While so employed, my eyes fell upon a piece of paper carelessly folded. It lay upon the rough table--the only object there, with the exception of some crumbs of corn-bread, and the _debris_ of a tobacco-pipe. I _recognised_ the piece of paper. It was an old acquaintance--the leaf from my memorandum-book--upon which was written that laconic "last will and testament," jointly signed by the squatter and myself. On observing this paper upon the table, it did not occur to me, that it had been left there with any design. My reflection was, that the squatter had taken it from the stump, and carried it into the house--perhaps to shew it to his clerical visitor. No doubt, they had enjoyed a good laugh over it-- as the souvenir of a ludicrous incident; and for this very reason I resolved upon preserving it. I had taken the document in my hand, and was about depositing it in my pocket-book, when my eye was attracted by some fresh writing on the paper. A slight scrutiny of the recent cipher secured for the torn leaf a deeper interest than I had before felt in it: I saw that it was the chirography of a female hand. What other than the hand of Lilian? I thought of no other. Beyond doubt, her fingers had guided the pencil-- for it was pencil-writing--and guided it so deftly, as to impress me with surprise and admiration. Astonished was I, that she--the child of a rude squatter--should be able to set down her ideas in so fair a hand--thoughts thrilling, though simply expressed. Ah! sweet simple words! Trembled my own hand as I read them--trembled as from a spell of delirium--a delirium produced by the antagonistic emotions of grief and joy! Yes! both were present. In that simple inscript I had found cue for both: for there I learnt the ecstatic truth that I was beloved, and along with it the bitter intelligence, that my love was lost to me for ever! Words of welcome, and words of woe! how could they be thus commingled? Read them, and learn: "To Edward Warfield,--