the exciting scene in comic wonderment. He is confounded at such an energetic display of language as that which gushes in torrents from the lips of the chasseur. The Irishmen do not understand a word of the dispute, but they know instinctively that there is a row on the carpet, and they move uneasily about while their hands grasp nervously at imaginary shillalahs as though they were eager for the fray. The Englishmen and Americans also know that the Frenchmen are quarreling about something, but can not conceive it possible for men to talk so long without coming to blows. They do not understand French nature, and are consequently somewhat amazed, not to say disgusted, when before many minutes have elapsed they see the storm blown over as suddenly as it rose, and the late antagonists bowing and smiling à l'aimable.

"A thousand pardons, Monsieur !" exclaims the chasseur; "I am in despair at having been so rude to Monsieur."

"My dear friend," replies the "patron," "you do yourself wrong, and I shall never forgive myself, my excellent-"

"Let us forget, let us forget, embrassons!" And embrace they do to the intense surprise of the Dutchman, and finally the patron sends for half-a-dozen bottles of bière anglaise, and so the dispute terminates.

Not so happily is the difficulty of one of the Irishmen arranged. Since the day of sailing he has managed to sustain his spirits by the aid of a big bottle of whisky; but he has been too generous in distributing it to his friends, of whom he counts nineteen in the cabin. The consequence is, that the whisky has at length become exhausted, and Pat's natural and factitious spirits vanish at one and the same time. The American can talk, chew, and read, the Englishman can walk about, the Frenchman can play cards, the Spaniard can sleep; but the unfortunate Irishman-what is he to do? Now that his whisky is done he has nothing to fall back upon. He would willingly extemporize a small Donnybrook and have a free fight, but no one seems inclined that way, not even his countrymen. No one will tread on the tails of his coat.

He becomes quite gloomy and low-spirited, and is just about to take to his bed, when, in sheer desperation, he makes a vigorous onslaught on the taller of the two Yankees. The too pugnacious Irishman is, however, soon overpowered by the object of his attack, and after being nearly, throttled in the encounter is delivered into the hands of the Philistines-the steward and his boys who very unceremoniously drag Pat from the scene of his exploits. Where they take him to I can not say; suffice it that we saw no more of him till the following day, when he reappeared in the cabin a wiser and a sadder

man.

We have now been twelve days at sea, and the time begins to hang heavy on our hands, and we are looking impatiently for land. The time drags along. The chief events of the day are breakfast, dinner, and supper-events

which the Frenchmen, at least, do not forget to celebrate. The Shadow beneath me appears to have the appetite of an elephant. He rarely leaves his bunk, his too solid flesh rendering it difficult for him to do so. There he lies, firmly wedged in his bunk. No sooner, however, does the steward make his appearance than from the bunk in question issues a hoarse cry of "De la soupe! Encore de la soupe!"

"I'm blest if you wouldn't eat Napoleon Bonaparte!" exclaims the steward, as he replenishes the Shadow's bowl for the fourth or fifth time.

"Oui, oui, Monsieur," replies the other; "merci bien."

I shall not weary the reader by enlarging upon the remaining portion of the passage; suffice it that our impatient watching for land was at length rewarded. On the thirteenth day the shores of the New World, shadowy and indistinct at first, but gradually assuming form and shape, met our view. Never shall I forget the emotions I experienced when gazing for the first time upon the land where was being enacted the mightiest drama of modern times. A few hours afterward, unknowing and unknown, I stepped upon the shore and mingled with the crowd.

A

QUIET summer in the country! How charming it will be for an idle bachelor like myself, with no care to engross him, no taste for the usual round of watering-place and mountain and sea-shore, thoroughly tired of flirtation and fashion, yet sadly in need of rest! I can imagine nothing more delightful than to spend the hot months at Greyrock with my tenants. My agent writes me that the fences are out of repair, and a new bridge is sadly needed over Cress-kill, and that will give me quite amusement enough to superintend in an idle, dreamy way.

Thinking thus, I packed my trunk, arranged with my landlady, visited my lawyer, and bid good-by to the city for the summer, and by boat, car, and stage found myself one June afternoon on the little porch of the modest but rambling house that was mine by inheritance. The honey-suckle grew thickly over the porch, shaking its sweet-scented pennons close by my cheek, the locust blossoms were swinging their censers high up under the trees; the grasshoppers and crickets were noisy in the grass. ward the west a gleam of Cress-kill shone clear, while to the north rose the great rock that gave the farm its name. I had time to notice all this before the door was opened by my new tenant, John Austin.

