formation, waved heavily its yellow blossoms as the breeze shook the stems;
and there, mingling with a thousand various floral beauties, the azure
lupine claimed its place, shedding almost a heavenly tint upon the earth.
Thousands of roses were blooming on the more level ground, sending forth
their rich fragrance, mixed with the delicate scent of the feathery
ceanothus, (New Jersey tea.) The vivid greenness of the young leaves of
the forest, the tender tint of the springing corn, were contrasted with the
deep dark fringe of waving pines on the hills, and the yet darker shade of
the spruce and balsams on the borders of the creeks, for so our Canadian
forest rills are universally termed. The bright glancing wings of the
summer red-bird, the crimson-headed woodpecker, the gay blue-bird, and
noisy but splendid plumed jay, might be seen among the branches; the air
was filled with beauteous sights and soft murmuring melodies. Under the
shade of the luxuriant hop-vines, that covered the rustic porch in front
of the little dwelling, the light step of Catharine Maxwell might be heard
mixed with the drowsy whirring of the big wheel, as she passed to and fro
guiding the thread of yarn in its course: and now she sang snatches of old
mountain songs, such as she had learned from her father; and now, with
livelier air, hummed some gay French tune to the household melody of her
spinning wheel, as she advanced and retreated with her thread, unconscious
of the laughing black eye that was watching her movements from among the
embowering foliage that shielded her from the morning sun.

"Come, ma belle cousine," for so Louis delighted to call her. "Hector and I
are waiting for you to go with us to the 'Beaver Meadow.' The cattle have
strayed, and we think we shall find them there. The day is delicious, the
very flowers look as if they wanted to be admired and plucked, and we shall
find early strawberries on the old Indian clearing."

Catharine cast a longing look abroad, but said, "I fear, Louis, I cannot go