On a charming morning in June, as a young man, just escaped from a law-office in New York for a week’s recreation among the hills of Lenbridge, was entering “the cathedral road,” as it was called, overarched as it was by forest-trees, and spread with an elastic mat of pine-leaves, he saw a young lady riding a spirited horse, a bright-colored bay, exquisitely formed, and showing high blood in every step. The sagacious creature evidently felt the exhilaration of the fresh, balsamic air, for he played the most amusing antics, dancing and curvetting as if for the entertainment of a circus of spectators; starting lightly and feigning fright at little shining puddles of water, leaping over fallen stumps, but with such elastic ease and precision as not to stir his rider in her seat,—and frolicking much like a pet kitten when the ball of yarn is on the floor. His mistress evidently understood his ways, and he hers, for she talked to him and patted his glossy neck and seemed to encourage him in his tricks. At last she said, “Come, now, Hamlet, enough of this,—behave yourself!” and then he walked on quite demurely. He traversed a cross-road newly repaired with broken stones, and entered on the forest avenue. But all at once Hamlet seemed to go lame, and the lady dismounted, and, lifting one of his fore-feet, tried to extract a stone that had got locked in the hollow of his sole. Her strength was unequal to the task. The pedestrian who had been watching her movements approached, bowed, and offered his assistance. The lady thanked him, and resigned into his hand the hoof of the gentle animal, who plainly understood that something for his benefit was going on. “The stone is wedged in so tightly, I fear it will require a chisel to pry it out,” said the new acquaintance, whose name was Henry Berwick. Then, after a pause, he added, “But perhaps I can hammer it out with another stone.” “Let me find one for you,” said Leonora, running here and there, and searching as she held up her riding-habit. Henry looked after her with an interest he had never felt before for any one in the form of a young lady. How bewitchingly that black beaver with its ostrich plumes sat on her head, but failed to hide those luxuriant curls,—luxuriant by the grace of nature and not of the hair-dresser! And then that face,—how full of life and tenderness and mind! And how admirably did its red and white contrast with the surrounding blackness of its frame! And that figure,—how were its harmonious perfections brought out by the simple, closely fitting nankeen riding-habit trimmed with green! While she was engaged in her search, Mr. Henry Berwick dishonestly did his best to loosen the shoe. All at once, in the most innocent manner, he exclaimed, “This shoe is loose,—it has come off,—look here!” And he held it up, just as Leonora handed him a stone. He took the stone, and with one blow knocked out the fragment that lay wedged in the hollow of the sole.