that I should become perfect in that delightful accomplishment. My friend is somewhat in my confidence, and knows that I am engaged to somebody; but this knowledge has not in the least changed his attention to me. He says matrimony is at best but a “divine comedy.” I suppose I have thought of it too seriously. I have promised to ride with him this afternoon, and—hark! I hear the horses at the door now; dear me! he is always so early, he will never give me time to write a letter even to you. What delight there is in a wild gallop. I am an expert equestrian now, and often execute some daring exploits. In your absence these delightful excursions form the chief pleasure of my life; and to me there is more melody in our horses’ hoofs, as they “tramp, tramp along the land,” than I could thump out of my piano this morning. Forgive the brevity of this; I am sure you will, for this is the second time I have been interrupted by “the horses are waiting, Mary.” You see how my time is occupied; I have scarcely an hour that I can call my own. Having every faith in your constancy and truth, I bid you farewell. Your ever faithful, Mary. An indescribable emotion racked the whirling brain of our hero, as, word by word, this epistle seemed tearing the very fibres of his heart. How like an endless night came down the shadows of despair, as throwing it down he murmured, “Lost—lost to me forever, I fear!” CHAPTER X. But ties around this heart were spun, That would not, could not, be undone. Campbell. One day Mary said to her father, “My head does really ache so badly.” “Go into the garden—a walk and the fresh air will revive you,” replied he.