A SAD blow, was this quarrel between her father and Ned Somers, to Kate Rhoneland; for so fierce and bitter was the anger of the old man, whenever he was alluded to, and so opprobrious were the epithets which he showered upon him, that at last his name was never mentioned between them. But had Kate forgotten him? or had she forgotten the day on which he had accidentally met her in the street, and had turned about, and walked at her side; and had, among other things, casually told her that he loved her more than all the world beside? Or had she forgotten how she, in the same casual manner, had uttered a few words in reply; but how, or what they were, she knew not; except that they made his eyes grow bright with smiles, as he whispered in her ear, that she was 'his own dear little Kate, and had made him very happy;' and that they had loitered on, hour after hour, quite forgetting that she had any where to go, or any thing to do, or any thing to speak of, or think of; or that there was any one else in the wide world but themselves? No, no. Kate had forgotten none of these things. A happy day was that! They talked over occurrences which had taken place long before. They explained away trifling difficulties, and misunderstandings, which had been the source of much thought and anxiety to both; and which (although Kate did not confess thus much) had often caused her eyes to fill with tears, when she was alone, and there were none to see her; and which accounted for the bright drops which her father had sometimes discovered on her cheek as she lay asleep, when he came to take a last look at her, at night; and which had caused him to ponder and dream until he forgot them amid his own troubles. Thus was that day spent; a green spot in memory. Through quiet, out-of-the-way streets, they took their way; through quarters which the bustle of the world never reached, and where the rumbling of the city was heard only in the distance, like the hum of a mighty hive; beneath tall trees with their long branches drooping to the earth, as if to protect the soil which made them so great and beautiful as they were; and their deep green leaves, now glittering with sunlight, now dark in shadow, hanging motionless, or quivering on their slender stems, with a scarcely audible sound, as if whispering to each other; and through the thick foliage were glimpses of the blue sky, with here and there a fleecy cloud loitering on its broad bosom, like a sail at sea; while beneath, the earth was checkered with a mosaic of light and shadow. Who can tell the happiness of those young hearts on that day! Who can tell why sky and earth seemed so beautiful; and even the faded old houses about them, pent up in dim streets with great trees nodding over them like dozing sentinels, seemed to wear a gay, glad look?