not worth caring for, and that he should start for the Continent the next day..

Good Mrs. Seaton was much perturbed.. "You must be dreaming, Lewis," she said. "My old eyes see as my young eyes saw, and I am sure that the girl likes you.'

་

"So I should have said, mother, but I have put it to the proof, and we are both of us mistaken; therefore the less said about it the better. We have mutually agreed that it cannot be; and so she goes her way, and I go mine."

Mrs. Seaton looked perplexed. And when Mr. Seaton heard of it, he said

"Tut! tut! it is but a lovers' quarrel, and will be made up in time. I don't see how the girl can leave her father and mother just now. It was too much to expect, Lewis."

Which only made Lewis Seaton feel more angry and aggrieved.

"Well, the best thing is to go away and forget it," he said. "I may as well do my travelling at once." And so he went away, vexed and irritated, and Mrs. Seaton, seeing how disturbed and annoyed he was, warmly took his part, and decided that Alison in some way must have been to blame.

"What can she be thinking of? My Lewis is one of whom anyone might be proud."

And after Lewis had gone, Mrs. Seaton went very little to the Brands, and when she did go there was a coldness and constraint about her that chilled Alison, and made her think that, perhaps, the Seatons were glad that the engagement was at an end.

Lewis Seaton was at the present moment in a small German town, idly gazing from the hotel window on the visitors promenading under the spreading trees, or sitting on the benches sipping coffee and talking eagerly with one another.

He gave a little start as one group passed by the window, for a slender girl reminded him of Alison

so like in figure as she moved away, that he drew nearer to watch until she turned at the end of the promenade and passed the hotel again.

No, it was not Alison-not likely to be; how could such an absurd idea occur to him! Alison was with those whom she preferred to himself. Probably she never bestowed a thought upon him, and it was a pity he had wasted so much time and affection upon her.

Involuntarily he rose, put on his hat, and walked out into the open air, and commenced strolling up and down after the manner of the promenaders. Finally he sat down under one of the great trees, and called for a cup of coffee.

As he did so, he was suddenly aware of two little hands seizing one of his, and a childish voice said"I am Freddy!

Lewis looked down to see who Freddy might be, and recognised the little boy whose ball he had fished up out of a pond into which it had fallen.

"Ah!" said Lewis, "and is the ball quite safe?" "Yes," returned Freddy, "it is safe; I did not bring it to-day, but it is dry. Katie dried it for me.'

"And who is Katie ?" asked Lewis.

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My sister-see, there she is. She said you were good-I will fetch her."

"Oh! no, no!" exclaimed Lewis, not wishing in his present mood to speak to strangers. "No, Freddy, I am going away."

But Freddy was too quick for him; he had darted away, and was dragging toward the tree the girl who had reminded him of Alison.

A middle-aged lady and gentleman and another girl were following behind.

"Here he is! here he is!" shouted Freddy; "stop, stop, Mr. Gentleman, don't go away!"

And Lewis, feeling that it would be infinitely ridiculous to flee at the present crisis, advanced towards Freddy and his sister, the latter being quite as much discomposed as Lewis Seaton could be.

"You must excuse my little brother," she said apologetically. "We spoil him too much, and he will have his own way."

"Much obliged to you for the trouble you took for my little boy yesterday," said the gentleman, who had now come up.

"Oh, it was no trouble; I was very glad to help him out of his difficulty," replied Lewis, scarcely looking at the group before him, and only anxious to get away as quickly as possible.

"Why is it not? I beg your pardon-but is not your name Seaton?" asked the gentleman. "Yes," answered Lewis, somewhat amazed, as he returned the stranger's gaze.

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Ah, yes, I thought so. You won't remember me, though you will know my name, Collingwood. I knew you the moment you spoke, from your likeness in voice and manner to your father when he was a young raan.'

"I know your name well," said Lewis, holding out his hand.

"And this is my wife, and this my daughter Katie. And this," he added, turning to the other young lady, "is my niece, Nina Rode, who, though she thinks no country as good as her own, can speak English as well as you or I can."

Fred is always in the way," said Nina, smiling; "I cannot tell you how much mischief he does in a day."

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Nor how much encouragement he receives," said Mr. Collingwood, also smiling. "We must ask Mr. Seaton to look with lenient eyes on the little fellow's shortcomings."

