ANDERPORT has been described as a desolate and dreary place. It could not always remain so. The evil of solitude is its own corrective. That few people are in any spot is an irresistible attraction to the myriads who are anxious that their great-grand-children shall have plenty of room. Visitors, in this our day, throng the sandy streets of hundred-gated Thebes, pry curiously into the palaces of kings who reigned when Melchisedek was priest of Salem, and talk a modern dialect in the silent cities, but of whose founders Aztec tradition can furnish no record. Why should not visitors also explore the ruins that overhang the Gavin ?

Among the many skeletons at our antiquated village, is the skeleton of a hotel. Three-fourths of the buildings are roofless and uninhabitable; the remainder, however, is found sufficiently capacious to accommodate the "all travelling public." On a spring morning, ten years ago, three men walked out upon the porch. Directing their steps to the lower extremity, they contemplated the broad marsh which once had been a harbor, and the bare and gullied hills that sloped down to it from either side. To eyes fresh, like theirs, from scenes very different, the spectacle could hardly be pleasant. Whatever may have been their thoughts they did not communicate them; and though I might easily supply a thousand sentimental reflections proper to such a situation, I refrain. The travellers turned, with a common impulse, to seek a more encouraging prospect at the other end of the porch. There a sight, indeed, greeted them, which broke in with the merit of variety upon the uniform desolation that reigned around. Signs of life and activity were visible. Human muscles were at work. Wagons were

there-not frail and slender vehicles, such as those which bear to market a Jerseyman's peaches, or a New Yorker's milk and potatoes, but wagons with wheels, each of which would task the strength of two men to lift, and, with bodies, ribbed like a ship's hull, iron-bound, huge and ponderous-wagons drawn by full teams of six powerful horses. There was a cracking of whips, and a shouting, and the rattle of stone and bricks falling upon wood.

"This is something like!" said the shortest of the three, rubbing his hands"who says Anderport's never to look up! I wonder what this is but bustle and business? I tell you the country is improving fast!"

"Truly, there is something of a stirquite a contrast to the prevailing calm," observed another of the party-a tall and slender man.

The third, who had taken keen note of the operations which had so much cheered his companions, said, "Here's a bustle sure enough, but I can't see that it promises great things for Anderport. Those people yonder are very busy tearing down, but I don't find them doing much at setting up. It's clear the village is going to lose one of its best houses; but where is it to be taken that's what I'd like to know."

"Suppose we walk over and inquire," replied the short man.

The suggestion was agreed to, and the trio straightway descending the steps, proceeded to cross the little hollow separating the flat where the tavern stood from the gently-rising height which, in former days, had been crowned by a spacious edifice, the seat of an old and wealthy family. They followed a path which led to the place they wished to reach; but after the usual devious fashion of paths, it pursued

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a round-about course; and when they found themselves on the top of the hill, they were not opposite the mansion. brick wall, once the enclosure of a garden, was before them. The path went on along its side, but they hesitated whether to trust any further to its guidance. Not a great way in front of them, a person was perceived leaning against what seemed one of the columns of that pride of another clime -the banyan. Closer approach removed the wonder. An elm, a maple, a cherry, and a sycamore, were standing in such intimate fellowship, that, whilst a different foliage was extended to each quarter of the compass, their four trunks appeared to form the supports of a single tree. In the midst of this brotherhood of giants, and with an arm resting on one of them, was a female form.

"That woman yonder can tell us all about it," said the man of low stature let's go to see her."

They went, and on arriving at the cluster of trees, found that the wall which was there nearly levelled to the ground no longer obstructed the vision. The solitary female, who had not heard their footsteps, still stood in her place, gazing across the dilapidated enclosure. She was simply but tastefully attired, and in her hand was a small volume, which, though open, was not, it appeared, of sufficient interest to divert her attention from the scene before her.

"Ahem-madam!" sonorously uttered the short man, who now, as hitherto, proved the readiest speaker of the party.

The individual addressed turned, and exhibited a countenance youthful and lovely, and lighted up by a magnificent eye.

"My respects to you, Miss," continued the stranger, I am Mr. Schrowder."

The lady bowed, and as her quick glance passed over each feature, Mr. Schrowder felt sure that there was no danger of one gifted with so piercing a gaze ever after failing to recognize him. The lady beheld a forehead such as phrenology delights to look upon, and the lower part of his face, tanned by exposure to a purplish red, expressed a sedateness and reflective gravity which would not have disgraced an ancient philosopher.

