was not diminished by that youth's abstinence from, and open disapproval of, ardent spirits; and he had, moreover, heard something about the iniquity of slavery fall from him. "The swindlers," said he to some one near him, "they would come here with their cold-water doctrines, their fasts, their prayers, and their Abolition notions, and make us the same miserable, snivelling, lizard-blooded things with themselves, fit only to dig the earth, and cheat all their honest. neighbours; but I reckon they 'll find it mighty hard to mount old Kentuck, after all."

In the kindly state of mind evidenced by these words, the Colonel, when a ride after dinner was proposed, ordered Job to saddle Devildam for Mr. Edward Vaughan. "Why, father!” cried Ellen," you surely don't mean so; Edward 's but a young horseman, and you can scarce govern that mare yourself." "Mr. Edward Vaughan, if you please, Miss Ellen," thundered the Colonel; "as for the horse, Mr. Vaughan can have that or stay. But I trust he 's not a coward, or afraid of a mare; if he be, he 's no business in Kentucky." "Father," replied Ellen, catching his arm, "I will stay, and Mr. Vaughan can have Flora." shall neither stay, nor he have Flora. Go and rig, girl, and say no more." With tears in her eyes she did so, for she saw her father was angry and heated with liquor, and knew remonstrance would be useless.

" You

The truth undoubtedly was, that the old man wished to make Vaughan ridiculous by putting him upon a horse he could not control, for a poor horseman in Kentucky meets with but little quarter. The horses were saddled, and with many a whoop and halloo the company mounted. I assisted Ellen to her seat, and then spoke to Vaughan, who was was quietly tightening his girth, and whose composure was not shaken, though he had heard all the conversation which had taken place, and knew his danger. "Never mind," said he, “faint heart never won fair lady." I smiled, and so

did he, at the appropriateness of the proverb. We mounted and were off. At first Vaughan's mare was restive, but he soon made her almost as calm as himself, and trotted quietly on by the side of Flora and her mistress. The Colonel, finding his plans were making things worse instead of better, determined that, if the mare would not go of her own accord, he 'd make her, and slipping behind his guest and daughter, he managed, unobserved, to strike the mare a smart blow. It had the desired effect; the rein was loose, and in an instant, seizing the bit in her teeth, she was off. But she was not alone in her race. Flora also was a horse of spirit; her rein was also loose, and, started by the sudden spring of her comrade, she was off like an arrow, too. Away, away they went, now on the hill, now lost from sight in the valley, scattering to the right and left those of our company who were in advance. Away, away they still went, side by side, like riders on the course. Presently we saw them rising the side of a hill upon a path which deviated from the main road, and which, as we all knew, terminated in an abrupt precipice, where the hill had been dug away

for stone.

The Colonel, who had ridden on in silence and evident anxiety, when he saw the route the runaways had taken, set his horse at full speed, shouting as he did so, "Ride! for Heaven's sake, ride, gentlemen! On! on! They will be over the bluff, they will be killed! For God's sake ride, ride to their rescue!" and he was off, too, like the wind. We followed him as we could. I saw the fugitives near the top of the hill; I saw Vaughan struggling with his horse, and then he was by Ellen's side, and, as I thought, catching at her bridle, and then we swept down into the hollow and lost sight of them. When we gained the next ridge, there was but one horse to be seen, and but one figure, and that was not erect. On, on we spurred, and now the whole party is racing up the hill-side. The horse that is in sight

is Flora, the kneeling figure is Ellen. I shuddered as I thought of the fate of my late comrade. Nearer and nearer we come, and now we see that Ellen is leaning over something. It is Vaughan, senseless and bathed in blood, and she is chafing his temples. Her father is at her side, and in a moment we all surround the group.

A physician chanced to be of the party, and, while he took charge of the wounded man, I walked to the edge of the precipice; the mutilated, but still quivering, creature my friend had ridden lay among the rocks below.

A few words from Ellen told the tale. Vaughan found they were approaching certain destruction, and, nearing Ellen, he managed to grasp her rein, and throwing himself from his own horse, by his weight he succeeded in stopping Flora in time, but only by being himself trodden under foot and almost killed. The physician pronounced that he was only stunned, and had a few ribs broken, that was all. He was taken home on a litter made of boughs by some of the woodsmen, and placed in bed. Ellen and her father returned together, and neither, I observed, said one word. For forty-eight hours it was doubtful if Vaughan would live or die, but the third day he was much better. About noon of that day the Colonel came in, and, after sitting a few minutes in silence, holding the sick man's hand, "Edward," said he, " you've not only saved Ellen's life, but have saved me from being a murderer, and of my own and only child," and he laid his face upon the bed. "Colonel Marshall," said Vaughan, "I know all that you have done, and forgive you. You meant me no harm, and though your conduct was rash, it was not criminal." "Do you forgive me!" and the old man raised his hand to heaven.

I may hope my Maker will forgive me.

" Then

Edward Vaughan,

I have suffered more in two days than in all past time else, for I felt myself a murderer; but you have relieved me from that load of guilt. For Ellen, I know your wishes;

you 've saved her, and she 's yours." "I hope I may live to receive her from your hands, Sir." live. Come, my dear fellow, none of live, you'll soon be well."

"Live! you shall that talk; you must

We staid another week for Vaughan's sake. He recovered rapidly, and though nothing was said to Ellen by any one, yet from certain symptoms, the lotions and beverages that she made, and the way she administered them, it was evident to me that Coleridge, poor fellow, would soon be neglected, and another "Friend" studied and noted; and that as to Jeremy Taylor, he would thenceforth be seldom called upon, except, perhaps, for his sermon on the marriage ring.

38*

THE JUDGE'S HUNT.

DENNIS O'SHAUGHNESSY was as true an Irish lad as ever was born in the county of Tipperary. His father, who was always in hot water, perhaps because he never would meddle with cold, mourned and drank so hard at his poor wife's wake that he soon slept himself in consequence; and, Dennis was left with scarce a friend in the world, save the old sow that suckled him.

There's a bump on an Irishman's head for whiskey; and the poor little O'Shaughnessy had been taught early in life to believe that drinking the "raal potheen" was no more than a short-hand way of eating potatoes; and now that he was a lone orphan boy, he kissed his foster-mother, and, giving her a breakfast of the raw material, took himself a little of the essence, from the big jug that had murdered his father.

At eighteen years of age, as near as he could guess, Dennis came to America, as sturdy a young tippler as ever worked in a canal; full to the brim of fun, fight, and forgiveness; ready to work well and faithfully for six days, if at the end of the six he could have one to himself, on which to enjoy a raal drunk." On one of the countless waves of emigration, Dennis was cast over the mountains, and landed in a small settlement in the east of Kentucky, among the Knobs, a part of the world where men sell their wives for