soiree, but it had no effect upon him. She knew he was rich, independent of his father; for his deceased uncle, Fairfield Buckingham, had left him a large plantation in Georgia, with many valuable slaves.

Our hero, you can easily believe, was a frequent visitor at No. La Fayette Place, always to Julia a welcome intruder, for she had become much interested in the young Southerner, who soon discovered that her intellect was of the first order, and consequently became every day deeper enthralled. Her father had prided himself on giving her the best education in his power; he would not send her to boarding school, for he believed that the learning usually obtained at such places was merely superficial. So tutors were provided her at home, and she became a model in every respect. This Eugene learned, partly from herself and partly from his own observations, which were generally pretty correct.

But, however pleased the fair Julia might have been with her lover, Dr. Tennyson evidently disliked his visits, when he found they had an object. As a friend and social companion he thought well of him, but he was determined his danghter should never be united to a slave-holder, and for this reason alone he did not wish her to encourage him.

Miss Tennyson, among her other accomplishments, included that healthful one of riding on horseback, and certainly was a most fearless and graceful rider at any rate, so Eugene thought as he accompanied her one fine afternoon to Bloomingdale. She rode on

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that occasion a beautiful cream-colored pony, with a mane and tail as white as ocean's foam, a spirited animal that cantered along as if proud of its precious burden. If Eugene thought Julia charming at other times, he considered her perfectly enchanting now, in her elegant riding costume; for he thought as most gentlemen do, that a lady, especially if she be young and well-formed, never appears to such advantage as on horseback, provided she is a graceful rider.

One morning Buckingham called in a carriage to invite Miss Tennyson to accompany him to Greenwood Cemetery. She accepted and was tripping down stairs to go, when the Doctor called her to him from the back parlor.

'My child," said he, "where are you going?"

"To ride in the country with Mr. Buckingham." "" Julia; I have told you before, not to encourage this young man. I do not wish it-his principles don't suit me. You must give up his society. Will you obey me or not?"

Julia blushed deeply and held down her head, but replied, “I will not go with him after to-day, father." "See that you do not then."

This conversation was unintentionally overheard by Eugene, who was standing in the street door wait ing for Miss Tennyson, and it sent a thrill of disap pointment through his heart. At the moment he felt utterly wretched, and as he handed Julia into the car riage and took a seat by her side, he sighed bitter ly. She looked at him but said nothing, and ther

rested a shade of melancholy on her own fair cheek.

After what had passed, it was not surprising that the young people labored under a mutual embarrassment during the drive to Greenwood; and while they were wandering through its rural labyrynths. As they walked on, admiring the lovely flowers and ornamental trees, and reading the sweet and touching inscriptions on the numerous, chaste, and elegant monuments, Eugene's eyes expressed deep sadness; he sighed frequently, and was evidently so preoccupied, that Julia asked what ailed him. He replied that he felt a little indisposed; but the truth was, he was endeavoring to make up his mind to leave New-York, and banish himself from the charmer at his side, and after a long struggle with himself, decided to do so.

In the meantime their steps brought them to a spot where several little tomb-stones raised their marble faces from the bright green grass around them.

"Is not that beautiful?" exclaimed Julia, as she read their simple inscriptions. "Sweet little Charley '-'our baby '-' dear William'-'our angel boy.' And farther on, 'my mother.' Here Julia could not repress her tears, for her own mother had only been dead about two years: and Eugene led her away without speaking, till they came to the most splendid piece of sculpture in the Cemetery. This was a monument built in the form of a church, with a door in front, in which stood the marble figure of a lovely young girl in ball-room attire. "Strange idea!" exclaimed Eugene, "to dress the dead thus."

"Do not judge too hastily," said Julia; "after you have fully examined the beauty of this elegant mausoleum. I will relate to you the history of the fair girl who is here buried."

Eugene stood for half an hour in silent contemplation of the tomb of Charlotte Canda. He could not cease to admire the beauty of the structure, the tasteful ornaments surrounding it, the marble flowerpots in which were planted rare flowers, the two angels, large as life, placed in either side of the tomb, as if guarding it from every intruder, and the tasteful manner in which flowers were placed around the inner side of a neat iron railing surrounding the monu

ment.

In the meantime, Julia had seated herself on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree, and Eugene having finished his survey, came and took a seat beside her.

"Charlotte Canda," began the fair girl, "was the only daughter of a rich French gentleman, who was the superintendant of a large and successful Seminary in New-York. This young lady was mistress of every accomplishment, and the idolized of her parents. Beautiful and wealthy, she was surrounded by suitors, and no ball or party among her acquaintances was considered complete without her presence.

"It was on her birth-night, when she had attained her seventeenth year, that she spent the evening from home, accompanied by her father, in her rich ball dress; she never looked more beautiful, and her

friends remarked that she never was so happy and joyous.

"It was late when they set out to return home, and as they stopped on the way to leave a lady, Mr. Canda having gone to wait on her to the door, the coachman negligently dropped the lines, and the horses started off on a run. As they turned the corner, Miss Canda fell through the open door upon the side walk, and was so injured that she never spoke after.

"It was said that the monument was designed by herself for a beloved aunt, who lies with her in the same spot. The grief of her parents none but parents can imagine; and her death cast a gloom upon the whole circle of her acquaintance."

"A melancholy story, indeed," sighed Eugene, as they rose and walked on. The sun was now declining, and they entered their carriage to return. It was nearly dark when they arrived at her father's dwelling, and on parting with Miss Tennyson, Buckingham pressed her hand while he observed, "I omitted to mention that I am obliged to leave for home tomorrow; as I have received a letter from my father insisting on my immediate return-(this was true,) and I hope when I again visit the city, you will permit me to call on you."

Julia was both surprised and embarrassed. She became quite pale, and stammered forth—" Is it possible? I-I am sorry-I mean-I regret that you go

so soon."