brother so much, I may not like her for a sister. Now the description you give of that Mary Palmer suits my fancy. I believe I must come to Boston and nurse you, and by that means become acquainted with these two divinities.

"What kind of looking man is the father of these Hunts? Does his son resemble him? One night father sat gazing intently upon his face, and at last he exclaimed: 'Where have I seen you before? At least I have seen some one whom you resemble; you recall to my memory past scenes and associations, both pleasing and painful.' Now, Allan, try to find out something about them. Perhaps they were acquainted in England. At any rate, I, like all daughters of Eve, would like to gratify my curiosity on this point.

"They have just returned from their excursion. Young Hunt looks serious and agitated, and father has a frown upon his brow. What can have happened?

"Oh, Allan! things become more and more strange. It seems that the young man was so imprudent as to get into an argument with father about this rebellion, he of course taking your side and that of the patriots. Father became excited, as he always does when this subject is touched upon, and he told mother, in my hearing, that the youth, while talking, looked so much like a man he once mortally hated, that he had a great inclination to hurl him from the top of the rock. In the evening, however, our guest was so attentive and respectful, and seemed so sorry for what had happened, that father became softened toward him; and when he retired for the night, the tears started in his eyes as he pressed my hand, and declared his intention to leave us to-morrow. I know not why, but I felt sad as he announced this intention.

"Do write soon, Allan, and tell us every thing, and whether you are well, and mean to join the army again. JULIA."

Allan sat long with this letter in his hand, lost in deep thought. The gentle Amy raised her eyes from the work in which she was

Amy rose in confusion, and saying she supposed Mr. Douglas would like to be alone, that he might answer the letter, retired to read the one she had herself received from her brother, and soon after her grandfather entered the room.

After inquiring kindly how the young man found himself, and whether he had received good news from his family, he expressed his uneasiness at the continued absence of his grandson, from whom he had received a few hasty lines, merely informing him that he found himself so agreeably situated that he had delayed longer than he in

tended.

"My father appears to have become so much attached to your relative, sir, that he is hardly willing to part with him; and in the absence of his rebel son, no doubt finds his companionship a relief."

"Then your father does not favor the cause of the patriots ?" observed Mr. Hunt.

"So far from favoring it, sir, he has discarded me, his only son, because I joined it."

"The same invincible spirit of loyalty," said the old gentleman, rather as if replying to his own thoughts than to the remark of Allan.

"The sentiments in which my father was educated, and which have actuated him all his life, are too firmly fixed to be easily eradicated," replied Douglas.

"I am well aware of that," said Hunt. "It is strange that, having so long breathed the atmosphere of courts, he can consent to live here at all. How old were you when he removed to this country?"

"The loveliest woman in England!" exclaimed Hunt.

"Ah! then you knew her, sir?"

"I knew her when she was a merry girl of Amy's age, when there was not a shadow on her brow;" and, in a voice of strong emotion, "I saw her again in after years, when she longed for the grave as a refuge from sorrow;" but, seeing his auditor's look of surprise and inquiry, he changed the subject, and said, “Why did Sir Robert remove to this country? Do not think me too inquisitive, but I have particular reasons for wishing to know."

what I possessed in that terrible fire, but I have a shelter here, though an humble one. So long as your lips are sealed, it shall be your home. And now I must deliver a message I have received from your General, who is anxious to see you as soon as you are sufficiently recovered. Here is also a note.”

Douglas opened it, and saw it was from Putnam.

"So, boy," he wrote, "you could not do your duty without getting into a scrape. But you were young and reckless, and, as there's no great harm done, as it was too late for that, I hope you will learn to be wiser in future. Don't be deceived by names, but become acquainted with persons before you trust them. Palmer's family are in Medford, and will be happy to see you when you get out again. I was pleased with your penitential letter, and Colonel Stark acquits. you of half the blame, and says it was his own fault. You will return to your duty as soon as possible, and for the present are to be placed under General Lee, until I require your services in New-York, where I am

"Have you any objection to telling me, sir, and how you became acquainted with him and his affairs?"

"The tale would be far from pleasing you, young man. You have done me an inestimable service, which I can never forget, nor ever sufficiently repay. Thrown upon my care, through injuries you have suffered from that circumstance, I have given you the care and attention of a father for a child. I have now one more favor to beg: that is, that you will never repeat this conversation to your father, nor make any inquiries concerning me or my past history."

"I am likely to be an alien from my father's house for years, perhaps for ever," replied Douglas in a sad tone, "and shall, therefore, have no opportunity for doing the first; and with regard to the last, you may rely upon my honor."

The aged man pressed his hand with warmth. "I have," said he, "lost half of

eral Washington, which you seem so anxious about. Come, get well as fast as you can, for I want you. I have seen that you can stand one kind of fire, if not another, and have spoken well of you in the dispatches. So keep out of all scrapes, and be prepared to salute the when called upon. "ISRAEL PUTNAM."

enemy

Douglas read this letter with pride and delight, and began to feel himself inspired with new strength, animated by the praises of a man whose bravery was the theme of every tongue. He was now eager to return to the army, although he would have preferred remaining with Putnam to being placed under a new commander. His letters to his sister being finished and dispatched, he now returned thanks to his host for his kindness, and declared his intention of departing early in the morning,

Mr. Hunt said they should be sorry to part with him, but did not urge his stay,

nor invite a second visit, and Douglas again saw him wrapped in the chilling reserve he had so often noticed. But a more painful parting was reserved for him. The door opened, and Amy appeared. At sight of her, the resolutiou with which our hero had armed himself grew fainter and fainter, and Mr. Hunt leaving the room at that moment, rendered him more embarrassed. To his relief, Amy was the first to speak:

"My grandfather tells me we are to lose you, Mr. Douglas." She tried to speak calmly, but her voice trembled. "We should regret it more than we do, if we did not know it was to obey a solemn call to which all selfish considerations should yield. But you will not quite forget us."

