"We rambled apart from the others, down by the river banks, and sat upon mossy knolls beneath the magnificent old trees, and I wove her garlands of flowers, while she sang to me snatches of sweet ballads, in a voice more musical than the birds.

“And there in those old woods, alone with the birds and flowers, we became far better acquainted with each other than those who meet in the crowded drawing-room.

"In sweet Annie Gray recognized the embodiment of my boyish dreamsdreams, too, which the opening years of manhood had not dispelled. The ideal gave place to the real.

"I saw no more of Frank Waters that day, until at evening, when I sought him after I left the cottage of Annie. He sat alone in his room. I addressed a few words to him regarding the events of the day, but he seemed disinclined to converse, only answering my questions abruptly; and not knowing the reason, I left him for my own apartment.

"A word here with regard to Frank. During our first two years at college we had been room-mates as we were classmates; and a similarity of tastes and pursuits created a sort of student sympathy between us; but for the past year we had not shared the same room, although we were frequently together.

"We were both orphans, having control over our own time, and at that time over our own fortunes, which were not inconsiderable. Frank was a younger child -I an only one."

"But, Uncle Harry, you could not heve been an only child. I thought my father was your brother," said Lilly, hastily interrupting him.

I afterwards learned to my bitter sorrow. He was affable and gentlemanly outwardly, but at heart a villain.

"My stay in C drew to a close, but I had taken every opportunity to see Annie. Oh, what long, long walks we had in those deep woods, and what happy hours I spent at the cottage; and when we parted, it was as plighted lovers. Even Annie's father smiled as I sought his consent, and said-Yes, yes, Annie is a good girl. She deserves to be happy.'

"Ah, Lilly, how sweet is 'Love's Young Dream!"" but Lilly needed not to be reminded of it thus by Uncle Harry, for her eyes were bent on his with a dreamy expression, soft as a hazy sky. She was revelling then in its sweet light.

"I returned to college with new incentives for application to books; yet eagerly did I turn from abstruse study and classic theme to pore over long letters from my Annie-letters which, to my wearied soul, were as refreshing as the desert spring to the fainting traveller.

"Even Frank, for a while, seemed to be as much as ever my friend; but it was only seemingly, as I afterwards found. We were both acknowledged by our classmates as candidates for the highest college honours, and each was striving to win them.

"Frank had set his heart upon delivering the college address, and so had I. Had he owned it to me like a man, I should bave honoured him for it, but he ever denied it, saying that he cared not for paltry college honours; while to the next person he met he said-' Bell thinks to distance me in this race, but he'll have to try pretty hard, I'm thinking. a conceited fellow, but I'll teach him how to cope with me.'

He's

"Shortly afterwards, I received a letter

from Annie-a cool, carefully-worded letter, so different from the previous effusions of her warm, loving heart, that I knew not what to think.

"I hastened to reply, requesting an explanation, and again was my heart racked with undefinable fears, lest I had by some means lost her love; yet, strange to say, I never once suspected treachery-never once suspected but that Annie was the author of the letter. Again I wrote to her, reiterating my vows of love, and conjuring her to deal faithfully and candidly with me; and in a few days, I broke the seal of a letter, which should either remove all doubt and anxiety, or blight my hopes for ever. Ah, it was a cruel, cruel blow! and the sunlight of happiness was shut out from my soul, for ever, as I then thought.

"Now Annie informed me that circumstances rendered it necessary for her to say that she considered our engagement as having been too hastily formed upon too slight an acquaintance-that she had been interested in me it was true, and this feeling had been mistaken for love, but that recent events had revealed to her the true nature of her feelings, &c.

"Lilly, all hopes died within me then! "Henceforward, I mocked at the words -true love. I scorned those who treasured woman's affection as a holy thing; my laugh rang the loudest when among my gay companions, and my steps were the most buoyant, though my heart was aching with intense agony all the while.

"Alas, that I was thus hasty in believing! Would that I had sought Annie then; but pride, stern pride, said-Go not to her: humble not thyself again to woman, who trifles with the best feelings of the heart.""

Here Lilly's face flushed with indignation at this imputation, but Uncle Harry smiled such a sad, mournful smile, that she again leaned her head confidingly upon his knee, as he continued

"I graduated with the highest honours, amid the plaudits of friends, and even the admiration of envious rivals; but what cared I for triumph now?-for fame? To me success was but as a bitter mockery, since the boon of love was denied me.