"That I am sure I shall," returned Lewis, "since it was he who gave me an introduction to my father's old friend," glancing at Nina, although the words were addressed to her uncle.

Nina blushed slightly. She was of a romantic turn of mind, and already began to think that the handsome: Englishman might be a hero. But just then coffee was brought, and, all sitting down, the conversation, soon became general.

It turned upon their travels.

"I was going to Norway," said Lewis, "but I changed my route, and came south instead."

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Oh!" exclaimed Nina, in whose brain was a jumble of Scalds, Norsemen, Vikings, Scandinavians, and German mythology," how could you do that? To go to Norway must be the greatest happiness on earth in the way of travelling. I would go to-morrow if I had an opportunity.

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That would indeed be expeditious."

"Not too expeditious for Nina," said her cousin. You have no idea how energetic she is when she pleases."

Nina half smiled and half sighed as she observed"It is not everyone who can be as independent as Katie."

I can, Lewis was on the point of asking why, but he remembered that he had no right to ask questions; and yet he was already beginning to take an interest

in the affairs of his new friends.

The days passed away quickly enough now, and Lewis regained his composure. The irritation he had experienced from a vague consciousness that the blame did not rest wholly with Alison was lost sight of in the new interest that began to absorb him, and it was with a feeling of dismay that about three weeks after their meeting, he heard Mr. Collingwood announce that they must start for England the next day.

There was a degree of coldness and constraint in Mr. Collingwood's manner very unlike his usual demeanour.

"I hope no bad news has caused this sudden change in your plans," said Lewis.

"Not any," returned Mr. Collingwood, curtly. "I was hoping to have taken Miss Collingwood and Fraulein Rode up the mountain to-morrow," said Lewis, feeling uncomfortable, though he knew not why.

T was perhaps cruel of Mrs. Seaton to make a visit to Alison for the express purpose of telling her that Lewis was going to be married. But then how was she to know Alison's feeling, believing as she did that Alison had dismissed her son, causing him pain and disappointment, and she felt a sort of "sweet revenge" in letting her know that he had met with someone who appreciated him.

For Nina Rode had given him her heart at first sight, and her promise the very night of Mr. Collingwood's constrained bearing towards Lewis Seaton. For somehow the truth had flashed upon Lewis's mind, and he determined, if he must part with his new friends, to know for certain whether his present wooing was to be successful or unsuccessful.

"And we need not have a long engagement, Nina," he had said; "you are as independent as I am. You have no one to lay actual claim to you."

"Neither father nor mother," said Nina, with a sigh; "but you have both."

Lewis was about to say he was thankful she had not, for a sudden remembrance of Alison came to him. However, he forebore, and contented himself with a more loving speech. Thus Lewis was engaged again.

And Mrs. Seaton, delighted at the glowing letter, written in high spirits, put on her bonnet and took her way to the Brands.

Alison was arranging some late roses for her father's room when Mrs. Seaton was ushered in. She greeted Alison more cordially than usual, and inquired after her father and mother in tones of deeper interest.

"And I've some good news, Alison. Poor Lewis is going to be happy again: he is engaged to be married."

The flush that had come into Alison's face died away, and left her cold and pale, and scarcely understanding what Mrs. Seaton was saying, though she answered, "Yes."

"Yes," repeated Mrs. Seaton; "Lewis is going to be married; and we are very much pleased, for the young lady is the niece of your old friend, Mr. Collingwood. She is the daughter of a sister of Mr. Colling

wood's who married a German, so she's a German by birth; and I've brought her photograph to show you. You see, all people are not so cruel to my boy as you were, Alison. But I can forgive you, now that he is happy again."

And Mrs. Seaton opened her little leather bag, and took therefrom a letter in Lewis's well-known hand. She slowly opened it, and began to unfold the paper enveloping the likeness, talking all the time. "Blue eyes and golden hair, like an angel, and such a sweet temper and so good; we are delighted, as I am sure you will be. And we can all be as good friends again as we used to be. I am sure it has gone to my heart many and many a time to feel angry with you, Alison."

Still Alison said nothing, but mechanically took the photograph, which Mrs. Seaton had at length carefully taken from its foldings.

