The West-Pointer had been writing for some months in regard to
the wild behavior of his cousin. This grew worse, and the crisis
came. Georgiana snapped her thread and put up her needle. He
travelled all the way down her to implore. I met him at the gate
as he left the house--a fine, straight, manly, handsome young
fellow, with his face pale with pain, and his eyes flashing with
anger--and bade him a long, affectionate, inward God-speed as he
hurried away. It was her father's influence. He had always wished
for this union. Ah, the evils that come to the living from the
wrongful wishes of the dead! Georgiana is so happy now, since she
has been forced to free herself, that spring in this part of the
United States seems to have advanced about half a month.

"What on earth will she do with all those clothes?" inquired Mrs.
Walters the other night, eying me with curious impressiveness.

"They ought to be hanged," I said, promptly.

There is a young scapegrace who passes my house morning and evening
with his cows. He has the predatory instincts of that being
who loves to call himself the image of his Maker, and more than
once has given annoyance, especially last year, when he robbed a
damson-tree of a brood of Baltimore orioles. This winter and spring
his friendly interest in my birds has increased, and several times
I have caught him skulking among the pines. Last night what should
I stumble on but a trap, baited and sprung, under the cedar-tree in
which the cardinal roosts. I was up before daybreak this morning.
Awhile after the waking of the birds here comes my young bird-thief,
creeping rapidly to his trap. As he stooped I had him by the