what depressed-not with cowardice, but with moral energy struggling with natural temper. He, too, felt that peculiar elasticity and recklessness which the presence of a foe ofttimes produces in men of ardent blood, and he could have fought with Clinton to the death; but, within his heart, and his mind, was throned a principle which checked every impulse of this sort, as a skilful rider checks the paces of a fiery steed on the brink of a precipice. But it was the force of the conflict between the strong desire to fight his adversary, and the principle which denied its gratification, that produced the passing gloom on his brow.

"Now, Mr. Lee, I am ready," said Clinton, in a voice of striking fearlessness and confidence.

"And I," said Arthur, making an effort" but not to fight. Mr. Clinton, you have known me two years and upwards-did you ever have reason to think that I was devoid of the spirit of a brave man ?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Favour me with your answer to my question--I will then tell you why."

66

I see no possible use in it--but if I must answer, I will do so truly:-I never knew an individual of a manlier spirit than yourself; I do not think it would be easy

to know one."

"I thank you," said Arthur, his face flushing a little. "Now I may speak to you on this occasion with more frankness; and as you have had the candour to acknowledge so much, and the politeness to soothe me a little with a flattery not unpleasing, you will perhaps not deny me a just appreciation of the motives which now dictate what I am going to say. Mr. Clinton, I cannot use

weapons of blood, in our present quarrel. I refuse to fight. I refuse to take your life-I refuse to yield mine, unless I am forcibly deprived of it.”

"What do you mean, sir? I am not to be trifled with." "I will not trifle with you, Mr. Clinton. Do you think, sir, I am mean-spirited? that I fear to meet the point of a sword like this which invites your hand? Speak, on your honour as a man, is it timidity which causes me to refuse to fight?

"I will not say it is," said Clinton; "on my soul, I believe you as bold as I am."

"Then, on my soul, sir," said Arthur, "you say true; and if I dare, if the fear of God, sir, would suffer me, I would prove it to you unequivocally. But a mighty arm holds mine passive; and if a thousand reputations were at stake, I dare not fight."

"Then we are to return exactly as we came, I presume," said Clinton, with an accent in which scorn was slightly mingled.

Arthur looked as if he would have replied with strokes of death; but PRINCIPLE was still too mighty for him; and he paced the sod with struggles of the noblest, but most trying kind, which man is called to endure. The chivalrous nature of Clinton also showed itself more to advantage.

"I almost feel, Mr. Lee," said he, "that you are superior to me. I fully acknowledge the excellence of the principle which has led to your refusal to fight, though I could by no means adopt it; and I have only to request that you will give me your assurance that you are sensible I was willing to redeem my insulted honour, even at the price of my life."

Y

"That I will willingly do," said Arthur. not be denied."

"It can

"Then now we part," said Clinton. "I will no more trouble you with my presence. You have undoubted reason to wish my absence from the valley, and I can no longer be happy in it. But before we separate I must give you a paper signed with my name, which contains a statement of the mutiny of the crew and mate of the Antelope vessel, commanded by one Captain Barry, who was murdered by them on ship board, while entering the St. Lawrence river; several emigrants were on board beside myself, and might be found to substantiate my statement." Clinton here handed to Arthur a small roll of paper, and resumed, “A mariner is in the lodge now, and intends, I hear, to set out on his return to his ship this morning. That is the mate of the Antelope."

"What! the Pirate?" exclaimed Arthur, in amaze

ment.

"No doubt a pirate," said Clinton," although he passes for a common sailor."

"The father of Jane Anderson!" exclaimed Arthur, incautiously.

Clinton echoed his words in surprise. Arthur was extremely grieved with himself; he had betrayed the secret of his betrothed.

Sir," said he, "I have said what I should not have said. As a man of honour, impart not to any living being, I entreat you, the disgraceful relationship."

"I will not," said Clinton. "The Knowledge of such a fact shall never pass my lips, without Miss Anderson or yourself gives me a release from the promise I now make you. But vou will see, Mr. Lee, that the

man I have named, be he mate, or pirate, U common sailor, does not escape you. It is, of course, a case which requires the sacrifice of any personal feelings you may have towards Miss Anderson. His life is forfeit to justice, and he ought not to be left at large."

"I hope,” said Arthur, "no personal feelings will deter me from fulfilling my duty. I shall, of course, take care that the mariner be in safe confinement, if my grandfather determines to commit him upon the credit of your written statement."

"Hold him safe on that," said Clinton; "I shall make my way to the Lieutenant-Governor, from whom you may expect to hear. He will require the prisoner from you."

They parted with constrained respect, and cold politeness. Clinton taking one of the most unfrequented paths that led up by a difficult ascent to the top of a mountain, and Arthur returning leisurely to the lodge. The Pastor had not slept in the night; fears for his grandson agitated him every hour, and as soon as he heard Arthur leave the house, he arose, and walked into the garden.

So happy was the old gentleman to see the latter return safe and uninjured, that he grasped him by the hand and shook it repeatedly, as though Arthur had but just arrived to his home after a seven year's absence.

"I feared, my grandson, that you would not be firm enough," said he; "I know how difficult it is for a young man to bear the least imputation on his personal courage. But, thank the Lord, you have been strengthened for the trial."

"I am thankful that the trial is over, and I hope that I may never be subjected to such another," said Arthur;

“and now, grandfather, oblige me by mentioning this occurrence no more, for, whenever it is alluded to, I shall certainly be tempted to wish that I had met Clinton in his own temper."

The Pastor shrank from the sight of the swords, and said, "I deem it a mercy indeed, that they are not stained with the blood of one of rash you young men.' Clinton's account of the mutiny of the Antelope was put into the Pastor's hands by Arthur, without any explanation.

"I wish you particularly to read it throughout," said Arthur, "as soon as you can, and then I will speak to you on a subject of some importance to me, which is connected with it."

"Must I read it this forenoon?" asked the Pastor, "because I have some writing in hand which I am rather anxious to finish."

"Not only in the forenoon, but during the earliest part of it, if you please," replied Arthur.

"Very well, I shall betake myself to the perusal immediately after morning prayers," said the Pastor, who presently retired into his library.

Arthur went to the door of Jane's room, and knocked several times. As there was no answer from within, he concluded that she had risen, although it was not yet five o'clock; accordingly, he stepped softly down stairs to the kitchen, the house-door was open, and the mariner was just preparing to set out. Jane weeping, hung on his breast, while he was urging her to go with him to his ship, speaking in a low entreating voice. As Arthur came near, the mariner said—

"You will not, you say, Jenny ?-did I ever expect to