"Forgive me, Melanie-I-Walter-Mr. Selden left it for you, and I-I forgot to give it you."

A faint sweet smile passed over Melanie's delicate features as she replied-" Keep it, Emily; save as a proof of brotherly kindness, his gifts are valueless to me."

Emily gazed upon the calm and gentle face before her with a mingled expression of doubt and joyful inquiry. "Do you not-tell me, dear sister, I fear it cannot be your heart belies your words?"

Melanie took her trembling hand in both her own, and replied, while a shade of deep sadness mingled with the affectionate simplicity of her

manner.

"No, my beloved sister, you wrong me; what I say is the true, the only language of my heart. I will own to you that once had I known Walter Selden, I might have returned with ardour what I now view with pain as an unfortunate and misplaced attachment. You believe it not, Emily, but I am dying. Is it for me, whose every thought and hope should rest upon that world of spirits to which I am hastening, to twine my affections around an earthly idol? Is it for me, whose wayward love hath once been crushed and blighted, to bid it arise Phenixlike from the ashes of its destruction, with new hope and new confidence? And more than all, is it for me to encourage a visionary attachment, which would blast the hopes, the young affections of a sister dearer than life? Blush not, Emily; I have read the pure volume of your heart perhaps more clearly than yourself; I have long studied its pages with pain, yet not without a deep, strong hope for the future. When I am gone, Emily, his now ardent passion will be buried in my grave; he will only remember me as a sad and pleasing vision; and as day by day that impression waxes fainter, he will behold the loveliness, the worth of your mind and person; and although it is denied to me below, my rejoicing spirit shall behold the union of those two my heart loves best, my sister and my friend."

Emily threw herself in tears upon the neck of her sister, "Oh! Melanie, Melanie, my kind, my generous Melanie! how can I believe that any one who has looked upon that bright, heavenly face, could ever cast one glance upon a simple, unideal child of earth like me?"

"And the loveliest of earth's creation," was Melanie's fond reply as she passed her hand over the silken ringlets and blushing cheek of the tearful maiden.

A year had past by; the flowers had again bloomed, and were again fading, and time (as ever) had brought many a change upon his restless pinions. The little village of Plattsburg still looked forth as sweetly from amid its groves and streams; the Saranac flowed on with as glad a music; the billows rolled as proudly on the broad bosom of Champlain, but armed fleets in all their dreadful array now rode upon its waters; the voice of the distant cannon echoed back from its shores, and martial music pealed long and loud through those once quiet abodes of peace. It was September, 1814, that year which commenced with bloodshed and dismay, and closed with a triumph that shall never fade from the annals of our history, while America hath a heart to warm with the glow of patriotism, or a voice to perpetuate the mentory of the brave. Upon the tenth morning of this memorable month we would re-open the scene of our simple drama; a morning which rose upon our feeble band

of intrepid patriots in doubt and anxiety, and inspired in the breasts of their numerous and well-regulated foes, new hopes, new confidence of victory. Well might they look around upon that mighty and veteran host of fourteen thousand warriors, who had conquered in Spain, France, and the Indies, and forward upon that weak but well-disciplined band of fifteen hundred, commanded by the brave Macomb, and predict the triumph which, in all human probability, must necessarily ensue. After a long period of alternate success and defeat, the British forces poured in their utmost strength upon the northern frontier, and determined, by a decisive attack upon the comparatively unprotected village, to open a free passage into the heart of that country which they had laboured so long and so fruitlessly to subdue. Their officers were men who sought in foreign victories a glory which should enrol their names for ever upon the pages of England's history; they fought for distinctions, for titles, for wealth, and they knew not the force of a feeble arm, when directed and nerved by that holy patriotism which could toil and bleed, ere it would yield one single minutia of that independence bequeathed to them by the valour of their immortal sires.

On the morning of the fifth, the land force, commanded by Sir George Prevost, had approached the village of Plattsburgh, and their fleet was prepared to make the attack by water at the same time that the army entered the town, and overcame the feeble resistance which it expected

to meet.

Meanwhile the village presented a scene of deep and thrilling interest. The small force which remained after the departure of the American army for Lake Erie was collected by their gallant leader, General Macomb, in fort Moreau, situated on the borders of the lake, a short distance from the banks of the Saranac. Here they had planted their cannon, and collected their means of defence; here they were to conquer, or if courage and skill proved vain, here they were to die. Guards and sentinels were posted at intervals along the streets, parties of volunteers were continually sallying forth to harass the enemy, and prepare themselves for the decisive struggle, and expresses were riding back and forth on their foaming steeds, shouting to the eager listener the position of the army, as it approached nearer and nearer, or hastening in silence to the fort to discharge some embassy of mighty and mysterious import. The greater part of the peaceful inhabitants had fled from the scene of bloodshed and commotion, and many a gun and bayonet were glittering in the windows of their peaceful dwellings, thus converted into barracks for the use of the soldiery, or hospitals for the wounded.