"This tall gentleman, Miss, is Mr. Newlove, who has been in the mercantle at York city."

Again the young lady bowed demurely, and observed that the person to whom she was now introduced was a thin, elderly man, with drooping shoulders; his boots were finer and better polished than those of his companions, and he was, on the whole, much the most genteel in appear

ance.

"And the other, Miss, is Mr. Dubosk."

"In Mr. Dubosk, she saw a broadshouldered, full-faced man, with an expression not very intellectual, perhaps, but good-humored and sensible.

"Would it be allowable to ask," added Mr. Schrowder, "what name your acquaintances, Miss, are in the habit and practice of calling you by ?"

Sidney Everlyn."

"Are you belongin' here ?"

"No, sir; I am almost as much a stranger in Anderport as any one can bethough I was born in the place. You also gentleman are, I presume, only visitors in it?"

"We've been here once before," replied Schrowder, "but we can't be said to feel exactly home-like yet. We are all Yorkers, Miss, come to improve and frunctify this country;-we are bound to work out its good and our good too. It's our calculation to set up stakes here and make a living."

"You must, of course, be pleased with the country," said Miss Everlyn, "since you adopt it for your home?"

"That don't altogether follow for a certainty," he rejoined. "You have heard, its likely, Miss, of those folks who go off into foreign lands to preach the good word to tribes and nations living in a miserable ignorant way, worshipping dumb idols, and eating one another? Well, them missionaries don't go, I guess, from any affection for such wild, heathen doings. Just so we come here for purposes of general improvement and edification. I couldn't enjoy life with any kind of satisfaction if everybody else was as wise as I was :-there's amazin' comfort in bein' able to instruct those about you. It is this alone that enables me to endure living here. The land itself might pass if it had the right sort of folks on itvery benighted state of things there is now, I must say. The country wants industry and learnin', and fewer of the darkies."

"There is something missing besides,"

remarked Ralph Dubosk; "the ignorance would do, the laziness would do, even the niggers would do, if the country had one thing else."

"Tell us then, by all means, sir," said Miss Everlyn, "what that is. I am deep. ly interested to learn what is wanting to make my native State as prosperous and happy as she deserves to be."

"Do you see that hill yonder?" asked Dubosk, "all washed into gullies?-well, what color is it like ?"

"I should call it red," answered the lady.

"To be sure it is," said the other, "red enough. Now, this country has a plenty of that color. Look at the nest of heads in the cellar a-front of us."

He pointed to a group of negroes who were engaged in removing bricks from the foundation of what had been the main building of the mansion. They happened to be all collected at the moment in the further corner of the cellar, and their curly heads and glossy necks, unrelieved as they were beheld at the moment, by the ivory of their teeth, or the snowy whiteness of the upturned eyeball, made a picture sufficiently dingy and so Miss Everlyn acknowledged.

"Just it! just it!" exclaimed Dubosk, with a triumphant twinkle. "Old Redland county has a plenty of that color, too. She's painted with red streaks and she's painted with black streaks; but to make her real sweet and pretty, she requires a dash of the green. All that this country wants, Miss, to make it as good as York as good as any country in the world, is-grass."

Sidney Everlyn returned her thanks for this solution of an important agricultural and political problem. Then the tall, quiet man, Mr. Newlove, took advantage of the pause in the conversation.

"We are curious, Miss Everlyn, to observe what is going on at that house yonder. Can you inform us whether it would be considered intrusion if we approached somewhat nearer ?"

The young lady answered, smiling, "I am able to relieve you of any scruples on that account. The place, though now full of workmen, is quite uninhabitable."

Schrowder, observing that Miss Everlyn seemed about to resume the perusal of her

book, addressed himself to her, saying with some hesitation and stuttering, But, Miss, we are desirous to learn, as well as to see. Those darkies are all such simple, stupid creeturs, that there is no drawin' any information out of them. I wonder if there's any white body over there, who it would be more beneficial to interrogate?"

Sidney Everlyn, in a very accommodating manner, replied that she herself would walk with them as far as the house, and promised to give all the satisfaction she could to their curiosity.

