ecords as Lucy, which I did; but for all that, the girl's genuine,
orthodox name is George Washington!"

"I see," said I, paying him for his joke with the expected laugh,
"there is something in a name, and we must be cautious in its choice."
The result was, that I followed my friend's advice in adopting the one
which was finally selected. Soon after the Rev. gentleman took his hat
and left me to my meditations. Thereupon I resumed my pen, and vainly
endeavored to write a preface. At last, in despair, I could hit
upon no better expedient than to explain to you, my dear Public, the
circumstances which prevent my doing it now. You will sympathize with
my mortification, and forgive my failure for the sake of the honest
effort, and no more think of condemning me, than you would the
aforesaid rustic, alluded to in the beginning of this my apology,
should he, instead of boisterously rushing in upon the company,
endeavor (his sense of the becoming overcoming his bashfulness) to
twist his body into the likeness of a bow, thereby only illustrating
and confirming the profound wisdom of the maxim, _non omnia possumus
omnes_. Should our awkward attempts be classed together, I shall
nevertheless indulge the hope, that better acquaintance with you will
increase my facility of saying nothing with grace, and improve my
manners, even as I doubt not that under the tuition of Monsieur Pied,
the aforesaid countryman might, in time, be taught to make a passable
bow.

For ever, _vive_, my dear Public, and, until we meet again (which,
whether we ever do, will depend upon how we are pleased with each
other), _vale_.

THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER I.

At last the golden orientall gate
Of greatest heaven gan to open fayre,
And Phoebus fresh as brydegrome to his mate,
Came dauncing forth, shaking his deawie hayre,
And hurld his glistening beams through gloomy ayre.

SPENSER'S FAERY QUEENE.

It was a lovely morning in the autumn of the year of grace 18--. The
beams of the sun had not yet fallen upon the light veil of mist that
hovered over the tranquil bosom of the river Severn, and rose and
gathered itself into folds, as if preparing for departure at the
approach of an enemy it were in vain to resist. With a murmur, so soft
it was almost imperceptible, glided the stream, blue as the heaven it
mirrored, between banks now green and gently shelving away, crowned
with a growth of oak, hickory, pine, hemlock and savin, now ris