Away off to

He was a spare, elderly man, with clear blue eyes and a scanty crop of brown hair, curling and thickly sprinkled with gray. His clothes were poor but very clean, and his linen was as

white as snow.

He had a look of settled sadness about the firm mouth, and the lines in his forehead were deep and many.

All this I saw as I sat talking with him in the little parlor, after we had groped our way in and he had succeeded in opening one of the wooden shutters in spite of a rebellious rosebush that stoutly maintained its right to reign undisturbed, revenging itself by flinging in a shower of drifting petals on the clean striped carpet.

"You have no family, I believe, Mr. Allan?" I said, by way of conversation.

II.

Now that I am fairly installed in my new home I intend to write a journal. I tried that once, and at the end of the month I found that, instead of writing my thoughts, I had only kept an account of the weather. Then I went to the other extreme and wrote myself into the belief that I had some deep trouble-I didn't know exactly what-and that I was dying of heartdisease. Now I am just going to write whatever I see or hear or do or feel.

I have a charming old chintz chair in the

He stopped, and going to the high and narrow mantle-piece, took down a faded daguerreotype of a little boy, with very smooth hair and conscious face. "That has his look, Sir; but he was grown up when we lost him." He took the little battered case in his hard hands, and fumbling with the fastening, he replaced it on the shelf, and turned his head away.

I found I had touched a painful subject, so hastened to make inquiry in regard to accommodations for the time of my sojourn.

"We are very plain folks, Sir, and don't know much about cooking for city people, and maybe you wouldn't be suited. My wife isn't always able to be about." Here he stopped, and the troubled look came down on his face; "but I'll ask Oolie, Sir." Stepping to the door he called, "Oolie! Oolie!"

There was no answer, so he stepped through the hall, and at the back-door repeated the call, leaving me to marvel greatly whether the owner of the strange name were a fossil or some unknown form of humanity. Apparently he, she, or it, answered, and a colloquy ensued, of which I only heard Mr. Austin's steady tones.

Presently he returned, and, standing with one hand on his side and the other resting on the chair, he said, "Oolie thinks we can manage it, Sir, if the large north room would do for you. It has a pretty look-out, you know, toward the Rock and the Kill. Oolie and I will try our best to make you comfortable."

So it was settled that I should be their lodger for a season. Asking me to remain there a few moments he shut me up in the old parlor, and I heard footsteps flying about overhead. I looked at the quaint chairs set regularly about the room, the square-angled sofa, the high mantlepiece, and its array of solemn trifles-silver candlesticks and china vases-glanced at the books on the table, and was puzzled to find a volume of Mrs. Browning's and Motley's Dutch Republic in company with the Lady's Wreath for 1838, the Documentary History of New York, at least three volumes of that trifling work, and that cheerful poem Young's Night Thoughts. There was a bit of ruffle in a little work-basket, and a tiny thimble, which I supposed might belong to "the little girl." I hoped to find this same child a very agreeable companion. So I did.

into a robin's nest and catch glimpses now and then of the distant hills. By the window at the back of the room is my writing and study table, for I intend to study German in earnest. This window looks out on the stretch of meadow back of the house, the lane, the granary, and close by the back-door, where shining pans and turned-up pails are ranged for drying. I haven't found out who Oolie is yet. Some Dutch maid of all work, I suppose.

June 10.

I was wondering what I should put in my journal, after I had indulged in a long reverie by the apple-tree window, and concluded to write about the interesting bird family I had adopted, and sat down by the window for that purpose. And then I saw her, and I didn't care to write about the birds. Two days had passed very nicely. Mrs. Austin was a pale, wan-faced woman, with great eyes and a quantity of black hair, hardly tinged with gray, coiled at the back of a well-shaped head. A strange-looking woman, wild yet touchingly sad. She spoke very little, and then in a hurried, nervous way, while her hand shook the cup which she handed me until it rattled. She had a glancing, fearful look, and seemed ill at ease. Nervous, I suppose, as that is the solution of all puzzling matters in regard to women.

"I haven't seen your little girl yet," I remarked, at breakfast-time.