As they were starting to cross the wall, another person joined them-a man who could hardly be classed either as young, old, or middle-aged; that is to say, he appeared to be between twenty-eight and thirty-five. He was of ordinary stature, well and firmly set, with a countenance agreeable and intelligent, though not handsome. In a word, there was nothing about him so remarkable as to deserve any longer notice than the momentary glance which Miss Everlyn thought it necessary to bestow on him whom the officious Schrowder briefly introduced to her as Mr. Somers.

"We are keeping this lady company a little way," remarked Mr. Schrowder, to him; "Won't you go along, sir?"

Mr. Somers quietly accepted the invitation, and followed in the rear of the party.

How far are these bricks taken ?" inquired Schrowder, when they had reached the scene of operations.

"About fifteen miles," answered Sid

tions which, I am aware, must appear very ridiculous to a stranger."

"Ridiculous!" exclaimed Richard Somers, the individual who had last joined the company. "Think not so ill of us, Miss Everlyn. For my part, I have no long line of illustrious ancestors to look back upon. I have inherited no venerable mansion; yet, if I had, the being does not live who should surpass me either in proud memory of the one, or in lovingly cherishing the other!"

Sidney was much surprised at meeting sympathy-and warm sympathy, too-in such a quarter. In her previous hasty examination of Somers, she had seen no reason to distinguish him from his companions; but she now spoke to him with evident pleasure:-"I am not sure, sir, that I can boast of any noted ancestors, unless you give me the privilege, which we of Wales are so ready to claim, of running back into days anterior to the Plantagenets."

"Does your genealogical tree," said Somers,"contain the name of John Evelyn, the admirable diarist, the friend of Bishop Taylor?”

"No," replied Sidney, "our family, though its name is similar, is quite distinct both from the Evelyns of Surrey and those of Kent. It was formerly two names, that is, Ever Lynn-but several successive generations retaining them both, they became fused into one."

And the Mansion-has it retained the same name throughout its various wanderings?"

Certainly, Mr. Somers. It was Everstone in Monmouthshire, it was Everstone in the outskirts of Anderport, and it will be Everstone on the Hardwater highlands." "I sincerely trust," said Somers, "that its new site may prove a more permanent resting place than it has hitherto found. May the dark prophecy, too, which you say hangs over it, now lose its power. Surely those who cling to these ancient relics with such filial piety, deserve to find under their shelter security and happiness." "In that wish," replied Sidney, smiling, "I do not know that I can join you. Superstition has a pleasure of its own, and I think the old mansion would be less dear to me, if it were disenchanted of the fatal spell under which it has so long lain."

VOL. V. NO. I. NEW SERIES.

"Perhaps," said Somers, "the tradition after all only implies that the owners of Everstone are not to be exempted from the common lot of humanity. In what house, indeed, on earth-be it palace or cabin-can children of Adam expect to dwell in uninterrupted peace?"

Before Miss Everlyn could answer, she was joined by her father, a robust, fine looking old gentleman.

"Ah, Sidney, I thought I should find you here-keeping watch over each dear bit of Monmouth clay. I hope you charge the boys not to be unnecessarily rude with their picks."

"You delight to laugh at me father," she replied, "yet I know that your heart is as full of mad Cambrian enthusiasm as mine. But let me introduce you to Mr. Somers."

"If I am not mistaken," observed Somers, "I have before had the pleasure of somewhere meeting Mr. Everlyn-was it not in Louisville, sir?"

"I certainly do remember you," answered Mr. Everlyn, grasping him cordially by the hand. "Excuse me for not recognizing you immediately; but you remained in the West only a short time, I think."

"A very short while, indeed," rejoined Somers, "I only went there on business, and was glad enough, as soon as that was accomplished, to return to my native state and country."

"You are not, then, from the North, sir?" said Sidney, with surprise.

"No, no; I was born in old Redland, and can lay no claim to Yankee blood, Yankee thrift, or Yankee taste. I have received undeserved credit, I see, from the company you found me in. But where are those worthy gentlemen? I did not notice that they had left us.”

"Oh, Messrs. Schrowder and company," answered the young lady, "have little fondness for antiquities."

"They are right," said her father, "I believe the Italians use the same word to denote a brick and an arrant simpleton,― let us beware, then, Sidney, lest, in taking over anxious care of all this burnt clay, we should, perchance, lose our wits. But come, my daughter, you know that we must be at the river before the steamboat passes." "Are you going to St. John's?" inquired Somers.

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