I sat down upon the rock weary from my long walk, and gazed dreamily upon the broad plain at my feet. It was in a state of beautiful cultivation: a large county-town lay under the shelter of the near mountains, over which a cloud of smoke floated from the numerous iron foundries in full blast in the environs. The breaks and gossamer floating of this cloud interested me, not the less because its source was in the useful development of the resources of a great commonwealth. I loved to think that with every wreath of that graceful vapor came assurance of bread for the working-man, and profits to the capitalist; for to me such thoughts give dignity to the beautiful. I am not one of those who would object to having the waters of Niagara lowered half an inch, if it would give the poor better and cheaper flour. Well, as I was saying, the hives of industry which lay in the hazy distance made the landscape one of peculiar interest. The signs of rich cultivation upon the undulating grounds stretching to a range of the Blue Ridge, so far away that the mountain peaks seemed embankments of clouds, took a new aspect every time I saw them. Like the busy city, every beautiful object conveyed an under-thought of prosperity; even the distant noise of some forges under the mountain sounded harmonious in connection with the broad scene. As I sat looking upon this glorious picture, reflecting that my beloved country could boast of thousands on thousands equally rich, both in beauty and thrift, a footstep in the grass disturbed me, and, turning my head, I saw Mrs. Dennison walking slowly along the footpath. The woman was in deep thought, and evidently did not observe me, for I was sitting on a slope of the rock, and a mossy fragment rose up between us. She held a letter in her hand, which seemed to give her anything but pleasure, for as she read, a cloud fell heavily on her forehead, and the beautiful brows contracted. She stopped in the middle of the footpath, and seemed to read the letter over a second time. During all this time she was so near to me, that I could distinguish the heavy sigh with which she folded the paper. After this she stood a moment gazing upon the landscape at her feet. She seemed to feel the beauties this glorious point of view presented, and her face cleared up. That moment I spoke to her. She gave a little start, hid the letter away somewhere in the folds of her dress, and sat down upon the rock. That woman, I do think, never took a position which did not at once settle into lines of grace. Just then the scarlet folds of her shawl fell in rich contrast with the green mosses of the rock and cool foliage of the trees, and I could not help observing that, even for my sake, she condescended to be artistic. "Ah, Miss Hyde, I am glad to find you here; these woods were getting lonesome," she said, pleasantly.