of the landscape. As I am an idle, good-for-nothing sort of gentleman, nature has been my sole deity :the happiest moments of my youth have been spent in wandering; and even now, I can dream away many pleasant hours by the gurgling waters of the Southey. Sometimes, however, a few bitter recollections, which had better be forgotten, elicit the reluctant sigh; but when I see the gentle air of peace that reigns around me, my thoughts subside into contentment-the tranquillity of nature passes into my soul-and with satisfaction I reflect, that though happiness be dead, her image still exists.

In the centre of Carrick Southey, and contiguous to a meeting-house, whose fanaticism has vulgarized the whole neighbourhood, stands a little cottage environed by copse-wood. A few years ago it was the ornament of the landscape, but, like its once happy tenants, has now gone to decay. Still it is an interesting ruin, and, when viewed in connexion with my tale, arrests the sympathy of the inquisitive stranger.

By the decreasing light of a summer sun, a young English officer of Dragoons was pursuing his route of pleasure and romance along the wood-fringed banks of the Southey. The twilight surprised him in his excursion; and he had just attained the extreme

borders of a little copse, when a deep darkness stole over the scene. Ignorant of his road, he determined to push boldly onwards, and in a short time crossed the wooden bridge which I have mentioned in the opening description. On looking round the common to see if any lodging could be procured, he discerned a light glimmering faintly in the distance. He hastened towards it, and arrived at the cottage door, as the inhabitants were preparing their simple repast. On entering he was cordially received by the party, and consented to their proposal of joining the family circle; which consisted of a venerable-looking person and his son. A beautiful girl was stationed at the bottom of the table, and by her winning smiles and arch vivacity ap peared to interest in no inconsiderable degree the little rustic assembly. The old man addressed her by the name of Rosalie De Voisin; and by the animation of his eyes when bent upon her person, it was evident that she was his favourite child. The young stranger, however, fatigued with the labours of the day, lent no particular attention to the company; but, having paid his parting devoirs, requested to be shown to his chamber.

On entering the breakfast-room the next morning, he perceived that it was empty; and concluding that his host and family had not yet left their

apartment, sauntered into the cottage garden till the hour of repast should arrive. While he remained absorbed in admiration of the mountain scenery that environed him, a light step passed beside him; he turned, and discovered the features of Rosalie. She enquired with an air of grace and tenderness how he had spent the night, paid the passing salutations of the morning, and then paused in expectation of reply. Colonel Mortimer, however, (for such was the name of the young stranger,) was too much struck with his fair companion to make any immediate answer. If he had before considered her pretty, she now assumed the appearance of loveliness. Her countenance, symmetrically speaking, was incorrect; but the expression that flashed from under her light blue eyes, the smile that played round her lips, and the delicacy that sat on her feminine features, gave a tone of feeling to her face which the poet or the sculptor would vainly endeavour to rival. She was attired in the simple garb of a cottage girl; a small mantle, thrown negligently over her shoulders, hung in graceful folds upon her person; and her luxuriant tresses, partially concealed by a light straw bonnet, peeped out from beneath their covering. "I scarcely know," said Mortimer, when he had recovered from his surprise," whom I have the

honour to address, but am desirous of declaring my gratitude for the kindness I have experienced. Hospitality is amiable even in a repulsive form; but when recommended by grace and beauty, is resistless." Unused to compliment, Rosalie could make no reply; but, blushing as she accepted the proffered arm of her companion, moved on to a little arbour erected at the extremity of the garden. “Here, she exclaimed, in answer to the admiration evinced by the Colonel, ❝is my favourite summer residence. The jessamine and the honeysuckle that twine their tendrils around it were all planted by myself, and I watch them as I would any thing that I was associated with."-Her brother at this instant joined them, and they hastened to the cottage, where the old man awaited their arrival.

On the conclusion of the repast, Rosalie was persuaded to sing, and in a mellifluous tone warbled a beautiful Cambrian melody. The Englishman was enraptured in the polished circles of the metropolis, he had seen every thing that bore the stamp of merit or of novelty; but now the sweet voice of a pretty country girl exceeded all the science to which he had ever listened.

He had often coldly argued on the beauty of professional performers, but now felt the sense of music in his heart. In the excess of enthusiasm, he bent over

the graceful form of Rosalie, and, when the song was concluded, ventured to ask how such proficiency had been attained. Her father, who was a widower, she observed in reply, was of noble French extraction; but, having been ruined by the revolution, left his native country to seek in the solitude of Wales, the happiness which was no longer to be realized in France.-But the seeds of her education were sown in Paris, among fashionable and accomplished nobility, while the retirement of Carrick Southey matured them. On almost every topic that the talents of Colonel Mortimer enabled him to discuss, he found in Rosalie, the warm admirer of genius; and his callous breast, which had so long resisted the smiles of female blandishment, was now bowing before the beauty of a simple cottager. He resolved, however, to struggle for the recovery of his freedom, and, after spending a few more days at Carrick Southey, continued his excursion to North Wales.

The ensuing week again saw him entering the cottage garden of De Voisin. His daughter met him at the door, and a glow of pleasure suffused her countenance as she recognized him. He was received with the same cordial welcome by the rest of the family, and before he retired to rest had settled the point with his own conscience, that he either was, or ought to be, most desperately in love.