by a neat little hat of green silk, and her modest eyes peered from under its shade, with the soft languor that characterized her whole appearance; but Miss Temple trod her father's wide apartments with the step of their mistress, holding in her hand, dangling by one of its ribands, the gipsy that was to conceal the glossy locks that curled around her polished forehead, in rich profusion.

"What, are you for a walk, Bess!" cried the Judge, suspending his movements for a moment, to smile, with a father's fondness, at the display of womanly grace and beauty that his child presented. "Remember the heats of July, my daughter; nor venture further than thou canst retrace before the meridian. Where is thy parasol, girl? thou wilt

lose the polish of thy brow, under this sun and southern breeze, unless thou guard it with unusual care."

"I shall then do more honour to my connexions," returned the smiling daughter. "Cousin Richard has a bloom that any lady might envy. At present the resemblance between us is so trifling, that no stranger would know us to be' sisters' children.'

I

"Grand-children, you mean, cousin Bess," said the Sheriff. "But on, Judge Temple; time and tide wait for no man; and if you take my counsel, sir, in twelve months from this day, you may make an umbrella for your daughter of her camel's-hair shawl, and have its frame of solid silver. ask nothing for myself; 'duke; you have been a good friend to me already; besides, all that I have will go to Bess, there, one of these melancholy days, so it's as long as it's short, where I or you leave it. But we have a day's ride before us, sir; so move forward, or dismount, and say you won't go, at once."

Patience, patience, Dickon," returned the Judge, checking his horse, and turning again to his daughter. “If thou art for the mountains, love, stray not too deep into the forest, I entreat thee; for, though it is done often with impunity, there is sometimes danger."

"Not at this season, I believe, sir,” said Elizabeth; "for, I will confess, it is the intention of Louisa and myself to stroll among the hills."

"Less at this season than in the winter, dear ; but still there may be danger in venturing too far. But though thou art resolute, Elizabeth, thou art too much like thy mother not to be prudent."

The eyes of the parent turned reluctantly from the brilliant beauty of his child, and the Judge and

Sheriff rode slowly through the gateway, and disappeared among the buildings of the village.

During this short dialogue, young Edwards hac stood, an attentive listener, holding in his hand a fishing-rod, the day and the season having tempted him also to desert the house, for the pleasure of exercise in the air. As the equestrians turned through the gate, he approached the young maidens, who were already moving on to the gravelled walk that led to the street, and was about to address them, as Louisa paused, and said quickly-— "Here is Mr. Edwards would speak to us, Elizabeth."

The other stopped also, and turned to the youth, politely, but with a slight coldness in her air, that sensibly checked the freedom with which the gentleman had approached them.

"Your father is not pleased that you should walk unattended in the hills, Miss Temple. If F might offer myself as a protector"—

"Does my father select Mr. Oliver Edwards as the organ of his displeasure?" interrupted the lady. "Good Heaven! you misunderstood my meaning," cried the youth; "I should have said uneasy, for not pleased. I am his servant, madam, and in consequence yours. I repeat that, with your consent, I will change my rod for a fowling piece, and keep nigh you on the mountain.”

"I thank you, Mr. Edwards," returned Elizabeth, suffering one of her fascinating smiles to chase the trifling frown from her features; "but where there is no danger, no protection is required. We are not yet, sir, reduced to wandering among these free hills accompanied by a body-guard. If such an one is necessary, there he is, however. Here, Brave,-Brave-my noble Brave!"

The huge mastiff that has been already mention

ed, appeared from his kennel, gaping and stretching himself, with a pampered laziness; but as his mistress again called- Come, dear Brave; once have you served your master well; let us see how you can do your duty by his daughter"--the dog wagged his tail, as if he understood her language, walked with a stately gait to her side, where he seated himself, and looked up at her face, with an intelligence but little inferior to that which beamed in her own lovely countenance.

She resumed her walk, but again paused, after a few steps, and added, in tones of conciliation

"You can be serving us equally, and, I presume, more agreeably to yourself, Mr. Edwards, by bringing us a string of your favourite perch, for the dinner-table."

When they again began to walk, Miss Temple did not look back to see how the youth bore this repulse; but the head of Louisa was turned several times before they reached the gate, on that considerate errand.

“I am afraid, Elizabeth," she said, “that we have mortified Oliver. He is still standing where we left him, leaning on his rod. Perhaps he thinks us proud."

"He thinks justly," exclaimed Miss Temple, as if awaking from a deep musing; "he thinks justly, then. We are too proud to admit of such particular attentions from a young man in an equivocal situation. What! make him the companion of our most private walks! It is pride, Louisa, but it is the pride of a woman."

It was several minutes before Oliver aroused himself from the abstracted position in which he was standing when Louisa last saw him; but when he did, he muttered something rapidly and inco herently, and throwing his rod over his shoulder