rd the tinkling of the
cow-bells, the bleating of lambs, and the barking of a dog as he
gathered together his little flock. Carlo was a fortunate dog, for the
farm was so small that he could keep his entire charge within sight at
all times.

Near the centre of the valley stood a large tree, the widely spread
branches of which shaded a spring, which gushed forth from beneath a
huge moss-covered stone. This was the favorite place of resort of a
beautiful maiden, who might be seen almost every summer evening
reclining upon the moss that bordered the verge of the spring.

"There stands our heroine, as lovely as the valley, her home, and as
virtuous and good as her mother, who has devoted a lifetime to the
education of her daughter."

But many years before the date of our story, Nanna had lost the
protection of her beloved mother; yet the loss had been partially
supplied by her sister-in-law, who occupied the places of a kind mother,
a gentle sister, and a faithful friend.

Nanna was now in her sixteenth year; but to all appearances she was much
younger. Unlike others of her years, her cheeks did not display the
bloom of maidenhood, and her countenance lacked the vivacity natural to
her age. Her features wore an expression of melancholy, which was
perfectly in keeping with the pallor of her cheeks, the pearly whiteness
of which vied in brilliancy with the hue of a lily.

Nanna was the child of poverty, and belonged to that class of beings,
who, situated between riches and nobility on the one hand, and poverty
on the other, are considered as upstarts by the wealthy as well as the
poor.

Nanna's father, when young, was placed in an entirely different position
of life than that in which we now find him. An illegitimate son, he
entered the world with a borrowed title, but with fair prospects for the
future; for his father, a man of consequence and wealth, intended to
marry his mother, and thus the son would bear no longer the stigma of
his father's crime. But death, who in this case had been forgotten,
suddenly cut the thread of his father's life, and the mother and son
were driven forth from the house of their protector, deprived of honor,
wealth, and station.

This is an old, very old and thread-bare story, and not more novel is
that which generally follows. First comes melancholy, then great
exertions on the part of the injured party; next dashed hope, and
finally gloomy resignation.

The mother died, the son lived