of
the consequences that would have resulted from discharging his rifle,
when he had first shined those liquid blue eyes. Seeing that the fleet
game made straight in the direction of the house, he said to himself, "I
will see the pet deer in its lair;" and he directed his steps to the
same place. Half a score of dogs opened their barking upon him, as he
approached the house, and advertised the master that a stranger was
approaching. Having hushed the dogs, and learned the name of his
visitant, he introduced him to his family, as the son of their neighbor,
Boone.

Scarce had the first words of introduction been uttered, before the
opposite door opened, and a boy apparently of seven, and a girl of
sixteen, rushed in, panting for breath and seeming in affright.

"Sister went down to the river, and a _painter_ chased her, and she is
almost scared to death," exclaimed the boy.

The ruddy, flaxen-haired girl stood full in view of her terrible
pursuer, leaning upon his rifle, and surveying her with the most eager
admiration. "Rebecca, this is young Boone, son of our neighbor," was
their laconic introduction. Both were young, beautiful, and at the
period when the affections exercise their most energetic influence. The
circumstances of the introduction were favorable to the result, and the
young hunter felt that the eyes of the _deer_ had _shined_ his bosom as
fatally as his rifle shot had ever the innocent deer of the thickets.
She, too, when she saw the high, open, bold forehead; clear, keen, and
yet gentle and affectionate eye--the firm front, and the visible impress
of decision and fearlessness of the hunter--when she interpreted a
look, which said as distinctly as looks could say it, "how terrible it
would have been to have fired!" can hardly be supposed to have regarded
him with indifference. Nor can it be wondered at that she saw in him her
_beau ideal_ of excellence and beauty. The inhabitants of cities, who
live in mansions, and read novels stored with unreal pictures of life
and the heart, are apt to imagine that love, with all its golden
illusions, is reserved exclusively for them. It is a most egregious
mistake. A model of ideal beauty and perfection is woven in almost every
youthful heart, of the brightest and most brilliant threads that compose
the web of existence. It may not be said that this forest maiden was
deeply and foolishly smitten at first sight. All reasonable time and
space were granted to the claims