Alison looked at it with a dazed feeling, not realising anything; and yet the fair young face was indelibly impressed upon her in the glance she gave it; she should know its owner anywhere, She looked again and again, till the face grew life-like. Everything else faded from before her, the one thought of which she was conscious was

"Here is the girl who will be Lewis Seaton's wife, 'nstead of yourself."

It is very pretty, is it not?" said Mrs. Seaton, entirely mistaking Alison's absorbed manner.

"Yes," came clearly and sharply from Alison's lips. She was wondering when Mrs. Seaton would go, and how she could get away from her and from everyone, until she had realised the shock she had received.

Happily, Aunt Miriam came to the rescue quite accidentally. She had heard that Mrs. Seaton was in the drawing-room, and she wanted to show her a plant that had just come into flower in the green. house.

As she entered the room, Alison turned to her. "Aunt Miriam, Lewis is going to be married, and Mrs. Seaton has brought the likeness of the young

lady for us to look at. It is very pretty, is it not?"

She spoke very calmly, but Aunt Miriam, with more acute perception than Mrs. Seaton, noted the white fixed look on the face and the cold touch of the fingers.

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Very pretty," said Aunt Miriam ; "but if you will take these roses up to your mother, I will attend to Mrs. Seaton." But

And Alison made her escape with the roses. she did not take them to her mother: she hastened to her own room, locked the door, and sat down on the luxurious little sofa at the foot of her bed, trying to collect her thoughts.

One idea alone presented itself:
"Lewis is going to be married!"

The clock seemed to tick it out to her, the wind that was rustling the leaves of the Virginian creeper whispered it, and her canary chirped it over and over again.

She could hear nothing else, and she sat listening until a sudden impulse seized her, and she rose and . walked to her mirror.

"My grandmother must have looked like this the night that my grandfather went away," she said to herself, as she surveyed the white hopeless face in the glass. "How brave she was!

And, as before, her eyes wandered around her beautiful room, where nothing was wanting. And in all human probability she would never want for anything, for Mr. Brand's money was well invested.

And Alison would have the whole of it whenShe shuddered, for death in life was already in the house.

"So rich and yet so poor! " moaned Alison. "What use in golden riches if the heart treasures are wanting?"

And again her eye rested on her image in the glass. Her lip quivered, but she steadied it, saying"I will be brave. My life is what God hath chosen to give me. It must be right." (To be continued.)

THE STORY OF A BOAT VOYAGE.

(Continued.)

YRON and Captain Cheap, with the cacique, started for an Indian village to obtain, if possible, additional help. Having succeeded, they returned to their comrades, and the whole company set out in the canoes which had been procured, on their difficult expedition. The first day very little progress was made, and the surgeon, Mr. Elliot, died. The second day they rested. On the third, they again put to sea, rounded the bay of which we have already spoken, and kept to the west along a low sandy shore.

After a while, they arrived at what the Canadians call a portage, or landing-place; the canoes were

unloaded and brought ashore, and in some cabins, made of turf and the boughs of trees, they passed the night.

In the morning the canoes were taken to pieces, carried across a wooded neck of land, put together again, and launched upon a broad lake.

Byron meanwhile was left behind to bring up a second company of Indians whose services had been engaged. He knew not, he says, whence they were coming, and found himself alone on the beachnight at hand-and no food to stay his ravenous appetite.

I kept my eyes upon the boats," he says, "as long as ever I could distinguish them, and then returned into the wood, and sat myself down upon the root of a tree, having ate nothing the whole day

an old woman peeped out, and made signs to me to draw near. I obeyed very readily, and went into the wigwam, which contained three men and two

women.

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To one young man all the rest seemed to pay great respect, though he was a most miserable object-a perfect skeleton, and covered with sores from head to foot. I was happy to sit a moment by their fire, as I was quite benumbed with cold. The old woman took out a piece of seal, holding one part of it between her feet and the other end in her teeth, and then cut off some thin slices with a sharp shell, and distributed them about to the other Indians. She then put a bit upon the fire, taking a piece of fat in her mouth, chewing it, and every now and then spirting some of it on the piece that was warming upon the fire; for they never do more with it than warm it through. When it was ready she gave me a small portion, which I swallowed whole, being almost starved.