"No, Sir; she was quite busy this morning." "Ah, does she go to school?"

"Oh no, Sir. She went last year to the boarding-school, but she is to stay home this summer. Education is very expensive."

And he sighed as he ran from the table. I came to my room and indulged in that long twohours' reverie I mentioned, ere I adjourned to the window overlooking the yard at the back of the house. Under the cherry-trees was an ironing-table, a basket with clothes, and a charcoal-furnace for heating the irons. Leaning back against the tree stood a young girl about sixteen fanning her heated face with her sunbonnet. She was slender, and wore a clean but faded calico that yet looked comely fitted to such a rounded shape. Her hair was thrown back from her face and held by a net over its rebellious waves. Her lips and cheeks were crimson, and the low brow was just wrinkled by a contraction of pain or annoyance that deepened

Pshaw! she is only a child, and I intend to treat her in a kind, fatherly way, and so win her confidence. Her fine mind should not be allowed to run riot or to rust out. I'll-

June 80. I feel somewhat happier than I did two weeks ago, for I have carried out my plan; and, unlike men in general, I do dearly love to have my own way. I made a lame pretense of being very anxious to aid the daughter of an old colored servant once in our family—a widow with one child. Then I made another pretense of being very anxious to have my washing done in the house, and by this woman. So after some little difficulty I was allowed to engage black Nancy ostensibly as my servant, to receive wages from me, but in reality to do the work of the household. How happy I felt when I saw those strong tawny arms lifting the heavy burdens that Oolie shall bear no more if I can help it! Not that I feel any special interest in her, except for her youth so clouded by circumstances......

I am going to give her German lessons-indeed have made a good commencement. Light labor with such a pupil. I called her Miss Oolie at first, but she gravely told me her name was Olive-that an aunt of her father's from England gave her the title. She pronounced her words strangely, and seeing my big eyes, "When I was a baby," she said, "I looked like a little owlet, and brother Launt thought it was very funny to call me 'owlet,' and so it came to 'Oolie,' and now every one knows my name, Launt always called me so."

My scholar was sitting on the porch when she told me this, flushing up crimson all the while. "And your brother, Miss Oolie-have you lost him?"

|

"Jake," said I, as we walked under the apple-trees last Sunday-"Jake, do you know what you are made for ?"

"Yes, Sir," was the prompt answer as he switched off a clover-head with a stick, "made fur to work."

It took me some time to recover my gravity, and then I thought I would try and recall some Sunday-school rhymes for his benefit. "Jake, now I want to teach a verse called Happy Land."

"Oh, massa, I know dat."

"You do? Well, let's hear it, then."

So he struck an attitude and commenced in a very high key, "Hail Columby, happy land,” and looked at me for approval. I bent my head to hide a smile, and Jake added, triumphantly, "I know 'nuther one, shall I say it?" and without waiting for my answer, went on. “My kingdom fur a hoss-my kingdom fur a hoss."

Jake had finished his list of acquirements, and trotted off, saying, "Dat's all I know;" leaving me sadly puzzled to dispose of this new responsibility that had come to me unsought. Of course I must try and teach him something of all he ought to know, so he and I are great friends: I have promised him to raise a great kite to-morrow. Oolie has been helping me build one to-day, and promises to see the raising just after we finish our German lesson. The child has very pretty hands. So here I am as busy as I was in town. A bridge to build, fences to be laid, a little contraband to civilize, and a fair young girl as pupil in German. I shall have no lack of employment.

choir meetings myself to bring her home, as she might take a fancy to this Mr. Lee, and she is quite too young to be thinking of these things quite too young. Not that I am so very old either, twenty-six-that would not sound old in speaking of any one else. I suppose that it

III.

July 10.

the last entry in this ledger of joys and sorrows. Oh, I remember-we were to raise the kite Jake and Oolie and I.

The kite-raising was put off. It happened in this wise: In pursuance of my fatherly plan I went to the choir meeting with Oolie, though it pained me somewhat to fancy that she did not care for my society. When the singing was over Mr. Lee, boy of only twenty summers, stepped up to her side and offered his escort homeward, being ignorant probably that I came in that capacity. She stepped a pace aside with him and interchanged whispers, and I distinctly heard her say, "For mother's sake, Arthur." She came close to me, and walked gravely beside me a while. I did not offer her my arm, and was in a savage mood. So we walked a while in silence.

