person, who issued from a by-path, through the woods, and seemed travelling the same route with themselves.

"Good morning to ye, good morning, Mrs. Betty," said the last comer, "I hardly knew you in that fine new dress: I suppose it's what you wore at Miss Emma's wedding. And you, too, Mr. Jock, why you're looking as fine as a wood-pecker, in Squire Stanley's livery. Well, I'm glad to see you so hale and hearty, both of you; and I'm glad you've taken your home in the Judge's family. A kind-hearted old gentleman he is; I hope he may live long to enjoy his happiness."

up

"Ah, Mr. Donnelly, that's the prayer of my heart, night and morn," said our old friend, Betty. "A sad time he'd a-had of it if poor Mr. Summerville-Squire Stanley, I mean-I shall never learn his new nameif he had been sent to prison; for 'twould have broke Miss Emma's heart. Why do you know they were engaged more than a year ago, in New-York; and it was all of that wicked duel they wasn't married before. I wonder people will fight."

"It was a lucky thing," remarked Mr. Donnelly. that Miss Emma happened to go into court-'twould have gone hard with the poor fel-with Squire Stanley, I mean, if she hadn't.”

"It's no such thing, Mr. Donnelly, it's no such thing. It was all my doings-it was all my doings-I said from the first, didn't I Jocky, that he was innocentI told you so yourself, before the court-house, the morning of the trial. It was all owing to the gray horse's hair-that brought it all out; and who but Betty's old eyes spied out the gray hair? But no, I am wrong," said the affectionate and pious old woman, "it was His work, who, if Betty's eyes had been closed in death, and her heart cold under the clod of the valley, would still have stretched forth his hand

to snatch the guiltless, like a brand from the burning, and have showed the world, that though evil workers may dim their brightness for a while, the innocent will at last come off, pure and unharmed, from the trial."

Saying these words, they reached the open door of the little village church, when, joining another group of well-dressed rustics, they all entered the place of worship, and were immediately lost to sight.

THE LIE OF BENEVOLENCE.

WHEN I first knew Amelia Grenville, I thought her the most lovely girl I had ever seen. Her beauty was of that powerful and undefinable kind which every beholder feels, but which no language can describe. In regularity of features many surpassed her; nor was her shape one of faultless symmetry. Her teeth were as white as snow; but rather too large to be likened to pearls. Her lips, however, without hyperbole, were as red as rubies, and as tempting as-but no matter for illustrations. She was, in short, a most charming girl; and I will not attempt to describe her, after having just pronounced it impossible.

It was rather to her mind and disposition, than to her outward person, that Amelia owed her loveliness. Her eye, her large, full blue eye, was always lighted up by an expression of great intelligence; and her cheek wore that placid smile, that benignant serenity, which has been aptly termed the sunshine of the heart. In truth, Amelia's gayety, like the long summer afternoons of an Italian clime, was seldom overcast by a cloud; and if a little shade of pettishness ever dimmed her happy brightness of temper, it was but for a moment, when it quickly passed away, and all was calm again. Her feelings flowed in a pure and tranquil current; and though accident or misfortune occasionally interposed obstacles to interrupt their passage, yet they were always quickly surmounted, giving rise only to a temporary ripple, that diversified their surface for a little moment, and then vanished entirely away.

I remember Amelia's marriage like a thing of yes.

terday. John Sanford was the happy man who led the blushing, beautiful girl to the altar; and never were two better mated. Jack was a tall, manly looking fellow, offabout twenty-one; Amelia at that time was a little rising seventeen, just mellowing into womanhood. Poor thing, how she blushed as she made her responses to the minister, her rosy cheeks contrasting so finely with the snow-white kerchief which concealed her bosom-but not its heavings; for it panted and swelled beneath, as striving to escape from the muslin thral.l

John Sanford was a Lieutenant in the United States Navy. He and Amelia had been warmly attached from their early years: and as soon as Jack mounted the swab, or, in more intelligible phrase, as soon as he was promoted to a lieutenancy, he claimed her lily hand. The pay of his grade affords but poor encouragement to matrimony; but Jack looked on their future prospects with the exaggerating eyes of love, and for money he entertained a true sailerlike contempt. But Amelia was a better economist than he; and for a few months after their marriage every thing glided along as smoothly and as happily as heart could wish. At last, however, a sad change took place in their affairs; war broke out, and Jack was ordered to sea. I was with him on the evening when he received his orders. We were seated in their little front parlour, at a sociable game of whist. My cousin Sarah and I had taken tea with them, and were spending the remainder of the evening very agreeably. Amelia and I were partners against Sarah and Jack. We had just commenced on the third game of a long rubber, when a tap at the door announced a visiter; and Tom Spunyarn, the Gunner's mate, an old laid-up sea-dog from the yard, who was in the practice of doing errands for the Commodore, entered the apartment.

"Your sarvant, gentlemen," said Tom, as he took off his tarpaulin, (in the crown of which he carefully deposited the quid of tobacco which he had dislodged

from his cheek on entering the door)" your sarvant, gentlemen-here's a letter for Mr. Sanford, from the Commodore."

I thought I perceived, when Tom was first ushered into the parlour, that Sanford turned a little pale; but it might have been only fancy. It is certain, however, that his hand trembled as he opened the letter; and his voice faltered, and was considerably husky, when he announced that he had received orders to join without delay, the armed vessel which was then lying in the harbour. There was no more gayety that evening. Sarah and I, perceiving it was with great difficulty that Amelia could suppress her agitation, soon. took our leave, that we might not oppose any hindrance to the free interchange of their thoughts and feelings. The next and last time that I ever saw my friend Jack was about a week after this, on the day that he was to set sail. It was a fine, clear, cool morning; and as Į approached his ship to pay my farewell visit to the brave fellow, they were rolling off for eight o'clock. The martial music came sweetly and thrillingly on the ear over the water. When it had ceased, I heard the shrill whistles of the boatswain and his mates, and immediately after, their deep sepulchral voices as they cried down the fore and main hatchway, "all hands to weigh anchor, hoy!" Any one who has been on board a man-of-war, when about getting under way, will readily understand that it is then no place for a stranger. All is at once bustle, stir, and business. The companion ladders are taken down; gratings are put over the hatchways; all the after-guard, main and mizzen topmen, and marines, are called aft to the capstan-bars. The gunner and his crew, with nippers and salvagees, are attending to the messenger; the foretopmen and forecastlemen are busy forward; and in short, without entering into particulars, the whole ship is in motion, and every officer and man employed.