feeling bosom will participate, and which it will easily picture to itself.

The next day brought Alphonzo to the glen. Expecting, from the tenour of his note, that he would desire a personal interview, and that she might consequently look for his arrival, and anxious that their meeting should be private, Emily, after leaving a message for him with her faithful maid, walked up the hill, and sat down under the shade of an ancient oak, where, according to a traditionary tale still told among the Alps, Victor Amadeus, one of the dukes of Savoy, had passed a night, when driven upon the coast by a storm that overtook him while he was fishing on the lake, and where he was discovered asleep in the morning by a pretty peasant girl, who, ignorant of his rank, awoke him, saying it was dangerous to sleep there, and, observing him exhausted, offered him some milk which she was bringing from the mountain, and whom he afterwards made the partner of his throne. Here, Emily was reposing, and reading the interesting story of Ruth, whose piety and simplicity of spirit

she was praying to be enabled to imitate, when she heard a foot. . She thought she knew the manly step. Her heart beat quick and quicker; but as yet no one was visible. It drew nearer-and you would have supposed that every pulse which heaved her breast, would have burst its fragile covering. A form appeared-she rose, and received Alphonzo. We shall not attempt to describe the emotions with which they met. How different they were from those with which they had last parted, we shall leave to the imagination of the reader.

Their intercourse was now renewed under other and more benign auspices. Explanations were mutually given, and readily accepted; and ere Alphonzo had quitted the seat he had taken beside Emily, she had consented one day to become his bride. Thenceforward, life wore to each of them another aspect, while every revolving hour only seemed to prove how necessary they were to each other's happiness, and to render more apparent the conformity of tastes and sentiments, which the unreserve of their

continued and frequent interviews had been silently operating between them. With hearts as yet untouched by disappointment, and acquainted only by rumour with the unnumbered sorrows which attend the path of mortality, they gave themselves unconstrainedly to the sweet illusions of hope. Meanwhile, it was Emily's gentle and pleasing task, to tend, as with an unseen hand, the germ of piety in the bosom of Alphonzo. Though sown, and imperceptibly gathering strength, it was still of immature growth. Gradually, however, it expanded under the fostering culture of heaven, and she doubted not but the evidences of his adoption into the family above would daily become more manifest, and that she would ere long behold Alphonzo all her tenderest anticipations could desire.

Some time subsequent to the period at which we are now arrived, Alphonzo was called to Paris. He had been frequently drafted into the ranks of the conscription, and had found it difficult, notwithstanding

the payment of large sums, to get himself exempted from serving; and it was now deemed expedient, both by his own friends and Emily's, that he should visit the seat of government, and make the requisite arrangements in person, in order to avoid any thing disagreeable in future. As he was detained, from various unforeseen difficulties, much longer in the French capital and elsewhere than he had anticipated, his letters to Emily were of course numerous, and not less so her's in reply. That we may not crowd our pages, however, with a correspondence, which, deeply as it engaged the parties, might be tedious to general readers, we shall select only a few of the more interesting communications, which may serve, we hope, the double purpose of amusing the reader, and carrying forward our narrative, until Alphonzo becomes once more a dweller amidst the scenes of his nativity.

ALPHONZO TO EMILY.

Paris, June 10th.

I HAVE just arrived, and hasten to convey the intelligence to my Emily, hoping that, while I fulfil this duty, she will accept it as an offering of the tender affection I bear her. The weather was favourable; and had it not been that I was absent from all I love on earth, and momentarily removing to a greater distance, I might have enjoyed the journey. But, when the heart is sad, every thing we are conversant with partakes of its emotion. No wonder, then, my Emily, that with the last look I turned towards your lovely vale, as I reached the summit of the Jura, my spirits sunk, and my pleasure was changed to melancholy. Thenceforward, nature seemed but a blank to my eye. The fertile plains of France, and her hills covered with vines, appeared barren and desolate; and I often fancied that I was travelling through a wilderness.

I should express my obligations to your fond solicitude, which urged me to provide