ers, in perfect security, and in
easy and independent circumstances, my uncle would not forget the
sacrifice which my cousin Alfred so nobly made, and would insist upon
his returning to that profession to which he is so much attached, and in
which I have no doubt but that he will distinguish himself."

"Well said, my sweet prophet," said Alfred, kissing his cousin, "you
have more sense than both of us."

"Answer for yourself, Alfred, if you please," said Emma, tossing her
head as if affronted. "I shall not forget that remark of yours, I can
assure you. Now, I prophesy quite the contrary; Alfred will never go to
sea again. He will be taken with the charms of some Scotch settler's
daughter, some Janet or Moggy, and settle down into a Canadian farmer,
mounted on a long-legged black pony."

"And I too," replied Alfred, "prophesy, that at the same time that I
marry and settle as you have described Miss Emma Percival will yield up
her charms to some long-legged, black, nondescript sort of a fellow, who
will set up a whisky-shop and instal his wife as bar-maid to attend upon
and conciliate his customers."

"Emma, I think you have the worst of this peeping into futurity," said
Mary, laughing.

"Yes, if Alfred were not a false prophet, of which there are always many
going about," replied Emma; "however, I hope your prophecy may be the
true one, Mary, and then we shall get rid of him."

"I flatter myself that you would be very sorry if I went away; you would
have no one to tease, at all events," replied Alfred, "and that would be
a sad loss to yourself."

"Well, there's some sense in that remark," said Emma; "but the cows are
waiting to be milked, and so, Mr. Alfred, if you are on your good
behavior, you had better go and bring us the pails."

"I really pity Alfred," said Mary, as soon as he was out of hearing;
"his sacrifice has been very great, and, much as he must feel it, how
well he bears up against it."

"He is a dear, noble fellow," replied Emma; "and I do love him very
much, although I can not help teasing him."

"But on some points you should be cautious, my dear sister; you don't
know what pain you give."

"Yes I do, and am always sorry when I have done it, but it is not until
afterward that I recollect it, and then I am very angry with myself.
Don't scold me, dear Mary, I will try to be wiser; I wonder whether what
you say will come to pass, and we shall have neighbors; I wish we had,
if it were only on a