The mists of the morning had just rolled from the bosom of the waters, and the sun, struggling through the dense clouds, had just kissed the light foam upon its surface, when a tall, manly youth was seen approaching the guards on the northern bank of the Saranac with a hurried, anxious, yet half-hesitating air. His form was slight and graceful in the extreme, and the partly military dress which he wore displayed to advantage its symmetry of proportion. He carried his long rifle in one hand, and a massive old-fashioned sword was fastened by an embroidered belt to his side; his lips were firmly compressed, but his dark blue eyes were fixed upon the ground, as if some sad, subduing thought had mingled with the sterner occupants of his mind. As he approached the sentinels, each touched his cap in respect, and he passed on unquestioned, until pausing at the gate of Dr Mentreville's cottage, he slowly and softly raised the latch; a curtain was drawn aside, a pale face peeped from the window, a light step was heard in the hall, and Emily stood upon the threshold. A year had wrought many changes in the person of this lovely girl; her form was taller and more womanly, but had lost much of its roundness; sorrow and midnight watching had faded the roses on her cheek, and tears had been its frequent visitants; but her features, in their morning freshness and gorgeous bloom, had never seemed half so lovely. A flush sprang to her face, and a light to her eye, as she stepped forward to meet the stranger, and extended her hand with a frank and affecting simplicity. "Walter!" "Emily!" His heart seemed too full for another word, and he raised his eyes to hers with a look of sad and apprehensive inquiry.

"Oh! do not ask me," she replied, bursting into tears. "Oh! that I could give you some gleam of comfort; that I could lay down my worthless life for my sweet sister! But it may not be, her frame grows hourly weaker, and her mind more strong; she seems all soul-a spirit of Heaven fettered by the strong affections of earth; but yet, Walter," she added, wiping the blinding tears from her eyes, "when I look upon her I can scarcely find it in my heart to grieve; she seems so placid and so happy, like an infant returning to the arms of its parent: it is only when I look upon myself, and dear mother, and father, and you, and think how lonely, how desolate we shall be, that I feel the full weight of sorrow."

"Desolate! desolate indeed!" replied the young man, and unable longer to control his emotion he turned from her, and leaning his head upon the little column where Melanie had so often rested, gave vent to his excited feelings in a flood of tears. But a moment, and it was over -he had paid his tribute upon the altar of sorrowing affection, and he awoke to the remembrance of sterner and more pressing duties.

"Forgive me, Emily!" his cheek burning with shame at this transitory weakness-"surely the being for whose early fate I have shed these unmanly tears must form my best apology; yet I would not give way to sorrow upon a day like this, when every man should bring a cool head and a strong arm to the succour of his country."

Emily's pale cheek turned yet more pallid, as she exclaimed, "Walter, do you-have you indeed joined yourself with those doomed men?" and her eye rested on the sword and rifle, which she had not before perceived.

"And have I not, Emily? Would you, would Melanie own me as her-her friend? Would she not blush to hear my shame? Would not the blood of my grandsire, who fought so bravely in the Revolution, burn and scorch in the veins of his dastardly son, if I refused to join the brave band in defence of my native village, of my family, and of you, sweet Emily-and-and Melanie?" "And if you are defeated"

He smiled encouragingly.

"Why, then, Emily, we must yield like men, only with our lives. But we shall not be defeated-we shall conquer! Brave hearts and determined hands will do more in the hour of conflict than closed ranks and mere animal force."

"And when is this dreadful hour to come? When do you expect the final attack?"

I should be tempted to conceal it, little trembler," replied the youth, "did I not feel that I have already too long neglected the chief object of my visit. From the reports of the expresses and scouts who have returned, we expect the enemy to-morrow morning, when we shall probably be assailed by land and water. This place will be the scene of bloodshed and confusion: you cannot remain here-you must fly."

"I know it, I know it!" exclaimed Emily; "father is already gone in search of wagons to convey our effects; but my sister, my poor sister, it seems almost sacrilege to disturb and perhaps hasten her parting moments by this precipitation; and the idea is so distressing, she longs so to die in her own old home. I can read it in every look, though she will not name it, lest we subject ourselves to danger for her sake. You know, Walter, we should have fled long since, as at the time of the former invasion, but ever since that short sojourn with strangers, she has seemed to fade more rapidly. It was breaking up all the sweet associations and habits which alone seem binding her to earth, and now, when she has so short a time to live, oh! it is a cruel, cruel task!" and the affectionate girl wept faster than before.

