of the lovely scenery of the west. The moon had
risen and the sun had set on the lakes of the
interior, and Anna had said not one word of either.
But the third and fourth time of reading began to
afford more pleasure, and at the thirteenth perusal
she pronounced it charming. There was evidently
much to be understood; vacuums that the fancy
could easily fill; and, before Julia had left the
summer-house, the letter was extended, in her
imagination, to the promised six sheets. She
walked slowly through the shrubbery towards the
house, musing on the contents of her letter, or
rather what it might be supposed to contain, and
unconsciously repeating to herself in a low tone--

"Young, handsome, rich, and sensible--just as we
used to paint in our conversation. Oh, how
delightful!"

"Delightful indeed, to possess all those fine
qualities; and who is the happy individual that is so
blessed?" asked Charles Weston, who had been
lingering in the walks with an umbrella to shield her
on her return from an approaching shower.

"Oh!" said Julia, starting, "I did not know you were
near me. I have been reading Anna's sweet letter,"
pressing the paper to her bosom as she spoke.

"Doubtless you must be done by this time, Julia,