a
gentleman only, she was entirely superior to those prejudices of the
world that depend on purely factitious causes. Instead of discovering
surprise, indignation, or dramatic dignity, therefore, at this
extraordinary question, she barely permitted a smile to curl her
handsome mouth; and this so slightly, as to escape her companion's
eye.

"I believe we are to be favoured with as smooth water, in returning
to the village, as we had in the morning, while coming to this
place," she simply said. "You row sometimes, I think, Mr. Bragg?"

"Ah! Miss Eve, such another opportunity may never occur again, for
you foreign ladies are so difficult of access! Let me, then, seize
this happy moment, here, beneath the hymeneal oaks, to offer you this
faithful hand and this willing heart. Of fortune you will have enough
for both, and I say nothing about the miserable dross. Reflect, Miss
Eve, how happy we might be, protecting and soothing the old age of
your father, and in going down the hill of life in company; or, as
the song says, 'and hand in hand we'll go, and sleep the'gither at
the foot, John Anderson, my Joe.'"

"You draw very agreeable pictures, Mr Bragg, and with the touches of
a master!"

"However agreeable you find them, Miss Eve, they fall infinitely
short of the truth. The tie of wedlock, besides being the most
sacred, is also the dearest; and happy, indeed, are they who enter
into the solemn engagement with such cheerful prospects as ourselves.
Our ages are perfectly suitable, our disposition entirely consonant,
our habits so similar as to obviate all unpleasant changes, and our
fortunes precisely what they ought to be to render a marriage happy,
with confidence on one side, and gratitude on the other. As to the
day, Miss Eve, I could wish to leave you altogether the mistress of
that, and shall not be urgent."

Eve had often heard John Effingham comment on the cool impudence of a
particular portion of the American population, with great amusement
to herself; but never did she expect to be the subject of an attack
like this in her own person. By way of rendering the scene perfect,
Aristabulus had taken out his penknife, cut a twig from a bush, and
he now rendered himself doubly interesting by commencing the
favourite occupation of whittling. A cooler picture of passion could
not well have been drawn.

"You are bashfully silent, Miss Eve! I make all due allowances for
natural timidity, and shall say no more at pres