"Friends crowded around, congratulating me upon one of my 'happiest efforts,' as they termed it. Even Frank Waters gave me a cordial grasp of the hand, while words of courtesy fell from his lips. I treasured no ill-will against him, and readily accepted his good wishes and congratulations, glad that we were friends again.

"The villain! A smile was upon his lips, but I knew not that it was a mocking smile at the misery he knew I was suffering! And so we parted.

"A brilliant future lay before me, at least my friends said so.

"I was young, wealthy, and they said I was talented. They wished me to turn my attention to the law, prophesying for me a bright career, but all to no purpose.

"Hope was dead; ambition's voice was hushed; the future had no charms for me. I grew morose and taciturn; withdrew from society; refusing all invitations to mingle with the young and gay, saying-Why should I go with them? They are happy, but joy is not for me!'

"Nearly two years had passed, when one day in glancing over a newspaper I read the marriage of Annie with James Morton, brother of Carrie Morton, her intimate friend.

"But what cared I? Did I not know her to be false? It was nothing to me that another had won ber! It was thus that I reasoned; yet I remember a confused ringing in my ears, and a sudden shock as though I had been stunned by a heavy blow, when I was conscious what I had read.

"But I rallied my strength again; and then I thought that I would comply with the oft-repeated advice of my friends, who, wishing to draw me from seclusion, urged me to turn my attention to professional pursuits; but it was but for a moment that I wavered.

"Injured pride said-'Go win yourself a name among men, then perhaps she will repent that she refused one honoured and esteemed by others;' while reason said

Remain here;' and to her voice I listened, for the quiet secluded life which I led here in my ancestral home, where my sires

had dwelt, accorded far better with my wounded feelings than would the bustle, and cares, and toil, while pursuing fame. "It was about three years after Annie's marriage that business led me to the village where I first met her. How every scene and every object served to remind me of the past! I rode by the Mansion House,' where we had met on the morning of that brief and happy day. I inquired for Frank, and learned that he was in a western city, eminently successful as a physician. I drove through the woods where I had been before with a light and happy heart; alas, how changed now! I wandered down by the green river bank, and lingered long beneath the shade of those magnificent trees, for tender thoughts swept across my soul. Here I had listened to words dearer to me than life-words that were but idly pledged, and had been broken, ah, how lightly! and bitter feelings rose within me as I mentally reviewed the past.

"At the village inn, I inquired for all my old acquaintances, excepting Annie. Of her I spoke not. I could not speak of her, when they would tell me that she was happy as the wife of another. I called upon Miss Morton, the friend of Annie, and found she had been married some time to a farmer in the village.

"She received me cordially; spoke of our pleasant acquaintance during my brief sojourn in C—; but, although I thought it very strange, never once reverted to Annie.

"I was dying to hear but one word regarding her; yet she never once referred to her. What puzzled me still more was the strange expression her countenance wore when, in reply to questions, I informed her that I was unmarried, adding that I should live and die an old bachelor.' She hastily waived the subject, as if unpleasant to her.

"Just at this moment my attention was arrested by two little children, apparently of the same age, who burst into the room, frolicking in all the glee of innocent childhood. Your children, I presume,' said I, addressing Carrie; taking a fair-haired girl upon my knee, and caressing her as I spoke.

"This is mine,' patting the curly head of a fine little boy; 'the other is my niece. You knew Annie Gray, her mother,' said she, after a slight pause. Had a serpent stung me, I could not have started quicker than I did then.

"I had been caressing the child of the very woman who had proved so false to me, yet I found strength to speak, and faintly gasped-'And Annie, is she happy ?' 'I trust so,' was the reply, in a sad voice. Poor thing! she suffered here keenly enough, but has at length gone where sorrow never comes. Oh, it was unkind, it was cruel of you to treat poor Annie so!' and the tears ran down her cheeks.

"It flashed upon me in a moment with overwhelming force. Annie was dead! "How! what mean you?' cried I. 'I unkind? I cruel? You wrong me, indeed. Did not Annie prove false to me?" I almost shrieked, dreading, yet wildly anxious to hear her say that Annie had been innocent; for such her words seemed to imply.

"Can it be possible that you have been deceived ?' said she. 'Annie loved you as she did her own soul.'

