Mary put her arms round her with a gentle caressing movement, which the other returned with a hearty embrace. They stood locked in each other's arms,--the glowing, vigorous, strong-hearted girl, with that pale, spiritual face resting on her breast, as when the morning, songful and radiant, clasps the pale silver moon to her glowing bosom. "Look here now, Mary," said Cerinthy; "your folks are all gone. You may as well walk with me. It's pleasant now." "Yes, I will," said Mary; "wait a minute, till I get my bonnet." In a few moments the two girls were walking together in one of those little pasture foot-tracks which run so cozily among huckleberry and juniper bushes, while Cerinthy eagerly pursued the subject she could not leave thinking of. Their path now wound over high ground that overlooked the distant sea, now lost itself in little copses of cedar and pitch-pine, and now there came on the air the pleasant breath of new hay, which mowers were harvesting in adjoining meadows. They walked on and on, as girls will; because, when a young lady has once fairly launched into the enterprise of telling another all that _he_ said, and just how _he_ looked, for the last three months, walks are apt to be indefinitely extended. Mary was, besides, one of the most seductive little confidantes in the world. She was so pure from selfishness, so heartily and innocently interested in what another was telling her, that people in talking with her found the subject constantly increasing in interest,--although, if they really had been called upon afterwards to state the exact portion in words which she added to the conversation, they would have been surprised to find it so small. In fact, before Cerinthy Ann had quite finished her confessions, they were more than a mile from the cottage, and Mary began to think of returning, saying that her mother would wonder where she was, when she came home. [To be continued.] * * * * * LION LLEWELLYN. Singing, shining, beautiful May Lureth me, draweth me, all the day. Once, when the season wooed me so, Lion Llewellyn, thou lovedst to go, Pacing before or close beside, Reticent, quaint, and dignified, Roaming with me, wandering wide; And if ever thy feet inclined, Weary with roving, to lag behind, When were my arms to aid thee slow? "Muver will cahwy her darlin'! So!" Not to the pines, my warrior gray, Gray and stately and scarred as they,-- Not to the hill, or the valley glen, Shall we wander together again. Nevermore, in the dead of night, Shall I waken in cold affright,-- Waken at sounds I know too well, Growl defiant, and horrid yell, Sounds that bristle the hair, and tell Strife is raging, and blood is shed, Blood and--fur, in the conflict dread. Nevermore, from my bed, shall I Unto the chamber-window fly,