what he directly calculates on. But turn a deaf ear, if you be wise, to general invitations; they are nets spread out to ensnare your comfort. Rather content yourself with the good old maxim which somebody has inscribed over an ancient door-way in one of the old streets of Edinburgh,-TECUM HABITA-Keep at Home.

THE RAPIDS.

MIDNIGHT on board a steam-boat, a full moon, and a soft panorama of the shores of St. Lawrence gliding by like a vision! I thus assume the dramatic prerogative of introducing my readers at once to the scene of my story; and, with the same time-saving privilege I introduce my dramatis persona, a gentleman and lady, promenading the deck, with the slow step so naturai on a summer's night when your company is agreeable.

The lady leaned familiarly on the arm of her companion as they walked to and fro, sometimes

looking at the moon, and sometimes at her pretty feet, as they stole out, one after the other, into the moonlight. She was a tall, queenly person, somewhat embonpoint, but extremely graceful. Her eye was of a dark blue, shaded with lashes of remarkable length, and her features, though irregular, were expressive of great vivacity, and more than ordinary talent. She wore her hair, which was of a deep chestnut, in the Madonna style, simply parted; and her dress, throughout, had the chaste elegance of good taste-the tournure of fashion, without its extravagance.

Her companion was a tall, well-formed young man, very handsome, with a frank and prepossessing expression of countenance, and the finefreedom of step and air which characterise the well-bred gentleman. He was dressed fashionably, but plainly, and wore whiskers, in compliance with the prevailing mania. His tone was one of rare depth and melody; and as he bent slightly

and gracefully to the lady's ear, its low, rich tenderness had the irresistible fascination for which the human voice is sometimes so remarkable.

It was a beautiful night. The light lay sleeping on the St. Lawrence like a white mist. The boat, on whose deck our acquaintances were promenading, was threading the serpentine channel of the "Thousand Isles," more like winding through a wilderness, than following the passage of a great river.

The many thousand islands clustered in this part of the St. Lawrence seem to realise the mad girl's dream when she visited the stars, and found them

only green islands sown thick in the sky."

Nothing can be more like fairy-land than sailing among them on a summer's evening. They vary in size, from a quarter of a mile in circumference, to a spot just large enough for one solitary tree,

and are at different distances, from a bowshot to a gallant leap from each other. The universal formation is a rock of horizontal stratum, and the river, though spread into a lake by innumerable divisions, is almost embowered by the luxuriant vegetation which covers them. There is everywhere sufficient depth for the boat to run directly alongside, and with the rapidity and quietness of her motion, and the near neighbourhood of the trees, which may almost be touched, the illusion of aerial carriage over land, is, at first, almost perfect.

The passage through the more intricate parts of the channel is, if possible, still more beautiful: you shoot into narrow passes where you could spring on shore on either side, catching, as you advance, hasty views to the right and left, through long vistas of islands; or, running round a projecting point of rock or woodland, open into an apparent lake, and darting rapidly across, seem

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