"As these Indians were strangers to me, I did not know which way they were going; and, indeed, I was now indifferent which way I went, whether to the westward or to the southward, so that they would but take me with them, and give me something to eat. However, to make them comprehend me, I pointed first to the southward, and next to the lake, when they gave me to understand they were travelling northward. They all went out together, except the sick Indian, and taking up the planks of their canoe, which lay near the wigwam, carried them to the beach, and presently put them together. Then, putting everything on board, they embarked, and I followed them, taking the oar."

Rowing across the lagoon, they reached the mouth of a rapid stream, the current of which carried them rapidly down to the sea. At low-water they collected a small cargo of limpets, and again embarked. Byron took an oar, and plied it strenuously, occasionally refreshing himself with a limpet. The Indians were similarly engaged, until one of them, seeing him throw the shells overboard, spoke to the rest in a violent passion; and rising, fell upon Byron, almost throttling him, while another caught him by the legs, and would have thrown him overboard had not the old woman interfered. Byron, meanwhile, was entirely ignorant of the offence he had given, until he noticed that the Indians, after eating the limpets, carefully placed the shells in a heap at the bottom of the canoe. He then came to the conclusion that some superstition prohibited these shells from being thrown overboard, and that his ignorance of it had nearly cost him his life. He wisely resolved to eat no more limpets until they landed, which they soon afterwards did, upon an island.

They brought all their shells on shore, and laid them above high-water mark. A cluster of lusciouslooking berries hanging from a bough, he was on the point of gathering and eating them, when one of the Indians struck them from his hand, flung them away, and gave him to understand that they were poisonous. Thus, in all probability, his life was saved by the very people who, a few hours before, would have deprived him of it for throwing aside a limpet

shell!

Two days afterwards, Byron joined his companions, and, guided by the Indian cacique, the survivors of

the Wager's crew continued their journey towards the Spanish settlements. It would be useless and painful to enter upon a detailed account of the miseries they endured. For example, it is told of Captain Cheap that his body resembled nothing so much as an ant-hill, from the thousands of ants that crawled over it. He had sunk into such a state of weakness that he could make no effort to free himself from them; indeed, he was almost unconscious of all that transpired, and recollected neither his own name nor the names of those around him.

One day they fell in with about forty Indians, who were curiously tattooed, and spake a language which the cacique did not easily comprehend. They learned, however, that a ship carrying a red flag had recently been seen upon that part of the coast; afterwards it appeared that she was the Anne, a vessel belonging to Commodore Anson's squadron.

At length they arrived at the island of Chiloe, where the Indian villagers welcomed them with generous hospitality; receiving them into one of the huts, placing Captain Cheap on a bed of sheep-skins before a large fire, and feasting them upon mutton-broth and barley-cake. How the hungry castaways enjoyed that meal! From far and near the Indian women brought gifts of fowls, or eggs, or mutton made into broth-an acceptable change of diet after "slough" and "tangle." Byron tells us that they fell to work as if they had eaten nothing in the night, and kept at table for the greater part of the day. In the evening came a large gathering of men, bringing with them some jars of chicha; a liquor made of barley-meal, and not unlike "oat-ale in taste. When these were emptied, a fresh supply of provisions arrived; and in this agreeable alternation the ever-hungry castaways passed the whole time they spent with their generous Indian hosts.

Byron describes these Indians as strong, wellmade, well-favoured, and exceedingly neat in their persons. The men wear the famous poncho-a square piece of cloth, generally in stripes of different colours, which has a hole in the middle, wide enough to admit of a man's head passing through; so that one half falls over the chest, the other half over the shoulders. Underneath it a short flannel shirt, without sleeves or neck, fits close to the body. The breeches are full at the knees, something like those of the Dutch; the stockings go down to the ankles only. The hair is always combed very smoothly, and tied up in a great bunch close up to the neck; some wear a neat hat of their own making, some go bare-headed. The women wear a sleeveless chemise, and over it a square piece of cloth, which they fasten in front with a large silver pin; also a many-striped petticoat. As might be expected, they give to the arrangement of their hair as much attention as the men; and both bind a fillet tightly round the forehead, fastening it behind.

When from the sympathetic Indians they passed into the hands of the Spaniards, the change was very keenly felt. Indifferent to the story of their misfortunes, the Spaniards treated them as prisoners, and placed them in charge of two soldiers with drawn swords. At the Spanish town of Castro they were received by the Corregidor, a tall old man, bewigged and cloaked, and wearing an immensely long sword, who must have looked as if