It was a sunny morning, early in October, when I sent off from Babelmandel Mrs. Hoskins and my two daughters in a wagon to Judiville, under the care of my son Charles: the old gentleman was already there. The woods were then in all their autumnal glory; the golden sycamore and the flaming maple illuminated the forest, and a surpassing splendour shone all around from the kindling boughs. It is not in the boundless bowers of America that the moralist can preach from the text of the fading leaf.

I forget, at this distance of time, the cause which prevented me from accompanying my family in the morning. I believe it was some matter concerning the bank, by which I was detained with Mr. Herbert, or perhaps something in his own affair: I only recollect it was late in the twilight before I reached our new home, and that he had accompanied me the greater part of the way; for we fell in together with Mr. Bradshaw Cockspur.

After dry salutations had passed between the two, Mr. Herbert returned homeward, and the young gentleman walked with me to the town.

I thought this a good opportunity to advert to the previous story of his mother and Mr. Herbert, for I had set my mind on seeing them married: and accordingly, as we sauntered leisurely along in the cool of the evening, I began to speak of my friend, to commend his many excellent qualities, and to express my hope that the close of his varied life might yet be in comfort.

To my commendations, Mr. Bradshaw acknowledged his assent; but there was a visible restraint upon him; and when I had wised round the conversation to the events by which the marriage was frustrated, he expressed with some warmth his satisfaction that it had been broken off.