Toward dusk, as I was returning to quarters, I saw a detachment of some
one hundred riflemen marching out on the Obraja road, to the slow tap
of a kettle-drum, and dragging a small piece of artillery with them.
This, with the exception of some rangers, who had been sent forward to
scout, was the sole force yet dispatched to meet the enemy,--who were
now said to be advanced to Obraja, a hamlet nine miles northwest of
Rivas.

[To be continued.]




THE MINISTER'S WOOING.[1]

[Concluded]


CHAPTER XXXV.

OLD LOVE AND NEW DUTY.

The sun was just setting, and the whole air and sea seemed flooded with
rosy rays. Even the crags and rocks of the sea-shore took purple and
lilac hues, and savins and junipers, had a painter been required to
represent them, would have been found not without a suffusion of the
same tints. And through the tremulous rosy sea of the upper air, the
silver full-moon looked out like some calm superior presence which
waits only for the flush of a temporary excitement to die away, to make