It was a lovely evening, the sun was setting in autumnal splendor; the broad river, gilded by its last rays, rolled majestically on; the tinkle of a bell was heard in the distance; the ground was carpeted with leaves of the brightest colors; and through the now nearly bare trees a beautiful view was obtained of the various windings of the river, and of the little village, with its small white houses and their latticed porches, shaded by magnificent sycamore, cypress, and magnolia trees. When we are happy, autumn brings no melancholy to our hearts, but the mournful sound of the wind, the fading leaves, and the hazy beauty of the landscape, is fraught with sadness to one already anxious and dejected; and on this evening Edward Seymour’s handsome countenance was clouded with apprehension; for in addition to his grief at parting with Clara, he could not banish from his mind the gloomy possibility, that every bright hope he had cherished through the balmy gales of spring, and the sunny hours of summer, would vanish with the flowers and leaves of autumn. But, the reader will inquire, did not Clara sympathize with his feelings, and soothe his fears? To a degree, she did; but although Clara loved him, and would not have given him, or any other friend, up for the whole city of Savannah, yet, like a giddy girl, she was so much dazzled by its perspective gayeties that she could not be so deeply affected at leaving him as she would have been under other circumstances. They returned to the house just as the stars began to appear; and sat alone in the moonlit piazza; for Mrs. Delmont, with a mother’s judicious care, had so arranged things that the children could pursue their boisterous sports in the back yard, while she sat with Mrs. Cleveland in her own room. An hour passed delightfully away, and when Edward regretfully arose to take his departure, he gave to Clara a fresh bouquet of orange flowers, which he had brought for her, and as he did so, kissed the little hand that trembled in his own. A tear sparkled in Clara’s eye at this token of his affection, but her feelings of sadness were quickly dissipated by the bustle of packing for her journey, in which she was engaged, as soon as Mr. Seymour had taken his departure. The next day was cold and rainy, and it was late when the travelers arrived at the place of their destination, and Clara retired to her apartment much fatigued with her ride, as she had carried Johnny, a troublesome child of three years old, in her lap the whole way, not because there was no room for him elsewhere, but merely because the “little darling” wouldn’t ride any where but with “Cousin Clara,” whose new riding-dress he also chose to daub with molasses candy.