"I feel it all, dear Emily," said Walter, "but were it not more cruel that her gentle spirit should part amid the roar of cannon and the shouts of the combatants? Then, if the British conquer, the last sounds which would meet her ear, would be those of insult and lawless triumph. No, no, it is impossible-you must fly. Would to God my duties did not call me for the space of two hours, that I might see you all in safety, and then return, with a light heart, to my post. But that cannot be; by especial favour I have obtained leave to make you this hasty visit, and, upon my return, the band of volunteers which I have joined proceed to the bank above the old bridge, the station deemed most advantageous for this section of our small force. So you see, dear Emily, I cannot aid you; but you say your father is gone-where, and with what hopes of success ?י

"He started before daylight this morning, to obtain more easy conveyance for our dear invalid than our old-fashioned family vehicle affords, and wagons to convey the family and our most valuable effects; but you know calamity and terror make us selfish, and the inhabitants having fled, he found not the proper ineans of conveyance for dear Melanie in the village, and he hastened on some ten or twelve miles in the country to obtain them, and we do not expect him to return until sunset."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Walter, "the British forces will have advanced between him and our village, and he cannot return to you. Why did I not know this before?"

Scarcely had he spoken, when Mrs. Mentreville appeared on the threshold of the open door, at the porch of which they had been conversing. Her figure was about the middle height and delicately formed, and her features retained the traces of much former beauty, but deep and unremitting anxiety had wasted a form naturally feeble, and an expression of calm but unutterable grief was seated in her full dark eye. As she advanced, she caught the expression of alarm in the face of young Selden and her daughter, and after the first silent greeting was over she inquired, "What were you saying, Walter? Do not fear to tell me; nothing can alarm me now."

In brief words Walter repeated his apprehensions that her husband night be prevented from returning, and their flight would shortly become impossible.

"Then we will remain," replied Mrs. Mentreville firmly. "If we are successful, all is well; if we fail, the British officers are gentlemen as well as soldiers-they have mothers, wives, and daughters-they will protect us. I only fear the effect of the excitement and turmoil upon our beloved sufferer."

Walter sighed deeply.

"God will protect you, my dear madam. I wish I could trust more implicitly to the faith and honour of our enemies. But Dr. Mentreville may still return-all may yet be well. My term of absence is almost expired-can I not see Melanie?" and he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, as if he feared to breathe aloud a name so sacred.

The mother replied not, but silently taking the hand of the young man, she led him into the chamber of the dying girl. It seemed not like the abode of death and disease. The spirit, trembling, hovering within its boundaries, appeared to sanctify its resting place. There was no gloom, or darkness, or dreariness, for they found no place in the mind of Melanie, and why should they surround her frame without? She was all purity, gentleness, elevation and an air of soft soothing melancholy pervaded the scene of her last sufferings. The windows opening upon the river were closed, for there were sights and sounds of too animating and warlike a nature to meet the acute eye or sensible ear of the dying maiden; but a casement beside her couch was thrown back, and the little flower-garden beneath it, which she had so often tended, sent up the perfume of its last fading blossoms into her chamber, while the quivering poplar-trees waved and sighed her requiem before it, and the luxuriant vines twined their small tendrils round the lattice. The sunlight, broken and softened by the green branches, fell in chastened splendour upon the floor, and tinged with a yet more heavenly radiance the pale, bright features of Melanie. The couch had been placed beside the open casement, that, as she reclined upon its pillows, she might yet look around upon the scenes so dear to her; and well do those who witnessed remember the unearthly loveliness of her form and face, and the alternate sadness-a glorious hope in its expression, as she bade a mental farewell to the cherished scenes of earth, or looked forward to the blessed home which she was seeking. There was one by her side who watched with unwearied care and childish simplicity every look and motion. It was the little Alfred. She dearly loved the ardent and enthusiastic boy, and his young heart clung with all its ardour and enthusiasm to the one who most deeply awakened and cherished the incipient romance of his nature. Now that he beheld her thus rading from before him, he hovered for ever by her bed-side, and hung like one entranced, upon each trembling accent of her voice. This deep and subdued affection had unlocked a new fountain in his little breast, and it flowed on, overwhelming all the petty selfishness of childhood, and quenching all save the flame of military ardour, which still burnt silently and slowly, though subdued by this new and overpowering sentiment of love for his gentle and intellectual sister. It was affecting to mark the struggle of these two passions in his young mind. At the sound of the distant cannon, the roll of the drum, or the shouting of the express as he rode furiously by, he would start from his seat, while his eye kindled, and his step involuntarily kept pace with the music; then, as the thought of Melanie rushed over his mind, he would turn to the bed, take her hand gently in his own little palm, and whisper softly, "Sister,