But on that evening he carried something of more importance; for on the life and weal of his rider there depended from that hour, as far as its dependence was upon anything earthly, the happiness of one of the best men in the world, and of a daughter who was not unworthy of such a father. If the Doctor had been thrown from his horse and killed, an hour or two earlier, the same day, it would have been a dreadful shock both to Deborah and Mr. Bacon; and they would always have regretted the loss of one whose company they enjoyed, whose character they respected, and for whom they entertained a feeling of more than ordinary regard. But had such a casualty occurred now, it would have been the severest affliction that could have befallen them. Yet till that hour Deborah had never thought of Dove as a husband, nor Dove of Deborah as a wife,—that is, neither had ever looked at the possibility of their being one day united to each other in that relation. Deborah liked him, and he liked her; and beyond this sincere liking neither of them for a moment dreamt that the inclination would ever proceed. They had not fallen in love with each other; nor had they run in love, nor walked into it, nor been led into it, nor entrapt into it; nor had they caught it. How then came they to be in love at last? The question may be answered by an incident which Mr. John Davis relates in his Travels of Four Years and a Half in the United States of America. The traveller was making his way “faint and wearily” on foot to a place called by the strange name of Frying Pan,—for the Americans have given all sorts of names, except fitting ones, to the places which they have settled, or discovered, and their Australian kinsmen seem to be following the same absurd and inconvenient course. It will occasion, hereafter, as much confusion as the sameness of Mahommedan proper names, in all ages and countries, causes in the history of all Mahommedan nations. Mr. Davis had walked till he was tired without seeing any sign of the place at which he expected long before to have arrived. At length he met a lad in the wilderness, and asked him, “how far, my boy, is it to Frying Pan?” The boy replied, “you be in the Pan now.” So it was with the Doctor and with Deborah;—they found themselves in love, as much to their surprize as it was to the traveller when he found himself in the Pan, and much more to their satisfaction. And upon a little after reflection they both perceived how they came to be so. There's a chain of causes Link'd to effects,—invincible necessity That whate'er is, could not but so have been.[3] Into such questions, however, I enter not. “_Nolo altum sapere_,” they be matters above my capacity: the Cobler's check shall never light on my head, “_Ne sutor ultra crepidam._”[4] Opportunity, which makes thieves, makes lovers also, and is the greatest of all match-makers. And when opportunity came, the Doctor,