nning of autumn, and a yellow hue was spread over the
natural beauties of creation. The withering forest began to shed its
decaying foliage, which the light gales pursued along the russet
fields;--the low sun extended its lengthening shadows;--curling smoke
ascended from the neighbouring village and the surrounding cottages;--a
thick fog crept along the valleys;--a grey mist hovered over the tops of
the distant hills;--the glassy surface of the water glittering to the
sun's departing ray;--the solemn herds lowed in monotonous
symphony;--the autumnal insects, in sympathetic wafting, plaintively
predicted their approaching fate.

The scene is changed since we last visited this place, said Alida; "the
gay charms of summer are beginning to decay, and must soon yield their
splendours to the rude despoiling hand of winter."

"That will be the case," said Theodore, "before I shall have the
pleasure of your company here again." "That may probably be, though it
is nearly two months yet to winter," said Alida.

"Great changes may take place within that time," said Theodore. Yes,
changes must take place, she answered, but nothing, I hope to embitter
present prospects.

As it respects yourself, I trust not, madam. "And I sincerely hope not,
as it respects you, Theodore." That wish, said he, I believe is vain.

Your feelings accord with the season, Theodore; you are melancholy.
Shall we return?

"I ask your pardon, madam; I know I am unsociable. You speak of
returning; you know the occasion of my being here. You cannot have
forgotten your own appointment and consequent engagement?" She made no
answer.

I know, Alida, that you are incapable of duplicity or evasion. I have
promised and now repeat the declaration, that I will silently submit to
your decision. This you have engaged to make, and this is the time you
have appointed. The pain of present suspense can scarcely be surpassed
by the pang of disappointment. On your part you have nothing to fear.
I trust you have candidly determined, and will decide explicitly.

"I am placed in an exceedingly delicate situation," answered Alida,
(sighing.) "I know you are, madam," said Theodore, "but your own honour,
your own peace, require that you should extricate yourself from the
perplexing embarrassment."

"That I am convinced of," replied she. "I know that I have been
inadvertently indiscreet. I have admitted the addresses of Bonville and
yourself, without calculating or expectin