with me as a bright spirit from whose presence I cannot flee,
and whisper hope when my energies would fail. I only ask your
remembrance till I am worthy to claim your love. If you do not see me
or hear from me at the end of five years, you may believe that I have
failed to secure the desired position in the world, or am no longer
living. Will you grant me this favor--to wear the ring enclosed, and
sometimes think of me? If so, send me some token by Mrs. S., to tell
me that I may hope."

The evergreens, with their language of love and constancy were the
token, and the ring sparkled upon Clara's finger, so that I knew well
that Philip Sidney would not soon be forgotten.

CHAPTER II.

A GLANCE AT HOME.

The little village of Willowdale is situated in one of those romantic
dells which are found here and there among the hills of Massachusetts.
A small stream, tributary to the Connecticut, flows through the
village, so small that it is barely sufficient to furnish the
necessary mill-seats for the accommodation of a community of farmers,
but affording no encouragement to manufacturers. It is to this reason,
perhaps, that we may attribute the fact that a place, which was
amongst the earliest settlements of Massachusetts, should remain to
this day so thinly inhabited. The rage for manufactures, so prevalent
in New England, has led speculators to place factories on every stream
of sufficient power to keep them in operation, and a spirit of
enterprise and locomotion has caused railroads to pass through
sections of the country hitherto unfrequented by others than tillers
of the soil. Cities have sprung up where before were only small
villages, and brisk little villages are found, where a few years ago
were only solitary farm-houses. But in spite of all such changes,
Willowdale has escaped the ravages of these merciless innovators. The
glassy river still glides on in its natural bed, and even the willows
on its banks, from which the village takes its name, are suffered to
stand, unscathed by the woodman's axe. The "iron horse" has never
disturbed the inhabitants by his shrill voice, and the rattling of
cars has not broken upon the stillness of a summer-day. The village is
not on the direct route from any of the principal cities to others,
consequently the inhabitants suffer little apprehension of having
their fine farms cut up by rail-road tracks. The village consists of
one principal street, with houses built on both sides,