"Miss Oolie"--I had made up my mind to lecture my pupil-"Miss Oolie, permit me to ask you if Mr. Lee's addresses are sanctioned by your parents ?"

The girl stopped a moment in mute astonishment, and walked swiftly on without an answer. I repeated the question, and attempted to draw her hand within my arm.

"Mr. Owen"-and the eyes flashed in the moonlight like gems-"permit me to ask you what right you have to ask the question? For your great kindness to me and mine I am most truly grateful; but you forget yourself when you speak as now."

She spoke not another word, but drawing her little figure up, walked straight up the little gravel-walk, past the shadow of the porch, where I intended to apologize, on and up to her room out of sight.

When we met the next day she was studiously polite, but made an excuse to avoid her lesson. I felt guilty and miserable, trying in various ways to atone for my misconduct. I gathered the most charming bouquet I could find and left beside her hat in the hall, and she left it to wither there. I bought confectionery, and was obliged to give it to Jake.

Jake and I are great friends, and between that and the bridge building I manage to amuse myself; but I can not disguise from myself that I was sorely troubled by the little owlet's cool disdain. I know that she is only a pretty country girl, whose frown should be no terror to me. I know that I am no love-sick boy, to break my heart about it; but I know better still that I had no right to speak as I did. If this Arthur Lee loves her, and she cares for him, why, it is no business of mine. I am only a-a friend, who cares for her very very much as the fairest and purest flower that ever bloomed. I would fain apologize, but she gives me no chance. I wonder if she will come out to help us with the kite to-morrow. Jake is to ask her. She would be sure to say no to me.

August 6. We flew that kite. It seems a long while ago, though, since then. Shall I ever forget it? The cool, fresh breath of the morning that ris

ing swept over the tree-tops like an autumn wind, and drove the flying clouds above, while their shadows flitted over grain-field and meadow below. Shall I forget the tangled string that neither Jake nor I could untie, and which Oolie's little hands released so deftly? Nor how she drew those hands away when I tried to detain her to speak one word of remorseful acknowledgment, and so left Jake and I alone to wander off up the great rock which on this side rose steadily, but shelved straight down, rough and jagged, on the other, over the deepest run of wayward Cress-kill? How the kite caught the wind, and, sailing out and up, pulled tightly on the string, while Jake was in an ecstasy of delight over its gambols, and even I felt all a boy's enthusiasm over the successful flight? Oolie was nowhere in sight. Up went the kite higher and higher, and, following its motions, I stepped back nearer and nearer the fringe of bushes at the summit of Greyrock, while Jake's shout of triumph rent the air.

Then I remember nothing more until I became conscious of a dull pain in my left arm, and half opening my eyes found myself beneath the ledge of rocks from whence I had undoubtedly fallen. Ah! but I bore the pain bravely, and gave no word of returning life; for I saw my little owlet, with her face buried in her hands, not far away. I shut my teeth to prevent a groan or quickened breath, for I heard her footstep come nearer. Then she tried to raise me up, but the broad shoulders belonging to six feet of humanity were quite too much for her; so she folded the shawl she wore and laid it under my head. Still I didn't move. It was worth some suffering to have those hands passing lightly over my hair, or laid tenderly enough now on mine. Five minutes more, and I did not move. Then there came down the softest little kiss on my forehead that ever blessed a dreaming man in love.

When I say that I kept my eyes shut after that I announce a feat of heroism unparalleled. I heard her retreating footstep, and her clear voice calling over the hill. "Quick! quicker, father! He does not open his eyes at all. Send Susan for Dr. Mills." I thought I might as well indulge in a groan or two now, for the pain was very great, and I was suffering acutely, as I supposed, with a dislocated shoulder. Mr. Austin and one of the farm-hands, summoned by Jake's report, assisted me home to the house, where I did not wait long for Dr. Mills's skillful care. A man of about my own age, with Saxon hair and eye and deep-toned voice, I found Dr. Mills at once a skillful practitioner and an agreeable companion. He was about to leave soon after for a year's service in the hospitals, both for the benefit of himself and suffering men.

And this is why no entry stands upon my journal until to-day. I only see Oolie at rare intervals, and she is as cool as ever. She does not know-the little owlet-that I hold the memory of that fluttering kiss. But why can I not lure her to my side again? Mrs. Austin seems more