friends of our earliest years. How happy was my old master to see me, how rejoiced the girls! Eliza only was silent; but as I took her hand there was something in its tremor, and in her shaded eyes, that showed there was an anxious feeling at her heart, which prevented her from entirely sharing her sisters' joy, or from welcoming me with the cheerful kindness they did. They talked, she was silent; I was surprised, disappointed, bewildered; it was not the reception I had foolishly expected; yet I endeavoured to keep my spirits elate; but soon found I could not continue conversation; first I became silent, then serious, then depressed. I now found that although I had not been six hours in the village, the Goldsmiths already knew of my intended residence in America, and the subject was accordingly brought forward by them, and variously commented on. Each member of the family had a hope, a fear, or a solicitude to express. One sought to encourage me, another to dissuade me from accepting my uncle's offer. Eliza remained silent; I wished to know her opinion, but I had not the courage to say so. I suppose my looks asked for it; for at length she said—

"Edward, the providence of God is with you, whether in England or in the solitary desert; be not dissuaded from doing that which in your own mind you may think right."

There was a noble firmness in her voice as she said this, although her eyes had tears in them; on meeting those sweet eyes, I got up from the place where I was sitting between my dear sister and Miss Goldsmith, and, seating myself beside Eliza,

took her hand, and, turning towards her, would have spoken, but could not; her hand trembled a little, yet she looked on me with a sweet and settled composure, which gradually shed a calm over my agitated feelings.

I cannot now repeat what we said to each other about my removal to a distant land, having no distinct remembrance of it, we were both so deeply moved; all I am sure of is, that I did not speak of love. Our hearts, indeed, were already united ; and I think Eliza felt, as I did, that after this evening they never could be separated.

The tea called us round the table, over which we conversed on past times with great delight.

"Do you remember," said Eliza," when you taught me through this window, how to know the moon to be in its increase or in its wane?"

66 it

"I do remember it, dear Eliza," I replied; was the young moon, a simple curved line, showing itself nearly where the sun had set; and I remember-yes, I well remember, the words you then said to me, as we looked upon it; but I may not repeat them."-"O repeat them! repeat them!" every one exclaimed; "surely you cannot be ashamed of any thing Eliza said."I looked at her, the bright colour heightened on her cheeks, but she was not confused. "I will repeat them myself, Edward,” said she, "as they must be told: I said, 'You are my sun, dear Edward, and I thy faithful moon, watching thee in the west."""That was precisely it, my dear Eliza," I rejoined; "and may it be prophetic !" In these few ardent words, I had avowed my attachment, and finished the cruel

struggle between my desire of having her the consoling partner of my exile, and my unwillingness to take her from a peaceful home. She was silent for a moment or two; but her eyes spoke the while most eloquently; she turned them alternately from her father to me, and resting them at last on me, said in a very low yet still firm voice, "I have long believed in your love for me, Edward Seaward; now you assure me of it: to-morrow you leave Awbury; I cannot conceal what I feel at the possibility of another separation.—My father! my sisters! -you know his worth, you will not think hardly of your poor Eliza's delicacy, if now, before you all, I confess my deep affection. Edward, dear Edward, I should pine and die, were you to go alone to the dreadful country you are destined for: May it now be our fate to live or die together!" Before she finished I drew near her, and, snatching her hand, pressed it to my lips; a hallowed tear, seen only by the eye of Him who looks into the heart, dropped on the hand: it was the seal of Edward's faith-it was not unperceived. I kissed that dear hand again and again, with difficulty articulating a few words of devoted affection, and sat down by her, with a delightful consciousness that she was mine.

The feelings of all present were highly excited; tears flowed apace, or stood in the eye of each, and my dear sister Maria kissed us both, weeping tears of joy. Mr. Goldsmith sat the while without speaking, but with a serious gravity which somewhat awed me; yet his habitual kindness prevented his presence, or even his demeanour, being a check

upon the honest sentiments of our united families on such an occasion; and he knew the character of his youngest daughter too well, to impute her conduct to any thing but innate dignity and innocence. It was now his turn to add a word: 66 My children," said he, "we will sleep on this, and talk it over to-morrow."-I passed the rest of the evening in conversing with Eliza. I told her, that she only had possession of my heart from my earliest years; but that I did confess, I had not been conscious of the extent and power of my affection until this very day, for that I did not dare to think of it as a motive to action. I could not venture to propose to myself taking her from safety into danger, and perhaps from happiness to misery; but the honest avowal of her sentiments had at once decided me; and on my return to my uncle I would tell him frankly, that without her I would not go to Honduras. This was well; it was something like herself-frank, undissembling, and explicit: and flowing from the same pure source of an unfeigned attachment. With these and such like conversations we passed the time, until our departure for the farm; and our returning walk was even more happy than when going thence, under the exhilarating influence of high anticipation.

On the morrow we again visited our friends at the parsonage, and spent the day with them,-a long and happy day, embracing the past, the present, and the future. I cannot trust myself to venture recounting the circumstances of our delightful intercourse; and a few days more, like to the last in sweetness but not intensity, completed my pre

sent visit to my native village. I had arranged every thing with my revered tutor and pastor, and he promised to confide to me his beloved daughter.

I left them early in the morning of the 26th of September, with a promise quickly to return. My horse went lazily home, and I felt no disposition to hurry him; my thoughts took an opposite direction to that which occupied them when on my way to revisit those from whom I was now receding. I had my hopes and fears as to the future. The past was for the time blotted from my memory, if I except the happy days so lately passed at Awbury; but those days seemed to constitute my present existence.

I arrived late in the evening at my uncle's, and was glad that he had gone to the club; so, after taking tea quietly with my aunt, I retired to rest. In the morning we met at breakfast: the old gentleman was happy to see me, talked over the business at Honduras, told me the brig was getting ready, that we were to touch at Jamaica, land some of the cargo there, and take in lumber, with some other articles, for the Bay; and that his correspondent at Kingston would put me in the way to obtain a few useful things for my better accommodation at St. George's Key; where his son had resided for nearly a year, in little better than a negro hut; and so forth. I heard him with a courteous attention, and then thought it right for the purpose now nearest my heart to say, "Dear uncle, may ask you one or two questions?"-" Certainly, Ned! certainly! a hundred, if you like, so they be short ones."" Then, first, uncle, how long do you sup

I