"Forget! forget you! Never, while life remains," replied Douglas fervently.

"I had hoped to see you acquainted with brother Charles before you left us, but he seems to have found such agreeable company at your father's, that I am quite jealous of his preference."

"I rather think it is the enchanting scenery of our village that holds him captive," replied Douglas. "My sister tells me that your brother and my father have been employed during his visit in rambling about the place, and that their last visit was to the celebrated Monument Mountain."

"Monument Mountain! a singular name. Pray, why was it so called?"

pointed love," said Allan, fixing his eyes upon her beautiful face until the dark eyes were averted from his. "A beautiful Indian girl loved a brave youth, and her passion was returned; but her family opposed their union, because he was related to the family-I believe a cousin-and the Indians consider such a marriage as not lawful. The wretched girl could not endure the separation from him she loved more than life, and threw herself from the top of the high rock. On the spot where she was buried her relatives raised this tomb, and since that time the place has been called Monument Mountain."

"What a sad story!" said Amy, with the tears in her eyes.

"There are many victims of unhappy love still living," said Douglas; "some made wretched from the opposition of parents; others married to the objects of their aversion from interested motives; many from want of the wealth which one or the other party requires, but more from a want of openness and candor on both sides."

A deep groan here startled them both, and looking up, they saw Mr. Hunt, who had entered the room unperceived, standing at a short distance from them, with his hand clasped to his pale forehead, as if seized. with some sudden pain. Amy sprang to his side.

"Tis nothing, darling: don't be alarmed. Only a sudden spasm. I often have these attacks since that horrible day. I am going to lie down, but trust you will not leave us, Mr. Douglas, until I see you again."

hopes and crushed affections. One would suppose that the sufferings of more than threescore years would have tamed the restless heart, and lulled excited passions into rest; but it is not so. Leave me, Allan Douglas. I would be alone."

Allan returned to the room where he had left Amy. His mind was a prey to strange conjectures. There must have been something in the conversation which had just passed between him and his grandchild, which had affected the old man so deeply; but, true to the promise he had given to make no inquiries that might lead to a knowledge of the early history of his host, Allan restrained the curiosity which he was so anxious to gratify.

"Is he better?" asked Amy, in her eagerness clasping the hand of Douglas, and looking earnestly at him.

Douglas, retaining that little hand in his, led her to the seat they had occupied before this interruption. "He is better, dear Miss Amy, and only requests that he may not be disturbed. I am sorry he will not allow me to return his kindness, and nurse him as he has me for so many days."

"He never will allow any one to be near him at these times except old Ruth, who has lived in the family since he was a boy."

"Then this is not the first attack?" "Oh no," replied Amy sadly; "he is often thus, and has sometimes kept his room for days together. It has been a source of great uneasiness to Charles and myself, who would have been so happy to comfort and console him."

"Does there appear to be any apparent cause for this affliction, or is it constitutional?"

"I do not know," replied Amy. "At times he is afflicted by the mention of some name or some person; then some event occurs which, related to him, brings on his malady. Any allusion to his family, his father or grandfather, by people who are curious about him, never fails to excite him almost to madness. My parents died while

old. Since that time we have lived with grandfather in great seclusion; few persons, except the clergyman of the place, ever visiting us. He has never remained long in one place, but old Ruth has frequently received orders at a moment's warning to prepare for our departure somewhere else. She never presumed to question the reason of this caprice, and we, of course, dared ask no questions. While we lived in Charlestown he seemed comparatively easy and happy, but since the fire, and we have been in this old farm-house without a neighbor near us, he has been more uneasy than ever, and especially since your stay with us. And yet he does not appear to have taken the same dislike to you he has to some others. There are some people he will not admit to his presence. I think perhaps your bravery in saving my life on that dreadful day has softened his feelings toward you."

"It was a dreadful, but, to me, also a blessed day," exclaimed Douglas, pressing the hand which lay unconsciously in his, "for it made me acquainted with sweet Amy Hunt."

Amy, blushing, endeavored to withdraw her hand, but in vain. "One moment, dear Amy. Listen to me one moment, and if my words displease you I will promise never more to offend. In the absence of your brother, and the illness of your grandfather, I ought not, perhaps, to dare thus to address

you. But I am going far from you tomorrow, Amy, and it would be a solace to me to think that during my absence my memory was cherished. Amy, I love you. I loved you from the first moment I beheld you— when you lay helpless upon my breast, and I looked forward to a terrible death, scarcely dreaded by me if shared with you. But we were both saved, Amy, and since that time my life has been bound up in yours. Our families are as yet strangers to each other. I am an outcast, and must rely upon myself to carve out my own fortunes. We may be doomed to meet with the same opposition that I have described to you. But