utumn Saturday afternoon, as was natural, he directed his
faithful Rozinante to the comfortable log-house by the river, where both
it and its reverend rider were given a genuine welcome.

The new preacher was none of your soiled, worked-out, toiling
itinerants. He was a young clergyman, scarcely thirty years old, and
just from college; tall, well-formed, with a florid, smoothly-shaven
face, and plenty of hair and hallelujah about him. He could tell you all
about the stars, and just as easily point out the merits or demerits in
your plate of mutton or porter-house; and, being of this tropical
nature, if there were two things above any other two things in life for
which he had a penchant, they were a spirited nag and a spirited woman.
In fact, he had accepted the ministry just the same as he would have
accepted any other profession, merely as a makeshift, and had submitted
to being ground through the theological mill, and afterwards to this
backwoods breaking-in process, simply because his widowed mother, a
Detroit lady, was immensely pious and also immensely wealthy; and if he
should become a noted minister, he would get all her property, which
otherwise would go to the good cause direct, but which, once in his
hands, would enable him to gratify his elegant tastes and do as he
pleased generally.

So, being a thorough judge of women, he was at once more interested in
Lilly Nettleton than in the welfare of the souls of the Nettleton
neighborhood; and after a bountiful supper had been disposed of, and
the family were gathered upon the verandah for a pleasant chat with the
minister in the long, hazy September sunset, and the Rev. Mr. Bland--for
that was the young clergyman's name--had flattered Mr. Nettleton on the
merits of his pretty farm, Mrs. Nettleton upon her elegant cooking, and
the younger children upon their various degrees of perfection, he passed
directly to the subject which most occupied his mind, and in a
patronizing way, evidently with a view of attracting Lilly's attention
without arousing the suspicions of her honest parents, said:

"By the way, Mr. Nettleton, your beautiful daughter here--ah, what may I
call her? thank you, Lilly; and a very appropriate name, too--is the
perfect image of a very dear friend of ours--my mother's and my own--in
Detroit."

There was certainly a flush on Lilly's face deeper than could have been
put there by the red glow of the setting sun. Mr. Bland did not fail to
notice it