which were seen, here and there, meadows of the liveliest verdure, and a meandering stream, whose current had been quickened by the recent rains.

The path they were pursuing, though wild, romantic, and circuitous, was perfectly dry and level; it led into a little dell, surrounded by some fine old elms and planes, and fragrant with numberless flowers, which lifted their delicate forms above the ivy-covered banks, or peeped from beneath its dark glossy leaves. No sound but the blackbird's mellow pipe, and the mellifluous carol of the thrush, disturbed the profound serenity of the spot, save only the "still small voice" among the leaves, through which the sun's penetrating rays played in an endless variety of light and shade.

Wilmot felt, to his inmost soul, the sacred influence of this repose of nature.

"Above his head the calm and bright blue heaven,
Beneath his feet, the fresh and pleasant green,
And everywhere the placid inward look

Of Nature in her joy, sent to his heart

The unresisting truth, that Gentleness is power."

At

At the termination of this little dell, appeared a reed-thatched cottage of the simplest style. A broad gravel walk, di∙ vided on one side by a low honeysuckle hedge from a small orchard, planted with lucern, and on the other by a neat rail, from a pasture in which was a cow grazing, led to the entrance; and Wilmot dismissing his guide with a liberal recompence, knocked at the door. It was opened by a country girl, who might well have paired in beauty and health with the youth who had accompanied him. She answered Wilmot's inquiries whether Mr. Clifford was at home, in the affirmative, adding, that her master and mistress were in the garden, and, if agreeable to him, she would shew him the way.

Amused by the simplicity of the girl, and this novel mode of introduction, Wilmot readily assented, and she led the way through a little ornamented rustic gate, thickly surrounded by flowering shrubs and laurels, to a pleasure-garden, the far

ther

ther end of which was appropriated to the cultivation of vegetables, and in which he descried his friend and family.

As he proceeded up the winding walk, he had ample opportunity to survey the group. What was it made the heart of Wilmot throb painfully at the scene of domestic bliss it offered to his view? Assuredly it was not envy; his nature was too noble to cherish that foe to peace and virtue in his bosom. No; it was the painful consciousness that he had, by a rash engagement, probably deprived himself for ever of this source of homefelt happiness.

Frederick Clifford was busily employed sowing seed in a border newly dressed, while a beautiful boy, about three years of age, was prattling beside him, and with the most artless earnestness inquiring, "if his name would really come up all A young woman, seated on a garden-roll near them, held a lovely female infant in her arms; and as she rose from her seat, Wilmot thought he had never before seen

green ?"

SO

so lovely a figure; and it is very true, that a woman never does appear to such advantage as in the maternal character; the affec tions of her heart beam in her countenance, and glow on her cheek, and the smile of maternal love dimpling round the mouth, and emanating from the eyes, altogether give a charm and indefinable interest to features which otherwise would not be remarked. The dress of her whom Wilmot now saw was of the most simple form and neatest arrangement; her hair, a rich chesnut, luxuriantly shaded her temples, the soft wind and her attitude having parted it so as to leave her forehead exposed, its whiteness contrasted with the vivid colouring of health and happiness; and as Wilmot advanced, and was introduced by the simple attendant, a blush of surprise and confusion suffused her countenance, and even her throat and part of her bosom, which the partial opening of her white dress displayed.

Clifford advanced with ease and goodhumour, the gratified feelings of a husband

band and a father being strongly expressed in his open countenance, which also bore evidence of the exercise which employed him, as he threw back his dark and glossy hair from his clear and manly brow.

Mrs. Clifford in a moment recovered her self-possession, excusing the uncourtly introduction of her domestic, apologizing for the trouble he had had in seeking them in the garden, and proposing to accompany him within doors, as the sun was becoming oppressive.

Clifford however said they would follow her, adding-"Emily, you have made me work so hard, you must now let me have a luncheon."

She returned his affectionate smile, and retired with her children. The little Fre derick wished to remain, but his mother's "You must come with me, my love," was instantly obeyed, and the two friends had an interesting conversation; but as the praises of a doting husband are almost as insipid in description as the rhapsodies of

a lover,