"But she scorned me! she wed another!' and I pointed to the little child, in a manner that terrified it.

"There has been a sad wrong done you both. Listen a moment, and I will tell you all;' and she spoke thus :

"Annie and I had no secrets from each other; and she told me with a smile, while the light of happiness danced in her eyes, that she had surrendered her happiness to your keeping. Ay, if ever man was beloved, you were beloved by Annie.

"One day she came to me, and I saw that she had been weeping. I inquired the cause, when she laid before me a letter so different from the one preceding it, that she knew not how to regard it. There was nothing written which in itself was calculated to wound the feelings, but there was lacking the depth of tenderness which had characterized your previous communications.

"I advised her to take no notice of it, but to write as she had done before. She

NOTES AND QUERIES FOR NATURALISTS.

NOTES.

THE FIELDFARE.

(Turdus Pilaris.)

THE fieldfare and the redwing have often been called "inseparably dear companions." They arrive nearly at the same time, frequent the same copse and hedge-row, haunt the same pastures, mix together on the wing, and nearly at the same period quit our fields, winging their flight to the same distant shore, there together to rear up their respective progenies. Closely associated, however, as they are whilst sojourning with us, there is a wide difference in their habits during the breeding season, and even at other times, the fieldfare being by far the more gregarious in its habits. So early as the beginning of October, and, in some years, as early as the latter end of September, the redwing appears about our hedge-rows, shy and timorous at first, and never so familiar as its compeer. Naturally more frail and delicate, for it is the first bird that perishes in seasons of intense frost, it feels the indications of a Norwegian winter early, and hastens away from its then inhospitable and snow-girt woods. In about a fortnight its companion feels the influence of the same rigour, and hastens to rejoin it. The fieldfare arrives usually about the beginning of November, but the writer has shot them as early as the middle of October, and has even heard, from credible witnesses, of their arrival late in September. Their favourite haunts at this period are the old whitethorn bushes, which, being covered with berries, afford them an ample repast. On these bushes they alight in large companies, so that ten, twelve, and sometimes more, are killed at a single discharge of a fowling-piece. The redwing, however, usually feeds solitarily, or in company with the fieldfares. From the constant demand made for this kind of food by all the hard-billed birds at this season, the bushes soon become exhausted of berrics, and the birds are then driven to the pastures, where they feed on worms and the seeds of plants. In severe winters, the birds are driven to great extremities, and become very thin. In very hard winters, the redwing is the first that perishes, then the thrush, next the fieldfare, and finally the blackbird, which last appears to be able to exist when all his cogeners perish. A most annoying rascal is the same gentleman with the coal-black vestments to the tyro engaged in the pursuit of fieldfares. Creeping cautiously along, under cover of the hedge, the amateur sportsman steals on his

intended victims. Already is he within shooting distance, and he is on the point of raising the gun to his shoulder, when the loud alarum, half-shriek, half-whistle, of the sable tell-tale discovers his plot, and away go the birds, leaving him to vent his back-handed blessings on the vigilant monitor of the copses. In these periods of severity, when the hedges are denuded of berries, and the pastures are frozen, the fieldfares resort to stubblefields and to banks having an inclination towards the sun, where its direct rays cause the sod to become soft, while all the surrounding fields are like iron. The fieldfare roosts in various situations, sometimes in low fir-trees, at other times in fern, and again, on the ground amidst the stubble; but the redwing appears to confine itself to roosting in bushes and trees. It is still a doubtful point amongst naturalists whether the fieldfare and the redwing occasionally breed in this country. The evidence on this point is so precise, that no preconceived theory ought to be allowed to weigh against it. We have various well-authenticated instances of both birds breeding in various parts of the kingdom; but the great bulk of them quit our shores about the end of March or April, and linger, in hard seasons, as late as the middle of May. The dense Norwegian forests appear to be their summer habitation, and here the redwing, the nightingale of Norway, as it has been called, pours forth its delicious melody through groves enlivened with almost perpetual sunlight. The redwing, however, if we attend to Mr. Hewitson's tour in Norway, is not often seen, and is very shy, breeding solitarily. The fieldfare is a far more common bird, and breeds in communities. The nests are generally placed in the spruce fir, at the height of from "four to forty feet," and a hundred may be counted within a very short distance of

each other.